#tw: interrogation

[cienie-isengardu]

JF:OS/My RepCom Musing: Vau, the spec of interrogation

“You're the best in your field—the best soldiers, tacticians, sappers, communicators, survival experts. I picked you personally because I want you to train the best commandos in the galaxy.”

- Jango Fett, recruiting his handpicked commando instructors, the Cuy'vul Dar - in the Mandalorian tongue, "those who no longer exist" [Hard Contact]

Jango Fett selected and recruited 100 specialists in the vast range of skills needed to train clone commandos. Each person had their own batch to train (either 100 or 104 trainees) and although Mandalorian veterans like Kal and Walon in general are good at more than one field of expertise, it seems each was chosen for different reasons.

Kal Skirata was described by Niner as the “Best covert ops and sabotage man ever." [Hard Contact].

When Kal advised who to hire for training cover ops, he chose Wad'e Tay'haai and Mij Gilamar - though he mentioned they were the most tolerant instructors to work for Jedi General Zey, they needed to have the proper skills. 

"Zey's talking about bringing Rav Bralor back to train more troopers in commando skills-if he can find her. You stayed in touch with your Cuy'val Dar colleagues, didn't you?"

    "Some." Skirata followed Jusik to the hatch, not wanting to be seen to rush him, but they had a lot to do now. "If Zey thinks I'm trouble, he'll have a nasty shock if he gets Rav back. You know what Mando females are like."

    "I don't, actually, but I can guess ..."

    "What training does he want done?"

    "Covert ops."

    "Try Wad'e Tay'haai or Mij Gilamar, then. They'd be a bit more tolerant of the osik from the top. Not much, but at least Zey won't get a vibroblade in a sensitive spot if he uses the wrong fork at dinner."

Walon Vau was introduced into the story as interrogation specialist - for this skill alone Kal was willing to work with him during mission on Triple Zero despite the great animosity what speaks a lot about Vau’s reputation. Franky, Omega were perfectly aware that the suspect they captured were meant to be delivered to sergeant Vau, so I guess his field of expertise wasn’t any secret among commandos:

    Niner turned his head slightly to Orjul. "You can talk to us. Or you can wait until Sergeant Vau sits you down with a nice cup of caf and asks you to tell him your life story. He's a good listener. And you'll really want to talk to him."

    There was no response. Apart from the brief curses and grunts of pain they'd emitted when Omega stormed the cockpit and subdued them-Fi loved military understatement-none of the suspects had said a single word, not even name, rank, or serial number. And, of course, the two who were dry-frozen somewhere in the vacuum of space weren't going to provide many answers of their own free will, either.

    "Look, shall I try to get some information out of these gentlemen just in case the taxi doesn't get here before our air runs out?" Fi asked.

    "We're not trained to interrogate prisoners," said Niner.

    Fi maneuvered himself above the human. He didn't know what Nikto felt or feared, and suspected that it wasn't much, but he knew plenty about his own species' vulnerabilities. "I could improvise."

    "No, you'll bounce off the bulkheads, expend too much oxygen, and then we'll have to slot them to preserve the supply for us. It can wait. Vau isn't going anywhere, and neither are they."

or

War was nothing personal. But somehow Fi felt differently about people who didn't carry a rifle and who didn't kill in honest combat. They were an invisible enemy. Fierfek, even droids stood up where you could see them.

    He put it out of his mind with a conscious effort, and not only because Ordo had insisted on undamaged prisoners. He knew how to kill, and he knew how to resist pain, but he wasn't sure how to inflict it deliberately.

    But he was pretty sure that Vau did. He'd leave the job to him.

Like Fi noted, knowing how to kill is not the same as knowing how to inflict pain deliberately. Also, interrogation itself is not an easy task and demands patience, some emotional detachment and specific knowledge about anatomy, psychology and how to not kill a suspect in the process.

"I'm fine, Ord'ika. Vau must be losing his touch, then. Nothing useful from our friends?"

    "There might be nothing to get out of them, of course. But it's not a quick process, interrogating experienced suspects without killing them."

We know also that Kal trained his boys himself how to sustain interrogation and he hated it wholeheartedly. This is not any bash toward Skirata, just a mere observation that though Kal is experienced mercenary he is not psychologically and emotionally cut out for this kind of job

In Jango Fett: Open Seasons issue #2, Silas told Dooku that “Mandalorians anticipate everything, ever torture. We’re trained to endure it”.

And so... it seems right to assume Vau learned his infamous interrogation skills between Mandalorians and if the assumption is right, was he responsible for training other Mandalorians (like Silas or maybe even young Jango?) to endure torture?

Because if yes, then this could be another layer of complicated relationship between Vau (the interrogation spec) and Skirata (covert ops and sabotage spec). As in, Vau and other specialists like him were the one training members of True Mandalorians to handle interrogation, a terrific and traumatic experience. I rather doubt Kal was even tested personally by Walon in that regard but the mere association with experienced abuse to Vau’s specific expertise & needed for the job emotional detachment could set him negatively toward Vau way before they were stuck together on Kamino.

#star wars #kal skirata #walon vau #mandalorians #true mandalorians #My RepCom musing #republic commando #jango fett: open seasons #tw: violence #tw: interrogation

[dotcolorful]

Day 1 - A LITTLE OUT OF THE ORDINARY

Adverse effects | Unconventional restraints | “This wasn't supposed to happen”

Read it on AO3 here!

