#corporal punishment tw

[actress4him]

Whumptober 2023 - Day 8 - Siren

Consider this piece a sneak peek of what I hope is to come in the future of one of my series. If you pay close attention, you should be able to figure out which series!

If you haven't met Siren before (I've only ever written one other piece for her on tumblr), she started out as a rp character and now has a special cinnamon roll place in my heart. I’ve written a bit of intro for her at the link below that tells some of her backstory if you’re interested. She has a very simplistic view of a very narrow corner of the world, which I tried to convey in the way I wrote this.

Siren's Introduction

No. 8: “I’ve got soul, but I’m not a soldier.” | Outnumbered

Contains: lady whump, dude whump, conditioned whumpee, muzzle, superpowers, dehumanization (not pet whump), living weapon, stabbing, implied corporal punishment, sensory overload

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They’re giving her another chance. Siren’s first mission was…a disaster, she thinks is a good word for it. That’s a word her trainers use sometimes when she does really, really, bad, and that’s what happened on her first mission. Going outside for the first time was nothing like she expected it to be. Everything was too bright, too colorful, too loud, too warm, and there were smells and there was air moving against her face and…she got out of the van and froze. She knew what she was supposed to be doing, but she couldn’t make her heart slow down and her breathing go back to normal. All she could do was stand there squeezing her eyes shut and covering her ears with her hands, even though she knew how bad she was being.

After her correction, the trainers had started sending her outside for training. She had to get used to what it was like out there so she could be the good weapon she was supposed to be. And it’s been working! The moving air doesn’t distract her anymore, her eyes have gotten more used to the bright sun, and her ears aren’t so hurt by the loud noises that they play for her. She’s still amazed by how blue the sky is up above her, but she knows she can’t stand and look at it no matter how pretty it is. That gets her corrected.

So now they’re giving her a second chance, and just in case her training isn’t enough, they’re giving her some special tools, too. She gets small soft pieces to go in her ears that make everyone sound much quieter than usual, and the mask that she wears over her eyes for missions has what they call ‘lenses’ now that make everything darker. 

She’s very nervous to try this again, but she has to do it right this time. Her handlers are expecting her to be a good weapon, and she knows she can be. She wants to be, so badly. 

The van is just as strange the second time around. She’s put into the back with one handler and they’re left shut in the darkness. It rumbles and bumps underneath them for a while as the handler goes over her mission again, then the doors open and they’re suddenly in a different place than before. 

And past those doors…is the outside. The real outside, not just the training yard. The bright, colorful, loud place with all the people and vans and tall, tall buildings. 

She can do this, though. She’ll be a good weapon, she’ll complete her mission and make her handlers proud of her. Maybe she’ll do good enough that they’ll even say, “Well done.” She loves it when they say that. 

The handler in the van removes her muzzle and points her in the right direction. She immediately walks forward, past the dark walls and the big metal boxes that smell funny into the open, bright area where all the vans are going by. That’s where she’s supposed to be. There’s still so much to look at and take in, but with her new tools it doesn’t make her want to shut her eyes and curl up small. And she’s not allowed to just stand here and look at it, as much as she’d like that, so she starts thinking about the next step of her mission.

She’s supposed to use her power on the people walking by. They’re not going to fight her, she doesn’t think, which is strange because that’s when she usually uses her power. But it doesn’t have to make sense to her. She only has to obey.

Siren looks around to make sure there are people nearby, then opens her mouth and screams.

Immediately, people are running and shouting and grabbing their heads. She doesn’t know what her power feels like. She’s never felt it herself. But she knows it hurts people, and that gives her a feeling in her stomach that she doesn’t like at all. She never wanted to hurt people. There was a reason that she was locked up and muzzled, and it was because her power was so horrible. She was a monster.

But her new handlers told her that she could be a weapon, instead. She still didn’t want to hurt people, but she got more used to it the more they trained her. And it doesn’t matter what she wants, anyway. Weapons aren’t allowed to want. She’s just happy that she’s not a monster anymore, even if she does have to hurt people.

So she screams again, ignoring the feeling in her stomach and trying not to watch the man who’s collapsing nearby and the woman who’s crying. This is the first part of her mission, and she’ll keep doing it until the second part happens.

It doesn’t take too long, which is good because her throat gets tired after too many screams and most of the people have run away, anyway. She can tell when her real targets arrive because they’re the only ones running toward her. There are two of them, both wearing masks like her. She’s fought two people at once before, this is okay. She can do this.

The boy immediately goes to the man who’s still lying on the ground, checking on him and calling a couple of others to help him get away. The one wearing a hood faces Siren, arms crossed.

“So. New girl in town, huh? Any particular reason you’re out here causing trouble?”

She almost answers her. All questions must be answered truthfully and immediately. It’s been ingrained into her, so much that not answering right away is making her dig her fingernails into her palms, entire body tense. But she knows that that only applies to handlers and trainers. She’s not supposed to speak to her targets at all. 

Instead, she screams again.

The girl doubles over, hands on her ears. “Ah, crap!” Straightening, she sticks one finger in her ear and jiggles it around. “That smarts.”

“Yeah, if you could not do that again, that would be great,” the boy groans from the side. “Note to self: store earplugs somewhere in this outfit.”

They’re…strange. But she’s not here to try and figure them out, she’s here to fight. Siren screams once more, and this time she darts forward when the girl reacts and starts kicking and punching. The first couple of swings land before she starts blocking. Siren quickly learns that the girl’s really good at fighting. As good as her trainers. But that’s alright, she’s used to fighting her trainers, and she still has her power she can use. She doesn’t scream again, wanting to save her voice for when she really needs it, but gives little vocal noises with each punch or block. She can see the way it affects her immediately when she winces and almost misses blocking her.

“Would you stop that?” The girl is late again and takes a punch to the shoulder. “Of course you won’t, you’re a villain. Gotta make our lives difficult.”

Villain? She doesn’t know that word. She’s a weapon, not whatever a villain is.

With another grunt, she manages to punch the girl target across the face, sending her stumbling backwards a couple of steps. Before she can follow through, though, the boy target suddenly appears in front of her. One second he’s not there, the next he is, and Siren nearly falls over as her momentum is interrupted. How did he do that? She’s never seen anyone do that before, not even her trainers!

It doesn’t matter, though, she can’t get distracted. He’s not nearly as good of a fighter as the girl, which means he isn’t as good as Siren, either. She can take him down fairly easily, even without her voice, except that the girl is still around. She’s not joining back in, like she expected her to, which would make her job much harder but still not impossible. Instead, glances over in her direction in between strikes seem to show her…pulling something out of a bag? Maybe it’s a weapon. She can’t tell yet. She really, really hopes it’s not a gun. She hates guns.

The boy is practically running away from her, doing what fighting he can but mostly trying not to get hit. Every once in a while, he disappears and reappears a few feet away, making her change directions. 

When she raises her hand for another punch, a sharp pain slices across her knuckles. She still swings, but glances at the hand after. A small stream of blood is running down her fingers. Where did that come from?

Another pain like it pierces her shoulder. Stopping her march after the boy for the moment, she looks for the source and finds a small, pointed piece of metal sticking out of her shirt. She pulls it out, staring at the blood on the tip, then looks up at the girl. She’s throwing things at her. No…not throwing. As Siren watches, another metal piece lifts from her hand as if on its own, then comes flying through the air straight for her. She jumps to the side, and the piece swerves after her, just nicking her other arm as it passes. 

