#disproportionate retribution

[misfitprose]

I love how you were SPECIFICALLY TOLD NOT TO SPOIL, and yet I have seen so many spoilers anyway.

I ESPECIALLY love how none of you were told that the cast wants you to kill yourselves and you'll be doxxed if you don't say you're selling off your CR merch like I was. I hate Discord. Apparently, two wrongs only make a right if you've got a signed con photo.

[whumperofworlds]

Think about this for a second:

Disproportionate retribution whump.

Whumpee hurts Whumper in a small way. They could have, as kids, ate their chocolate bar. Or they called Whumper a word/name that hurts Whumper's feelings. Something small that most people would just roll their eyes and shrug at.

Not Whumper. Because of Whumpee's slights towards Whumper, Whumper will punish them for what they had done.

And what better way than to kidnap Whumpee and torture them?

[theexodvs]

Even if Spain was responsible for the destruction of the USS Maine (it wasn't), the Spanish-American War was worse.

Pearl Harbor was bad. Nagasaki and Hiroshima were worse.

The policies Allende would have implemented would have been bad. The US installing Pinochet was worse.

What David Koresh did was bad. What the FBI did in response was worse.

9/11 was bad. The War on Terror is worse.

Many of the things Sadaam did were bad. Bush's lies about WMDs, and the war these lies justified, were worse.

What Hamas did was bad. What the IDF is doing in response is worse.

This isn't hard, people.

[inspectorspacetimerevisited]

How many times has the Inspector threatened disproportionate response upon an enemy

when his/her back has been up against the wall?

[pumpkin-spice-whump]

Don't Be Late

CWs: slave whump, minor whumpee (17), sensory deprivation, restraints, referenced eye whump, whumper POV (at the end), sadistic whumper, disproportionate retribution, claustrophobia, abuse

Masterlist

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

Kensington thanked the cashier, putting the items into the reusable bag. He stepped out of line, breathing in the fresh air.

His favorite time of the week was when he was sent to get groceries on Saturdays. The farmer’s market always set up along main street, and it filled up quickly with free people and slaves getting groceries. The cashiers were usually kind, having to work with slaves often. It made him feel better. Calmer. Master had been so much more aggressive lately, but it seemed that he and Kensington had hit a soft lull in his harsh patterns.

He took out the list again, checking the pictures that Master had kindly printed off for him, since he couldn’t exactly read. Things looked different, now that he could only see out of one eye. His eye had healed up well from the incident a few weeks ago but Master had cut the retina, rendering him permanently blind in his right side. It took longer for things to focus in his vision, and he sometimes tripped over things at home. A couple times Master had snuck up on his blind side just to smack him upside the head.

He hated what had happened to him, and he hated that Master acted as if it was Kensington’s fault. Sure, he deserved a punishment, but Master had been doing things that were permanent with his finger and his eye … Kensington feared what would happen next.

He’d gotten all the groceries he’d been assigned, so he nervously checked the time on the big digital clock on the building down the street. 2:30. Kensington exhaled in relief. Factoring in the 10 minute walk home, he still had plenty of time to get there before 3:00 pm. That was really Master’s only rule regarding Kensington going out, that he had to be home by 3 pm. There were so many rules to follow at home about his chores and privileges. He liked that he had a bit of freedom outside, that he could walk around outside for hours and talk to strangers he’d never see again. He was legally obligated to wear a collar, and the one Master gave him was thick black leather that sometimes dug in and chaffed (and he suspected was actually for a dog), but he didn’t really mind.

He sat on a bench on the sidewalk, taking out the leftover money and counting it, making sure he had it all. It was then that he remembered that the peanut butter was half-off, leaving him with three extra dollars. Kensington thought for a moment, debating his options, before standing up and heading to a small booth on the corner.

The cashier smiled and greeted him, asking what he’d like.

Kensington ordered a cinnamon roll, handing her the three dollars. It wasn’t often Kensington did something for himself, and he did feel a little guilty… but Master would never know. Plus, Master had been feeding him a bit less lately, and the cinnamon roll tasted so good.

The clock now read 2:41, and Kensington didn’t want to cut it too close, so he began to walk home, eating the cinnamon roll as he went. It was a really nice day. The sun warmed his skin, a light breeze ruffled his hair. It made him wish he was let outside more often. He frowned suddenly, Master’s voice in his head. Maybe you would be allowed outside more if you hadn’t snuck out. This is your fault, Kensington.

Yeah. It was.

He crossed the street and then made a right turn to walk down a few blocks -- but the roads were all closed with construction blockades. Construction workers and trucks blocked off roads -- and all roads down that street. Kensington couldn’t get in.