The boy hung limp in his restraints, blood seeping from a deep cut on his forehead. It wasn’t his only wound - numerous gashes and lacerations marred his soft features, the waxen skin that covered his shaking arms and legs. There were even more wounds hidden under his prison-issued tunic - though hidden was hardly the appropriate word. The blood staining the beige fabric was enough to betray their presence. The boy looked pale, cold; and still, sweat wept streaks down his temples.

Imperial interrogation was never pretty.

It’s not what Vader wanted for his son. It was what the boy had chosen for himself when he’d joined the Rebellion, when he’d refused his father on Bespin and continued fighting him every step of the way. It was what he’d chosen when he fought the troopers who captured him on Ryloth - freeing prisoners, might he add, which seemed almost ironic in light of later events - and what he’d chosen when he refused to answer the questions of those who first interrogated him, refused to betray the location of the Rebel base.

It was only after the local Imperial garrison realized who exactly they had on their hands that they summoned the Dark Lord.

At first, Vader felt satisfaction when he learned that the boy had been captured. Finally, his son could avoid his fate no longer. But then, anger struck as he was told that the boy had resisted interrogation, that despite ruthless questioning, he still refused to give up.

He’d hoped his son had learned his lesson of Bespin, but it seemed the boy still did not know when to stop.

And now, as he hung suspended before the Dark Lord, his foolishness had not yet been eradicated.

“I grow tired of this, my son,” he rumbled, approaching Luke’s shaking form. The boy averted his gaze, refusing to look at his father; fresh blood seeped from the cuts on his face at the movement.

“...s-so do I,” his son whispered.

Still defiant. Still refusing to back down.

“It is pointless to resist, Luke. We both know I will get what I want.”

A harsh cough, a tight grimace of pain. “I w-won’t… make i-it easier… for y-you.”

“Then you are making this harder for no one but yourself.”

The boy’s eyes flashed to him, bloodshot and in pain, and a hint of reproach entered his gaze.

“...it is a-already h-hard enough as it i-is,” he forced out. “M-ma..a” he paused, struggling to force the words past his swollen lips. “M-my own f-father is… d-doing this… to m-me.”

If the words caused Vader to feel a pang of guilt, he didn’t show it. “No, boy,” he said instead. “ You are doing this to yourself. Cooperate, and this will be over.”

A humorless smile appeared on Luke’s face. “Y-you know I c-cannot do t-that…” he winced at the end of the word, likely trying to fight another wave of pain passing through his injured body.

The boy was not going to cooperate. Vader knew that.

Which really left him with only one choice.

“Guard,” he called out to the interrogation officer now standing quietly by the door of the cell. “Bring out an IT-O droid.”

Immediately, the boy’s eyes flashed in horror, and a silent pleading resounded through the Force. His whole body tensed as a spherical droid floated into the cell, its terror-striking arms and instruments moving ominously towards him.

“N-no-” he whispered, petrified. “No, please, I--”

Vader didn’t want this. But it had to be done.

“IT-O,” he ordered, mercilessly, though something sick churned in his stomach at the very thought of what he was about to do. “Administer OV600.”

The boy’s eyes turned wild, gaze feral, full of primal fear. His lips moved to say something, anything that would stop this, but the words never made it past his throat. He watched, frozen, as the IT-O floated forward, red sensors already scanning for the most vulnerable spots.

Despite the restraints holding him tight, the boy swung his body to the side in a vain attempt to avoid the fast-approaching droid. But it was hopeless, and the boy knew it; there was no escape once an IT-O had been ordered to administer the drug. Here, in the confined area of the cell, he’d be powerless against the spherical droid even without the restraints. There was nowhere to hide, nowhere to fight.

His son would do well to accept what he could not avoid.

But Luke, it seemed, had no such intentions. He kept struggling and trashing against his bonds; it accomplished him nothing except making an open show of defiance.

…which, Vader suspected, was exactly what his son had wanted to accomplish. With their freedom and comfort taken away, most prisoners turned to the only thing they could preserve: their dignity. Luke was no different.

Still, Vader found himself impressed at his son’s determination and courage - or, rather, would be impressed if the boy’s behavior wasn’t making the task at hand more difficult. His son was simply delaying the inevitable; and the sooner they both got over with it, the better.

Because there was nothing pleasurable about interrogating his own son.

But it was his duty, and it had to be done.

“Quit struggling,” he growled when Luke did not cease wrestling against his bonds. His son froze for a moment - out of sheer instinct rather than anything else - but that was all the IT-O droid needed. Motors whirring, it extended its skeletal arm towards the boy's neck and injected him with the drug.

It worked immediately. Vader watched, impassively, as the boy went limp in an instant, his breathing slowing, his head falling forward as he lost all control of his muscles. To an untrained eye, the reaction might have looked like unconsciousness. Vader was no stranger to interrogation techniques, though; he knew very well that the sudden loss of strength and motor skills was a typical side effect of OV600.

It wouldn’t last long; it usually took prisoners no more than a minute to rally back up, their strength and awareness returning to them, but mind now pressured to say nothing but the truth. The drug reacted with the captive’s physical body; it sensed when the prisoner was lying and would cause their skin to break out in a painful rash when they did. It was a sophisticated interrogation technique - one that gave the captive an illusion of a choice, a deluded sense that if they only said the truth, then they could avoid pain.