Her trainers never told her people could do things like that. Like both of these targets are doing. Maybe…do they have powers? Like her? Are they weapons? They’re allowed to talk, though, and ask questions. But maybe that’s just because their powers aren’t their voice, even though she isn’t allowed to ask questions with signs, either. 

She’s gotten distracted again. She’ll get corrected if she doesn’t stay focused.

She turns her attention back to the boy, doing her best to ignore the girl and her metal pieces. A few more hit her, but she knows better than to react to pain. Besides, this pain isn’t that bad. It’s nothing like what she’s used to.

Just as she thinks she’s going to win this fight, though, there’s suddenly two boys standing in front of her. Two of the same boy, that look exactly alike. There are so many questions running through Siren’s mind, but that’s nothing unusual for her. This is fine. She can still do this. The two boys are better at fending her off than just one, but neither of them seem very eager to actually attack her. 

Until the girl joins back in. First she kicks from behind, and when Siren spins around to defend herself the two boys start actually getting in some hits. It’s fine, though, it’s fine. She’s fought three people before. She’s never beaten three people before, but those were three that were actually all good at fighting. There are a growing number of spots on her body that will probably turn into bruises, and a couple of those metal pieces are still stuck in her skin, but she’s okay.

And now there are three boys. The more of them there are, the more confident they get in hitting her. She’s now blocking instead of hitting. Throwing in some more grunts and cries helps back them off a little, but not enough. Her focus is pulled in too many directions, and the next thing she knows, her feet are knocked out from under her and she hits the ground hard. One of the metal pieces, poking out of her leg, gets shoved further in with the impact. She throws her head back with a gasp.

This can’t happen. She can’t lose this fight, fail this mission. Siren does what she should have a few minutes ago and screams, long and loud, not even watching how the targets respond in her rush to get back on her feet. 

“Phantom, you good?”

“...yeah.” The boy - there’s only one of him now - sounds like he’s in pain. “Wasn’t fun hearing that with three sets of ears.”

The girl is watching Siren carefully, more metal pieces floating above her hand, but glancing over at the boy from time to time. “You need a retreat?”

“N-no.” He shakes his head, trying to straighten up from his hunched position. “No, I’m fine.”

She almost has him beaten, she can feel it. She screams one more time, and he falls to his knees, clutching his head and crying out. The girl stumbles toward him, her metal pieces scattering to the ground. 

“Phantom! Okay, that’s it. I’m getting you out of here.” She looks over at Siren and makes a swiping motion through the air with her hand. The metal comes to life from the ground, five or six pieces shooting toward Siren all at once. She dives out of the way, rolling across the ground and jarring the piece inside of her again.

By the time she’s back on her feet, the targets are running away, the girl’s arm around the boy.

She did it. She won!

She’s so happy that she just stands there a moment, breathing hard, staring after the two as they disappear around a corner. Then she remembers her handlers, waiting nearby, and turns to limp back into the darker, narrower area with the big metal boxes and the van. Her muzzle is put on and she’s loaded into the back without anyone saying anything to her.

“Did we get enough data from that?”

“Yeah, we got some stuff to work with. Also looks like we need to talk to its trainers about it fighting multiple assailants. And maybe they can somehow simulate superpowers, or get someone in there with superpowers to help?”

“Maybe. I’ll tell ‘em when we get back.”

The handler climbs in the back with her, and the doors are shut. The van begins its rumbling. 

No one tells her, “Well done.” But they don’t say anything about correcting her, either, so Siren is content. 

#whumptober2023 #no.8 #lyric #i've got soul but i'm not a soldier #outnumbered #original content #fic #conditioned whumpee tw #muzzle tw #dehumanisation tw #stabbing tw #corporal punishment tw #sensory overload tw #siren the weapon #nari the hero #jamil the hero #living weapon whumpee #lady whump #lady whumpee #dude whump #villain whumpee #superpowers #superhero oc #supervillain oc #heroes and villains

[allthatisleftinthedark]

Change for Maisie and Makoto! Maisie noticing changes about him

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐅𝐈𝐕𝐄 𝐒𝐄𝐍𝐒𝐄𝐒  (  prompts for the five senses. add [reversed] to reverse the action. feel free to change wording as needed & add details ) - accepting. @offrozenmemoirs

[ 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄 ] ― The sender (Maisie) notices something different about the receiver (Makoto)

In the alley behind the townhouse and meters from the soldier barracks of Dewburrow, Maisie Doscedar could hide. Undetected, unbothered. That much she can trust. 

Enshrouded in the darkness of the hanger, the gnome absconds from the early morning light and sits on a crate. The blue layer above her black dress is missing in this instance; instead, she is only in that black dress, whose length stops above her ankles. Her muddied and dark gray boots are cast aside and paired together behind her. Slightly waved and loose hair that reaches the nape of her neck is pulled back in a ponytail, some carnation pink strands resting against her cheek. Her brows furrow in concentration, her face flinching.

. . . . . . . . .

Elder Hilda's precision never eludes her; a thought trailends the litany of responsibilities you internally catalog. Each responsibility is ticked off, and "reconvene and discuss sanction" is the latest, with a bold red checkmark next to it. 

Momentarily reprieve, if you consider celebrating your progress, halts from a hot pain shooting from your leg. Your brow furrows. Hands involuntarily clench. With forceful, calming breathing, you pace yourself through gritted teeth. 

A year has passed since the recollection of Dewburrow, its children, and other children in villages in Northern Argyll from the Graneyean Academy of Arcane Arts. Many were freshmen; their academy beginnings halted before even completing a full year. Some were on the brink of graduation; others were preparing to survive midterms. All, however, were expertly herded and hurried away, with the Acadmey's reactions less than their gracious facade. 

And still, it feels like yesterday. 

That should have been you there. That should have been you taking the blow. That should have been you raising the sword. That should have been you after all this time of doing everything. The elders are right; you're finally slipping. You were never fit.

The internal critic, the ever-present commenatator, is that all-too-familiar voice. They don't waste a single second as they go through every flaw and mishap from your four decades of service. The same voice you hear directing and negotiating, delegating and defending, humming and laughing, soothing and correcting, and sometimes weeping and apologizing in whispers—it's you. 

Statis. No matter how many times you leave the town and everything around you changes strangely, the village remains constant. Elder Hilda, the "Dewburrow standard" voice in your head, and even the buildings that surround you are as similar to your first days, sweet-eyed and innocent, on the roads at 16 to the current days, glass-eyed and calloused, at 60 when you return home.

One side of your head is throbbing with an unwelcome headache. All of these comparisons are pointless. You knead at it lightly and carefully, mitigating the agony with your index and middle fingers. Too many late entrants have already thrown the elders' plans off track. The dangers they imagine are more than plausible. You close your eyes. The invasions and takeovers from the Graneyean Empire at Rivera will be right on our doorstep. 

The tension in the air is palpable as you contemplate the chaos awaiting each hinder. The weight of obligation falls disproportionately on your shoulders, anticipating that you will be thrust into the midst of a conflict yet again. As you were told to be, taught to be, and have been doing for all this time.

Flap-flap-flap. Gales from a storm's onset, the sounds of discord around while safely in the hurricane's eye

A powerful, slow, rhythmic sound catches your attention, originating from something far heavier than the common bird that flies overhead. Instinctively, you look upward, and your gaze locks upon a familiar but always striking sight. 

Against the spotless blue expanse of the sky, large draocnic wings, possessing the deepest blue-black scales you have ever seen, fly over. With each wingbeat, a resonant whoosh fills the air—a sound you focus on that soon drowns out the town's everyday sounds. 

