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The constant rolling disaster that is Overwatch's game development aside, what really perplexes me about how Blizzard is handling the broader franchise is their continual insistence that a canon narrative exists in spite of their equally continual refusal to tell anyone what it is.
Like, okay, the events of the games aren't canon. Fair enough: the games are multiplayer-only, and you can't account for player actions.
Oh, and the animated short films aren't canon either – they're properly understood as in-universe propaganda, not depictions of actual events. That's a little high concept for you guys, but fine.
But surely the comics are canon, right? Well, no; some of the comics (we're not telling you which ones) were canon at one point, but the writing team has decided to go in a different direction.
My dudes, what is left? The weird Source Filmmaker porn? Is that canon? Well, apparently it's at least as canon as anything else!
#gaming#video games#overwatch#blizzard#game development#writing#canon#metatextual wankery#pornography mention#swearing#recording a four-hour video essay interrogating the canonicity of widowmaker's massive hog
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Every day, Whumpee is brought to a room with a bolted chair, a tray of tools, and a mirror.
They're tortured to a brutal degree. Whumpee screams, sobbing through the pain, “Why!? Why are you doing th-this? Just tell me what you w-want!”
Their captors never speak; whumpee's never even heard their voices. Sometimes, they grab their face and force them to look into the mirror bleeding, shaking, barely conscious.
Then the moment ends, and it starts all over again.
On the other side of the glass sits Caretaker, watching while unharmed and being questioned.
Every time they don’t have an answer, whumpee takes the hit.
#whump#whumpee#caretaker#whumper#whump scenario#whump prompts#whump angst#whump writing#torture whump#tortured whumpee#kidnapped whumpee#kidnapped caretaker#leverage whump#interrogation whump#whumpblr#whump prompt
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"Defiant" whumpee that is actually just autistic
Content: Interrogation, Ablism, slapping, threats
"Whumpee? I asked you a question." whumpee stares for 5 seconds, then makes an astute, insulting observation.
"You know, I could've made that written statement I offered an hour ago in half the time, and it would have been much more coherent. I don't think you're very good at strategy, are you?"
Whumper threatening them with their sword but swords are whumpee's special interest so they're just like "that's not how you hold a greatsword, can I please show you, this is physically hurting me"
"Who are you working for?" "Actually my work itself is more interesting, you see in my mind I actually work for the ocean itself. In marine biology, we like to say--" Gets cut off by a slap.
Whumpee blinking and looking at the ground as they try to figure out what they said wrong this time
"Huh? Is that what you're saying, whumpee?" Whumpee just suddenly blanking out and when they're shoved threateningly, they try anyway and it comes out like "uum butcha won't in the seance that--that--that"
whumpee not understanding what is being threatened and too afraid to ask
#autistic whumpee#interrogation whump#threats whump#slapping whump#smart whumpee#angry whumper#survivor fiction#whump prompt#whump writing#defiant whumpee#but not really
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Dead on Main Part 5
Masterpost
“We have to stop for snacks!”
“We are not stopping for snacks.��
They started this conversation two whole minutes ago.
“We have to stop for snacks! It is a quintessential part of the road trip experience. This is our first road trip. Do you really want to deprive your family of the full experience?”
Apparently, the Waynes have never been on a full road trip, usually flying places instead, so Dick is insisting we make this a whole experience. Danny is willing to bet car games will be played at some point.
“It’s a long drive, we’re not stopping unless necessary.”
Danny wonders how long the discussion can last as it reaches the four minute mark.
“ But-”
Tim taps Dick on the shoulder to shut him up. “I have to go to the bathroom.” He deadpans at Bruce.
Bruce looks at him in the rearview mirror, looks back at the road, looks back at Tim. Bruce sighs.
“Everybody is going to the bathroom. We can get some snacks, and then we are not stopping for at least four hours.”
Dick cheers, and Danny chuckles at Tim’s smirk. They’ve only been on the road for forty-five minutes, by all rights no one should have to go to the bathroom yet, but Danny was enjoying the family banter in the car.
The first forty-two minutes of the drive was mostly just everyone settling in, Dick in the front as navigator, though it didn’t seem like Bruce needed directions. Danny had asked and he’d never been to Illinois before, but they’re probably still in familiar territory, he might need a map later. Danny is in the back seat, sitting behind Bruce, Tim is sitting behind Dick. Dick and Tim both brought backpacks with them for the drive, Tim has at least two tablets in his. Danny knows they put a bunch of stuff in the trunk as well, overnight bags and other assorted items, he thinks he saw a pillow. Danny knows somebody went to pack something for him/Jason when they get there, but doesn’t know who. He doesn’t have any entertainment, because he doesn’t have anything except Jason’s phone on him.
They pull into a gas station, Bruce is determined to get the most out of this stop. Bruce pumps the gas as Danny, Dick, and Tim head inside. They do all go to the bathroom, and Bruce comes in to use the restroom as they raid the snack aisles. Tim has three canned coffees in his hands.
