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serickswrites · 3 months

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Truth

Warnings: captivity, torture, restraints, physical violence, bruises, truth serum, drugging, noncon drug use, video recording, hostage sitaution

"Please, don't," Whumpee begged. "Please, you don't have to do this." They shook in the restraints Whumper had used to bind them to the table. They watched Whumper with wide, terror-filled eyes, as Whumper advanced on them, syringe in hand.

Whumper back handed Whumpee hard. Whumpee whimpered with the pain. "Don't speak until I speak to you," Whumper growled. "And besides, I want to do this, Whumpee. You have what I want. And I always get what I want."

Whumpee could feel their lip swell from where Whumper had struck them. They knew their face was bruised from Whumper's rough handling of them. But still, they didn't want Whumper to inject them with whatever was in that vial. "Please," they tried once more. Surely, Whumper would be reasonable.

Whumper grinned wickedly as they stabbed Whumpee's arm with the syringe. "No," they said as they depressed the plunger.

Whumpee's veins were on fire. Every part of them was on fire. They couldn't breathe through the fire. Someone was screaming. It was them. They were screaming. Every single cell in their body was on fire.

Whumpee had no idea when the flames receded. They had no idea how much time had passed. They only knew that Whumper was speaking gently with them, stroking their hair, talking softly. They sobbed. It was all they could do. They were too weak to even turn their head towards Whumper.

"There, there, my sweet. I have one more little treat for you. Smile for the camera." Whumpee felt another needle in their arm. Felt a coolness wash over them. It was a welcome relief to the fire that had consumed them. "Now, you are going to answer all of my questions. And then we will send this video to the person who will actually give me what I want."

"Yes, Whumper," Whumpee heard their voice. But it wasn't their voice. It was dull, no inflection. And yet they felt their lips move.

"And remember, Whumpee," Whumper snickered, "the truth will set you free. So be honest."

"Yes, Whumper."

"Does Caretaker have what I want?" Whumper said from somewhere to their left. They heard Whumper take a step closer. Whumpee couldn't answer that question. They had to keep Caretaker out of this.

"Yes," Whumpee said against their will. They tried to turn their head, but couldn't. They were to weak. Whatever Whumper had given them, it hadn't given them energy. It just made them speak, though they didn't want to.

"Will Caretaker give it up for you?" Whumper said as they leaned over Whumpee, phone in hand.

Whumpee didn't want to answer. They couldn't answer. Because then everything Caretaker had worked for would be undone. "Yes." Whumpee closed their eyes against the tears. Though they hadn't wanted to speak. They had to. Whumper made them. Hopefully Caretaker would forgive them. If they lived long enough for Caretaker to find them.

Whumper climbed onto the table with them, pinched their cheek. "You hear that, Caretaker?" Whumper said as they flipped the camera so that both they and Whumpee were in the frame. "You'll give me what I want for Whumpee. So come get your Whumpee. Or you'll be picking up the pieces from here to kingdom come."

Whumpee squeezed their eyes shut once more. They had failed Caretaker. Failed and let themself become a hostage. Caretaker had to leave them. Caretaker couldn't come get them. It would be all for nought. "You have two days to collect what I desire and get here, Caretaker. Or Whumpee will face the consequences. Won't you, Whumpee?"

Whumpee nodded as tears flowed down their cheeks. "Yes, Whumper." They told the truth. However, this truth did not set them free.

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braceletofteeth · 7 months

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“Is this how you we are supposed to be living?”

(insp.)

#kinnporsche #vegaspete #vegas kornwit theerapanyakul #pete phongsakorn saengtham #gifset #*#dailyvegaspete #//#I considered many characters and ideas when I got the theme Restraint/Freedom out of my last poll #there was a lot that could be done focusing on self-restraint but I also wanted to work with physical restraint (e.g. handcuffs)#so naturally it got me thinking about the safehouse #but thinking about the safehouse I remembered that Vegas was also trapped in there with Pete #he was born in the prison that was his family and in addition to that his father had him in a chokehold #a grip that Pete relieved a bit when it was just the two of them #with him it wasn't as bad as before #so if he could decide on the matter certainly Vegas would have preferred to keep Pete #but the night the hedgehog died he didn't immediately put Pete back in chains once he got free #he might even have left the key for him to free himself on purpose #he gave Pete every chance to escape the house. to escape him.#to leave like everyone else and save himself from ending like that poor hedgie #dead on Vegas' arms (hands) while he cried helplessly. because that's what happens every time and he can't escape the cycle once it begins.#he keeps trying only to fail again and again. he can't escape himself.#but Pete could. Pete could have run away and never looked back.#and Vegas would have let him. he would have understood.#he would have done the same. he would have run away and escaped it all if he could.#he too ached to be free