Makoto Igarashi, the seated prince of Winter's court, one of the many children of the high spirit but the only son of the Dragon Empress, flies over the town of Dewburrow. Their raven black hair waves in the wind, and despite the great distance from ground to land, you immediately recognize the pockets of exposed skin that the spirit always reveals.

You envision the prince's keen, frigid stare surveying the village, too far beyond to notice your existence. His main interest is always on your family's estate, and as much as you can determine, this is only one of the numerous trips he takes to visit his childhood friend, your older sister, Isla. 

Four months ago, you two became acquainted and delved into the darkness of the Void world, accompanied by...

Your scarred hand waves, dispersing the heavy cloud of strain that floods your head as you recall it. The memories of that journey still linger, haunting your dreams. All it leaves is insatiable curiosity for the Void, yet heavy disappointment in reality. 

Makoto's existence was unknown to you until your abrupt disappearance into the woods at Isla's request to investigate the strange situation. You never expected to see him again after the first time you met him. Similarly, you never saw the other one again.

Yet he persists. Why? 

Makoto Igarashi is a specter of carnage. Though you are not a witness to a massacre on the warfront twenty years ago, the Graneyean Empire and its floating city frequently whisper the spotting of a large dragon burning through "superior" technology and helpless soldiers.

Spellbound to confess their histories in the Watcher's Tower, Makoto does not spare the fact that each page in his life is blood-spotted. Sharp canines peer behind sullen lips with each word that falls from his mouth; none are whiter than the human bones he cleaned efficiently and quickly after "cravings." 

At least, that's how every monster wants to be seen.  The thing about self-prescribed monsters is that they need to be convincing. A common mistake is showing one's hand too early. To gain power over another, a level of restraint is practiced; overwhelming someone, friend or foe, is the first step to failure. Overcompensation is the reality if one shows their cards too soon and has nothing else to support them. Though those easily scared and desperate to survive would kneel quickly, those are the ones who fall for the facade. Self-prescribed monsters perfect the art of illusion. 

True monsters see no reason to display their heinous acts at the forefront; they will lick their finger and turn a page of their story, plainly stating the rhyme and reason of their everyday lives. True monsters need not show their fangs and claws; they await and prey. 

Keen for observation and supplied by a natural weakness for curiosity, your eyes always perceive beyond the veil. A show of ferocity and treachery, Makoto's ridges and edges are supposed to make one bleed if they draw too close. His cold eyes can bear the weight of life lived for millennia by those who dare oppose or question him. Yet, those same glacy white eyes betray him—a momentary lapse of where the 'humanness' that all spirits bear peeks through.

'Do not come close to me. I cannot take this again.'  At the time you first met him in the Void, you were unsure what that meant.

As days turned to months, your initial intrigue grew, and the overall mystery grew. You peer behind the mask anytime he loosens its strings. A deep-seated need to understand the essence, the truth, of any creature has always been your burden. 

If a person can be a home, the heart is the hearth, and Makoto Igarashi refuses anyone to get beyond the property line; a deep snowy-covered pine forest surrounds his estate, and he refuses all people, all indisciminately seen as trespassers. 

Unseen in the deep forest, Makoto can flex his wings and lower his guard. His sharp fangs don't purposely peek beyond a curled lip of annoyance. Instead, he frowns. His hand does not shake as he fights for control of his mind against the blood prince's influence. Rather, he rests his palms flat, lowering himself to the ground.

Fallen flakes dot his hair, and the imprint of his knees and hands is also left in the snow. The Dragon Price kneels, head bowed. Waiting, listening, and contemplating.  To whom? You, the trespasser lucky enough to hide in these metaphorical woods, still do not know.  But you know a mourner's grimace when you see it. 

Fleeting glimpses of melancholy and a shortness of tolerance for another soul, Makoto grapples with his decision and growing irritation with reality.  He catches himself feeling or believing in something he rejected for himself.

Through the progression of several months, you notice that conflict in him is growing. It is no secret from him, from the family, or from you that Makoto's range of accepted companionship can be counted on two hands and can be reduced to one hand if not careful. 

Initially, his attitude towards you was one of sheer tolerance; your presence was accepted because of the bond with Isla and because of Lady Spring's (his paternal grandmother's) blessing over your bloodline. Memories of the Void have already revealed to you that the threshold for his patience is shorter than that of Isla. 

By your own insistence and through letters and invitations to your home, interactions increase, and the days of Makoto's visits prolong. 

Ears twitch, and his gaze lingers longer when he does not expect your attentiveness. He is not standing around and politely waiting for conversation to pass, but he now listens. Conversations that would see him typically aloof or indifferent now draw him in; a query for his opinions and insights he begins answering, even seeking yours. An impromptu history lesson or winded explanation on your end meets with his expectant but stoic expression, a stark contrast to his curt manner with others in the town and your other siblings. 

The ice begins cracking, not loudly but in subtle ways. Despite how cold he can be, Makoto's disposition is warming.with a reason you don't completely understand. It was almost as if the icy facades of Rivera are slowly melting, revealing the hidden rivers beneath. 

On your family's property, you were sitting on the fence one evening when Makoto came over to sit next to you. Instead of having the customary stiff stance, he had one that made him appear relaxed and almost human. He leans forward, his lips in view. The talk flowed easily, touching on both immense and mundane things. And as the sun sinks lower into the horizon, illuminating the sky with shades of gold and purple, you see that the dragon prince has been affected by the most basic human emotion—affection.

"Fffff--" Your train of thought is interrupted by an acute pain shooting up from your ankle. You wince, glancing down. Purple and pink blemishes mar your heels—a sight that not only stings upon mere viewing but also aches piercingly. Anytime your hands move to touch them with the gentlest care, your leg trembles in response.

The sound echoes in your ears, and your head sinks, filled with memories. They are unrelenting reminders that... always... find... their... mark.

In the darkness of the alley, a place you hoped would offer respite, it seems it's still an avenue where the ghosts of your past and looming shadows of the future choose to visit. Taking a deep breath, your eyelids slowly close as your hands rest atop the crate.

You open your eyes, staring up at the spotless blue sky. Makoto Igarashi is now a black dot on the horizon. 

"...I hope you're well." She sighs. "I'll see you home." 

#offrozenmemoirs #⋆ * correspondences acknowledged and responded ; maisie doscedar‚ asks * ⋆ #⋆ * exchanges with the emissary ; maisie doscedar‚ ic * ⋆ #( soa verse tag tba ) #corporal punishment tw

[traightor]

@warhaeds : ❛ Does he keep a vial of poison in his tooth or something? Is that a rich person thing? ❜ ( meme unknown, not accepting. )

" i think you're being awfully imaginative. is that where your children get it from? " the topic on the table: augustus st. claire. it was not often or in good company that evangeline spoke of her father, but she did not stop washington from asking questions. she is on her knees here, sleeves rolled up as she's working on the wash. (the clothes, that is, or as she's come to call them in her head where no one can tease her, the wash's wash.) the soap has rubbed her hands raw, but the children need their clean clothes for the school that they attend once every two weeks. need to look principled and disciplined, remnants of augustus existing in her maternal hand.

" no, he had a knife, " she says, her voice cold like steel. the knife was never used on the children, that much is true, but evangeline had always wondered how much more they would need to press before he did. " and a belt. "

the belt he did use, striking the backs of their legs and the meat of their rears, firm against their bodies until their childhood grew red with anger and red with pain and it hurt to sit down. a reminder of corporal punishment, augustus had said, and evangeline knew this better than most: when she got in trouble, there would be punishment. when the boys got in trouble, there would be punishment. she says nothing more, her gaze cold and her lips downturned as she scrubbed.

