#Medical Restraints Tumblr posts

[whump-is-my-drug]

La piel que habito / The skin I live in

[hold-him-down]

Hold Him Down (pt. 1)

TW: Med Whump, Gratuitous Med Whump, Medical Restraints, Chemical Restraints, Noncon Touch, Referenced Noncon, Parker Destin, Institutionalized Slavery, Noncon Drugging, Conditioning, Referenced Food/Water Restriction, Referenced/Described STI testing, Referenced/Described Shock Collar, Whumper POV, literally over 4k words wtf, get leo a pet fish and warm hug when.

Notes: This is one of those things that I'm, as usual, not sure needs to or should exist, but I spent so much time writing it that I couldn't just NOT post it, sooo here it is. Parts 4-6 coming eventually. Takes place in the 12-ish hour span after Leo is prematurely returned from our best guy, Parker Destin. This may be one that I revisit and try to refine down the line.

✥ ✥ ✥

From behind a two-way mirror, Handler Otto Gray and an unfamiliar intake handler stand, arms crossed over their chests. They watch Leo quietly, relieved that, at least for now, the dust has settled. 

His eyes finally closed, a few hours earlier, following a massive fight that ended in a sizable dose of Lorazepam. Even drugged, it took what felt like ages for him to settle down, and even longer for his body to finally go limp. Hours later, the salty tear-streaks are still visible on his cheeks.

The doctor asked them to wait on cleaning him up; in spite of the second handler’s objections, in spite of the apparently innate desire to put this unconscious boy in his place, the handler turned on his heels and left in a huff. Otto hesitated, sparing a quick glance at Leo. He wondered, briefly, how he had managed to fail so spectacularly, before dismissing the thought all together. Against his better judgment, he squeezed Leo’s hand briefly, then he checked to make sure the restraints were appropriately secured and exited. Today was sure to be a long day, sure to be even longer if they could not get a handle on whatever panic-induced psychosis Leo was clearly grappling with.

Somewhere in the middle of it all, shift change happened. The handler who had spent the evening scowling at Leo’s lifeless form clocked out, muttering a, “Good luck,” to his replacement. Otto stayed, though, with a quick glance at handler Nick Ford, according to his name tag, and a muttered greeting. Hopefully, he thinks, this one is better suited for this type of work than the last. The doctor comes up behind them, and the three stand in silence for a moment.

“He’s asleep?” the doctor asks, which is a question that could ordinarily be answered with a quick glance through a chart, but Leo has a notoriously unpredictable response to sedatives and that, if nothing else, has been noted numerously in his file.

Otto nods, his jaw locked. “I think so.”

Leo’s wrists are red, raw where each strap hugs them, but for the last few hours, they have been still. Mostly.

“For how long?” the doctor asks, thumbing through the notes from the night before. A colorful account of the events that led to this moment, which, although maybe not immediately helpful, might lend insight into the inner workings of Leo Evans.

“A couple hours,” Handler Ford supplies, and Otto is struck suddenly with a potent distaste for how this night has played out. 

It’s not out of the ordinary, exactly, for a worker to require this level of support after a contract.  He hoped, though, maybe naively, that Leo was more resilient than this.

He’s been drugged out of his mind, and as hard as he fought it, the drugs eventually dragged him under. To Otto’s understanding, it was only after several hours of trying to calm him down using other methods that he was eventually medicated, and, to Otto’s understanding, the doctor intends now to keep him drugged until he’s under control. He idly wonders if there’s a chance at modifying those plans. Leo is tough, sometimes damn near impossible to work with, but they had found a kind of balance when Otto was his handler. And he thinks, now, he can perhaps spare everyone some heartache if he can have a go at his former trainee.

Otto peers in closer to the window as Leo gasps, his wrists pulling once, lightly, at the straps.

“Alright,” the doctor says, at the same time that Leo’s eyes crack open. As Handler Ford reviews the notes with the Doctor, Otto studies Leo. He hadn’t been an easy trainee. He had been downright defiant at times, resistant to every standard training tool the DLS employed. Otto had been called in in his second month, after his primary handler was fired for, more or less, losing his patience with Leo one time too many, with Leo landing in the ICU. Even after that, success came in short, nearly unpredictable bursts.

When Leo had finally been cleared to take his first contract, that would usually have been the end of Otto’s time with him. But, at least in some of his most challenging successes, he liked to keep an eye on them, if not just to see how they did. He would tell you he did this to improve his own methods, and to help him understand the longer term implications of his work. That wouldn't be the whole truth, though. 

Leo was one of the select few that Otto found himself keeping an eye on. He had gotten through his first contract easily, and Otto recalled the feeling of immense relief as he read through Ms. Smith’s post-contract interview. Leo had been put in a short term holding site and almost immediately secured his second contract. That one wasn’t set to terminate for three months still, so when Otto got the notification that Leo’s file was being updated last night, he called in some favors with the intake department.

He stands here now, mostly frustrated, a little bit confused, and perhaps, maybe slightly sympathetic. Simmering beneath all that is anger, misplaced but a constant undertone that, he worries, may drive some of his decisions today. He buries it as deeply as he can. It serves neither him nor Leo.

Leo blinks hard toward the ceiling, but seems to clock his circumstances quickly. His head turns toward the mirror and for a moment, Otto thinks Leo can see him, right through him, right into the place Leo used to occasionally access and attempt to exploit.

Otto stares at his eyes, red, heavy, and unfocused, and wills Leo to remain calm. Leo swallows, and pulls again against the restraints.

Stop, Otto silently commands. But he doesn’t. Of course, he wouldn’t.

“What are the odds he’ll take it on his own?” Otto hears from next to him.

“What?” Otto responds, shifting his focus.