Panic hit him as he realized what that meant. He looked at the big clock -- 2:48. He had to backtrack and take the long way around to Master’s house -- a trip that would now take at least twenty minutes.

Kensington backed away, clutched the bag of groceries, and took off running.

How could he have been so stupid?! That road was totally clear when he’d gotten there only a couple hours ago, but now, with only a little time left to get home, he was going to be late. This had to be the universe punishing him for spending his master’s money on himself. He thought that he’d deserved something nice, but it was clear now that he didn’t get to decide that. Only master did, and he hadn’t given him anything.

Kensington’s side began to ache, and his heart raced in time with his heavy breaths. Tears stung the back of his eyes, fear gripping his heart. Master was going to make him cut off another finger. Or drown him in the bathtub. Or whip him until he couldn’t stand up anymore. Maybe he’d kill him. Ever since he'd bought Kensington he’d only been getting more and more violent and impatient -- there was no telling what punishment he’d come up with for disobeying the only rule he had to follow outside the house.

He rounded onto Master’s street, slowing his steps as he got closer to the house. He worked to calm himself, but his heart only raced faster as he went up the to the door. He took a deep breath, then reached forward with shaking hands to open the door.

But he’d hardly pushed the door open before Master’s hands pulled him inside.

The bag of groceries fell to the ground as Kensington cried out in pain, the grip on his arm too tight. Master threw him down, seething.

“Do you know what time it is?!” he yelled.

Kensington flinched away, hiding his face. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry! I -- I got everything, I just had to take a diff--”

“Do I look like I care that you -- son of a --” Master cut himself off and punched the wall, causing Kensington to curl up even more. Master paused and took a breath, thinking. He suddenly left the room, digging around the junk drawer in the kitchen for a moment before coming back, duct tape in hand. “Hands.”

Kensington obeyed unthinkingly, not wanting to do anything to make him more angry. His wrists were quickly taped together in front of him, and then Master layered tape over each of his hands, forcing them into fists. He looked up in question -- but Master obscured what was left of his vision by layering duct tape around his head. He winced as it pulled his hair, but didn’t dare make a sound.

Not when his master covered his mouth in layers of tape, or his ears with headphones. Not when he picked him up and led him down the hallway before leaning down and taping his ankles together too.

Not until Kensington felt himself get pushed down into the dreaded small, suffocating space, and he felt the rush of air as the door closed in front of him, did he begin to scream.

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

Grayson pushed his slave into the hall closet, then slammed the door shut and locked it. As soon as the lock (that he'd installed specifically for this) twisted shut, Kensington’s muffled screams started. Grayson only shook his head and went to pick up the groceries that had been carelessly thrown on the ground.

The screaming would stop eventually. The kid would either pass out or retreat somewhere into himself, and at the rate he was going he would run out of air soon. He’d be fine for a few hours -- Grayson would get him out later tonight or sometime tomorrow maybe… It would really depend on how fast Kensington could learn his lesson.

Grayson didn’t necessarily like having to punish his slave, but the boy needed to be taught a lesson. He had only one rule to follow regarding going out, and if that rule was not enforced then what was the point of having it? Maybe he was giving him too many freedoms. Kensington was forgetting his place with being allowed to go outside and eat what he wanted and watch TV… Maybe Grayson would suspend all those things, just for a little bit. Just to remind Kensington what he is and where he belongs.

The screaming cut off suddenly, a quiet thump coming from the closet where the boy inevitably passed out and hit his head on the wall. Grayson chuckled, thinking of the way he had to be crying, his breathing sporadic and short…

Okay, maybe he liked it a little bit. But that wasn’t really his problem.

[suspicious-pools-of-blood]

Stranger

(Continued from Reunion.)

I ended up taking this piece in a rather different direction, but my idea for it was originally based on this prompt by @whump-galaxy

CW: pet whump, disproportionate retribution, lady whumper, withholding food as punishment, caged whumpee, mention of branding, manhandling

Once Hakan was recovered enough to be able to stand, Elvan had him taken to a room off of her own chambers.

“You can stay here for now,” she told him, eyeing his bandaged waist. A twinge of guilt almost broke through to her, but not quite. He should’ve told her who he was, and she wouldn’t have gone so far. This was the foolish boy’s own fault.

Still having a long way to go before being well enough to do much else, Hakan had taken to exploring the chambers around his own, and he eventually found himself in front of the only door he hadn’t looked behind yet, presumably Elvan’s room. He pushed it open. It did seem to be a bedroom, with a writing desk, a cushioned seating area around a hearth, and a large bed centered against one wall.