“You know if you drink all of those we’ll have to stop again.” Danny points out. “ Plus it’s late, can you not sleep in cars?”
“Can’t sleep at all usually. We’ll see, but I have some stuff to work on anyway.” Tim points to the drink displays. “Anything you’d like?”
Danny knows that they don’t mind paying for him, at this point it has been debated multiple times, and he knows he won’t make the whole trip without any snacks. He grabs a Monster and a Gatorade for the road. They meet Dick in the chip aisle. It looks like he’s already grabbed one of every candy, and he’s well on the way to one of every chip.
“Hey, what do you like Danny?” Danny stares at all the food precariously balanced in his arms.
“If you’re sharing, I think we’re good.”
Dick and Tim laugh.
“We will be sharing most of this. I got all of our favorites, but everyone has something that they’re not willing to share as well. Why don’t you pick out something that’s just for you.”
Tim has grabbed sour gummy worms and is making his way to the checkout counter where Bruce is waiting with a very resigned look on his face. Danny grabs a bag of beef jerky and walks with Dick to the checkout. The look on Bruce’s face when Dick walks up with his arms full is hilarious and Danny actually snorts at Bruce’s ‘I can’t control these children’ apologetic look he gives the cashier as Dick dumps his haul onto the counter.
They pile back into their seats, the seat between Tim and Danny now stuffed with all the snacks. There is not one empty cup holder left in the car. They spend the next short stretch getting resettled, opening up their first snacks and drinks. Tim Pulls out a tablet, but doesn’t start working on anything, too busy texting someone. Danny considers pulling out his phone, remembers it’s not his, and then decides not to. He wouldn’t know the password anyway, maybe he can ask if his brother’s know what it would be.
They’d just about hit the first hour mark on their 12-hour trip when Dick turns around in his chair to face the backseat. Danny sees him slip his phone away.
“Hey, Danny, why don’t you tell us about yourself?” Tim has put his phone down.
“Well, I’m still in highschool. Should graduate soon, hopefully.” Danny starts tapping his fingers on his thighs. He hopes he can graduate. “You know I have a sister in college. I have another sister, she’s a traveler, she doesn’t do school.”
“Do you like school?” Dick prompts.
“It’s okay.” He shrugs. “I’m not great at it. I like learning, but it’s not a great school and there’s only so much learning you can do from inside a locker.”
“You fit in a locker?” Tim asks.
Danny looks at himself, quickly realizing that they have no idea what he looks like as he sees Jason’s bulky frame. He chuckles, rubbing the back of his head with a hand.
“Ha, yeah. I’m more…. Tim to Damian size? I think I’m around your height.” He said in Tims direction. “Maybe an inch or two shorter, but I have no muscle mass, so It’s a bit of a squeeze but I fit well enough. Never get stuck. Tucker got stuck once.”
Dick frowns. “Do a lot of people end up in lockers at your school?”
“Sure. Me, Tucker, Mikey… Maybe Wes if he ever really pisses someone off. But he’s more likely to annoy me than Dash, and I’m not going to shove him in a locker.”
Tim nods sagely, like he understands high school. Dick is frowning like he doesn’t.
“Dash a sports guy?” Tim asks.
Danny nods. “Football quarterback and basketball.”
“Geek or nerd?”
“Personally, nerd probably.” Danny thinks about it. “But there’s not much opportunity to explore engineering and space in high school, so I’m mostly average. Tucker is a big geek, he’s great with computers. Does most of the coding for my more technological fixes when I’m working on my parent’s stuff.”
“You work with your parents a lot?” Dick’s phone chimes, but he ignores it.
“Not with them so much as on their stuff. They create it, they come up with a lot of cool stuff. I reverse-engineered a lot of it once it’s done.”
“You said a lot of it was weapons?” Tim’s phone dings. “Damian says not to ignore his text.”
“Oh!” Dick grabs for his phone.
“Some. They built other stuff as well, but they specialize in weapons and defenses against ghosts.”
Dick immediately turns back to look at him. “Ghosts?”
Danny could hear the doubt in his voice. He sighs. “Yeah, they’re ecto-biologists. Amity has a big ghost problem, that’s why we live there, they wanted to study them.” Danny has a slight shiver, but suppresses it. “They develop a lot of technology using ectoplasm-” Danny shudders for real this time. His squeezes his eyes closed, feeling a deep roiling in his gut that is vaguely nauseating, and a fire in his brain that is making his blood feel like it's burning. This is strange. His brain goes on overdrive, thinking about his parents, the blob ghosts he has had to free from their basement, the threats they make, them shooting at him. Danny recognises the churning in his body as ectoplasm riling up a core. His core.
But he’s not in his body, he shouldn’t have… Jason has died too. Danny opens his eyes and they’re glowing.