" . . . though, the golden tooth . . . it does come out. it's a prosthetic. "

#me making lore up on the fly: one of augustus's fangs is gold #int. #v01. main. #ans. #B. WASHINGTON. me & the devil walking side by side. #child abuse tw #corporal punishment tw #q.

[weirdstrangeandawful]

Part VIII – The Cat

TW: corporal punishment (flogging)

Word count: 1107

<-Part VII – Someone Stole Your Heart?

Table of contents

Part IX – Spectres->

The sunlight stings Rowan’s eyes as he arrives on the upper deck after all too few hours of sleep. About half the crew is awake and hard at work preparing to depart. A sharp new ache has settled into his ribs but he swallows it down and takes a deep breath. He misses home sometimes. This is Scotland, sure, but it’s nothing like the Outer Hebrides.

Quinn stands abaft, tense and on edge. They shoot regular glances over at Carroll, trying to avoid his attention. Carroll sits on a bench, equally stiff-backed, new cat o’ nine tails gripped tight in his left hand. His right combs it slowly. His fingers run softly, dangerously through the long braided tails, over the stinging knots, and out to their lashed ends.

Looking around, Rowan realises the entire crew is tense, speaking to each other only as necessary and even so in clipped phrases or hushed whispers. They’ve never seen Carroll like this. Rowan himself hasn't seen him like this since he was boatswain’s mate aboard the Neptune. He looks to his own mate, Eoin, a young man of about Carroll’s own age. He’s never touched a cat let alone made one, not the vile, pain-inflicting sort that Carroll’s now carrying anyway. And the cats on board never hang around much so he’s probably never touched one of those either.

Upon seeing Rowan, Quinn scampers over softly. Their voice is soft and quick with worry, “Rowan, I don’t remember what happened last night but I fucked up badly, didn’t I.” They fiddle with their jacket buttons aggressively.

Taking a deep breath, Rowan studies Quinn. They look entirely put together, they’re good at hiding. That’s what the Navy does, Rowan thinks, Breaks your spirit enough to keep your head down.

“Rowan?” Quinn presses, urgently, “What did I do?”

“Sorry,” Rowan apologises, the sharp pain distracting him, “you told him quite bluntly not to take advantage of Kyte and he didn’t take it well. It’s hard to tell when he won’t talk but I dare say yes, you fucked up. Don’t–” Rowan stops Quinn as they turn heel toward Carroll, “go talk to him. Just, keep your head down. Stay out of his way. I’ll do my best to deal with it.” Rowan turns.

Quinn stops him, “Rowan. It’s in his left hand.” Quinn’s voice threatens to tremble. The ease with which the cat fits in his left warns Quinn of the painful criss-crossing lashes Carroll is capable of inflicting should they step out of line.

“They were left-handed, Quinn.” Rowan explains, knowing full well what Quinn fears.

Quinn nods tensely and heads back to studying the schedule. Rowan moves to talk to Carroll. At his approach, Carroll stands and meets him, leaving the cat on the nearby bench.

Rowan’s voice is soft and caring, “You’re not Navy anymore, laddie. You’ve better things to do.”

Throat tightening, Carroll swallows aggressively, fighting to maintain composure. He’s not Navy, Rowan’s right. But Quinn is. And it’s starting to show.

“Put that down! Right now! And get back here this instant!” A seaman’s commanding voice crashes over the deck. His child has picked up the cat and is now frozen in place with it in his hands. At his father’s continued stare, he sets it slowly back down on the bench before running to his father. The seaman, holds him tightly, protectively, in his arms and looks at Carroll, whose eyes are trained on the exchange along with the rest of the crew’s. The fear shows in the former Navy sailor’s voice as he speaks softly to Carroll, “I’m sorry, sir. He didn’t know and that’s on me.”

An unidentifiable expression flashes over Carroll’s face as he nods, “At ease, seaman.” He grabs the cat, folding it over on itself, and looks at Rowan, “Can we talk in private? Please?” Without waiting for an answer, Carroll heads below deck, jumping the bottom rung of the hatchway and landing awkwardly. Rowan watches like a hawk to make sure he’s okay but doesn’t speak up. Once in their cabin with the door shut, Carroll nods to Rowan, “You may speak freely, Rowan.”

Rowan ducks his head slightly, choosing his words carefully. “You’re scaring your crew, Carroll. A good many of them are ex-navy. They weren’t there when Quinn fucked up. They don’t know what they did wrong– hell, Quinn doesn’t know what they did wrong!” Rowan reins himself in, “Sorry.”

Carroll looks up at Rowan, “Quinn blacked out?”

“Yes. They asked me what they did and I told them but no, they don’t remember.”

“Flogging makes a bad man worse…”

“…and breaks a good man’s heart,” Carroll finishes the quote softly, pensively. A nod to the shadows of their Navy days.

The cat o’ nine tails makes a soft rippling thump as Carroll throws it onto the floor in the corner of the cabin alongside the now-shrunken coil of rope. There’s no use disciplining someone for an offence they don’t remember. And no use frightening children for it. Carroll doesn’t move for a moment then speaks very softly, almost inaudibly, “He would take me away for discipline and I would have to beg to be flogged.” He turns to leave.

“Carroll,” Rowan stops him, “Carroll, we have to talk about this.”

Silence.

“Do you want a hug?”

“Go away,” comes the world-weary reply. Carroll walks out. Rowan follows.

Striding across the upper deck toward Quinn, Carroll’s limp barely breaks his step. Quinn stands at attention as he approaches, their shoulders ever-so-slightly relax as they see Carroll’s hands free of the cat o’ nine tails.

Carroll’s voice, filled with contained anger, carries not only to Quinn but to the rest of the crew now gathered on the upper deck, “This isn’t a Navy ship. I will not so freely use Navy discipline on her crew. However, I expect a lack of judgement for all members of crew, regardless of identity or rank or age or background or personal choice. I expect a level of basic respect for all members of crew. A level of basic respect which you have not shown. You are on this ship because you’re a good sailor and a valuable member of crew but I expect you to leave your navy misconduct off it. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir.” Quinn’s voice is dry and practised.

“You’re dismissed 'til noon,” Carroll’s voice quiets but remains commanding, “You are not to interfere with scheduled duties until that time. Go on.”

“Yes, sir.” Quinn repeats before hastily making their way below deck.

“Take their post,” Carroll instructs, turning to a master’s mate, “Get us going when you’re ready.

#a good man's heart #whump #navy whump #my writing #corporal punishment tw #flogging tw

[sins-of-the-sea]

Concept: thé Christian Sims’ godparents return from the dead to redeem them, fulfilling their baptismal promises. Humorous, horrifying, or heartwarming? Maybe all three?

"HORRIFYING, OF COURSE!!"

"But would they even want to help us? Mine didn't when I was still in the cellar, what makes you think they will with me being out here free and an agent of the Devil?"

"I'll take total abandonment over being literally attempting to have the Devil beaten out of me and then forcing me to undergo penance in the form of mortification because I 'yoked together with unbelievers'."

"..........’Mortification?’"

"I'd rather not talk about it, at least the Spanish Inquisition is gone by now. Having holes drilled onto my head was bad enough."