Vader just hoped the boy would make the right choice, for both his father’s sake and his own.

But so far, the boy was not making any choice at all. Was not doing anything , in fact, still hanging from the restraints limply and barely breathing.

It’s been well over a minute. The initial side effects should have already passed.

“Luke,” he prompted, stepping towards his son, trying to break him out of his stupor. “Look at me.”

But there was no movement, no indication of any awareness at all.

“Luke,” he repeated, a little more forcefully. “Open your eyes. Look at me.”

Again, there was no answer.

Irritation surged through Vader, anger stirred within. The boy was defying him; that was all there was to it. It had to be. The drug was supposed to increase the clarity of mind to ensure that the prisoners’ confessions and memories were not faulty. There was no reason for the boy to present as weak and disoriented as he was. No reason at all, unless…

Unless he was pretending.

Unless he believed that if he appeared weak, then perhaps he would receive mercy.

His son was taking him for a fool.

He reached for Luke’s chin angrily, grasping it in a painful grip. “Enough with the theatrics, boy,” he growled, tightening his hold. “You are naive if you believe this behavior could fool me.”

No response.

He squeezed the bruised cheeks harder, raised the boy’s head so that it was at one level with his father’s.

Immediately, realization struck him.

His son’s face was swollen.

His cheeks, his eyelids -- his entire flesh looked as if it had been stung by thousands of bees. His first thought was that it was the side effect of the drug - the painful rash that would break on the victim's body after telling a lie - but that was impossible. His son hadn’t had the chance to lie yet, after all - Vader hadn’t asked him any questions. Then what…?

He broke out of his thoughts as he suddenly saw Luke’s eyes finally open. He watched as the  swollen eyelids parted, revealing the vibrant blue eyes… except they weren’t vibrant. Far from it.

They were pale .

They were dull.

And worst of all, they looked drunk.

… There wasn’t really a better way to describe it. Luke’s eyes held the look of the shyster men at the bars on Coruscant that Anakin had visited as a teenager.

Take a deathstick, eh? They’re good, eh?

It was the semi-conscious stare of someone who’s had one too many.

Something quiet whispered at the back of Vader’s mind. A dark threat, a warning that something terrible was about to happen.

Leather creaked as his mechanical hand tightened even more around the boy’s chin.

“Luke,” he addressed the boy again, hoping that actual questioning could rouse him. “Focus. Tell me where the Rebel base is.”

But his son kept staring at him, and again, Vader felt an uneasy pang stab at his heart. This… this wasn’t the dreamy look of someone trapped in an alcoholic state. This wasn’t the blissful gaze of someone who had just taken spice. No, this was… this was something different, something much, much worse, for the boy’s eyes looked…

Disoriented. Agonized. Afraid.

Haunted.

“...father…” the boy gasped out suddenly, finally finding his focus, his voice. “...I can’t…”

He paused, losing his voice again. Vader’s fingers tightened.

“Stop groveling. Tell me where the base is.”

Swollen lips moved again and Vader braced himself, waiting for another sound, another attempt at mercy leaving his son’s lips…

…only to see foamy saliva trail out of Luke’s mouth and dribble down his chin instead. In an instant, he let go of the boy’s face, but it was too late; the saliva had already stained his gloves, continuing to fall from his mouth even as Vader stepped away.

“I’m sorry--” came a quiet whisper, filled with what sounded like embarrassment and guilt. “I didn’t…mean to--”

His voice broke off as a hacking cough burned its way up his throat. He wheezed, trying to take in a breath, choked as he failed to do so. Even after the coughing stopped, his breathing still sounded wheezy, labored, and a terrible thought occurred to Vader.

His son couldn’t breathe.

By the Force, the boy was choking.

“...my Lord?” Came the sudden unsure question of the guard. “Should I… should I summon a medic?”

Yes, Vader wanted to say. It was reasonable. The swelling, the difficulty breathing-- it wasn’t good. It was bad. Something was happening.

“No,” was what he said instead. He didn’t really know why, didn’t really know why he refused to do so. Was it his fear that the boy was fooling him? His need to exercise his superiority, his domination?

A way to prove to himself that he cared nothing about the boy?

Except the boy kept choking.

His son couldn’t breathe.

“My Lord,” the officer spoke again. “Perhaps--”

“Quiet,” Vader interrupted him before the man could finish his sentence. He could sense the unease the guard felt, his pity towards the struggling boy. Loyal or not, many Imperials often opposed interrogation - though, naturally, they would never admit to it out loud. Still, he often felt their reluctance to torture; there was something about maiming a defenseless prisoner that always bothered them.

Perhaps Vader could have related to that if he still had a heart.

Still, more choking sounds. More desperate gasps. More jerks of the bruised body as the boy tried to get in a breath.

This was wrong.

“My lord--”

Something was falling down the boy’s cheeks, he realized, something that looked like tears--

“My lord, I think--”

The boy’s presence was radiating with so much pain--

“My lord, he’s going to--”

PLEASE!

FATHER, PLEASE!

The boy’s scream pierced the Force like a spear, embedding itself precisely in Vader’s heart. He stumbled from the sheer force of the agony that it carried, the sole sense of begging that it was filled with.

Can’t-- Can’t breathe--

The drug--

The Force was shrieking with pain, and Vader was sure his son would be crying as well had he had any air in his lungs.