#dcxdp#dpxdc#dead on main#soulmate au#fanfiction#my writing#road trip! shenanigans#bruce is suffering#the interrogation begins
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(im only on chapter 5, don't tell me if it follows through or not)
#book one was so LIGHT and HAPPY and EVERYONE LIVES HAPPILY EVER AFTER#and i found it a bit saccharine and wished it had touched more on the actual reality for the characters but i LOVED it#and now im listening to arthur justify his existence and be interrogated and politicised and its genuinely making me uncomfortable#in a good way! its great writing. but also the trans issues etc that its referencing are a little close to home and all#definitely not devouring this one in a couple days. i need to take breaks because its making me feel things#nyxtalks#the house in the cerulean sea#somewhere beyond the sea#cerulean chronicles#tj klune#its so good. its so so good. just listening to arthur be grilled in that hearing is hard#you already know theres going to be no change. there never is. but now its about arthur personally#its good. its good. its just a lot#i guess this is the switch from linus to arthur. its different when it affects you
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Would you like to do this one for Obikin ? 👀
22. “I’ve seen the way you look at me when you think I don’t notice.”
💯
[from this list of prompts]
[2. 'have you lost your damn mind?' (LATEST) - 5. 'are you jealous' - 13. 'kiss me.' - 14. 'hey, i'm with you, okay? always.' - 18. 'this is the stupidest plan you've ever had. of course i'm in.' - 19. 'the paint is supposed to go where?' - 24. 'you're the only one i trust to do this' - 27. 'i'm pregnant' - 28. 'marry me?' - 29. 'i thought you were dead' - 32. 'i think i'm in love with you and i'm terrified' - 37. 'wanna dance?' - 44. 'if you die, i'm gonna kill you' - 41. 'you did all of this for me?' - 46. 'hey, have you seen...? oh']
22. 'I've seen the way you look at me when you think I don't notice.'
"Oh," a very familiar voice says. "I wasn't aware you were attending the banquet tonight."
Anakin stares down at the empty plate before him. The servers are moving around the tables as guests rise from their seats and begin to chatter amongst themselves. Anakin thinks for a moment about trying to catch his master's eye, but Qui-Gon is across the hall in deep conversation with the representative of Alderaan the last time that Anakin checked. And anyway--he's not sure his master would intervene to help him with this problem.
Even though, technically speaking, this problem is half Qui-Gon's problem. Or, like. At least a quarter of it.
Probably.
"Though I suppose I would have known if you'd responded to my comm-message," the voice says in a lilting and crisp Coruscanti accent that Anakin knows is as much of a ruse as the rest of him.
Anakin scowls down at the table and counts to five. He is here to represent the Jedi Order as a senior padawan. He is not here to start a diplomatic incident by stabbing Prince Kenobi in the hand with a shrimp fork.
Or is it Lord Kenobi?
He thinks, yes, technically probably a lord. Or maybe it was a knight? A duke? Anakin can never remember all the words that make up Kenobi's title. He just knows that Kenobi's elder brother married the queen of Stewjon, so he's now the king consort, and Obi-Wan got to claim a bunch of useless titles without even doing any of the hard work.
And so Obi-Wan Kenobi gets to call himself a prince now when once, he'd called himself a padawan.
Once, even, he'd called himself Qui-Gon Jinn's padawan.
Anakin counts to five again and gathers up all the diplomatic words and scripts he's learned over the years. Then, he actually turns and faces Kenobi, and all of those words fly out of his mind.
Kenobi looks unfairly good in the ivory white of his outfit. The top half is mostly lace, which--isn't it cold in space? Isn't it cold on Stewjon?
He's wearing a small, ceremonial circlet atop his auburn hair, and the glinting gold of the crown offsets the white of his robes nicely. He just--
He looks so beautiful, even as he's lounging in the chair next to Anakin, eyes pinned on his face as if he'd wait all night just to hear him speak.
That sort of look is dangerous. Anakin knows that intimately well. That sort of attention...Anakin isn't built to withstand it for long. Not without succumbing to all and any of Kenobi's demands. He's sure he has a backbone, but it just melts when he's around Kenobi.
But not anymore. Anakin's twenty now, and he's going to be Knighted any day. He's above such weakness.
"I'm sixteen years your junior," Anakin bites out, hand becoming a fist in his lap. "Don't you think maybe it's a little inappropriate to be comm-messaging me without my master's approval?"
Despite the venom he tries to weave through what should be a cutting rebuke, Kenobi's eyebrows raise. He doesn't look ashamed nor does he look particularly discouraged. "After all the rest of the inappropriate things we've done together, darling, I'd think you'd overlook a comm-message."
Anakin's scowl grows exponentially, but Kenobi continues without pause, "Though if you'd like me to get your master's retroactive approval for every time we've interacted, I shall of course. Do you think he'd approve of your judicious but creative use of the Force when you used it to hold me up against the Senate Commons wall and kriff me silly before my meeting with the Chancellor, or should I leave that out?"
Anakin can feel his face flushing, and he's quick to stand, throwing his napkin onto his empty plate and striding away. He needs--he needs to be further away from Kenobi. He needs to not look at the man, not hear him. Then, he'll stop wanting him.
He must stop wanting him. It's ruining his life.
