#꒰ long interrogations ꒱ | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

good-beanswrites · 3 months

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My thoughts on how the Milgram mv machine works based on the evidence we have:

(I know there’s been discussion about where exactly the interrogations take place, but wherever they are,) the prisoners are made to sit in a specific chair near the wall that houses the machine.

It’s ordinarily hidden, but the wall panels shift aside to reveal it when the mechanical sounds play in the dramas. As well as the walls moving, the chair transforms to restrain the prisoner and attach whatever it takes to access their brain. The fact that none of the more frightened prisoners try to run or break it makes it seem like they physically cannot. This is why Fuuta sounds so panicked, and why Amane is suddenly helpless in front of Es in their T1 vds.

(My mind conjures very classic sci-fi mad scientist machines with wires, pipes, lights, nodes, needles, etc, but I’d love to hear how other people visualize it.)

In some vds (maybe all? I’d need to check,) you can hear Es take some steps right before their iconic line -- it would make sense that for safety reasons, the power mechanism is placed across the room. Once again it could be anything, but the sound effect makes me think of one of those giant wall-mounted levers you have to pull down.

The voice dramas don’t really provide the type of crime details that an actual interrogation would reveal, and it’s odd that they’re placed before the extraction rather than after Es gets to see the new details. This leads me to believe the machine functions with priming. All Es needs to do is get them talking about their murder, so it’s on their mind.

The video produced is much like a (non-lucid) dream. Even if the prisoners figure out that this is how it works, they can’t control it just by thinking really hard about something else. The murders produce the strongest emotional affect, and that’s what it picks up on. If someone else used the machine, it would default to whatever gave them the strongest emotional reaction in the ~15 minutes beforehand, hence why Es’ video focuses on their daunting task ahead. (The Undercover theory is still a bit loose, though, given the private shots that Es wouldn't have known about). It’s why the videos are usually closely linked to the vd topics/beats. I also like to think that the reason their prisoner colors appear so much is because they’re looking at those colors on their uniform 24/7.

The bell rings to inform Es that it’s the optimal time to use the machine -- the prisoner has been thinking about things for long enough that the video will be about their crime, and if the conversation lasts much longer they’ll start thinking of other things. It’s at a different time for each prisoner because it’s based on the specific conversation. I guess Jackalope is listening in to the interrogation, timing it perfectly. (The only one that kind of messes with this theory is Yonah, because they just keep talking afterwards lol, but it could just show that the interrogation is still in Es’ control.)

Their “Sing your sins” is the final priming nudge to get them to think of their actions as a sin, revealing their guilt.

Once activated, the prisoner enters a sort of trance/sleeping state. It’s very much like REM sleep, with the machine forcibly activating neurons and recording the output. The prisoners have asked Es what they saw, meaning they don’t remember the mvs. I like to think the prisoners do experience the mv in real time, acting as the major version of themself that appears, but can’t remember it afterwards. It’s when you experience a dream, but as soon as you wake up you’re just left with fleeting emotions and memories right on the tip of your tongue.

The video plays immediately upon extraction -- whether on a huge projection or little screen depends on which room it’s in. It simultaneously saves the memory so that Es can rewatch it later (on those old TVs in the jailbreak mix). The machine downloads the song and video together, but requires special parts to retrieve them. The technology is pretty new and fragile, so if one is broken, there might be a delay between when Es can hear the extracted song and see it with the video. (That’s my justification for Kotoko’s delays -- after 9 prisoners the parts wear out, or maybe Mikoto himself overheats it with his complex situation.)

Based on the lack of conversation we get afterwards, I picture Es leaving before the prisoner wakes from the trance. The machine adjusts their brain back to normal before they awaken, restraints freed and able to return to the rest of the prison.

It’s very much like a dream, so it’s not harmful despite the amnesia/head injuries the prisoners have. It does, however, exhaust them. Brain activity alone takes a lot of energy, so forced brain activity with added emotional strain would cause them to feel pretty drained the rest of the day.