Please, his son pleaded uselessly in the Force.

Can’t breathe!

Make it stop!

Father, c-can’t breathe…

And suddenly, Vader’s mind caught up to what he should have realized at the very beginning.

His son wasn’t pretending.

It was anaphylaxis.

His son was having--

“He’s having an allergic reaction to the drug,” he said, more to himself than to the guard behind him.

Another mental scream pierced the Force.

And that was all Vader needed to finally get to action.

“Summon a medic!” He ordered the guard. ‘ Now! ”

The next moments had been frantic; later, Vader would find it difficult to remember exactly what had happened.

The officer had rushed out of the cell; this, Vader remembered, still recalled the irregular tapping of his shoes against the polished floor. The officer had already called out through his comm, trying to reach the medics; Vader hadn’t heard that, though. His entire focus was on his son, on his now-blue lips, on the wheezing breaths leaving his throat.

His entire world was narrowed to his frail form, still suspended from his restraints, jerking in a desperate attempt to free himself. His quiet whines of distress escaping his lips whenever he could get a breath in.

Help him!

He didn’t wait long. With a swish of his hand, he opened the bonds that kept his son hanging, catching his body as the boy toppled forward.

“Luke,” he called out uselessly, not knowing what else to do. There was nothing words could do to calm his son, and he wasn’t sure the boy could hear him anyway. His eyes were blown wide, but they were blank, sightless, staring somewhere far past Vader’s form. One of his hands jerked slightly, now free of its restraints, but fell back down before the boy could finish the movement.

“...s-stings…” he wheezed out as if wanting to explain what he’d been trying to do. Once again, Vader’s eyes trailed to the red, swollen skin, the painful rash covering Luke’s body.

His skin seemed lit on fire, his breathing seemed suffocating, and Vader wondered what it felt like to be burning and drowning at the same time.

He’d been through the former before, and it wasn’t something he wished upon his son.

Another hacking cough tore through the boy’s throat, followed by a strangled moan. Whether it was one of pain or fear, Vader did not know.

Most likely, both.

“...c-can’t-- breathe…” Luke forced out, each syllable interrupted by a wheezing inhale. Even Vader’s own mechanical breathing, otherwise always audible, seemed to disappear, deafened by his son’s frantic gasps for air.

It had felt like that in that fire, too, in the burning depths of lava…

Another cough, and suddenly, Vader was broken out of his stupor. Force , he was wasting time, doing nothing!

He propped the boy up, moving him into a more sitting position to ease his breathing. Memories of comfort, ancient feelings of peace and safety guided his hand as he caressed Luke’s forehead, hoping it would soothe him like his own mother’s hands would. He felt clumsy, wrong, even; his hands always brought pain, not comfort, had even hurt his son in the past, and there was no universe in which a caress by Darth Vader could cause anything other than panic…

…but the boy seemed to relax.

His breathing was still ragged, his skin still flushed; but his presence, desperate and panicked until now, seemed to calm down. Slightly.

And finally, the boy met his eyes.

They were bloodshot, his eyelids swollen, but the brilliant blue eyes remained trained on his father. His lips moved as if to say something, but it seemed his airways had constricted to the point where he was unable to produce a sound. His eyes narrowed; and even if Vader could not feel it in the Force, he’d know how desperate Luke was to say something just from the look in his eyes.

“It’s alright,” he soothed, caressing the boy’s forehead again. Did it feel more natural, this second time? “Do not speak. Focus on your breathing. Try to let the air in; don’t fight for it, relax.”

And again, it felt wrong. It was laughable, really: that Vader, the man who had killed so many by choking them, would now implore his son to breathe.

He’d deprived her of her breath, and now he was begging her son to--

Another cough; his fingers tightened around the boy frantically in response. Time was running out - he could feel it slipping through his fingers, escaping with each painful wheeze and choke.

“The medic will be here soon,” he told his son, hoping his words were true. “I’ll keep you safe until then,” he added, knowing it was another promise he wasn’t sure he could keep.

The boy nodded in understanding; Vader hated the trust that filled those blue eyes.

Would a true father know what to do in this situation? Would a true father instinctively know how to protect his own son, how to ease his pain? Vader had more medical experience than most; the war had taught him that much. But his brain felt empty, unable to produce any coherent thought that could be used to help his boy.

And he shouldn’t have even had to know how to save his son in the first place.

Because a true father would never torture his son. A true father would never inject his boy with a drug that he was allergic to. A true father would know what his son’s body could and could not handle, for a true father would have raised his boy, would have known everything he needed to know.

A true father would never, ever hurt his son.

But he wasn’t a true father. Not really. The gasping boy in his arms was his son only in blood. There was no bond between them, no memories they shared - well, apart from the ones both Vader and Luke wished to forget.

…and yet, he loved the boy. And he promised himself that this would be the first loved one he would not allow to die.

So he put his hands on the boy’s chest and pushed everything he had, everything he was, into his son. His strength, his power - he gave it all to the boy, forcing him to live, keeping him alive.

Later, the doctors would say it was a miracle. The medics had arrived later than they should have, and by the time the adrenaline injection had been administered and the boy taken for emergency treatment, it should have been far too late. He should have died in that cell - a sentence that Vader was told more times than he could handle. A miracle, they called it, and in a way, it was true.