So of course Kenobi follows him because there's nothing he loves more than ruining Anakin, apparently. He's not even being subtle about it anymore, grabbing Anakin's wrist in plain view of all and sundry and using his grip to tug him out of the banquet hall and into an unused nook of space.
It's small enough that there's not much room to stand apart, but Kenobi at least makes the good faith attempt to drop Anakin's wrist and step away from him. In the Force, he feels strange. Worried, almost, which is not an emotion that Anakin has ever felt from Kenobi. Kenobi, who crafts an air of not caring about anything or anyone whenever Anakin and his master are near. Kenobi, who's purposefully disrespectful to Master Jinn, acts purposefully slow and air-headed and conceited.
He could have been one of the best of us, Jinn had told him once. It was the only time he'd ever talked about Kenobi. He made different choices, and I suppose he still blames me for them.
"Come now, Anakin, tell me what's wrong," Kenobi says, nudging at him almost clumsily in the Force. The touch startles Anakin. It's been twenty years or so since Obi-Wan left the Order. Or since Master Jinn refused to take him back as his padawan after a mission on a civil-war struck planet and Obi-Wan had had no choice but to leave the Order.
Jocasta Nu told him once: all stories have different endings and beginnings when the teller changes.
He thinks that's especially true when it comes to whatever tension exists between Kenobi and Qui-Gon. Though Anakin wasn't wise enough to keep himself out of it, he's certainly not stupid enough to shove his nose so forcefully into the middle of it.
"I've seen the way you've looked at me tonight when you think I'm not looking," Kenobi is saying, wheedling really, as his Force signature rubs even more insistently up against Anakin's, like a--like a loth cat winding around his ankles, searching for affection it knows it will be offered.
No. Not anymore.
"Enough," Anakin snaps, throwing up his highest shields and pushing away from Obi-Wan.
"Just tell me what I've done, darling," Kenobi says. Pleads, really. A part of Anakin thinks it's a very good look on him, and then hates himself for thinking it. Weak. Kenobi makes him weak. "It's not that you don't want me anymore, or you'd have spent less time gawping at me all night."
The words are cruel in their truthfulness and they hit unerringly at Anakin's shame, and so he's snarling back at him before he can stop himself: "Everyone was gawping at you, you're dressed like a schutta."
Kenobi doesn't look to be offended, which riles Anakin further.
But then--then the man steps closer and rests a hand on his chest. They're of a height now that Anakin's grown another two inches over the summer. Obi-Wan's eyes are right there. His lips, also.
"And yet who have I dragged off into a dark corner to ravish me?" Kenobi asks, voice pitched low and eyes blinking sultry blue at him from beneath his eyelashes.
"Yeah," Anakin bites, "only because even after twenty years you're still trying to get back at my master for throwing you out like trash. But the stupid thing is that he doesn't even think about you anymore."
The words hit the way Anakin had meant them to, but as he watches the way Obi-Wan's eyes shutter, the way his mouth tightens and the way he takes a step back and his hand coming up to hold his elbow, Anakin realizes that he didn't--he didn't realize what it would look like, to hurt Obi-Wan.
He hadn't realized Kenobi could be hurt, that Anakin had that sort of power.
And maybe he doesn't really, maybe this is just Anakin's master hurting Obi-Wan all over again, but it's still Anakin wielding the weapon. Anakin who was trusted enough that Obi-Wan did not see it coming.
"I see," Obi-Wan says, and Anakin can't hide his wince at the tone. He doesn't like that tone. Didn't realize how warmly Obi-Wan spoke to him until the chill set in.
But it's not as if what he said was wrong, Anakin tells himself. And it's not as if Obi-Wan's been fair to him either, using Anakin like that.
And--and sure, maybe when they first started...whatever this is--was--maybe Anakin had wanted to use Kenobi too. After all, he'd been eighteen and charged with guarding some rich senator at an event just like this one. And Padmé Amidala had been there, and Anakin had been so desperate for her attention that he'd thought--maybe if he could make her jealous by talking with Kenobi--
And talking had turned into kissing had turned into bedding, but it hadn't been about Kenobi, not really, not that first time. It'd been about Padmé and how much Anakin had wanted her to notice him, see him for the man he'd become.
And he's sure that Kenobi had bedded him with ulterior motives too--not to make Qui-Gon jealous, of course, which is a thought that Anakin doesn't even like to think about, honestly--but to make Qui-Gon upset. Master Jinn didn't like the slimmest reminders of his old apprentice. To find out that his old apprentice had bedded his new one...no, Master Jinn did not, in fact, appreciate that.
So they'd both had ulterior motives the first time they slept together, and they'd probably had them for a while after too. It was an arrangement. A casual affair.
Before Anakin had gone and developed feelings for Kenobi, of course.
And now it's not fair. None of it's fair, because Anakin's in love with him and Kenobi's still just sleeping with him for the sake of some bruised pride he's been nursing for twenty years and now Anakin's gone and hurt him, genuinely hurt him, and he doesn't feel the way the Chancellor had told him he'd feel when he told the prince where to shove it. He just feels awful, like he'd been hurt too.