Ruixiong asks Giovanni in Mandarin so the Captain won't have to be engaged with the conversation even if he's still within earshot. "<I don't like the sound of 'mortification', is this a Catholic thing?>"

He sighs whispers to Ruixiong, "<He's talking about the old Catholic ritual of self-flagellation.>"

"<Self-flagellation?! So the whip scars on the Captain's back wasn't from ship discipline from whoever was his boss before him?!>"

"<The idea is to 'kill the flesh', as in to make oneself suffer as Christ did before he was placed upon the cross. In the case of Josep, he would have been made to undergo the ritual to remind him what Christ went through to save us all of our sins, including 'yoking with unbelievers'--that being friends with Jews.>"

"<But wasn't Jesus Christ Jewish himself?!>"

"<Did you miss the part that the Spanish Inquisition was extremely antisemitic? Shall I also remind you Josep's family wanted to kiss up to the Spanish Crown and that included kissing up to the Inquisition too? That would include the godparents, otherwise his mother wouldn't have to whisk him away in the middle of the night to Venice to protect him from the rest of the family--the very family who were supposed to protect and nurture him. Baptismal promises and everything.>"

Ruixiong yells in full English, "HEY ANON, BRING BACK THE GODPARENTS FROM THE DEAD SO I CAN KICK THEIR ASSES SO HARD THEIR ANCESTORS’ GODPARENTS WILL FEEL IT!!"

"DO NOT BRING BACK ANYONE FROM THE DEAD!!"

#religion tw #corporal punishment tw #antisemitism tw #self-harm tw #self harm tw #abuse tw #child abuse tw #child neglect tw #death tw #oh hey have some supplemental lore I couldn't include in Ira/Avaritia! #it wasn't included in the main narrative because it took away focus from Jordi's actions in 'disciplining' Josep plus it felt extraneous #in the other blog you can see the scars in full view #[Captain Josep Frascona] #[Giovanni Vespucci] #[Wang Ruixiong]

[biblicphile-old]

There's this one headcanon I'm iffy about where during her childhood, Marsha was spanked only once. She wouldn't have remembered it because her brain blocked out the memory just for how traumatic it was.

#[ 📚 ] ooc. #[ 🌳 ] the demon princess. #child abuse tw #corporal punishment tw #physical abuse tw

[irishskeptic]

"Loquere linguam nostram" Artemis Bartoli's voice, - his Latin teacher, is an angry growl and Jason can barely make out what she's saying "tu Es filius Iovis, deus maximus, et honorare debes patrem tuum et non confundere eum". Jason feels something in his stomach clench angrily, he is seven years old and has been taught to speak Latin for a long time, his consciousness refuses to accept this language as his native and true one. He wants German. "Das ist nicht meine Muttersprache!!" Jason screams and the light bulbs burst. He is whipped so that he cannot lie on his back for a month and the scars are with him for life.

Loquere linguam nostram - speak our language.

tu Es filius Iovis, deus maximus, et honorare debes patrem tuum et non confundere eum - You are the son of Jupiter, the greatest god, you should honor your father and not shame him.

Das ist nicht meine Muttersprache, - It's not my native language.

All the more reason to hate Camp Jupiter.

@florenceisstrange @ashthenerdtheythem @aki-bara

#tw child abuse #tw corporal punishment #german american jason grace #percy jackson #percy jackson and the olympians #percy jackon and the olympians #heroes of olympus #pjo #pjo fandom #hoo #hoo fandom #riordanverse #skeptic asks

[cyren-myadd]

Blood Is Thicker Than Water Ch17: Spare The Rod

I'm posting early so I won't have to worry about it while I'm taking my vacation! I don't think "enjoy" is the right word, so I hope you all feel some feelings this chapter >:) I'm dying to see your comments on this one, especially you, naavispider cause this part was inspired by your writing in Caught.

As a reminder, this chapter contains depictions of corporal punishment and medical neglect, so reader discretion is advised. I put a non-graphic summary at the end for anyone who would prefer not to read this chapter. And also, this isn't directed at anyone, but I just want to put out there that this is meant to portray corporal punishment and medical neglect in a NEGATIVE light and I am in no way trying to glorify or fetishize it. If something I wrote comes off that way, please let me know and I will fix it. These actions are done by the villain of this work as the villain needs to do villainous things to create conflict and raise the stakes.

@goodbyetothenight @dumbass-tumbler-cryptid @naavispider @jeanniebug623 @raving-raven-writing @ao3gobi17 @hyperfixatedfandomer @lilt78

#atwow #avatar #spider socorro #avatar the way of traumatizing spider #miles quaritch #colonel quaritch #ao3 #tw: abuse #tw: corporal punishment #tw: medical neglect

[metapianycist]

just learned that there are places in the world where corporal punishment of children in the home is illegal, and i'm having an Emotion about how my childhood could have been much different if it had been illegal for my parents to hit me

#metapianycist original post #child abuse tw #corporal punishment #do not hit kids #do not tell me you were hit and turned out okay

[apostateoverrubies]

It's so funny how my father is pro corporal punishment since he believes the lack of it is why there seems to be a rise in bad behavior amongst minors.

But as I look back on the stories he told about his childhood, it only emboldened my current beliefs of how it's ineffective and harmful.

My father got beat as a kid, and guess what? He didn't improve because of it. I've heard stories about he and his brother fighting other boys, I hear stories about how lazy he was, and I hear stories about him being a disrespectful and ungrateful little shit.

He got beat a lot as a kid, even over things that weren't his fault. And while he has convinced himself that it made him better. In reality, it made him worse.

Like a lot of boomers, he is very aggressive at best and violent at worst. He thinks he is entitled to good behavior he never learned himself and won't show other people in return. He is repeating the cycle of abuse because not once did he question the way he was bought up.

But the most ironic part of all is that a lot boomers like him still grew up spoiled. And it's not just shit like throwing a tantrum at a Starbucks because they have to wait either.

Their parents made sure that they had what was best so they could have a secure future. But boomers are apparently the first generation whose children are living worse off than them, and it has led to a ripple effect where even the generations after are suffering from their selfishness.

But God forbid they actually take accountability for that. Oh no. It's everyone else's fault. It's us, their children and grandchildren, who are the selfish ones. Whatever happened to the good old days, am I right?

But that tangent aside, it made me realize that violence and bad behavior in school is nothing new. That has always been a problem. Schools just can't hide it anymore because children now have phones with them and they record this shit.

I remember a lot of horrible things that happened in primary and secondary school, stuff that would've made the news. But the schools managed to hide it.

They always have been, and they're successful too because they've managed to convince the public that it's a growing problem and not one that's been there for a while.

So, of course, people like my father are convinced that this is the result of corporal punishment being banned in schools.

But corporal punishment didn't help then, and it wouldn't help now. Since the fucking 15th century, people have been reexamining how we raise children, realizing that certain ways they're brought up can harm them.

People aren't mindlessly saying we shouldn't beat kids. They looked into it and realized it wasn't helping. Not to mention, they offer much better alternatives.

It should be common knowledge at this point how harmful corporal punishment is. Even to this day, we get studies proving that it's ineffective at best and outright harmful at worse.

But people like my father don't know that. They will mindlessly believe stuff like the Bible that outright say that beating children is good because it'll help mold them into well-adjusted adults. Yeah, let's ignore the fact that this thing is thousands of years old, we don't know the actual author, and they probably never dealt with a child or should've never been trusted with them to begin with.

I am not going to follow some old ass back. I am going to the fucking professionals and learning my shit because kids deserve better and we've been doing them wrong for long enough.