Because the last time it mattered, Vader wasn’t able to conjure the power to save one from death before.

But this time, it worked. This time, he had saved his son.

And when some time later his son smiled at him from the medical bed, skin still pale and body still weak but his presence in the Force already stronger, Vader realized that perhaps, he was a father after all.

#whumptober 2022 #no. 1 #adverse effects #this wasn't supposed to happen #whump #tw: torture #tw: interrogation #tw: graphic depictions of violence #anaphylaxis #Luke and Vader #Luke Skywalker #Darth Vader #fanfiction #writing #My writing #star wars

[4mamiyas]

Does your boyfriend ever just murder you?

#my art #persona 5 #p5 #p5r #persona 5 royal #persona 5 art #ren amamiya #akira kurusu #goro akechi #11/20 #interrogation room #akeshu #shuake #tw blood #tw gun #fan art

[harveywritings92]

Captured Thug, the 1-4-1 are interrogating: Least you can do is have that tart suck me off. 

[He nods towards R/n, who grimaces in disgust, (she was disguised as a hooker and they used her to capture the bloke.)]

[The air in the room grows colder as Ghost slowly approaches the tied up man.]

Ghost: That’s all you think she is, eh? Some Tart?

Thug: She gave me blue balls.

Ghost: Oh, Did she?~

[Ghost suddenly rams his foot into the guy’s crotch hard, causing the man to howl in utter agony.] 

Ghost: There. Now they’re black and blue balls....

#S: Shamless #tw: violence #tw: interrogation #tw: mature themes mentioned #call of duty modern warfare incorrect quotes #simon ghost riley x reader #cod mw ghost #simon riley x reader #afab reader

[sketchy--akechi]

when you're so high on drugs you hallucinate kissing your murderer

#THIS WAS SUPPOSED TO BE SERIOUS NOV 20 ART BUT THE DISCORD HAD A MUCH FUNNIER INTERPRETATION. #persona 5 #persona 5 royal #akeshu #shuake #p5r #akechi goro #goro akechi #persona 5 protagonist #persona 5 joker #akira kurusu #kurusu akira #ren amamiya #amamiya ren #tw drugs #tw guns #i just want them to kiss in the interrogation room. is that too much to ask for #liz art

[calamity-jam]

Déjà vu-

#persona 5 #persona 5 royal #p5 #p5r #akira kusuru #ren amamiya #goro akechi #akeshu #shuake #tw blood #jam going ham #the engine room scene as a whole i think about constantly fhdjdjd #but engine room scene DESTROYED me like the way akechi has the softest hint of a smile as he says 'you really are...' #the desperation in his voice when he says 'you won't say no will you?" #i think about how akechi must have felt standing in front of ren and that brief second where he pointed his gun at ren #like in the interrogation room #rotating it in my brain like its a centrifuge-

[intermundia]

the kenobi show has given me so much Jedi content and I’m so glad, but also as someone who’s Jewish, it’s made me Incredibly Aware of exactly how many people in the fandom would fall for Nazi rhetoric - like when I see people saying “the Holocaust was bad” but then going “the Jedi deserved their fall” in the next breath, it doesn’t give me a lot of hope that people actually know why the Holocaust was bad, or that they’d be able to see through the propaganda if it occurred today

Absolutely, completely, and totally. The inability of many fans to correctly parse a narrative, to evaluate the credibility of information based on the person delivering it, and instead believing obvious, malicious propaganda because it satisfies their vicarious craving for power, listening and trusting the people wearing literal black cloaks and surrounded by stormtroopers, it is all depressing at best and deeply concerning at worst.

We share a fandom with people who argue with their whole chest that fascism is better than democracy, and that genocide was not only deserved, but also a net benefit for society at large, either ignoring or accepting without problem the blatant, shouted, real world antisemitic parallels. I don’t know if they are projecting their religious trauma from Christian institutions onto the Jedi, and so don’t see the antisemitism of reveling in their genocide, but that’s my most charitable explanation.

It’s so frustrating how they happily share and support Sidious’s version of reality, the view that was put into Anakin’s mouth on Mustafar to show how far he had fallen into evil, not to frame him as being right. They aren’t guided by compassion for innocent people, or maybe even aware of the history of very real atrocities, but it’s no excuse when it’s a sign of being incurious about the experience of others unlike yourself, and unconcerned with their suffering.

Watching Episode 5 and hearing Reva’s story about hiding among the bodies, my first thought when I was watching was about the 33,771 Jews killed at Babi Yar, and the survivor narratives, which included hiding among the dead. I think everyone needs to know about the very real, historical analogies to the things depicted on screen and understand why it is so important for us to agree about who are right and wrong about genocide, even in a fictional form.

I am not Jewish, but it matters to me a great deal to protect Jewish lives and to make sure it never happens again, both specifically to Jewish people and to other vulnerable minorities as well. Our stories should inspire us to be vigilant about the creep of fascism, not inspire us to argue in defense of fascists and enjoy their violence. Yes, it is just Star Wars, yet it is also much more than that. The stakes of all of this are actually indescribably high.