#milgram #👍👍#if theres anything contradictory please lmk -- this is how ive been taking the evidence we have so i definitely want to rethink things if #theres a mistake #but also i just wanna hear what people have been picturing 🤔#i mentioned it before but the jailbreak tvs really did shift my brain from sleek tech to clunky old scifi vibes #im also still partial to an idea mentioned a long time ago about the prisoners waking up to catch the last few moments of their mv #and how heartbreaking that can be for some #but i feel like it would make more sense if there was no direct interaction after the extraction since es is overwhelmed with different #reactions (from us) and the prisoners themselves are raw with emotion and fatigue #i like the thought of interrogations occuring in that big courtroom (seen in undercover and now deep cover)#but that room seems way too echo-y for the vds to take place in #and it seems overkill to build every cell with moving panel walls and access to the machine #so the jurys still out on that one #(also hehe im still so excited that my oc fits very nicely into all of this but i kept this post 100% canon compliant)#analysis/thoughts

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sinful-lanterns · 1 month

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WHY IS IT SO HARD TO FIND CHAMELEON SMUT? WHY IS IT SO HARD TO FIND SHALOM SMUT? THEY'RE RED FLAGS I EXPECT THEM TO BE FAMOUS LIKE KAFKA. SO WHY IS IT SO HARD TO FIND SHALOM OR CHAMELEON SMUT?

you don't understand man, I try to look for Chameleon/shalom and they don't appear. It's always just Rahu or Zoya (not that I'm complaining about Zoya). Please just give my hot red flag gfs a chance.

Noted. I have to write more Chameleon and Shalom then >:)

Also I agree anon. Lowkey, I’m kind of bored with Rahu and Zoya smut just because I see them all the time (I still love them but yeah, it gets boring seeing like 20 smuts of them)

I wanna see some spicy Chameleon, Shalom, CABERNET. GIVE MY UNDERRATED GIRLS SOME LOVE. ESPECIALLY KELVIN. I would destroy everything for a Kelvin smut that isn’t my own. People need to pay more attention to the underrated women in this game. Enough about Rahu and Zoya, FEED ME.

#⛓️ interrogation complete #angey is delirious #sorry I’m #I’ve been pent up about these feelings for so long #I feel like I would be ripped apart for saying that I’m tired of rahu and zoya getting all the attention

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befuddled-calico-whump · 3 months

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(remaining panels under the cut for gore)

Test Track AU (T$$ AU Masterlist)

previous /// next (cw: gore)

as suggested by anon!

@theonewithallthefixations , @violets-whumperflies , @whump-me , @pirefyrelight , @soheavyaburden , @snakebites-and-ink , @whumpsday , @kixngiggles , @echo-goes-aaa , @whumpcateyes , @suspicious-whumping-egg , @cryptidwritings , @painsandconfusion , @grizzlie70 , @bloodsweatandpotato , @ladyblogofficialreporter @whumper-soot , @poeticagony

#interrogator being a cheeky bastard #yes they are duct taping the flayed skin back onto him #sahota being maliciously compliant #wonder how long it will be before their overuse of sedating him has an effect :)#whump art #whump comic #t$$ test track au #flaying #gore #blood #tw gore #t$$ sahota #restrained #its a battle of wills at this point

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cpt-winters · 2 months

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Hostage / Kidnapping Whump - Part Three (Part One, Part Two)

Note for tagslist - This half will be the captivity/interrogative part of the mini-series, so please lmk if you would like to be removed or added from the tagslist

Whumpee's unfocused gaze followed the scarlet trail dripping the floor, soaking the cement floor in a scarlet puddle. He didn't even know where the blood was coming from anymore.

"Whumpee?" Leader's familiar voice carried across the small space. "Are you- are you okay?"

Was he? Here they were, stuck with Whumper for going on three weeks now. Three weeks for something that could've been over in three seconds. If only Leader and pulled the damn trigger when he had the chance.

"Come on," Leader tried. "Talk to me."

Whumpee kept his head hung as the doors slid open, Whumper's footsteps growing closer. “I’ll.. tell you what you want.”