A rustle caught his attention from across the room. He cautiously stepped in and padded across the soft rugs, his bare feet silent as he approached the source of the sound. On the other side of the bed was a steel cage that couldn’t be much more than one pace in each direction. But when Hakan saw what was inside the cage his stomach lurched.

It was a person -- a kid, really, at least a couple years younger than himself. They sat in the cramped cage with their knees pulled to their chest, eyeing him with distrust.

Hakan felt sick. He knew Elvan was ruthless, but this was another level entirely. He slowly stepped towards the cage and knelt down. The kid, almost naked and with a metal collar around their neck, pressed themself into the back corner. He could see bruises and scars littering their body in varying stages of healing. But when they moved their knees away from in front of them, what Hakan saw made his blood turn to ice. It was his family’s tamga, burned deep into the kid’s chest.

“Hey, I’m not going to hurt you, okay?” Hakan assured them. They didn’t move or take their eyes off him.

“What’s your name?”

The kid didn’t respond, just continued staring.

“Do you...talk?”

Silence.

The door to the cage was padlocked. Hakan lifted the lock into his hand.

“I don’t suppose you know where the key is?”

The kid’s eyes widened as they glanced behind Hakan, and they started shaking their head vehemently. They let out a whimper and tried to back up farther.

“Hey, hey!” Hakan quickly glanced behind him; seeing no one there, he turned back to the kid and held up his hands non-threateningly. “It’s okay. Do you -- do you...not want out?”

The kid violently shook their head, causing their blond curls to fall in front of their eyes. But Hakan still noticed them looking behind him again. He turned to follow their gaze and saw a candle sitting on the bedside table that had a ring neatly carved into it every finger-width or so, eight lines in total. He looked from the steady flame to the kid in the cage. They stared intently at the candle. Hakan stood and took a step back, letting out a shaky breath.

“What did she do to you?” He didn’t get a response, but he didn’t expect to.

He was still rooted to the spot, wanting to do something, but not knowing what, when he heard a voice behind him.

“Didn’t expect to find you here,” Elvan said nonchalantly from the open doorway.

He whirled around. She didn’t seem angered by his presence, but Hakan would have been past caring about that.

“What the fuck is this?” he demanded, turning to watch her as she strode into the room. A servant girl followed her in, closing the door behind her and sliding the latch.

“Ah, I see you’ve made Esir’s acquaintance.”

Elvan stopped in the middle of the room and without a word the servant began unbuckling and removing the Regent’s armor. Hakan tried to gather his words as his sister glanced at the kid -- Esir, she had called them -- then at the candle on the bedside table.

“But why are they in a cage?”

“They were disobedient,” she replied matter-of-factly, holding out her arm for the servant to remove her bracer.

“How?” He tried to think of what awful thing the kid must have done to deserve this.

“They did not wait for permission to eat.”

Hakan stared at her at length, waiting for her to say something else. But no, that was it. This kid had been locked in a cage because they ate without Elvan explicitly telling them they were allowed to.

He shook his head imperceptibly. Barely above a whisper, “What is wrong with you?”

Elvan either didn’t hear him or chose to ignore the question, because as soon as the servant removed her leather cuirass, she walked over to the candle on the bedside table that had just reached the next marked line. She extinguished the flame between her thumb and forefinger and pulled off a necklace that had been hidden under her armor. Hakan saw that the pendant was a key. She went to the cage, where Esir had shifted forward onto their knees to watch her eagerly, and removed the padlock.

As soon as the door swung open, the kid crawled out and came to kneel next to where Elvan stood, pressing up against her leg and nestling their cheek against her thigh. She ran her hand through their curls, causing them to close their eyes with a small smile and hum contentedly at the touch. Hakan looked to the servant, but she was engrossed in her task of cleaning the blood off Elvan’s armor. It seemed that he was the only person taking issue with the current situation.

“Khadagan,” Elvan said.

The servant looked up from the pauldron she was polishing.

“I’ll take the midday meal here. And bring enough for two; our guest will be joining us.” She inclined her head towards her brother.

The servant nodded once, set down the armor piece, and scurried off to fetch the food.

“Two? What about...?” Hakan didn’t need to finish the question.

Elvan fixed him with her gaze and carefully enunciated, “Esir doesn’t get to eat today. The cage for twelve hours and then no food for twenty-four hours -- they knew that would be their punishment for disobeying me, and they chose to do so anyway. I think it’s only fair. Do you have a problem with that?”

Yes. Yes, he did have a problem with that. But he didn’t say anything. The corner of Elvan’s mouth twitched up slightly. She looked down at Esir. “Do you?”

“No, Master.” Esir looked up at her sheepishly. “I’m sorry Master, I was just so hungry--”

Elvan raised an eyebrow and the kid immediately stopped talking. Hakan could see their collar rise and fall as they swallowed the rest of their sentence. They dropped their eyes to the ground and quickly added, “It won’t happen again, Master.”