"I apologize for wasting your time, Padawan Skywalker," Kenobi is saying when Anakin tunes back into his voice. His face is hidden behind a cool mask of untouchable indifference. His arm is still crossed in defense over his chest. "I was mistaken in the understanding we had between each other, and I have thus overstepped erroneously."
It's not fair, Anakin thinks wildly as Obi-Wan steps away from him like he's going to move out of the alcove altogether. It's not fair that Obi-Wan's apparently so good at the diplomatic script of the Jedi that he can fall back on it at any moment, even after all of these years, and it's Anakin who can apparently only ever use his words to hurt.
So Anakin doesn't use his words. It's instinct, probably the first one he ever learned, to reach out in the Force instead. Nudge their Force signatures closer together and drop his shields so he can feel--truly feel--the heat of Obi-Wan's presence in the Force entangled around his own.
It's easier after that to reach out his hand and catch Kenobi's wrist. Then it's easier than anything else to use that hold to push him up against the wall and bracket him in with his body to keep him there.
Kenobi doesn't fight against his touch, but he doesn't bloom under it either, the way Anakin's gotten used to him doing. He doesn't even look at him, keeps his eyes on the neck of Anakin's Jedi robes.
"No, I'm sorry," Anakin murmurs, squeezing Obi-Wan's captured wrist. "I didn't--I didn't mean that. Not at all."
"If you didn't mean it at all, you wouldn't have said it," Obi-Wan points out, which is...well, correct, technically, but Anakin doesn't like to hear it.
"I was just...someone told me that," Anakin admits. "And I--I mean, I know you and I know--what we have. And what it is. And I'm fine with that, I understand it. I just let it get to me, that maybe you only like me cause you're still out for revenge against my master. But, um."
Obi-Wan is looking at him now, something soft and quizzical and confused coloring his gaze.
"I thought I couldn't stand being nothing but revenge to you," Anakin makes himself say, even though his breath feels caught in his throat. Danger, danger. He is skirting too close to the truth. He is saying too much. But if he doesn't say anything, what then? "But that's not so bad, I guess. It's better than being nothing to you at all."
Which is a lesson that Anakin has just learned and is eager to never experience again. Even if it makes him pathetic and weak and spineless and some prince's playtoy, or whatever else the Chancellor had implied. He'd like to see the Chancellor stand up to Obi-Wan's dignified yet wounded eyes.
"Darling," Obi-Wan says, and for a moment his hand cups Anakin's face. It's just long enough of a touch that Anakin can't help but to lean into it with an exhale. "You've never been nothing to me."
Anakin gives into the urge to kiss him. It's a miracle that Obi-Wan lets him.
It's also nowhere near enough; Anakin is a greedy sort of man. He doesn't want nothing or a little more than nothing from Obi-Wan. He wants everything.
#asks#obikin#had the realization writing this (it is 2k)#that these are just like. fics. not prompt fill drabbles LMAO#obi-wan is going to fuck anakin senseless and then interrogate him on who exactly was telling him bad things about their relationship#like first of all whose business is that#second of all who is anakin trusting that much#third of all what do you mean it's the chancellor of the fucking republic#so im imagining qui-gon just point blank refuses to take obi-wan back after melida/daan#and so obi-wan does actually go back to melida/daan and stays there rebuilding for a bit#and then he runs into some stewjoni people and they're like whoa ho! are you part of the royal family?#and kenobi is like? i don't think so ?#and they're like no way youre the jedi one right wow thats great#and obi-wan is like no no no longer a jedi#and they're like oh! well wanna come to stewjon with us#and obi-wan is like. sure.#and so he goes lol#the only thing is that he really does refuse the title of 'knight' even tho he serves in the kingsguard for a bit#he has a complex about being a jedi knight or no knight at all#thankfully after a decade or so he decides to become a scoundrel instead#(a public figure so to speak)
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do you think garak would ever let julian interrogate him. as like a sex thing. like do you think garak would be down if julian wanted to do a sexy james bond roleplay with garak as the Evil Enemy Spy who gets tied up and questioned and tortured and sucked off.
i think he would do it on the condition that the sex part has to make the whole thing worth it, like this needs to be the best fuck he's getting all year or else what's the point. but he's not actually mad about it, not really, because it is fun to watch julian be sexy and confident, even if he's being confidently wrong about stuff garak is an expert in. it's honestly kinda cute. (which is a word garak has never used before and will never use again, but endearing is not much better.)
the other thing he might do is request a payback scene in which they rp sexy rival doctors and garak gets to be confidently wrong about medicine for half an hour until julian snaps.
#the interrogation concept was hot but the doctors scene is so fucking funny#i really will have to write both of these now. one to get off to and one to cry laughing to#garashir#jimothy watches ds9#jimothy writes#<- the most naively hopeful possible tag
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But just…I feel very strongly about a Whumpee being tortured for information they just don’t have. Whumper is certain they know, they are totally convinced Whumpee is lying through their teeth.