"No-" his sergeant cut in. "You can't. Whumpee.. Whumpee, don't."

His eyes didn’t leave the cracks that cut through the cement floor below him as the mercenary's boots stepped into their peripheral. Fingers clasped ahold of his chin, slowly lifting the soldier’s gaze to meet the Whumper's.

“Where is it?”

The man cried out as teeth tore into his palm. Whumpee jerked his head to the side, ripping a fold of skin clear before spitting the bloodied flesh from his lips as the mercenary stumbled back, pushing his hand to his chest.

A lopsided grin wormed its way onto the Whumpee’s face, scarlet dribbling out of it as his shoulders shook, chuckles breaking between his desperate pants. “-Fuck..you..”

He barely registered the fist shooting toward him until it crashed into his face, snapping his neck back before his head fell into the next punch. His vision blurred red as each strike closely followed another, then another and another. A few grunts escaped him, hard knuckles smacking against wet skin as a warm sensation overtook his features.

Leader was saying something - shouting maybe, but what remained a mystery.

Whumper reeled his arm back as a shaky groan left the other before the fist hammered into his chest, cracking something inside. Whumpee keeled over the side of the seat as the restraints would allow, gasping to catch his breath as the other man staggered back, cradling a hand now stained in both his and his captive's blood.

Coughing and spluttering on the blood threatening to clog up his throat, Whumpee made no move to sit back up as the mercenary's rushed footsteps receded toward the door.

"Whumpee? Fuck-"

"Y..you.." he rasped, each breath accompanied by a painful wheeze as his chest tightened. "You should've.. shot him." Whumpee spat out another mouthful of blood, the action doing little to clear the coppery taste from his mouth.

A stiff pause filled the cell.

"I couldn't."

Whumpee lifted his head, squinting at Leader, one eye too swollen to see out of. "And why the hell not?" he choked out. "Now- now we're both gonna die."

"No." Leader shook his head. "We just have to hold on. Our team's coming. They'll find us."

Whumpee's eyes drifted back to the floor.

"Will they?"

Tagslist - @dutifullykrispyland @gala1981 @jinxquickfoot @hostagesituations

#whump #defiant whumpee #team whump #team dynamics #whump snippet #captivity whump #military whump #hostage whump #protective caretaker #male whumpee #multiple whumpees #kidnapping whump #interrogation whump #torture whump #angry whumpee #whump series #this is too long #stoic whumpee

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staycalmandhugaclone · 4 months

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Identity Pt 4

Part (4) of Identity, the next arc of Doc's Misadventures! If you're new, start at the beginning with Touch Starved!

I owe loads of responses and I'm sorry! I got the writing bug and any spare time I've had in front of a computer, I just wanted to write! Quick answer to the most common question, though: Yeah, the implication is that the contact is her dad - that'll be touched on a bit more later, though, and I'll try to actually be a good tumblr person and respond to everyone's lovely comments this week now that I've purged this chapter out!

Huge preemptive warning before even getting to the real warnings! This is one of those particularly dark chapters that may be too intense for some readers. If that's the case, I'm more than happy to make a summary for continuity's sake; just please take caution to read the tags

Warnings: torture, waterboarding, drowning, interrogation, panic, panic attack, flashbacks, self-blame, giving up, longing for death, temporary insanity, arguably inappropriate use of sedation, guilt, profanity, intense whump

WC: 3,231

Fire tore through my nose and throat, body wrenching forward with violent coughs that sent pain shooting down my side, but the movement stopped short, chest held fast to something behind me – no… beneath me? I couldn’t think beyond the desperate need for air, head shaking as though it might rid my eyes and nose of the liquid still dripping down my face as my jaw gaped around choked gasps. The distorted hum of unfamiliar voices resonated nearby, pausing mere seconds before another torrent of icy water crashed over me, robbing me of what pitiful taste of air I’d fought so hard to gain and sending me back down that spiral of panicked suffocation, diaphragm convulsing uselessly beneath that torturous burn of drowning.