“No, it won’t,” Elvan said crisply. “Because if it does, the consequences will be doubled.” Esir seemed to shrink in on themself slightly at that.

Elvan straightened up and took a deep breath. “Well,” she said with a smile, “I’m glad we’re all in agreement.”

Khadagan returned with a tray of food, which she set down before returning to the maintenance of Elvan’s armor. Elvan sat down, motioning to Hakan to do the same. He reluctantly joined her, though he had lost any appetite he previously had. Esir sat at Elvan’s feet, eyeing the food with longing. Their stomach growled audibly and they laid their head down on Elvan’s lap for her to pet to distract from the sensation of hunger.

Hakan just stared into the dishes laid out before him to avoid making eye contact. When he did glance up, Esir hadn’t shifted from their position, Elvan’s hand still running through their hair, but they were staring at him again, those piercing green eyes focusing through the curtain of curls. Hakan’s gaze kept drifting to the brand on Esir’s chest. The tamga of the House of Aileron, its neat, straight lines denoting the animal bearing the mark as being their family’s property. Hakan had not called himself an Aileron in almost a decade, but it still unsettled him to see their tamga being used to mark another human.

“How painful was it?” Hakan finally asked, not taking his eyes off the burn.

But Esir just continued to stare at him.

Hakan met their gaze. “I know you can talk.”

Elvan offhandedly remarked, “They don’t talk to people who aren’t me.”

Hakan looked up sharply, but before he could say anything, Elvan addressed Esir. “What do you think of my brother?”

The kid finally broke eye contact with Hakan to look up at Elvan. Quietly, “I don’t trust him, Master.”

Elvan laughed, a deep chuckle that resonated in her chest. Looking at Hakan, she asked, “Why not?”

“He wanted to unlock the door before you came back, before twelve hours.”

Elvan seemed to freeze in time. The grin stayed on her face, but all humor fell out of it. The hand playing with Esir’s hair stopped moving and tightened into a fist, causing Esir to wince in pain. Through gritted teeth, “Did he, now?”

Hakan felt transfixed by Elvan’s unblinking gaze, even as she pushed Esir off of her lap and rose from her seat to stalk over to him.

“Elvan,” he started uneasily. But before he could get another word out, she grabbed his right wrist and twisted it painfully behind his back, pinning it against the table to his left, his other arm trapped between him and the table. She leaned against him from behind with her free arm across his upper back, causing him to scream in pain from his shoulder being twisted in the wrong direction.

From over his shoulder, she calmly spoke into his ear. “There’s something you need to understand. You, Hakan, are a criminal. But you, Emir, are family. That is the only reason you have not faced justice. Your captain, however, is not family. Since you refused to give her up, you will stay here until she is found. In the meantime, you have free roam of this palace. But it is not yours, Hakan. Do not make that mistake again. And do not so much as touch what is mine.”

Hakan tried to stay quiet but something resembling a whimper made its way out.

“Do you understand?”

“Y-yes,” he gasped out.

“Good.” She let him go and returned to her seat. He let his arms hang limp and dropped his head to rest his forehead against the smooth surface of the table.

He knew he should be scared for himself, but he was mostly just disappointed in Elvan. It seemed to him that every moment that passed was worse than the previous one, every sentence uttered into the air carrying more disturbing revelations about her. He didn’t want this. He didn’t want to know all this. He wanted his sister back. The girl who defended him against the other boys in the tribe, the one who was kind to the horses, the one who taught him how to use a bow.

Not the monster who stood before him.

He had heard the stories about Elvan’s tyranny, both as a ruler and as a person, but had always kept alive a hope that they weren’t true. That they were exaggerated or even that they were intentionally designed to deter her enemies. He had decided a long time ago that it would be unwise to seek her out, but now that he was here, he wished he had never come to Korsan at all, that she might have lived on in his memories as that girl from Atalar. But now that illusion was shattered. That girl was gone, never to return.

And maybe that was for the best; she would have hated the Regent.

[inspectorspacetimerevisited]

Rod Aquarius had planned to frame his former board of trustees for genocide of all humans on Earth

by forcing the *Britannica* to crash into Earth during ‘Journey of the Blessed’, all because they didn’t approve an extension of his contract as CEO.

[july-19th-club]

xue yang is like “i understand that human morality is complex and ‘good’ and ‘evil’ are just terms we ascribe to actions according to our own perceptions of the world. it’s naive to look at the world in black-and-white extremes” and then in the same sentence go “that means i can murder fifty people and it’s, like, justified”

bro...............those dont match up at all