Whumpee wants to scream if they hear that goddamn question one more time—but they have no choice, Whumper will keep asking until Whumpee cracks.
But they’ve cracked a long time ago, they just don’t know.
Whumper tells them over and over—“If you’re honest, we can stop. You can lay down, I’ll even get you a drink. Doesn’t that sound nice?”
But Whumpee just wails and begs them to stop, even as Whumper asks again. They just don’t know.
#whump#whumpee#whump writing#writing#whump thoughts#whump prompt#whumper#military whump#interrogation#interrogation whump
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How you notice that the sinners have become increasingly more flirty with the chief it goes for being kidnapped to use you to make themselves stronger (zoya in the beginning of the main story) to kidnapped to be forced to marry graves (let’s be honest we would all willingly marry that sweetie pie)
I think Aisno is heavily aware of how thirsty the fanbase is and decided to go along with it. I’ve noticed that the flirtation meters have gone off the charts after Zero’s event, as Zero straight up kisses Chief on the lips and it’s spiraled into a trend of many sinners crushing on us 😨
Not like I’m complaining though. I’m in love with many of the sinner women and want to treat them like the Queens they are. Graves you are no different, you may have kidnapped me but I’ll be a good loving and providing wife, don’t worry <3
#⛓️ interrogation complete#although as much as I adore the flirting#I do wish aisno would write more events where sinners interact with each other#those are always fun
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uh. stubborn character who was captured for information, refuses to give anything up. No one can make them say a word other than flippant backtalk. And then the other team, a little frustrated, says something like “fine. Bring them in.”
And another character with a very intimidating vibe shows up. They’re wiping blood off their hands with a deadpan expression. They’re rolling up their sleeves. They’re tying their hair up. Shit is about to go down.
“Heard you needed my help?” A little smirk.
And the team just reluctantly points at the door holding the captive.
Not five minutes later, there’s the sound of strangled screaming reverberating against the concrete.
The team looks at each other. “They do know we want them alive, right?”
A character so good at their job that they’re both the last resort and only answer.
#listen I know that’s not how interrogation works#just.let me have this please#it’s making me giddy#like this kind of whumper HHHHH#one so morally dubious that an organization hesitates to ask for their help#it feels wrong to do so but also. they get the job done#please. killing for this trope.#whump#whump writing#whumpblr#whump prompt#whump community#whump ideas#whump prompts#whump scenario#interrogation#spy whump
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After the rescue, Leader never shows the impact captivity had on them.
They keep composure for the sake of their team. But there are signs.
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"Bring me coffee to my office, please" while they never used to say please before, out of their rank and reputation.
Smoking way more often then before
A tiny little muscle tremble that makes it hard to hold the cutlery. Drops the fork on the floor and instantly picks it up, like nothing happened.
Gives more authority to their assistant to take decisions for them.
During the meeting, they show their assistants some secret hand sign and leave the room. They continue without them.
Used to hate cats/dogs? Now places their hand on the fur of the animal that came and lied down next to them. Well, look at that, isn't that a retired service animal that sensed their distress?
A crying kid sees the first adult they can run to and hugs their waist, crying. Leader instead of instantly ordering to take the kid away, first sighs and awkwardly pets their back. "There, there".
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#whump#whumpee#whumpblr#whump writing#whump scenario#whump interrogation#leader whump#aftermath whump#whump aftermath#leader whumpee#recovery whump#whump recovery
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what if the aliens hear about the torture of humans and then they somehow capture a human and decide to try it too?
While not 100% this I did toy with a similar concept with aliens attempting to interrogate a human operative after capturing them. Priorly they had relied on AI units to interrogate suspects but after a human was able to turn one and use it to help them escape they were forced to train people in interrogation methods with mixed results. Humans are weird: Interrogation gone wrong https://www.tumblr.com/niqhtlord01/682210463135776768/humans-are-weird-interrogation-gone-wrong?source=share
#humans are weird#humans are insane#humans are space oddities#humans are space orcs#scifi#story#writing#original writing#niqhtlord01#interrogation
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🕯️ Culmination
Aboard the Rogue Trader's voidship on official Ordo business, Heinrix van Calox finds himself at the ever-infuriating mercy of ex-pirate smuggler Runa von Valancius. After seemingly endless months of constant bickering, persistent spying, and two very real threats of disposing of the Interrogator through an airlock, Heinrix finally snaps — leading them both into a precarious position from which there is no return. Rating: E Words: 1,242 Chapters: 1/3
#this is complete#it was just way too big to be a one-shot#i'll upload the rest in the next few days#beware: chapter 3 is just gratuitous smut#rogue trader#heinrix van calox#oc: runa von valancius#warhammer 40k#heinrix x von valancius#heinrix x rogue trader#rogue trader fanfiction#rogue trader fic#otp: the interrogator and the consigliere#my writing
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That desperation in the swallowed-back sob as the victim reasserts, "I'm not gonna say anything. I'm not gonna. I'm not. I'm not!"