Something locked around my jaw, forcing my gaze toward the blurred colors that surely hid an unknown face and drawing a startled grunt of pain from me. I could almost hear words, confident at least that they were male before my attacker released me harshly enough to slam my already throbbing head against whatever lay beneath it. I’d only just realized my wrists were bound behind me when another frigid wave was thrown at me, again leaving me sputtering for breath.

“… a patient man…” That voice growled, mind finally grasping some meager bit of clarity. “I suggest you answer my questions before things get really unpleasant.” Wheezing, I quickly looked about us for some hint as to what was happening, but the dark cell offered no clues toward who he was or where he’d taken me. I think I was tied to a chair leaning back at a precarious angle, but I couldn’t move enough to check before he grabbed me again, fingers burring into my already bruised jaw.

“Eyes on me, yuh damn rat.” He grumbled. Without conscious thought, I realized some part of me expected to find a grizzled, old man covered in scars, eyes full of enraged contempt, but that’s not who stood beside me. He appeared to barely be in his thirties, white shirt marred with sweat and blood and stains I tried not to look too closely at lest I see something far worse. Years of drinking left is stomach distended and his skin blotchy, and what light may once have filled pale, green eyes had long since abandoned him. There was no anger fueling his actions, no obvious cause for him to seek retribution from long held vendetta. This was his job, and he’d simply lost the will to be bothered by the horrors it forced him to do.

“Ah. Guess yuh weren’t really awake yet, were yuh?” He hummed more to himself than to me, “Concussions can be tricky like that…” With a deep sigh, he stepped back, hand dropping absently away from me. “Let’s start over, then.” The way he rubbed his hand over his face, the weariness dragging against his movements, it felt so painfully displaced against the way my heart raced.

“Who ordered the hit?” Lost, I could only stare at him, thoughts far too muddled beneath fear and confusion to fathom a response. “How about we start with something easier?” He muttered, though he still reached for something behind me. I heard the click of a button followed by the rush of water through pipework overhead, and the terror that gripped me was visceral, body shaking too hard to manage even a broken gasp, limbs wrenching against the shackles about my wrists and ankles.

The vague sensation of pain each movement sent tearing through my left side didn’t matter, nor the growing understanding that there had been an explosion; that everyone near the podium must have been caught in the blast, and I couldn’t begin to guess the extent of my own injuries even as I recalled the horrifying images of those far less fortunate. That knowledge, that pain, none of it mattered in the face of where I now lay: trapped before this stranger who owed me no loyalties and sought only to force answers from me that I could never give.

“Where are yuh from?” I wondered if the hint of a slur in his voice was from mere disinterest, or if he’d already begun numbing himself with some bottle stashed amidst the grime-streaked walls. “Not gonna tell me your name, either, I assume?” My jaw ground shut, gaze turning blindly to the dark ceiling above us. He offered no further warning before clicking another button to unleash the next rush of water. I managed to keep most of it from flooding my mouth, but the pressure forced enough up my nose to send me into another fit of strangled coughs.

“You’re with the Republic, yeah? Some kinda spy or something? What’s that fancy swamp planet…” He seemed to think it over for several seconds before remembering. “Naboo! You from Naboo?” Breath shattering between clattering teeth, I kept my attention turned pointedly away from him, clinging to some distant memory that it was better to remain silent during an interrogation; that even shouted curses yielded more easily to breaking than simply never speaking at all, and then I had to come to terms with that simple fact that that’s exactly what this was: an interrogation.

How long had it been since the gala? Was I still on the same planet? Was I on a planet at all? I didn’t want to acknowledge what the answers to those questions might mean; didn’t want to let myself listen for the rumble of engines or hum or air recyclers. It was easier not to know.

A tsk sounded from the man beside me, and I had to fight not to let my expression crumble beneath that fear.

“A’right.” I wanted to slap him for the disinterest in that breathy sigh, anger drawing my lips into a scowl. Again, there was no warning. A dark sack was pulled roughly over my face. I had just enough time to gasp before that water began to pour down. My chest bucked with violent fits, fighting to force some sliver of air through the endless onslaught, but it wouldn’t stop. Why wouldn’t it stop?