#corporal punishment #child abuse #child care #tw child abuse #childhood abuse #school violence

[actress4him]

Whumptober 2023 - Day 15 - The Shadow and The Brute

This is the latest Brumaria AU, a Hero/Villain story! Bruno aka The Brute belongs to Izzy, and bits of his dialogue in this were written by her.

Taglist: @painful-pooch , @sssunshinebreeze

The Shadow of Death Masterlist

No. 15: “I don't need you to help me I can handle things myself.” | Suppressed Suffering

Contains: lady whump, touch aversion, strangulation, referenced whipping, referenced stress position, corporal punishment, hidden injuries

.

.

Kamaria doesn’t feel like being here. Not that there’s anything new about that, being in good physical condition is a foreign concept and most of her missions aren’t anything she’s personally invested in, anyway. There are often a hundred other places she’d rather be than where she’s sent, in bed usually being one of them. 

But today is particularly bad. She usually at least gets a night to recover after a punishment before she’s sent out again, but no, Roderick had to get ticked at her for whatever reason this morning. And absolutely nobody cares that she has fresh whip marks on her back, chafing underneath her clothes, and they definitely don’t care that her throat is so bruised she can barely even speak. They only care about her taking out some low-level criminal that’s interfering with their plans for the city.

Which she’d be doing, no problem, except that The Brute showed up. Nothing new about that, either, and normally an encounter with him doesn’t exactly dampen her mood. But today, she really wishes that for once, he wouldn’t be so annoyingly good at his job. Why can’t he just leave her alone today? She just wants to kill the stupid criminal and go back to headquarters to lick her wounds in private, but she’s stuck here in one of their half-hearted fights, listening to his one-sided banter. 

“Looks like somebody didn’t get enough sleep last night.” Brute dodges yet another of her knife swipes easily, returning it with a punch that she just barely manages to miss herself. “You’re slow today.”

Usually she’d throw a barb right back at him, but just the thought of speaking makes her throat burn. She throws a knife, instead, which sticks in the brick wall just beside his ear.

“Ooh, not enough sleep makes you grumpy, too, I guess. Or should I say…even grumpier than usual? Going for the ‘silent and deadly’ style today.” He yanks the small knife out of the mortar and inspects it. “Doesn’t really bode well for me.”

Yes, she’s grumpy. She’d like to growl at him to shut up, she’s not in the right headspace to make light of this situation. Their fights barely qualify as such, since neither of them really want to harm the other, a fact that she absolutely refuses to examine and adamantly pretends isn’t true. She even sometimes enjoys getting to battle it out with the hero, even on days when her pain level is worse than usual. 

Maybe it’s because she can’t snark back at him and get into the mood of the fight. For whatever reason, she just wants to get this over with, but unfortunately just because he seems to kind of like her doesn’t mean he’s willing to back off and let her do her job. She’s going to have to somehow give him the slip if she wants to avoid even more punishment when she gets back.

“Seriously? Nothing to say at all?”

I have plenty to say. I’d like to say go away. Leave me alone. I need to do this so I don’t get beaten to a pulp tonight. 

I’d kind of like to ask how the only gentleman I’ve ever met ended up fighting on the side of the people I hate the most. Or why you seem to give a flip about me, a villain, at all.

I’d like to tell you that it feels like someone lit my back on fire, because I get the feeling you’d be the only person in the world that somehow actually cared.

She swings at him again, just nicking his arm with the tip of the blade. He doesn’t seem to notice, pushing closer and grabbing onto that wrist. Anyone else, she’d bring her left hand up and stab them directly in the chest. But it’s Brute. She can’t kill him, no matter how aggravated she might be with him. So she allows him to get close and doesn’t fight back yet, unaware of just how uncomfortable it’s going to be until he grabs her other arm, too, and spins her around to press her back into the bricks.

Her breath hitches in her throat, but her mind is only partially on the pain coursing through her back. He’s never pinned her before, she doesn’t usually let him. Being pinned means being hurt. 

But this is Brute. He never hurts her, not badly, at least. 

But he is hurting her. 

But he doesn’t mean to. 

Still, no matter how logical she tries to force herself to be about it, her instincts and memories are stronger. She struggles against him, face carefully blank but heart pounding too fast. 

Let go let go let go let go 

“Hey, calm down, Shadow. I’m not gonna hurt you!” He doesn’t let up, his grip strong but not bruising. “What is your deal today? Are you mad at me or something?”

Again, if he was anyone else, she’d be using the little bit of movement she has in her left arm to reach for another knife. Instead, she kicks at his shins, hoping to dissuade him. 

“Ow.” He still doesn’t let go. She might have to go for the knife after all. The longer she’s trapped, the less she’s able to think straight to see the problem with just stabbing him. 

“Shadow. Look, I’ll let you go in a second, but can you just tell me what’s -” He cuts off abruptly, leaning his face in closer. “Crap. What happened to you?”

She realizes suddenly that this close, he can see the bruises peeking out from underneath her hood. That’s not what she wanted at all, now he’ll start asking questions and she’ll have to try to explain, if not now then some other day because he’s Brute and he doesn’t give up. Forget not hurting him or her own split-open skin, she needs to get away. She shoves hard and kicks out again, reaching for the knife at the same time.

Thankfully, he lets her go this time, backing away with his hands spread in front of him. She still bolts away from the wall, adjusting her grip on the handle and holding out the blade as if he’ll attack.

“Who did that to you?”

Her back is even worse than before, thanks to scraping it up against the bricks. Now she needs to use her voice, too. “Doesn’t matter.” It sounds exactly as horrendous as she imagined it would, and feels like she’s swallowing nails. 

“Yes, it does.” He sounds so deadly serious about it. Is he offended that she’s faced off against someone besides him? If he knew it was her own handler he wouldn’t be. He’d probably laugh in her face about how pathetic she is.

“We’re in the same line of work. You know these things happen.”

Brute sighs, shaking his head. “I can barely get a hit on you…most days other than today. I know there’s more to this, Shadow.”

Kamaria forces a smirk. “Maybe you’re just not as good as the other heroes.” 

He rolls his eyes. “Or maybe there’s a villain that’s been picking a fight with you.” Crossing his arms, he looks her up and down. “So who is it? Asking for a friend.”

“Can’t stand for someone else to be the one beating me up?” He needs to drop the subject so that she can stop talking. Maybe she can pretend to lose her voice altogether.

“I don’t think that counts as beating you up.”

“Not everyone is as reluctant to dirty their hands as you are.”

“Are you sure it was their hands they were dirtying?” He’s walking closer again, and she resists the urge to skitter backwards until he reaches out like he’s going to lift her chin with his fingers and inspect the bruises again. His hands go back up in surrender when she jerks away before he can touch. “I’m sorry! I won’t touch. But Shadow…” He sucks in a deep breath, jaw clenching and unclenching. “Is that a boot print?”

She can feel it almost as clearly as if it’s happening right now and not a few hours ago. Her lying on the floor where she’d been struck down, Roderick looming over her. The tread of his boot pressing, pressing, pressing into her throat. The delighted smile on his face. Her body jerking without her permission, desperate to get away even as her mind tells her she’s not allowed to fight back. Realizing with sudden dread that he may actually completely crush her throat, either killing her or taking away her voice for good. The darkness slowly taking over her vision as her oxygen supply dwindles.

Kamaria inhales sharply as if to prove to herself that she still can and focuses back in on Brute’s face. “I still think you’re jealous.”