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pipulp · 2 years

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🌸 crossing the river 🌸

#sawsbuck #pokemon #pokemon fanart #i wish guys i WISH i had the physical restraint to post art at peak times instead of late at night directly after finishing a piece #but no my brain demands that i post it now #1k #pipart

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scribbledghost · 5 months

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#one of these days #im gonna write a fic where simon wakes up from a nightmare that makes him physically ill #and when he finally calms down enough #he tells you the nightmare was so bad cause in it he hurt you #and the idea of hurting you in any way makes him sick #and that fic will piss off roughly 50% of this fandom lmao #either that or im gonna write a fic full of kink negotiation #where simons just like #'no cnc no impact play no degradation no restraints' etc etc #and THAT FIC is probably gonna piss off roughly 85% of the fandom lol

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rysko · 2 months

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"let people enjoy things, let people enjoy things, let people enjoy things, don't be a hater" I say repeatedly, rocking back and forth on the floor, after seeing the most horrendous, cringe infested, uneducated take on my favorite piece of media

#peaky blinders #tommy shelby #the physical restraint i have to have not to be a hater is so strong

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mac-mcdonald · 2 years

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of course I had to paint one of my favorite scenes in buffy

#btvs #buffy #buffy the vampire slayer #digital art #artists on tumblr #illustration #painting #digital painting #my art #almost 10 hrs into this I had to physically restraint myself from working on it any more #sooo yeah…….. I’m extremely proud of this one

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cryptidwritings · 2 months

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Dark Water

Chapter 43 : L.A.S.T

prev | next | masterlist

cw: drinking, manhandling, restraining, descriptions of gutting a fish, threats with a knife, light asphyxiation, use of a knife, hand whump, description of wounds, gore, environment whump, hastily tending to open wounds, desperate whumpee, angry whumpee, sadistic whumper

By month four of him being under Jacobsen, Isidro was no longer afraid of shadows under the door. By month five he had memorized their footsteps, the way they would grab the door, and their touch in the dead of night.

It was Reid’s footsteps that woke him, but there was something about the pirate’s gait that made Isidro sit up rather than pretend to be asleep.

The key scratched against the padlock. The removal was loud and sloppy, scraping and banging against the wood. Then Reid stumbled in; the smell of liquor was so strong, as if an open barrel was underneath Isidro’s nose.

Isidro watched as he took unsteady steps forward. The movement of his head was enough to set him swaying. Reid was a man of vices.

“A bit late ta be up, ain’it?”

“Where’s Moss?”

“He’s safe. Gonna be ‘sleep fer a while,” Reid stepped forward, reaching into his pocket, “I been givin’ him doses 'a this.”

He held a small corked jar, half-full of white powder. Isidro had seen it before; tasteless, best when taken with water on an empty stomach.

“He begged me for it,” Reid smiled, “can't imagine what else he would do. Aye?”

Isidro grit his teeth. “You could kill him.”

The pirate shrugged. “Risk, reward. He’s grateful I gave ‘im any at all after yest’rday,” he chuckled. “I would’a let the croc have him if I didn’t have other plans for the stupid sod.”

Isidro's jaw tightened as Reid’s smile curled more at the ends, meeting his eyes with teasing fascination.

“Oh don’t act so concerned. Ye haven't been very honest with him, have ye, Duncan?” he said the fake name caustically. “I'm guessin’ ye have ten ‘a those in ye back pocket, aye? Tried it on like a new pair ‘a trousers.”

The humidity disappeared and suddenly it was only him and the silhouette towering over him as he sat bound, back against stone. It wasn’t the first time, but if his gut had been right about everything else it was likely right about this being the very last.

“Or, I'm wrong and he's ye partner.”

“No.” Isidro defended. “Assassins don’t have partners.”

“Ye word ain’t exactly trustworthy-”

“Ask him.” Isidro challenged, “He doesn’t know anything.”

Reid stilled; arms crossed. “Then why is he here?”

Isidro said nothing. Reid’s expression told him he didn’t have to, and he was right. It didn’t matter why, only how, and that was obvious enough.

When Reid forced him out of the shed, all he could do was try to keep up. Besides the usual noise, there was Isidro's own stuttering footsteps that randomly dragged along the ground while Reid held him up, aggravating the welts on his skin that was sticky with sweat, beat down further by the humidity that siphoned out what little energy he had left.