The was a moment when that determination first faltered beneath the weight of a panic no amount of logic could hope to supersede; a fleeting breadth of understanding just how alone I was, how little I meant, and how hopeless even the denial that forbade me from listening for engines truly was, because regardless my dreams and nightmares, regardless the sincerity of my intentions or the purpose I once believed drove me through moments when I wanted nothing more than to shatter, the simple reality was that death didn’t care and all I’d done would amount to nothing. There was no promise of one more chance, no reason swaying whether I lived or died, no thought beyond a bone-deep, primal terror, and not a damn thing I could do to change any of it.

Powerless, I laid beneath the flow of soured water, body thrashing uselessly as the man just stood there, watching; waiting. I couldn’t see, couldn’t breathe, the sensation of that sack about my face constricting with each failed gasp overwhelmed every memory I’d ever made, forsook every imagined possibility of a future, dispelled whatever higher knowledge supposedly separated sentience from feral beasts, and I knew he was utterly impartial to all of it as my lungs burned, spine wrenching against restraints that offered no leeway. The weakness that crept up my limbs was a strange thing. I barely noticed it beneath the new form of darkness overtaking me, yet some whisper of frustration balked at how quickly my muscles began to fail, how deafening my heartbeat became as those frantic coughs faded beneath wet gurgles.

Still, there was some futile sense of denial, a disbelief promising me that he wouldn’t actually let me die; that this was merely some sick form of intimidation meant to break me, and I knew exactly how foolish that thought was as the water flooded my lungs.

Agony filled my chest, my head. Fire burned my sinuses and left my throat raw as my torso convulsed in violent coughs even as I strained for breath, begging my own body to grant me some small taste of air. It felt like waking; like I’d been asleep for ages, mind hazed beneath that fog of confusion.

“..ere yuh are… Come on back.” Was that voice familiar? I vaguely thought it shouldn’t be despite how my eyes automatically travelled toward it, unable yet to make out anything beyond a blurred shaped. “Can you tell me your name?” Were his words slurring, or was my hearing merely faltering beneath that disorientating weariness eager to drag me back into unconsciousness? I knew that question, though – it had long since become ingrained into my psyche from years of asking. What’s your name? What’s the date? Where are we, right now? Where…

My lips stumbled around an initial attempt at forming an answer but managed only a choked whimper beneath a hurt that left even strangled gasps crippling. That moment of physical hinderance was enough to grant the very beginnings of a clarity that threatened to break me as some distorted mockery of sensation slowly began to return; glimpses of soiled walls, the scent of putrid water, pain lancing through joints held fast about the hard surface beneath me, through flesh left raw and torn from how violently my body had struggled against restraints still binding my wrists and ankles, looped about my chest and stomach, and the fear that stole through me was like nothing I’d ever known.

In an instant, my heart began to race, the rhythm far too quick to not be a danger in itself, but I could spare no thought toward something so mundane as a heart attack as my every muscle began to convulse, the icy obstruction of adrenaline flooding my veins as logic and rationale faltered in the wake of memories.

“Damn… figured it’d figured take longer ‘en that.” He mumbled, and I froze at the bundle of still dripping cloth hanging from his hand, unable to either tear my gaze away nor stomach the sight of it. “‘ere’s how this works,” he started, utterly unmoved by how my body shied from him as he reached toward me with that cursed fabric. “Ain’t gotta go through any of that again if you don’t want to.” The way my every cell screamed against the feeling of that mask being pulled even halfway down my face left me thrashing anew, numb to any damage sustained from how desperately I found myself flailing against my bounds. “Just gotta answer my questions, an’ it all stops.”

There was no thought; no memory even of how to think as the first drops of water danced atop my forehead. My every muscle tightened, body wrenching away with more force than it could take. Something cracked. I didn’t feel it. My teeth ground together even as my jaw strained to open, to drag as much of that precious, stale air into my lungs as I could.