“No, I’m not jealous because I have no desire to do such a thing to you.” He sighs again, running a hand through his hair. “You’re just as stubborn as always. Would you actually tell me if something was wrong?”

No. “Nothing’s wrong.” She smiles a little, trying to reassure him. Nothing’s wrong, this is just how my life is.

He grumbles a little under his breath. “Fine. Can we at least call this done and go home, since you clearly don’t feel like being here? You can just nod, you don’t have to speak.”

Grateful but trying to seem nonchalant, she gives a distinct nod. 

“Good. I’ll see you around, Shadow. Take care of yourself.”

He turns to leave, and Kamaria begins walking in the direction she was heading before, toward the criminal’s place of work. 

“Excuse me, I’m fairly certain that’s not the way you should be going right now.” Brute is glaring at her, arms crossed. Again, being annoyingly good at his job when she really needs him to just let her be.

She gives him her best innocent stare, but he just points toward where she came from. “I won this fight. That means you go home and don’t cause any more trouble today.”

Giving up any pretense, she glares daggers at him and turns on her heel, marching away. She can hear him chuckling behind her, completely oblivious to the trouble he is causing for her. She won’t give up yet, though. Being late on a mission still means punishment - and a longer time until she can properly care for her wounds - but it’s far worse to fail the mission altogether. She’ll bide her time, take the long way around, and try her best to take out her mark without any of the heroes catching her this time. Maybe she’ll get lucky for the first time today and only get stress positions instead of a beating or another whipping.

#whumptober2023 #no.15 #lyric #i don't need you to help me i can handle things myself #suppressed suffering #original content #fic #strangulation tw #whipping tw #corporal punishment tw #shadow of death #kamaria the assassin #bruno stenberg #brumaria #lady whump #lady whumpee #hidden injury #touch aversion #hero/villain #villain whumpee #superhero oc #supervillain oc #heroes and villains #whump series

[cjbolan]

#this is a sensitive subject so I’m only doing this poll here where anonymous answers are allowed #Instagram is slowly violating our privacy by requiring extra effort to maintain full privacy #for context I live in a country that is 50-50 on this matter #tw corporal punishment #tumblr poll #tumblr polls #polls #poll

[gabelish]

#dutch van der linde #hosea matthews #john marston #arthur morgan #corporal punishment #I think peoples answers will really depend on how much they hate Dutch #but I think if he did Arthur would have mentioned that in game #but he also never mentioned NOT being hit so idk #child abuse tw #tw child abuse

[subiysu-chan]

Fouet sous la custode

July 5, 1742 Soubise smiled at the little boy who looked at him defiantly. "Was this pigeon at least good? We are in the middle of crayfish season, so I advise you to do your best not to end up in the dungeon. They are very hungry, these crayfish. So, let yourself be whipped, my little. -It's not true ! “Do you want to prove it?” The child was speechless. A little judicial spanking, to the point of bleeding certainly because of custom, nothing could be easier. Soubise was only twenty-five years old, but he was already an experienced questionnaireer, and he knew how to obtain the obedience of his "patients". Fighting physically was useless, he knew how to do it against men twice as strong as himself and he had already seen almost all the escape maneuvers, more or less crude, a good dozen times. Soubise gave a final wash to the fresh birch rods dripping with brine. They were relatively heavy, but less than those used for adult offenders. Jean-Louis widened his eyes in terror. "Come on, I'm not your father. Did you think I was going to use the light rods or my belt, Jean-Louis?"

#tw: corporal punishment #english google translation

[cloverpatches]

"Rumor says there is a terrible beast in the Black Forest where no one lives."

#lobotomy corporation #lobotomy corp #lc big bird #lc punishing bird #lc judgement bird #body horror tw #tw body horror #gore tw

[codenamehazard]

.:The Dam Breaks:.

Chapter 27: The Dam Breaks

[TRIGGER WARNING: SEVERE MENTAL BREAKDOWN, SMALL MENTION OF CORPERAL PUNISHMENT, ANXIETY, MENTAL HEALTH ISSUES, MENTION OF ABILISM, SHITTY PARENT BEING SHITTY, MENTIONS OF BUGS AND SPIDERS.]

Hey guys! Hoooooo man, this is a chapter I've been chomping at the bit to share with you guys ever since I finished it! I hope you guys like this as much I liked writing it! Big shoutout to @rogueshadeaux for helping me with research, brainstorming and being the creator of Jean and Brent Rowland!

Without further ado, let's jump in!

-------------

Warmth runs down my throat as I take a sip of warm water. How long has it been since the chaos that was Pangolin’s transfer into the Poison Ward of this hospital went down? Around 12 hours? With how on edge everybody was, it was hard to tell and it didn’t calm down either.

Sometime earlier, The metal man had walked out into the waiting room to get Mako with a worrying urgency. She got up with no questions asked, but this prompted Dove to jump up and try to blitz through the doors. It took both Kestrel and I to hold the thrashing pigeon back. I actually had to zap him hard enough to knock him out just so that Mako could get through unimpeded.

A squabble followed when Dove came to, the dodo and the bird of prey locked verbal talons as they screamed at each-other. It wasn’t until Kestrel gave a sharp-tongued snap at Dove that he backed down and conceded the argument. Now he was just sitting in the corner, sulking like a child.

I don’t blame the kid, really. If that was my brother, I would be ready to become a one-man demolition team. Though I understand that right now, the best way we can help Pangolin is to stay out of the docs’ way until we’re called upon.

I paid little mind to the plague doctor knock-off as something else has my attention. Kestrel…

Ever since Pangolin was admitted, she hasn’t been acting right. Granted, she’s always been an odd bird, eccentric, but this? This isn’t normal even for her. Pacing back and forth like a trapped zoo animal, fussing with that evil eye bracelet I remember seeing from when we talked in Droptown, sometimes she would flap her hands when she thinks nobody’s looking. She’s silent as a church mouse, something that she just isn’t.

The thing that really had my attention were her steel-blue eyes. Wide and wild, darting from the bay doors to a door painted a cool blue with a moon on it. Back and forth, back and forth, incessantly. Something’s not right in her head and it isn’t just from the fear for her fellow Misfit.

Watching Kestrel pace about with her wild eyes, it made me feel something I haven’t felt in a long ass time. An emotion I didn’t expect to feel. A weight in my stomach, an ache. The sight twists my guts into a knot that claws at me. Worry. I scoff at the sensation and brush it off.

Why should I worry about the girl? She’s a grown woman, she can take care of herself. Besides, it’s a waste of emotional energy. There’s no point in worrying about someone who hates me and who I hate in kind.

Despite my reasoning, the knot remains, so I just ignore it. There’s probably another reason why it’s there.

I turn my head as I hear the door open, seeing Mako and the tin-man… Coyote, was it? I don’t know, so many new names. They were quietly talking among themselves before turning to face us. Kes takes a deep breath and shakes her head, trying to calm herself and hide her… Whatever’s going on in her head, before asking the two about Pangolin’s status.

God, she’s not even sounding right. Her voice is too quiet, despite trying to speak with confidence, her tone’s also…. Restricted, I guess? There’s the kind of cracking that happens when you’re trying to hold something back. Mako and Coyote look at each-other before nodding, Mako stepping up towards us.