The sun was stuck behind the trees, helped along by the light of a lantern over the dock that Reid dumped Isidro onto. He sucked in quick breaths and blinked away black spots, rolling to his side to see Reid at the end of the dock, hoisting a net from the water.

He turned towards the table, stopping suddenly when he noticed a foot beyond a set of iron bars.

“Moss?” Isidro called; still catching his breath. He grabbed onto the table’s leg and pulled himself forward, revealing the lad, slumped against the wall.

Then, hands grabbed at his shirt, pulling him upright. “What? Ye don’t trust me? Look.”

Reid yanked him toward the cell. Moss was fast asleep; his head cradled in the nook of the walls with his jaw slack, with a cup barely grasped in his hand.

“Told ye he begged me for it.” Reid said. “Think ye will, too?”

Reid tossed Isidro onto the table, pulling the rope over his head. The two metal tongues squeezed between his hands and the ropes, making them unbearably tight.

"Ye like these? Invented ‘em myself." Reid grunt, pushing a long bolt through the holes.

Isidro swallowed; looking at the reflection of the sky on the water. The sun was rising.

Reid moved the chair to the middle of the dock where he had abandoned the net. Fish flopped around inside, until he grabbed them and pushed his knife in.

He scraped the scales. They fell off with a click, followed by the unmistakable ting of the side of a knife’s blade lifting from a surface. The smell of raw fish was overwhelming. Isidro could hear the knife tear through the fish’s stomach, followed by it’s spine being ripped out.

How long was he going to make him lie there? If anything would make him go crazy, it was the waiting—the pull between knowing of his impending agony versus the hope that maybe it wouldn’t be right now.

“Ach!” Reid scoffed with disappointment. “Damn crocs... won’t have enough now.”

Isidro tensed against the restraints as Reid stood. His eye snapped open when he felt his grip like a vice on his left hand. The pirate was looking down at him with a soft smile on his face, but the rage of burning mischief in his eyes.

“Care to spare some bait?”

Isidro’s eye flashed toward the knife that quickly found his pinky. He didn’t have time to blink before the pain seared into his hand. His whole body tensed; his neck bulging, spine arching. His mind disconnected, and in a moment he was no longer in his body but somewhere else—outside, beneath—but in a millisecond he was slapped back together and a scream erupted from his mouth, tearing his throat apart.

“A-!”

His scream—his release—was suddenly corked by a thick hand over his nose and mouth. His eye snapped opened. Reid was looking down at him, watching his eye blur as his body shook with desperation.

“Shh, don’t want to wake up Moss, do ye? Think he’d enjoy seein’ ye like this?”

Isidro’s hand trembled from the feeling of blood gathering in his palm, and air hitting where it shouldn’t; igniting the overwhelming feeling of something being wrong.

The pressure released, and Isidro took a desperate breath as a tear fell from his eye. Reid’s finger caught it, swiping over his bubbled skin.

Isidro pulled his chin away from the gentle touch. “W-why don’t you just t-turn me in?”

Reid chuckled, “Ye would just do the meter jig. Where’s the fun in that?”

Isidro let out an involuntary whimper. Between deep breaths, he heard Reid's voice.

“I'll give ye the courtesy ye victims never got," he smiled. "Time."

The prospect made Isidro’s heart drop into his already tumultuous stomach. He shouldn’t even be here; he should be at home with his family, taking care of Ghost and the farm. This wasn’t supposed to be his life. He didn’t want any of it!

“GAH!! g-GOD NO!” Isidro screamed as the knife plunged into his knuckle, hitting bone with a horrendous burn, then a crack that made him gasp back, pulling his spit into his lungs. He coughed, blinking back the white-hot pin-pricks of pain that splashed across his vision. He heard a rattle, like an earthquake, quieting only when Reid adjusted the hold on his wrists.

Then Reid held something in front of him. The bottom flesh was torn and ragged; stretched as if pulled to separation. Blood leaked from where the freshly cut bone was still pink and dripping. Isidro’s eye widened. That was his finger.

“What a beauty.”

Isidro retched; his body trembling from the onslaught of disgust as bile erupted into his nose and down the back of his throat.

“Oh, I know what I’m gonna do.” Reid muttered to himself, “Luh...” he twisted the fingers on Isidro’s other hand. “Ah...s...tuh.”