“Who are yuh working with?” Rage. There was no suffocating torrent of liquid. It was barely a splash, but he knew exactly how little work he needed to do to rend me into that hysterical frenzy that so effortlessly robbed me of all but my most ancient, primal instinct, and I loathed him for how quickly it worked, lips wrenching back into a snarl.

The next gush held none of that earlier restraint. Water filled my mouth and flooded my nose, instantly sending me into ragged, gagging coughs, body jerking in an effort to at least lean onto my side that I might rid my airway of that burning, frigid certainty of drowning.

“Who orchestrated the explosion?” I thought of the mercenary as another surge of water poured over me just long enough to leave me gasping.

How do I free him!

“Who was the target?” I don’t know if there were words in whatever scream I felt tearing through my throat, but he waited mere seconds, unmoved by my choked cries.

Tell me.

“Who placed the bombs?” His emotionless voice reverberated through the darkness, lifting the mask just clear of my lips after each question before dragging it back down in the wake of answers that left him wanting, and I could only flail atop that unyielding surface as he unleashed that frigid water again and again.

I thought of the hatred in my brother’s eyes as my mind flickered at the edges of suffocation.

“Who ordered the hit?”

Did I deserve this?

“Who’s behind the assassination attempt?”

Why didn’t he just kill me?

“Tell me who ordered the hit.”

Kill me.

“Who were you sent to kill?”

Kill me kill me kill me

“Who placed the bombs?”

His earlier boredom was beginning to turn impatient. My body barely managed to struggle anymore. Didn’t matter.

“Who ordered the hit?”

I wanted that darkness. Yearned for it… because anything was better than this endless torture, hours and seconds and years of drowning with no hope of it ever stopping, no sense of time, no sense of self.

“Who-”

The sudden flurry of sounds meant nothing. I’d long since lost any grasp on reality, more certain that I was already dead than I was that those harsh, broken wheezes voiced my own, failing attempts at breath. I don’t know when that sack had been removed nor what muttered pleas tumbled listlessly from numb lips. Flashes of grey and white armor held no meaning, nor did whispered words blaring through speakers, though I remembered some fleeting thought toward the futility of whispering into a mic.

Movement. It didn’t feel like that perceived sense of endlessly falling preceding loss of consciousness… It felt like… running? My eyelids bat against the illusion painted atop the black cloth I was so sure awaited me the instant I managed to truly see. It wasn’t until I tried to move that that madness returned. No restraints held my arms trapped behind me. No unyielding board pressed painfully into my back. I was held only by the arms looped beneath my knees and shoulders, and the instant I understood that, I fought with every hint of strength granted to me by that panic-induced insanity.

I couldn’t hear anything above the chorus of sudden shouts, focus trained solely on freeing myself of that near embrace. I’d barely begun to thrash before feeling the floor rise up to meet me, body instantly kicking out to distance myself from my captor until my heels slid useless atop muck-coated stone, doing nothing more than pressing my back more firmly into the wall behind me.

“…” Muffled words lost beneath the pounding of my heart and the rasp of air catching in too-moist lungs fluttering with hyperventilated breaths stolen between wet coughs. I tried to draw my arms between myself and the figure kneeling before me, but could barely convince my hands to twitch, flared fingers trembling mere inches above the ground.

“…! …ack! Come on, kid; come back!” His voice finally broke through that frenzy, and my eyes locked on his, every muscle freezing beyond that persistent shiver I couldn’t begin to quell. He seemed to hold his breath, waiting to see if I’d break again. My brows drew weakly together, thoughts too frantic to more than stare at him for several seconds.

“…W… Wol…” His shoulders sank at my stammered attempt to call his name.

“Right here, kid.” It was such a strange thing to hear the gentleness in his voice, but that lingering sense of wrong drew me further from the shattered recess of my mind, vaguely noting the four figures posted around us, and I didn’t need to see their helms to know who they were, that they had their weapons trained on the corridors stretching out at either side of me, ready to fire at the faintest hint of a threat. They’d found me… This was real… So, why couldn’t I free myself of that relentless fear, that deafening need to run, to find some dark corner and hide?