#this topic is complicated beyond one tumblr post #but #i am comfortable saying that people need to fucking look in the mirror and interrogate themselves #sw meta #antisemetism tw

[befuddled-calico-whump]

guys they are so unbothered

@kira-the-whump-enthusiast , @whumpsday , @regrets-realization-acceptance , @kixngiggles , @randomlifeunit , @darkthingshappen

#yes that's the interrogator #whump art #whumpy art #partial nudity #the interrogator #bruised #aftermath of whump #breakdown #tw eyestrain #(very minor but the text layers are kinda) #whumper turned whumpee

[helena-edits-in-real-time]

S02 E06 Day 2: 1:00 P.M. – 2:00 P.M. // S07 E03 Day 7: 10:00 A.M. – 11:00 A.M.

#helena edits #24 #24 fox #jack bauer #tony almeida #nina myers #aka how jack interrogates his exes #24 day 2 #24 day 7 #flashing tw

[whump-in-the-closet]

Slamming whumpee’s head into the table during the course of an interrogation.

Whenever they talk back. Whenever they give a perceived lie— Whumper is behind them and slamming their head into the wooden table.

Again and again and again. Until their nose is past broken and they’re choking on blood. They can’t give away the information they hold— but they’re missing teeth and their head is pounding. They just want it to stop. Please. They didn’t realize they were begging until Whumper told them that it won’t help them— and the table rises up to meet them once again.

Soon, Whumpee’s only hope is that Whumper will hit them hard enough that the darkness filling the corners of their vision will envelop them.

#interrogation whump #whump ideas #whumpblr #whump #whump prompts #whump community #whump prompt #whump writing #whump scenario #tw torture #idk enjoy #idk what i’m doing #oh well

[whumpy-bi]

“I’ve got her”

Word Count: 420

Warnings: mentions of torture, mentions of non consensual drugging, deliciousness, aftermath of torture

Whumpee was absolutely terrified, her senses dulled and distorted by days worth of torture and drugging, her eyes and ears still fighting to pierce through the haze whatsoever.

Someone was holding her, keeping her close to their chest. They were moving, she was moving—where were they taking her now? Her head still hurt so much, she hoped they wouldn’t do another round of interrogations today…

A voice began filtering through, from somewhere. Whumpee couldn’t tell where, everything sounded like she was underwater, but it was the first time she’d been able to make out words in quite some time. The voice was low, smooth.

“I’ve got her, I got her. Get the medical guys ready, I—I don’t think they broke anything, but they definitely gave her something. She isn’t…”

The voice kept talking, but Whumpee couldn’t make out the rest of it. She tried again to blink through the haze, fighting harder now to keep her eyes open. She could still hear the person holding her, and she wanted to grip onto the sound for dear life. She couldn’t pick the words apart, but the sound itself felt so safe, like the warm breeze she’d been desperate for after that cold cell. A stray thought occurred—maybe this was a dream after all. A hazy vision of safety, with a beautiful voice and strong hands, giving her a few hours of respite.

Whumpee let out a quiet sigh, her fear and apprehension giving way to relief. She still couldn’t make sense of what was happening, but this voice wasn’t going to hurt her. It was a natural instinct, something deep in her mind that persisted past the haze and delirium—she was safe with this person, and she knew it.

“Hey, Whumpee, can you hear me? Might be hard for you to talk, that’s okay…I just need to make sure you can understand me.”

Whumpee frowned. Why would a dream ask her that? But, she nodded anyway, worry stirring in her gut with how difficult the simple action was.

Caretaker frowned back, carefully setting Whumpee down on a stretcher. “You can? That’s good, honey…that’s good. I’m gonna stay with you.” He pushed her hair from her face, brow furrowing with worry. She looked completely out of it, her eyes unfocused and her expression distant.

Whumpee closed her eyes, trying her best to maintain her grip on Caretaker’s hand. She still wasn’t fully convinced any of this was real, but she knew she didn’t want to be left in the empty haze again.

#whump #whumpee #writing #whump writing #caretaker #interrogation #aftermath #rescue #rescue whump #tw drugging #this is self indulgent who cares

[whumpster-dumpster]

hii hope youre doing well! could you do some sci fi whump prompts please? ^^

Sure thing! Since sci-fi has a wide range, the prompts are kind of all over the board:

Spaceship crash

Alien viruses or toxins

Otherwordly parasites

Laser or radiation burns

Prejudice between alien races

Alien interrogation/experimentation

Lost/separated on an unknown planet

Hunted down for collection as a "rare species"

Futuristic biomechanical implants malfunctioning

Telepathic whumper intruding in whumpee's mind

Space sickness (similar symptoms to motion sickness)

Punishment/imprisonment for breaking alien cultural rules

Painkillers/other medicines don't work for whumpee's species

Food poisoning; alien rations unsuitable for whumpee's species

Universal translator breaking; whumpee and other characters struggle to communicate

Alien caretaker(s) trying to treat whumpee's injuries and worsening them instead because they're unfamiliar with their biology

Spaceship systems malfunctioning: losing oxygen, losing heat, increased pressure of gravity, trapped mid-teleporation, etc.

#whump #whump prompts #writing prompts #sci fi #aliens #non human whumpee #non human caretaker #speciesism #burns #implantation #sickness #interrogation #communication breakdown #food poisoning #tw parasites #telepathy #answered ask #astergh0st

[poichanchan]

Swap AU interrogation room

#persona #persona 5 #persona 5 royal #p5 #p5r #swap au #roleswap au #interrogation room #akira #akira kurusu #ren #ren amamiya #goro #goro akechi #gun tw #blood tw

[cpt-winters]

...more Team Leader snippets, please?