The pirate chuckled like he had discovered something clever while Isidro was willing every fiber of his being to not break down sobbing. His throat was already raw from screaming, now coated with the acid from his stomach it felt like he had swallowed a torch.

“Last. That’s what that says, aye?” Reid nodded, pleased, “I’ll be the last face ye see before the crocs.”

Isidro realized the river sound he heard wasn’t actually the river itself, but the splashing of crocs attracted to his blood and flesh as Reid tossed his freshly carved finger in the middle of all of them.

“I think they like the taste.”

He bit back another scream when he felt the blade’s tip hit his adjacent finger; wanting so badly for Reid to plunge it deep in his chest instead.

...

When the metal tongues were loosened, it was early evening. A chilling cold had set in over the swamp; the fog thicker than usual. Isidro was lift from the table, his arms and legs like rubber; his head cottony and body pillaged of strength and stamina. His scream came as an exhausted whimper even as he was dropped on the ground.

His body twisted to find familiarity, but found none.

He reached out his arms to feel the wall, instead catching the sight of his mangled hand under a flash of lightning. One finger remained on his left, and a deep gash on the first of his right—the last remaining before spelling out Reid’s curse between red, swollen flesh that coated his hands and the rope in dark copper.

An iron door slammed shut. Isidro’s limited vision couldn’t pin-point where, though as he attempted to stretch he could feel his foot slip between two bars. They felt freezing against his hot skin, sending a shiver up his leg and spine, and he was suddenly taken back to years ago with the question on the tip of his tongue. Why? Though now he knew better than to ask.

More lightning flashed above, bringing with it the smell of rain.

Isidro opened his eye as another gust of wind blew. Reid was crouched, gripping the bars with one hand while the other sat upon his knee, loosely holding the bloodied knife. The willows blew behind him, picking up speed as the sun was blotted out with the looming darkness of angry clouds. More thunder struck, quickly followed by a clap, then Reid stood as the light from the lantern snuffed.

“Sleep tight, fish bait. I’ll see ye when the storm clears.”

Reid’s boots descended, disappearing in the torrent that whipped over the trees and rattled the ground. Isidro curled in on himself as he shied away from the door, listening to the rain approach like a tidal wave. Starting far off; large drops on calm water consuming everything in it’s path, until the swamp descended into the chaos of a summer storm.

A sheet of water flooded the deck, dispersing into Isidro’s cell. Within minutes he was drenched, with his knees to his chest as he shivered violently.

Lightning struck, slicing into a nearby tree with a horrendous crack. Splintering wood fell with a splash into the river. Isidro shut his eyes and shoved the heels of his hand on his ear, feeling every muscle twitch in the nubs of his severed fingers, involuntarily pulling them to curl; burning when there was nothing there to move.

The wound needed to be kept clean and upright; anything to stall him from bleeding out. Just a little longer.

He reached under his shirt with shivering fingers and moved it up, wiggling it from underneath him like a snake shedding skin. The rain pelted his bare torso, and by the time he had the shirt over his head, he was exhausted.

He pulled the right sleeve down with his teeth, freeing his hand, then draped the cloth over his left.

The blood took to the wet fabric, turning it pink, then dark red where his fingers once were. He took a few preparing breaths, pressing his head to the wall, just for a second, before wrapping his hand tight. He screamed once; tears fell from his eyes until the anguish melted with the pressure. It felt secure; better than exposed to the elements.

Better, but it still sucked. He kept breathing. There wasn’t enough air in the world to make him feel like he had enough.

His shaking hand reached for the bars as he tucked the other to his chest. With grit teeth, he pulled himself closer, then adjusted his grip up, blinking back the rain as he prepared for another burst of effort.

“Okay...” he huffed, counting in his head. Down from... three—no, five.

Five. His gut twisted with the thought of moving more, but he had to. Four. His stomach growled, sending shockwaves through his body as if he was eating himself alive. He was so damn hungry, but the thought of eating mixed with the pain made him sick. Three. Wait- Two-

Suddenly, there was a crack, and a stream of water pelted him from the poorly made roof of the cell that sent him to the ground, crushing his hand beneath him.

Someone had chiseled their way into his bones and was mining his marrow with dynamite. His vision went white as he screamed and jostled his body, slamming his bare back against the wall again, and again, and again to break up the agony.

He screamed to the sky. To the earth. To the sea. He screamed to his father buried in the briney deep, cursing the day he was born. His words were swallowed by the storm—echoed back with thunder and wind until he slumped back, panting, staring at the view completely changed by the storm that still raged.