“Pangolin’s status has been stabilized, but he’s not out of the weeds yet. That sting from the blink scorpion went into his bones and was wreaking havoc on the marrow. I had to help Crow infuse the anti-corrodium serum directly into his bones without throwing up.” She says with a shudder as Coyote rubs his hand, must have had her hold it during everything. Mako was never a fan of patterned holes. “Thankfully the infusion is working and he’s stable enough to have another visi-”

Before Mako could finish her sentence, Dove leaps up from his seat and practically disappears as he turns into a gust of wind. The only thing that tells me where he is was the movement of objects as he rushes through to be with his brother.

Kes sighs in relief, or rather tries to. Whatever demon she’s fighting in her head is crossing some wires in that brain of hers. The sight is strange, the only thing I could really describe it as is like she’s forgetting how to be a normal person right before my eyes. The wild eyes now damn near flying around in their sockets and her smile becoming more forced by the second.

Coyote and Mako look at each-other worriedly before the shark gives the metal-man a nod. Coyote nods back before heading over and whispering something into Kes’ ear, I try to listen in, but it’s too faint. Whatever he said prompted the girl to make a beeline to that weird moon-door with Coyote hot on her heels.

The man gets in front of Kes and opens the door for her before she shoulder-checks it down and closes it quietly behind her. What happens next…. Makes me nauseous.

Screaming, warped and metallic. Just like back at her shop when Pangolin pushed her too far. Hearing it the first time made me sick and angry but this time it makes my blood run cold and the knot in my stomach grow tighter, the sound of twisting metal inside the room didn’t help either. Without thinking, I push myself off the wall and walk over to the door. Coyote looks at me worried and about ready to go into a defensive stance when I feel a hand on my shoulder. I turn my head to glare at the offending party. Mako.

“You better have a damn good reason for why I shouldn’t fry you for touching me.” I can hear Shiny getting ready to say something, but Mako holds her hand up.

“Cole, slow your roll for a second. I can explain what’s going on…. Somewhat.” She hums and I try to relax. Eyes glowing intensely as I watch her.

“Kestrel’s having a meltdown.” Mako says with a sigh and I scoff.

“Yeah, I can see that but that doesn’t explain anything.” I snip as I cross my arms, Mako facepalms.

“I was getting to that, Cole.” Mako growls in aggravation. “She’s on the Spectrum.”

“... The internet company?”

“NO!!” The shark bellows out before thumping her hand on her forehead. “The Autism Spectrum. She’s high functioning!”

Autism? That’s a word I haven’t heard in a long time. Last time I heard that word was back when I was in high-school. A classmate of mine fell to pieces in band class after the asshole behind him wouldn’t stop screeching on that damn violin he had. Surprised I didn’t have tinnitus from that asshat alone. The last horrendous squeak had me turning around to deck the fucker when the poor kid just lost it. Threw himself on the ground, covered his ears, started to rock himself to pieces and yelled at the top of his lungs to “shut up” repeatedly. The teacher’s assistant had to help the guy out while the teacher dragged Screechie McFuckface out of the class to give him a verbal lashing.

I remembered asking the assistant what was going on and she told me it had something to do with Autism and then shooed me away so she could focus on getting the kid calmed down… Then I asked my dad about it. 

“That’s what damn brats like you become when parents are too soft on them. 16 years old and throwing fucking tantrums like toddlers. Damn kid should have gotten the belt, not a coddle.”

Needless to say that was the last time I talked to Dad about that kid.

With that word associated with Kestrel, things started to make sense.. Things I thought were normal girl things started to line up with things the rocking kid did and even the things that weren’t normal made some sense. How she would get irritated when things she had placed just so would get moved or just people moving her stuff in general. How she avoided certain textures. How she would sometimes stop and stare at the ceiling or at corners at odd times. Even how she couldn’t quite look me in the eyes, always looking at the large scar on the left side of my face. It all made sense.

And now, her screaming also made sense.

“Everything that happened?” Mako continues. “The monsters, the bugs, the big ass spider, Pangolin getting tagged badly, all of that on top of shouldering the physical and emotional burden that comes with taking the lead? It was like a landslide falling into a reservoir. Yeah, the dam can hold it all back for a little bit, but it starts to crack and leak until-”

“-It fails and breaks.” I finish as my brain processes everything, dots connecting in ways I didn’t know were there.

“Mhm.” Mako hums as she nods. “She did well to last as long as she did, but that constant burden of having to always put on a brave face and look like she’s in control is one of the reasons why she wants nothing to do with leadership at all. It would wreak havoc on her mental-state, that’s what she says anyways.”

Mako continues to explain, but at this point my mind begins to focus on something that’s only growing more and more insistent. The knot in the pit of my stomach that I’ve been trying to ignore. The gnawing of worry. It’s damn-near suffocating, but why?!? I don’t worry about people like this unless I care about them, but why am I caring about the bird?! Why do I care? Why am I giving a rat’s left testicle about the freak-out of someone who hates my guts, Autism or not?? Kestrel doesn’t like me, I don’t like her. We both hate each-other, so why should I give a shit?!

The clicking of the door draws my attention as I see Coyote peek into the room, it’s at that point I notice that the screaming has quieted. He walks inside and stays in there for a little before peeking his head out of the door. Signaling for Mako to come over. She nods and ushers me to follow. I walk over to the door to peek in and…

Oh… Fuck…

Kestrel Morrison, the Fiery Gunsmith… She’s just… Sitting in the middle of the floor, anything metal around her twisted and warped from her powers going haywire. A black, fuzzy-looking blanket wrapped around her form as listless eyes gaze out at a wall. Her appearance looked almost sickly with the blanket around her body. Flushed face, cheeks streaked with drying tears that stained the fluff and her expression blank, almost hollow.

The only other time I’ve seen her look that lifeless was after the Mine Incident and it pulled at my heart just as strong.

I turn my head to see Coyote walking over to a shelf and grabbing two large totes full of colorful items. The sound they make when the totes are gently placed near the silent bird told me what they are, the tell-tale rattle of Legos. The metal man quietly opens the totes to show that yep, they were Legos, one’s full of the tried and true bricks, the other was full of more mechanical looking pieces. Bionicles.

The sight of the toys caused the girl to stir, a small turn of her head, a twitch of her lips upwards and the light in her eyes brightening.

Coyote sits down next to Kestrel and begins to build, the bird following suit with her Bionicles, no words spoken, only small looks and the sound of clicking and clacking as they begin to build. With the bricks Coyote builds a small city, showing his skill in architecture. The Gunsmith takes the robotic parts and snaps them together, creating monsters to re-enact favorite kaiju movies in among the growing buildings.

Seeing Kestrel playing quietly with her mechanical creations soothed the knot that ate at my stomach, but a new feeling takes its place. A feeling that makes my blood start to boil, I resist the urge to frown. What the hell? Where did this come from?! The worry is gone, the screaming has stopped! This is the most wholesome sight I have seen in a long-ass time! Kestrel’s fine and she’s just playing Legos with Coyote! I’ve lost track of how many years have gone by since I’ve seen anything remotely this sweet!

Why in the name of GOD is this pissing me off?!?

#infamous #infamous 2 #cole macgrath #demon of empire city #infamous: no man's land #xeno writes #caper #blast shard caper #Kestrel Morrison #Mako #Dove #brent rowland #Coyote #tw: mental health #tw: severe mental breakdown #tw: corporal punishment mention #tw: ableism mention #tw: anxiety #tw: shitty parents being shitty #If there are any triggers I missed #I will update them if found #The old saying goes #Heavy is the head that wears the crown #And while Kestrel can lead #Her reasons not to are her own #jean rowland #Crow #TW: bugs mention #tw: spider mention