voluntary confinement

crepuscularperiphery  asked:

Okay, I'm /pretty/ sure you're the right blog to ask. Looking at a scifi fic, alien character, assuming a human brain. I have a character being punished in a way reserved for a lower class. I can handwave some things, but I'm interested in the effects of being conscious but immobile for an extreme period of time, solitary with brief, impersonal interaction, blindfolded, with the mental equivalent of a shock collar going off every time he struggles. (1/2)

(2/2) Assuming that his captors are invested in keeping him alive (feeding tube, bare minimum medical care) What sort of state am I looking at on a rescue after two years of this? Would prefer to avoid first-hand sources, if possible, and I’m mostly interested in the psycological effects.

Honestly? I would expect him to have died in the first week from kidney failure.

If that somehow didn’t happen I’d expect him to get bedsores in the first month which would become horribly infected and kill him.

If somehow neither of these things happened then the combination of solitary confinement and sensory deprivation would have caused mental breakdown within the first two weeks. If he was released after two years I think he’d be completely incapable of human interaction and possibly speech.

I think he would be (I do not use these words lightly) incurably and untreatably insane.

Your time frame isn’t just extreme it is completely outside physical possibility for anything remotely mammalian.

After long periods (hours to days) stuck in a cramped position such as you describe muscles begin to break down. The destruction of muscle cells leads to a build up of large proteins in the blood. The kidneys can not handle the build up of undigested protein and fail.

This is how stress positions can kill a person without leaving a mark on their body.

And that’s not something that can be easily hand waved away with advances in medical technology. If he has some kind of functioning kidney replacement this does not get away from the fact that his major muscles are breaking down.

I want to help. I really really do. But this is not survivable. At all.

The longest I am aware of anyone being left in a sensory deprived, solitary environment is 35 days. The subjects in these experiments commonly did not remember long periods of their lives before the treatment, the amount of time lost varied between six months and ten years.

And in these experiments people could move, they could sleep easily, they had meals and bathroom breaks. They were not in constant physical pain.

The experimental conditions were much milder than your scenario and they resulted in permanent brain damage. The researchers involved had no doubt that these sensory deprivation rooms could be lethal.

The longest voluntary confinement in one was six days.

I’m going to quote one of the relevant passages from Rejali’s book; this is on the sensory deprivation research of Maitland Baldwin.

Baldwin put an army volunteer in the box and refused to let him out. This persisted for forty hours. Finally “after an hour of crying loudly and sobbing in a heartrending fashion” to use Baldwin’s words the soldier kicked his way out of the box.’

I like to hope he punched Baldwin.

If you want to read about the devastating psychological effects of these devices then the researchers you want to look up are Donald Hebb (who conducted consensual experiments), Maitland Baldwin (who did not) and Ewen Cameron (who tried to give people new personalities and succeeded only in making their mental health much worse and ruining their lives).

The relevant papers are all from the 50s and 60s. They are mostly behind pay walls. Hebb wrote A Textbook of Psychology, Cameron’s accounts can be found in Comprehensive Psychiatry (1960, 26, 27) or Journal of Mental Science (1960, 742-54).

If you want this to be realistic you need to give the victim room to move and you need to cut the time down drastically or pick another torture entirely. 


Otherwise they are so far from human you may as well be asking me about the mental and emotional state of an octopus.

All of these components separately, stress positions, solitary confinement, sensory deprivation, they all have much more extreme effects than are generally acknowledged. And torture is cumulative. 


Note that I did not even touch the electricity torture which can by itself be lethal. 

Please do not hand wave this. You’re talking about tortures that are regularly excused and legalised. Even though they kill people. And that background cultural torture apologia has persuaded you that a completely unsurvivable scenario is only a little bit extreme. 


I personally believe that you should not perpetrate further immoral and unrealistic misinformation, especially of this magnitude, in your writing


I’m sorry I couldn’t be more help. 

Disclaimer

New home

Can you make one where the reader is tony’s little sister but she is on team cap and she meets T'challa when they get arrested after the the tunnel fight. And then he ends up asking her out when Team cap hides out in Wakanda? ( @uni-corn-luv )

  • Words:  2.013
  • Pairing: Black Panther x Reader
  • Warnings: Angst and a little fluff.
  • Author notes: (Y/N) is your name. Everything in itaics is a flashback.
  • Tag list: @justcallmecinammon @sexyvixen7 @that1awkwardfangirl (if you want to be tagged send in a message!)

Originally posted by castlewyvern

You remember the day it all started quite well. It felt like it was just yesterday ago, but in reality, it happened almost a year ago. Bucharest changed everything for you and the people around you.
 
You got out of the black government car and your high heels clacked on the concrete. Several agents with their guns up and pointing at the most righteous man you had ever met in your life. With the confidence of a Stark, you walked to where the action was about to take place. It was your moment to do business.
 