He ended on his side, shivering intermittently between pangs of pain that melted with the cold that ate at his extremities. It was a kindness, much like that of his brain to allow his misery to fade just enough to disconnect.

taglist: @sparrowsage @kixngiggles @honey-is-mesi @annablogsposts

#pirate whump #hand whump #environmental whump #manhandling #sadistic whumper #cold whump #physical whump #whump series #captivity whump #whump community #tw restraints #tw gore #tw asphyxiation #dark water by jovi

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serickswrites · 3 months

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I Care

Warnings: captivity, physical violence, restraints, drugging, creepy/intimate whumper, yandere, suicide, faked suicide, fake blood, presumed dead

Whumpee came to slowly. Their head was pounding and their mouth was dry as cotton. What happened? Where am I? Whumper! The thought had Whumpee starting awake.

"My love, you are awake," Whumper whispered into their ear, lips gently brushing the shell of their ear. "I am so glad."

"Wha," Whumpee had to clear their throat to get the words out, "what didjou do?" Where did you take me? Where is Caretaker? What have you done?

"What needed to be done," Whumper said coolly. "Really, I thought you would be happy, we're together, just like I promised we'd be. I always keep my promises."

What needed to be done? Oh God. Caretaker! "Caretaker?" Whumpee said as they realized they were restrained in a bed. Memories of the moments leading up to Whumper taking them flooded Whumpee. They had opened the door, expecting Caretaker, but found Whumper. They opened their mouth to scream, but Whumper came at them, punching their mouth, boxing their ears, and then grabbing them and......a sharp prick and then nothing.

"Oh they're alive, Whumpee. Don't worry. I wouldn't kill them. Though that would have made my life much easier," they said in afterthought.

Whumpee sighed. Caretaker's alive. They'll find me. They always find me. "They'll.....hunt....you." Their mouth was still dry, the words stuck like glue to their tongue.

Whumper giggled. "They're not going to come looking for you. I made sure they wouldn't."

Whumpee's heart pounded in their chest. They tried to free their hands, but the silken ropes bound them so tightly. "What didjou do?"

"I faked your death. At your own hand of course. That way Caretaker will never suspect me. And you and I can have all our time together. Just like I've always dreamed."

Faked my death? Suicide? I would never! Images of Caretaker's grief filled them, the pain so palpable. They think I'm dead. They think I'm dead. I'm not dead. They think I hurt myself. I would never. I could never hurt them that way. "Why?" Was all Whumpee managed to croak.

"I'm doing this because I care about you, Whumpee. More than anyone else." They cupped Whumpee's cheek and stared into Whumpee's eyes, a maniacal gleam filling their own eyes. "I care so much about you, Whumpee, that I will do anything to take care of you. Even if it means making sure no one will know you. No one will come for you. It's only you and me."

Whumpee spat in Whumper's face. It was the only thing they could do, they were bound to the bed so tightly. "Fuck you," they hissed.

Whumper winced as they wiped the spit off their face. They reached into their pocket and pulled out another needle. "I think you just need some time to think about how great our time will be with no one to interfere."

Whumpee tried to roll away. Tried to free their hands. Tried to do anything to avoid the prick of the needle. But it was in vein. As Whumper stabbed their neck with the needle and depressed the plunger, flooding their body with a potent sedative, Whumpee realized that until Whumper trusted them, until Whumper believed they wouldn't try to escape, they would remain tied to the bed.

I will get out of here. I will get back to you, Caretaker. Whumpee made their silent vow as they began to slip into the deep sea of unconsciousness. I will get back to you. Caretaker. I love you. Please, don't give up on me.

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woosh-floosh · 1 month

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Ah, I always seem to hurt my wrist around the same time every year. Maybe I'm gripping everything a little bit tighter because it's the end of the school year? I think I can trace what happened to aggravate it this time:

Playing too many games on my phone (nyt connections) -> Pain alleviated by stopping -> Aggravated again by playing too much Splatoon -> Playing too much stitch. -> Playing too much stitch. -> Scrubbed the shower -> Playing too much stitch. -> Cutting stickers for too long

CONCLUSION: I need a gamer break

#I thought stitch. wouldn't aggravate it too much because picross doesn't cause much stress to play #but it has a different button system were you don't press and hold only click #it's like clicking the mouse too many times; there's no variation in clicking that repetitively stresses the muscles (and nerves I guess)#My left hand was staring to tingle today and ho kay!! I really need to show some self restraint!!#<- SHE IS PHYSICALLY HURTING HERSELF IN ORDER TO PLAY MORE OF A SO CALLED 'COZY' GAME #Got to go to a funeral this weekend out a state which sucks and is but at least I can finally give my wrist a rest!!#I've worked on the ergonomics of my digital drawing set up a lot so at least I can still draw on my tablet! ^_^#But not while I'm out of state.... and not in my sketchbook...