“I need to get you out of here.” He explained, words purposefully slowed in a way I should have taken offense to. In that moment, however, that slowness was the only reason I could make sense of them. Get out… They were going to get me out of here… but my body revolted from the very thought of letting him touch me again, of letting anyone touch…

“You can hold on to me, or I can carry you, but we can’t stay here.” I wanted to shout at that familiar, cold logic, the silent apology nestled in his hushed statement, frustration spiking at the weakness preventing my hands from clasping over my ears regardless how useless I knew the gesture to be.

“Hey – hey, look at me.” The guilt tainting his command made me want to scream even as my eyes automatically flicked back to his, some distant thought finally realizing he’d forgone protocol in favor of letting me see his face, helmet abandoned on the ground beside him. My name left his lips in a whisper, head ducking slightly to draw my unsteady gaze back toward him.

“We need to move.” My jaw tensed with curses and pleas and senseless shouts, despite my inability to hold enough breath to manage more than a stammered whimper, chest still seizing with half coughs from the phantom sensation of flooded lungs.

“Do you want me to sedate you?” He barely murmured the quiet offer, head ducking toward me. Did I… I thought of that blissful emptiness… that escape from this fear, from the pain of wounds I couldn’t remember sustaining, from the anger wrought by my own inability to force some semblance of control over myself, and, with a sob, I nodded. His expression darkened, but he said nothing as he returned the gesture.

“Close your eyes.” He whispered, and the tremble seizing through me redoubled, terror spiking at the threat of subjecting myself to that darkness. “You’re going to be alright, kid… Just close your eyes.” He promised… I’d never doubted him before… not like this… but how could I possibly believe him? I knew he could see how frightened I was, how lost I was in that fear; I knew he was counting every second wasted trying to guide me through this, how each of those seconds redoubled the risk of being caught, but he said nothing as I struggled to find myself through that panic, and he wasted no time when I finally managed to force my eyes shut.

The instant I felt the prick of needles, my body balked, managing to jump mere inches away, but his touch was already there, hand delicately catching my cheek as those fleeting reserves of strength abandoned me, muscles quickly going limp against him.

“Alright… I’ve got you… I’ve got you.” A final shiver darted down my spine as the warmth of his breath danced across my scalp, barely noting how carefully he eased me back into his arms, but the distant familiarity of finding myself nestled against him, of tasting his scent in my every stammered gasp even as I felt my mind begin to slip away was a comfort I clung to until even that faded.

Next Chapter

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thebucketpail · 11 months

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When You Accidentally Kill a Clown pt 8

Pt.1 pt.7 Ao3

By the time the dark knight slipped through Danny's window, they had just finished some late night Ramen (hey if they were going to face off against the Batman then they'd need something more than coffee cake from three hours ago in their stomach). It was clear that the Bat in question was doing his best at being sneaky, and to be honest, if Danny hadn't been expecting him: they would have been caught off guard in the least. However, as it were, Batman slipped silently into a well lit dorm and was met with a completely unimpressed college student.

Danny didn't even offer the man a second glance. It wasn't until the Bat cleared his throat to garner the boy's attention, that they finally pulled their gaze away from the Webb telescope livestream they had been watching.

"One second, this part's really cool," They said, turning the screen so the Bat could watch as a new image was displayed. Danny smirked a little at the man's quizzical grunt before they returned their full attention back the the livestream's host.

Danny paused the video just before the segment break and turned to Batman who had seemingly taken a much more relaxed stance as he watched the video with rapt attention.

"Told you it was cool," Danny smirked as they shut the laptop, shifting their position to face the Bat more directly whole maintaining their laid back -non threatening- demeanor. "Now what did you want to see me about? I assume it's about that clown I killed?"

"Hn," came the reply, "So it is true then? You killed the Joker?"