“Gentlemen, please settle down” You spoke calmly, raising your hands just enough to show them you came in peace “Your highness” You bowed your head to the man in the black suit “It is unfortunate that we meet under this circumstances”
“I agree” He replied. His eyes were glued on you and he had the corners of his lips curled into a slight smile.
“Some of you may not know me, but my name is (Y/N) Stark” You started again “I am a lawyer. I am here to provide some legal aid, which I’m sure you’re-”
“You’re Tony’s sister?” Sam interjected “You’re gonna give us a lot of help, right?” He asked with his voice filled with irony.
 
You ignored his comment and continued your speech under the attentive watch of the War Machine. Your brother had warned you about the dangers of going there with a man as dangerous as Bucky, but what he didn’t know is that you were about to be a part of their team. You were about to be a fugitive.
 
You covered your face with your hands as the many memories invaded you again; the disappointment look on your brother’s face when you were arrested, the gracefulness of his cold shoulder when he appeared in the prison before going to Siberia. He didn’t even look at you that day. You tried to talk to him, but he just went to talk to Sam.
 
That was his first and last visit. You often wondered if he would go to see you, or at least Clint as they were team mates before, but nothing happened. You began to curl in one of the corners of your cell and cry silently but only during the day. By night you were too exhausted to cry and you thought the rest of the inmates deserved to have some peace.
 
You wanted your brother to comfort you, to tell you everything was alright even if they were evidently going to shit; you wanted him to tell you and to assure you that he still loved you.
 
Since your parents died, it was the two of you, but the war between him and Steve changed everything. You had read the accords a hundred times and each time it seemed like a bad idea. You were not avenging, but you were still very involved with them as one of the members of the Stark Foundation. You decided to run away with Captain Rogers and never look back. You believed in what he stood for, and unfortunately it got you on that goddamned prison underwater.
 
“(Y/N)?” Wanda’s husky voice dragged you out of your thoughts. She was in the cell next to yours, but her luck wasn’t much better. She was restrained and you couldn’t really blame them, or her, or anyone. If people thought she was a monster you couldn’t blame them. But you knew deep in your heart she was far away from being one “You know he doesn’t hate you, right? He forgave you…”
“Stop digging into my mind, Wanda” You tiredly sighed throwing your head back to the wall and hitting it “It’s slightly rude”
“I’m sorry…” She let out a breathy giggle, but it wasn’t happy. None of you were anymore. You thought about Clint and Scott, they were parents to gorgeous children and you blamed yourself for being there with them. If you had stayed with your brother, you might have changed his mind from keeping them locked away from their loved ones “Pietro always said I was too nosy, especially after getting… these powers” You stayed in silence for the sake of your mental stability “And just so you know” She said after a long silence “No one here hates you” She rested her head back on the wall of her cell and returned to her usual quietness.
 
You heard someone wandering around another cell but they ceased soon after. Then, the springs of a mattress grinded. You shut your eyes and clenched your jaw at the unbearable sound. The men you were with were not very talkative and you pondered if it was for their own mental health of because they getting crazier inside there. You hadn’t seen the sun light in months.
 
Then, the lights went off as if they were forcefully shut down. All of you, but Wanda, stood up to see what the hell was happening. The room was pitch dark and your doors all seemed to be unlocked. You carefully got out; it was still too risky and you had heard the atrocities that happened to the ones who escaped the Raft. No one had made it alive.
 
“Come on, people” A familiar voice said “We don’t have much time”
 
The first thing you did was running to Wanda’s cell only to find Steve Rogers already getting rid of her confinement. Your jaw dropped when you saw the blonde soldier looking as good as he always did and wearing that bright genuine smile he would always give you through the hard times.
 
The prison’s staff was in some sort of sleep (or unconsciousness) and it was Clint who had to drag you. Your steps were quiet and adrenaline was rushing all over you and everyone. The Raft was like a maze that you thought you’d never get out from. You finally got out to a huge jet that awaited for all of you.
 
“Where are we going?” Sam asked.
“There’s a place I know. We can lay low for a while until everything goes back to place… Hopefully that’ll be soon” Steve replied, taking the driver’s seat.
 
You rested your back on the seat and Sam handed you a blanket. You awkwardly smiled at him and nodded as a “thank you”. You curled on yourself and covered your body with the woolen cloak. You fell asleep in the safety of being with your team once again and the softness and warmth of the jet.
 
Next thing you know is that you’re being awaken by Wanda. She’s free from her restrains now and wearing a smile; the first real one in ages. She has her hand placed on your shoulder as she shakes you gently. The sunlight comes in through the small windows of the plane. You all landed perfectly and the little door opened to reveal a place you had never been to.
 
“Guys” Steve smiled widely “Welcome to Wakanda”
 
The African kingdom was such a quiet place, but not as the Raft. It was a different kind of quietness, it was peace. Everything around you moved at its own rhythm. Nothing was hurrying them. Nothing would ever hurry you anymore.
 