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wounds-seen-and-unseen · 5 months

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The Chains of Command- Intro Post

For a prompt by @octopus-reactivated on @whumpwillow blog: Abused Royal Whumpee with Guard Caretaker, with the royal being seen as spoilt and arrogant, but instead having to hide abuse by his regent.

Sir Arthur is newly assigned to guard young Prince Richard, still years away from rightfully being named King. He has heard much of the Prince’s arrogant nature. He is in for a surprise when the Prince is quite different than he expected, though he does have some of that arrogance. When the Prince’s elderly former caretaker meets him, Sir Arthur discovers a closely guarded secret.

Trigger warnings: Abuse of a minor, abuse of authority, physical abuse, whipping, shackles, more to be added.

Characters and ages:

Prince Richard: 14-15 years old.

Sir Arthur: 28-30 years old

Miss Priscilla: 58-60 years old

Lord Regent Axel: 45-48 years old

This post will also act as the masterpost once I start posting the chapters. If you want to be added to or removed from the tag list, please let me know.

Also tagging @spicy-honey222 who I have discussed bits of this story with.

#the chains of command #oc: prince richard #oc: sir arthur #oc: miss priscilla #oc: lord axel #whump writing #tw abuse of a minor #tw physical abuse #tw whipping and restraints

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good-beans · 1 year

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Miscellaneous Milgram logistics headcanons:

The bell rings in the morning and evenings at regular times. At night when it rings, it marks curfew: the cells don’t lock, but Es takes one lap around the panopticon to make sure prisoners are in their cells. The only time the bells ring otherwise are during interrogations, and when prisoners are summoned before Es in the courtroom to receive their verdict.

In the second/third trial, guilty prisoners’ doors do lock. Innocent prisoners are not allowed to spend the night with guilty prisoners, but those with alike verdicts can share cells overnight.

Requests come in from Es’ room. Prisoners aren’t allowed in their, or jackalope’s, room without one of them as escort. Es is never around when requests arrive, but they can’t seem to find any doors or hatches that would allow entry (or exit). There are warm/cool breezes to maintain a comfortable temperature throughout the prison, but no one can find any vents or openings.

“Increased physical restraint” punishments occur at random, unexpected intervals and appear like the trailer shots (aka, more restraints/equipment than just the uniforms are put into place.) The guilty prisoners could potentially leave their cells during this time, but usually they don’t want to be seen like that. Can happen at any point, day or night, and last several hours. This is when Kotoko planned her attacks. Enforced by mysterious Milgram magic – no one remembers how the restraints fastened, only that they wake up trapped.

(I’ve been picturing an interrogation room, but only just realized it may be done in their individual cells? But in my head,) it’s a room near that courtroom at the end of the hall. There’s a table, prisoner chair, and guard chair. The machine is integrated into the wall and invisible until paneling starts separating – when that noise plays in the voice dramas. Then, it reveals wires, tubes and pretty stereotypical sci-fi nodes/needles that Es needs to attach to the prisoner. A screen also becomes visible to play the video.

From some of the prisoner reactions, I’ve pictured the chair itself changing very suddenly to lock/strap them in place. Es walks to the opposite wall to pull a lever with their famous line.

Someone mentioned it already, but I like the idea that the interrogation is placed before (rather than the more logical after) the extraction because the machine works off of priming. Es is instructed to bring up their crimes and past just enough to get the idea in their mind. They have to finish by saying “sing your sins” to really ensure the prisoner is thinking of their murder before it begins. The prisoners then enter a dream-like state in which they experience the raw emotions and thoughts that go into the video, but they don’t see or hear it. Afterwards, they’re aware of the kinds of things Es saw, but it's more abstract to them.

#milgram #milgram project #es #im not tagging everyone right now lmao #this is what i picture in my head and will probably write into fics at some point soon #if anything canonically contradicts these let me know - id want to know #i imagine the first time the physical restraints went into effect caused a lot of panic :(#very personal hc but i think yuno stayed outside fuutas cell the first time to talk him down from panic #and shidou did the same for mahiru #amane told everyone to go away so she could pray #and mikoto got really really quiet and told everyone he was fine but some people still tried to keep him company #rose posts

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