#whump writing#whump#whump prompt#whump ideas#interrogation whump#why am I always writing interrogations when I don't even like interrogation whump
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“Make them clean their own guns,” Nguyen said, leaning her considerable bulk over Q’s desk. She was just starting her shift. “Or at least wear gloves.”
Q kept plunging a bore brush soaked with cleaning fluid into the barrel of 007’s Walther PPK. His eyes burned with fatigue. “I’ll take it under advisement.”
When he finished, he left with gun oil on his fingers, fingers that had traced over the gun’s every crevice, every curve and angle, every metal and electric anatomical fold.
—
“Why not tell us to clean our own guns?” 006 asked.
“I'm a control freak,” Q said. “Which is also why I know that yours is in the middle of the Atlantic and not in need of cleaning at all.”
This was a lie. 006 had reported the gun lost at sea but had actually smuggled it back into his own flat, where it was currently residing in what Q suspected was his bedroom and knew for certain was the room that also had a backup earwig that Q had personally assembled, a Ka-Bar that Q had archaically sharpened on a whetstone, and one of the decoy keychains and keys (Alaska) that Q kept on his desk so that agents had something harmless to swipe. Probably there were other things that 006 also had in his nest, but they would be things that Q hadn’t touched and could only theorize about.
Q was bad at lying.
006 visibly recognized this, realized that Q was lying in his favor, and couldn’t stop his eyes from widening. “Right,” he said.
Q smiled. Fixed him with a specific knowing look. You don’t ask, I don’t ask. “If it hadn’t sunk into the fathoms below, I would recommend a new hammer spring. Sometimes these things get a bit fussy when you use a gun as a bludgeon. That’s part of why I do in-person maintenance.”
Part of the reason; not the whole reason.
006 muttered a Russian curse. “Thank you, Q.”
“Happy to help.”
---
001 brought his guns back clean, but with a new part in them each time; a replacement firing pin, hammer, ejector rod, bullets.
Q always asked about the replacement. He did it before disassembling the gun, like a magic trick.
001 always grinned like a mischievous schoolboy. “I’ll get you next time,” he would say, wagging a finger at him. Perhaps you’re more fallible than you believe.
“It’s good that you’re optimistic,” Q would reply loftily. No mistakes. I see your gun. I see your tricks. I see you.
—
004 never cleaned her gun and always brought it back. Hers was a semi-automatic of Theseus, parts replaced naturally when there was wear and tear.
“Same as always?” she asked when she picked up her kit.
“Same as always,” Q confirmed.
—
When Q was a child, he asked, “Mum, why do you always shout about your car keys in the morning? And why does Peter never know where his pencils are?”
She frowned into the mirror and finished applying her lipstick. “Sometimes people lose things, dear.”
“How?” Q asked, boggled.
She looked at him with squinched eyes; that meant she was thinking hard. “Well,” she said slowly, “we forget where we put them, or someone puts them somewhere we don’t expect.”
Q squinched his own eyes too. What could she be thinking so hard about?
Mum smiled. “Tell you what, we’ll see if I can give you a demonstration after school, all right?”
Mum didn’t turn on the telly right away after dinner like she usually did. Instead, she sat down next to him on the sofa. “Sweetheart, you know how you asked about when I lose my keys? Does that ever happen to you?” She was trying to be casual about it, but if it were really unimportant then she would have asked during a commercial.
“One time I pretended it did,” he told her, “because I was curious to see what it was like. So one day while you were doing the shopping I put one of my books on top of the telly and stomped around in the other room going ‘Where the hell is my story book?’ in a loud voice like you do with your keys. It was a little fun, but not much.”
“It’s not fun to lose things. Do you know,” she asked, “where your story book is now?”
“Yes, of course,” he said. His story book was immense and well-thumbed, so heavy that it made him grunt whenever he had to lift it, but he had already read through all of it at least four times. It had hard edges and corners that were beginning to bend; chocolate fingerprints littered the pages at the beginning because his hands had still been sticky from birthday cake when he first opened it—he can put his fingers on them now and see how much he’s grown. There’s a stain of pomegranate juice at the beginning of the Persephone story from the pomegranate that his mother had bought before they read it together; a special treat, expensive, but “you have to know what a pomegranate is before you read it,” she’d said, “otherwise you’ll wonder why they’re eating the seeds.”
“And where is it?” his mum asked. She had to know that Q knew, because why wouldn’t he know?
He answered anyway. She ‘humored’ Q a lot, she sometimes told him, so he could humor her this time. “In the vegetable drawer,” he said. “You came home for lunch and moved it there. But that’s a silly place for things that aren’t vegetables, isn’t it?”
His mum closed her eyes and sighed, long and deep the way she did every so often when Q asked too many questions that she couldn’t answer. “You’re right,” she said after a moment. “I’m lucky to have a son who knows that. But most people can’t keep track of their things as well as you can, so let’s not talk about it too much and make them envious, all right?”
That was something he knew how to do. He had already had a few talks about not stirring the other kids up with how smart he was. Plus he could tell from the tightness in her voice, like when she talked to her boss’s boss or Q’s headmaster, that she was nervous. “Sure, Mum,” he said. “I won’t.”