Ask and ye shall receive

Forced to Watch *Team Leader Edition* (Part 2, Part 3)

Leader cracked an eye open at the dull thud of Whumper's boots hitting the stairs. He squirmed to sit upright, propping his back up against the wall. "I'm not going to talk, Whumper," Leader warned as they drew nearer. He winced as he straightened up. "You'll never get those coordinates," he said firmly, not daring to let the pain leak into his voice.

Whumper calmly crouched in front of Leader, a roll of duct tape in hand. "Oh, I don't need you to talk anymore," they said with a tinge of glee that Leader tried to ignore. "We're trying something new today."

"Wh-...mmf." Leader didn't get the first word out before Whumper started taping his mouth closed. With his ankles and wrists already bound, the only protest Leader could offer was a steely glare as Whumper wrapped further unnecessary layers of tape over his mouth and back around his head.

Whumper stood up and stepped back, admiring their handiwork for a second before grabbing the chair tucked away in the corner and dragging it into the centre of the room. Leader cringed as the metal legs scraped against the concrete floor.

"Once provided with sufficient motivation, I'm sure your team will be more than willing to tell me what I want to know." Whumper smiled but gave no further elaboration as a handful of their henchmen poured into the room. One set up a tripod directly opposite the chair, mounting a camera atop it as the others moved towards him. Leader's eyes widened as he realized what Whumper meant by 'sufficient motivation.'

A moment later, the henchmen had him pinned face-down on the floor as they undid his restraints and hauled him over to the chair. Any movement proved almost impossible as their iron grip on Leader's limbs barely faltered, despite his intense struggles. He managed a kick to one of their stomach's before being fully secured to the seat. The victory of the blow was short-lived, only earning him several hard wacks across the face.

Leader let out a muffled groan as warm liquid trickled down from his nose, leaving a crimson trail over the tape covering most of his lower face. His stomach churned as a little red light on the camera steadily blinked as Whumper stepped closer. Leader shirked away, angling his face to the side as it burnt with shame at the thought of his team watching this.

"How long do you think they can watch before they give me what you refuse to, hm?" Whumper brought their knife to the side of Leader's face, gently gliding it down its side, not yet piercing the skin. The touch was ghostly light, a mockery of what was to come. "Will they watch you break, Captain?" Whumper chuckled before their hand roughly seized Leader's jaw, forcing their eyes to meet. "Maybe you can handle that..." Whumper pondered. "But can your team?"

#whump #team leader whump #whump scenario #whump snippet #leader whump #team whump #captivity whump #implied torture #forced to watch #interrogation whump #stoic whumpee #tw knives #Whump Thing I Wrote 6 #sadistic whumper #team dynamics #angst #restraints whump

[dresden-syndrome]

No idea if you're still doing the game but uhh drugging for it? Could be the traditional downer drugs like opium or maybe they give whumpee a stimulant for curiosity's/addiction's sake (@rottingollie in disguise hope this is ok)

Whumping in EESU: Drugging

Defiant whumpee getting drugged for the guards' convenience.

Interrogated whumpee, particularly one that already spent a lot of time in detention without signing a confession or giving much of the needed information, given a spiked drink before being taken to another interrogation.

Drug torture: a detained whumpee is given highly active drugs then, when withdrawal kicks in, offering the desired substance in exchange for information.

A drugged pet whumpee used as a party entertainment.

Test subject whumpee being given various kinds of drugs to study their effects; even after experiencing numerous painful side effects, whumpee is still forced to take the next drug.

Test subject whumpee sedated for a surgery or another long and painful procedure; they're still able to feel pain and discomfort but they can't struggle from it, can they?

Whumpers - detention unit medical team, ASR doctors, "property" owner and their comrades, just to name a few - bringing a needle colser to the restrained whumpee's skin, whispering "Shhh, it's for your own good..."

As the drug effect wears off, the whumpee wakes up in terror as they're tightly strapped to a surgical table.

A drugged whumpee kept in another EESU republic muttering random words and cries for help in their mother tongue.

Truth serum! Developing new interrogation drugs using class 4 offenders for clinical trials! Threatening detained whumpees with a mystery drug that can "make them tell everything"!

Drugs used for brainwashing, tested on class 4 lab rats from ASR.

A new drug appears in the streets. The government won't let it remain unknown for long; they have a lot of undercover State Security agents to take it, chemists to study its formula and the state enemies in their cells to study its effects on.

An owner sitting on the car backseat with their half-awake sedated "property", driving through a big government holiday military parade in the city; "Look, my little kitten, isn't it wonderful here? Everyone is celebrating for our peace and prosperity, praising our Supreme Commander, they're all so happy! What was the point for you to fight against us?"

#whump #whump community #whumpblr #historical whump #military whump #totalitarian whump #pet whump #lab whump #interrogation whump #tw drugs #drugging tw #drugged whumpee #whump ideas #whump thoughts #whump prompts #whump prompt list #whump prompt #whump tropes #whump scenario #whump stuff

[letsquestjess]

The Comfort of Your Arms

Summary: When Tech wakes from a nightmare, Phee is there with open arms to comfort him.

Word count: 948

Warnings: Depictions of injury and interrogation (Tech is not having a good time of it). Hemlock being... well, Hemlock.