Danny narrowed their eyes. They had to play this right, the Batman was known to be quick to anger, afterall. And it wasn't like Danny hadn't anticipated and thought through this whole conversation on multiple occasions, it was just that they weren't best known for their planning, or tact, or thinking in general. -and maybe the bat was bit more intimidating in person-

"Yes," They found themself saying, drawing out the sounds to make more of a question than a statement. Then more surely, "Yes, I did cause the event that led to the clown's death."

___________

Bruce looked down at the kid I'm front of him, entirely aware of his status as a potential threat, yet also rather intrigued.

He was what his children tended to refer to as "adoption bait" The jet black hair, blue eyes, and ability to stare down Batman without even blinking, all set off Bruce's father instincts. Hell, instead of panicking that the Batman was in his dorm room, the boy had instead turned his laptop to continue watching a NASA livestream. All this coupled with the trauma from killing a person practically had the boy one leg into the robin costume already.

But first, Bruce had to assess the kid's threat level. It was clear from the footage he had managed to bribe out of Barbara, that the boy was a metahuman, a rather strong one at that if simply having been caught off guard managed to kill one of the city's most notorious killers. Of course, that was all the more reason to take him on as a ward. Better watched, better protected, -better controlled-.

Bruce was pulled from these thoughts as the boy closed the laptop, the video most likely having ended, and said something.

"Hn," Bruce responded, and began his questioning.

The boy admitted to killing the Joker, technically. But Bruce also took stock of the way he had worded his response, dancing around the subject as if to not outright say it.

"My sources say that you are a metahuman. What are your abilities?"

The boy scoffed, clearly building a facade of indifference to hide his anxiety. "Oh you know, plasma beams, density shifting, the works."

"Hn." The boy was hiding something. His power roster likely lengthier than he let on. The question was: whether Bruce should push or not. "Anything else?"

The boy made a show of thinking, exaggerating his movements as he rubbed at his chin. "Uuuuuuhhhhhhhh, not really no. I mean, I glow in the dark but that's not really something I like to advertise y'know? Like 'come see the human glowstick' amiright?"

That almost illicited a chuckle from the Drak Knight. *Almost*.

Last question, he thought before saying, "Are you a threat to this city?" Here Bruce wasn't really paying attention to the verbal answer as anyone one their right mind would answer to the the negative, but rather he was watching the boy's body language for a hint of darker intentions.

At the question the boy's facade dropped for a moment as if he had not been expecting that question, but it returned almost instantly with a grin akin to Jason's when he was younger. The thought made Bruce's stomach twist.

"No sir mister Batman sir!" The boy responded with a mock salute. "I promise that was a one-off thing and you won't have to worry about me any longer. Scouts honor."

Bruce raised an eyebrow, "You were a Scout?" That hadn't come up In the files.

"Nope," the boy said, emphasizing the p sound as he leaned against the wall. His face grew darker though, more serious, likely due to the frown on Bruce's own face.

"Genuine though, I promise I'm not here to cause trouble. I know you're still gonna keep tabs on me, or have Hood keep stalking me or whatever," Bruce narrowed his eyes, *Hood was stalking the boy?* "and I know you probably want me to join your furry brigade, but I'm really not interested in the vigilante stuff. Honestly I just want to get my degree and I'll keep my head down until then, promise."

Bruce didn't know how to respond to that, so he simply grunted to show he understood before heading back toward the window and slipping out.

He really hoped he wasn't making a mistake by trusting this kid.

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

Danny sighed as they flopped back down on their bed. *Ancients that was probably more stressful than it needed to be*. They laid there a moment longer, letting their nerves settle before they finally reopened their laptop. With any luck they could finish the vod before the adrenaline wore out and they crashed.

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

Wop wop

Danny and Jason's Date is next! I wonder if all will go as planned. We will see! Stay tuned

I love reading ya'll's thoughts so don't forget to comment/reblog

Joyous evening for all

Pt.9

#danny phantom #dp x dc #danny fenton #dc #dp x dc crossover #batman #when you accidentally kill a clown #bucket writes things #fic #long post #batman interrogation time #bruce cannot avoid the adoption bait #adoption bait Danny fenton

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