So he never mentioned it again.
He also never lost his keys, or his rucksack, or his socks, or anything else he touched and touched often. He might as well try to lose his own foot.
—
“You know, we can clean our own guns,” 002 said, dropping her pistol onto Q’s desk. “In fact, you’ll find I did.”
Q smiled. “That will make it much quicker when I do it, then.”
002 pursed her lips and blew a pink bubble with her gum, which Q Branch had also issued her. “And where do you want this?” She took the sticky wad out of her mouth and held it out to him. “Gonna chew it for me?”
Q held out a petri dish. “We have better chemical analyzers than my tongue, I’m happy to say. We do want to see about the wear and tear on the product.” He met her eyes. “Reliability is important in our field.”
002’s performatively petulant glare softened. “Maybe I’ll get lucky and next time you’ll make it into plastique instead of a tracker.” One corner of her mouth quirked up.
The sticks of gum were actually one of Q’s least favorite gadgets; like most gum, it was sensitive to heat, so he couldn’t hold it for long without destroying its structural integrity. Couldn’t sense what he usually sensed. But if it put a smile on 002’s face as well as being useful to her, he’d keep issuing it.
—
“A gun and a radio,” Q said. He waved his hand at the corner of his desk where he’d perched the usual equipment case. “Earwig will be distributed at your landing site. Unless things go terribly wrong, the local team should be able to support you for this one.”
Bond took the case. “Anything else?”
Q looked up; he’d been double-checking Bond’s mission brief and wondering how much structural damage the Managua team could make excuses for. “Cufflinks.” He pulled a small box out of his desk drawer and opened it. Inside lay a pair of cufflinks, copies of ones that Bond already owned and wore frequently. “They have little folding knives in them.” He demonstrated how the outside half could be pulled apart to reach the blade in the middle.
The corners of Bond’s eyes were all happy wrinkles. “Am I expected to need tiny knives?”
“No,” Q admitted. “But you brought the Walther back last time and I thought you could use some positive reinforcement. May I?” He removed the old cufflinks and put the new ones on, his fingertips brushing against the warm skin of 007’s wrists as he did. “Good luck in the field, 007,” he said after he closed the last French cuff. “As always, try to bring the equipment back in one piece.”
“As always,” Bond echoed, his eyes meeting Q’s before he left.
The cufflinks weren’t just positive reinforcement, of course. They were a connection; this meant that it was even odds that Bond would destroy them. (Paradoxically, Bond had the best equipment survival rate when that equipment self-destructed; he wore the latest exploding watch for three months and four missions before he had to use it.)
Q didn’t touch the other 00s, who stayed near their equipment, more or less, and who deserved their privacy, deserved not to have their footsteps tracked through the crevices of Q’s brain. In fact, he didn't touch anyone. Not if he could help it.
With Bond, Q made excuses for the tiniest bit of extra assurance, the mental tip-toe of 00 feet sneaking across the globe.
—
“Make Hutchinson do it,” Nguyen said, back again. “He loves guns; he’d be thrilled to do maintenance on company time.”
Q met her eyes. “I take personal responsibility for the equipment of our most senior agents. They deserve that level of consistency.” He changed out the cleaning swatch he was using.
“How consistent will you be if you burn out because you never leave this place? Guns, radios, earpieces--you can delegate. Our work is important, but...”
“I’m almost done,” Q said, implacable.
Nguyen sighed. “Sleep well, Quartermaster.” She showed herself out.
Q dried, oiled, and reassembled the gun. He would make sure to catch up with Doctor Who and a few blockbusters so he could convince Nguyen that he sometimes made an effort to think about things that weren’t work or work-related. They could collaborate on blueprints for a sonic screwdriver. It would be fine.
He would even give the same advice if he were in her position. She couldn’t know that Hutchinson doing as simple a thing as cleaning a Double-Oh’s gun until it shone would be detrimental to the delicate safety net that Q had been building since he had arrived at Six.
Q touched everything his agents went out with, enough that he could still sense 007's old Walther in Macau, 001's discarded ejector rod in Tunis, 004's stack of worn-out gun parts secreted in a tea tin hidden behind a book on his shelf because he liked the thrum of them all together like that, and there was always the risk, at work, that they'd be disposed of.
He never lost things that were truly his. Guns, radios, earwigs, cufflinks.
He hadn’t lost an agent yet either.
#for the whump prompts 'conditioned' and 'interrogated'#this is more the quiet before the whump storm but#Q keeping secrets and isolating himself counts I think#007 fest 2024#station pacific#castillon writes#yet is the key word here
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braius asking everyone except chetney if they’re single is so fucking funny actually since everyone in bells hells except chetney is in a deeply complex situationship with someone else in the party
#the worlds most confusing polycule#you know it’s bad when the person with the most straightforward answer to that question would be essek#tempted to spend the next six weeks writing a fic in which everyone has to confront their feelings bc of braius interrogating them#critical role#critical role spoilers#eli.posts
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