As you went down the staircase, you met the same man that you met at the tunnel, in Bucharest. He was as gorgeous as your memory remembered and graceful as a warrior. He was one, after all. He shook everyone’s hand and stopped in front of you.
 
“Miss Stark” He smiled “I hope you find yourself comfortable in here” He lifted your hand and kissed the back “It is my genuine pleasure to see you again under slightly better circumstances”
“Your highness” You bowed your head again “Thank you for having us here” Your cheeks felt warm now as his smile grew.
 
A month after your arrival to Wakanda and his ministrations to you were endless. At every meal he tried to have you near and he was constantly asking if there was something you needed. You wanted to tell him it was your brother who you needed, but it was beyond obvious.
 
The first hint that something had changed between you two was when he once held your hand under the table. Your head turned to him immediately as he let go of you and smiled. Then, he invited you to wander around the town near his palace. He tried to get your hand to touch his every two seconds.
 
“You know…” He spoke softly “I miss my baba sometimes” He sighed “I wish he could be here to help me guide this nation, or my heart”
“One’s heart should be guided by oneself” You replied “I can’t imagine what would’ve been of me if I let my dad guide my heart” You gulped as the image of him, going to the Raft appeared again on your mind “Or my bro–Tony’s”
“I’m sorry, Miss Stark” He stopped and grabbed your arm, making you look at him; his hand felt warm around your limb. You looked away but he placed his other hand under your chin, keeping you from looking somewhere else “I didn’t mean to upset you”
“It’s ok, but please you can call me (Y/N)” You timidly said “I don’t know if I’m a Stark anymore” Your eyes watered and your jaw shivered.
 
King T’Challa swiftly leaned to kiss your lips, placing both his hands on your waist instead. You held his biceps and gave in. His naturally plump lips were soft, and they moved in sync with yours. You longed for some love, and he was giving it to you uninterestedly.
 
“I’m sorry…” You breathed, breaking the kiss “I’m so sorry, King T’Challa” You freed yourself from him and walked back to the castle.
 
You locked yourself in your room for a couple hours that turned into days. Wanda forced the door with her mind and found you curled in your bed. She sat next to you in silence for what it seemed like an eternity. You looked at her and it was like she had regained her usual light. Even though she missed her brother, she lived with it every single day; she lived for him. For the life they were both ripped from.
 
She placed a cup with some Wakandian beverage on your night table and some biscuits next to it and kissed your hair before leaving. Her silent company was much more than what you could’ve asked for.
 
The next few days she tried to talk to you out of your voluntary confinement. She said King T’Challa was looking for you and that he was worried. You wondered how much she knew. She could find out everything.
 
A week later, while you read one of the books kept in your bedchamber, the king himself appeared through your doors. You left the ancient history book aside and went to greet him.
 
“King T’Challa…” You mumbled “What is it that brings you here?”
“You” He replied quickly “And please, stop calling me King. I am a friend now, your friend” He pointed at you with his thick finger “Since that day you’ve been drifting from each and every single one of us and I wonder if it is because of me” You shook your head “Then why?” He cupped your face with his strong hands “Why are you falling apart from your loved ones?”
“There’s one missing…” You lowered your gaze and felt how the tears filled your eyes once again “A lot of them, actually”
“We can’t change the things that happened” He gently said, giving you a smile full of his sympathy “But we can work for a better future with the ones who love us”
“You saying you love me?” You looked up again, only to find a warm look and a bright smile.
“We can discuss that over dinner… Tonight, only the two of us. A date” He smiled again and kissed your forehead instead “You might want to use a dress” He turned around to leave the room.

I am making a last attempt at writing a real letter – at least from here – although that qualification, I believe, is utterly superfluous. I do not think that I was fated at any time to write to anyone from anywhere. My voluntary confinement here is restricted less by time than by my earthly existence. In essence I am dead – dead for my children – dead for my work … I am dead but not yet buried, or buried alive – whichever, the consequences are nearly identical … The day before yesterday, as I was calmly reading … I saw a reduced vision of my son Yuri’s face, but dead, in a horizontal position, his eyes closed. Yesterday, at the same reading, I suddenly heard a word that sounded like Papulya. I nearly burst into sobs. Again – this is not a hallucination because the word was pronounced, the voice was similar, and I did not doubt for an instant that my daughter, who was supposed to be in Tobolsk, was talking to me … I will probably never hear that voice so dear or feel that touch so dear with which my little children so spoiled me … If faith without works is dead, then deeds can live without faith … This vindicates my last decision … when I unhesitatingly orphaned my own children in order to carry out my physician’s duty to the end, as Abraham did not hesitate at God’s demand to sacrifice his only son.
—  Letter written by Dr. Eugene Botkin on the night of July 16th; it was found by investigators, unfinished, in his quarters. He had been interrupted by the knock of Yakov Yurovsky on his door, ordering him and the entire Romanov party to dress and come downstairs.