A/N: Since this has some depictions of interrogation right from the start, I'm putting it all under a read more.

-- -- -- -- --

He couldn’t see anything. Darkness blanketed him like a shroud. Everywhere he looked held the same inky isolation, but he sensed eyes watching him, analysing his fear. He attempted to wrench his arm free from his restraints, but an abrupt jolt halted his endeavour. He pulled again and urged his muscles to work harder.

“Do not trouble yourself, Tech,” a slow, menacing voice told him. “You won’t be getting out of your cuffs. We’ve made sure of that.”

Clenching his teeth, he repeated the motion, straining his arms then his legs until, with a strangled cry, he thrashed against the chilly metal beneath him. A rapid stab to the side of his neck put an end to his frantic movements. 

“I told you what would happen if you did not cooperate,” Doctor Hemlock said as he stepped from the shadows, a holo-transmitter in his upturned palm. “And yet you went against what I asked of you. Chose to be stubborn. You gave me no choice.” The silver disc flickered and images glimmered in the vivid light. Stormtroopers marched. Shots were fired. Siblings fell. Life blinked out, one after the other. Hunter. Wrecker. Crosshair and Echo. Little Omega. Phee. 

Tech squeezed his eyes shut and recoiled. “You did nothing to them,” he growled. “I do not believe you.” He was brutally wrenched back to reality when Hemlock snatched hold of his chin and held his face towards the footage. 

“Whether you believe it or not is of no concern to me, because I know you sense their loss. All of this is real.” The doctor stooped low, studying the scars on his exposed arms and poking at the lacerations and bruises on his collar. “You failed them. You did this.”

Unsteady breaths shivered within Tech’s chest as he kept Hemlock’s icy fingers and cruel prods from reaching the part of his mind that remained intact. 

“They are dead because of you. If you’d have cooperated, they would be safe.” Hemlock tutted and lifted himself up, hands clasped behind his waist. “I consider it a great shame you choose to go against the Empire. Your intellect would have been appreciated here.” 

The doctor’s clicking footsteps trailed into the darkness and Tech’s ribcage heaved. Droplets trickled and stung the open cuts on his cheeks. His body felt hollow. They were gone. And there was nothing in the galaxy that would bring them back. 

He balled his hands into fists and grappled to move his limbs, but the solution circulating his system him held him aggravatingly still. Frenzy and fury igniting in his veins, he opened his mouth and screamed. 

Tech’s eyes shot open. The crisp air sweeping through the window washed over his sweat-soaked face and cooled his clammy skin, soothing him with the smell of seaweed and sapphire blossom. For a moment, he couldn’t move, half in his dream and half stirring from the terror. He wriggled once he could shift and shuffled onto his side. 

Phee propped herself up on her elbows and squinted at the faint morning glow. “Tech? Are you okay?” she asked within a yawn. “You cold? I can shut the window.” 

His hold on the bedsheets loosened. Reminding himself of where he was, his eyes stopped frantically darting around the bedroom and settled on the woman beside him, his lashes damp with tears. 

“Another nightmare?” Phee said, coaxing him into her embrace. He nodded against her shoulder. “You’re awake. It’s okay.” 

Tech clung to her as though she contained all his oxygen, breathing in the remnants of her perfume and relaxing into her soft touches. “You’re here?” he whispered.  

“I’m here,” she promised. 

“You were all gone. My brothers. Omega. You. He… he took all of you.” 

“Hush now, I’ve got you.” Little by little, the trembles subsided and steady sniffles sounded from the curled bundle in her arms. She handed him some tissues and lightly dabbed at the wet streaks sliding onto his chin. Golden brown eyes searched hers and she pressed a kiss to his forehead, carefully helping him to sit up. “Wait here. I won’t be long.” 

Resting against the headboard as Phee padded out of the room, Tech filled his lungs and exhaled a shaky breath. He drew in another, and another, until the pounding of his heart calmed and the sweat on his palms began to dry. He dragged his fingertips along his neck, searching for the bump of an injection site, but all he found was unshaved stubble. 

Phee returned with tip-toed steps and passed over a glass of water, climbing back into bed. “Your brothers are fast asleep. Omega is curled up with Wrecker, though how she can sleep next to him when he’s snoring like a speeder engine is beyond me.” She kept an eye on Tech as he sipped on the cold drink, and the tension in his shoulders slowly melted. “I counted them. Twice. They’re all there, sleeping soundly.” 

“Thank you,” he murmured, setting the almost empty glass on the cabinet and nestling into her side. A smile of relief tugged at his lips when she encompassed him in her comforting arms again. “This is an illogical reaction and I apologise for waking you.”

“Don’t apologise,” Phee said softly. “Tech, you have been through a harrowing ordeal, and your nightmares, your fears, are perfectly natural responses to that. I only wish I had the power to wipe it all away.” She wove her fingers into his hair and caressed the pressure from his temples. “But I will be here for all the bad nights and the good, and the nights in between. That awful place is behind you. You’re with your family now. You’re home.”

#tbb #the bad batch #tbb fic #tbb fanfiction #star wars the bad batch #the bad batch fanfic #the bad batch fanfiction #sw tbb #sw the bad batch #tbb tech #tbb phee #sw tbb fanfic #sw tbb fanfiction #sw the bad batch fanfiction #tech x phee #techphee #phee x tech #tw: depictions of interrogation #tw: depictions of injury