“The meds?” Handler Ford says as he holds up a small cup of pills in one hand, a syringe filled with an off-white liquid in the other.

“Oh,” Otto responds. The odds, he thinks, are nonexistent. The good news is this isn’t explicitly his problem anymore. 

“Any pointers?” Handler Ford asks then. At Otto’s look, he says, “You worked with him, right?” 

Otto nods, but doesn’t offer any pointer. Handler Ford stares at him intently, so, out of some misplaced desire to prove that he is not, in fact, completely incompetent with his trainees, he says, “A long time ago. I did his initial training after his first handler got canned.”

“What for?” Ford asks. He’s stalling, Otto thinks. 

“Assault,” Otto supplies. He inclines his head toward the room, and turns away from Handler Ford, re-orienting himself toward the window.

“Wish me luck?”

“Good Luck,” Otto says, not unkindly, as the handler disappears behind the door. Moments later, he is in Leo’s room.

Leo’s demeanor immediately shifts, from alarmed and fighting to gain function to panicked, but he stills, he swallows, he forces his eyes on the handler, and takes a breath. Good boy, Otto thinks.

He’s whispering something, but Otto can’t make out the words. He thinks he’s heard Parker’s name, and Handler Ford shakes his head.

Leo nods, then, and takes one of those deep, shuddering breaths that usually mean he’s on the edge of some big feelings. Otto, once more, leans closer to the window.

Handler Ford begins listing out the things he needs Leo to do this morning, and Leo’s brow creases as he takes it in, nodding after each item, but seemingly oblivious to the actual requests.

Inside the observation room, the doctor joins Otto.

“Do you know what happened?” Otto asks the doctor. Otto, immediately realizing he could be asking any number of things, clarifies, “That led to this. He didn’t have an issue after his first contract.”

“Sometimes they get freaked out after spending some time with a particularly cozy buyer,” he replies. 

Otto nods. 

In the room, Handler Ford’s hand is on Leo’s neck, pressing under the collar. Leo stays still, but Otto can see the fear in his eyes, behind layers and layers of grief. It’s odd, seeing him like this.

“You didn’t last too long, did you?” Handler Ford is saying, dripping condescension, as Leo swallows, holding in a fresh wave of tears.

✥ ✥ ✥

“It’s nothing personal, Leo.” Parker’s driver waits for Leo just beyond the threshold. In his hand, Parker holds out a DLS-issued bag.

Leo nods.

Parker grabs his face between his hands and presses his lips to Leo’s forehead. “You have to understand I didn’t plan for this,” he’s saying, but Leo’s ears are ringing. “I would have waited to take on a worker if I had any inclination I would be called away.” His words are kind, Leo thinks, but there’s almost a note of condescension under them. 

Leo feels a sort of emptiness spreading throughout him, a cold void that precedes what he could only describe as terror. For what’s next. For losing this thing, that he isn’t sure he should want, but he wants, so desperately. He clings to it. 

“Parker, I– I can,” Leo starts, taking a step back. He can, what? fix this? do better? be better? “Please don’t do this…”

Parker’s thumbs glide across Leo’s cheeks.

“I thought they beat that out of you,” Parker says, his lips pulled into a half-smile. Leo falters, the words he has prepared are completely knocked out of him.

“I– I’m sorry,” is all he can now formulate. He can feel his circumstances changing as every second passes. He’s going to be sick. The feeling of bile rising wars against the knowledge that if he is sick at this moment, it will be unforgivable. 

Parker’s hands drift down to Leo’s shoulders and he pulls him into a half-hug, pressing his forehead against Leo’s.

“Don’t worry about it,” Parker says. He wants to say more, Leo thinks.

Instead, Parker uses the grip he has on Leo’s shoulder to push him away and rakes his eyes slowly over Leo, from his head to his toes. He smiles and grabs the collar of Leo’s shirt, poking out from under a deep blue sweater. It’s Parker’s favorite.

He inclines his head briefly toward the door and Leo counts every breath he takes.

“They said not to send your books and clothes and things,” Parker explains as he pulls open the front door. “It’ll just go to waste. I can donate it, if you’d like?”

And Leo, in that moment, hesitates. Can he ask Parker to keep it, for when he gets back from his trip? Maybe, he thinks. Maybe Parker hasn’t considered that Leo could stay in the house and look after it, and he doesn’t need to send him away. 

And then it occurs to Leo that maybe Parker is using this time to help figure out the gaps in his training, because they’ve been butting heads lately, and if that’s the case, he wants to tell Parker that he will take this time seriously, and will be better suited to be what Parker needs him to be when he returns.

Leo opens his mouth to say this, to say any of it, even just to tell Parker that he will try harder when he gets back from his trip.

But the panic wraps itself around Leo’s throat, and Leo says nothing.

✥ ✥ ✥

“Are you ready to behave?” The words distort around the edges and Leo blinks hard, willing himself to focus.

This handler, Leo thinks, is unfamiliar to him. There is a fuzziness to both his vision and his thoughts, compounded by blurry memories of the night before. The handler is standing just outside of his line of sight, offering terse reprimands each time he fails to respond. He is trying, though. He wants to tell them he’s trying, but his tongue feels too thick and his voice won’t work.

There’s an added danger that Leo tries not to acknowledge, even silently. They’ve put a training collar on him, but they haven’t gone so far as to shock the world into focus. Even if his limbs didn’t weigh a thousand pounds, he would not be able to lift them. Thick canvas straps wound tightly around each wrist and ankle keep him in place, and Leo blinks at the unexpected wave of terror: these people can and will hurt him with no regard for the fact that he is wholly unable to protect himself. 

The drugs help him accept these facts, but do not help him to forget them.

Memories of the night before claw their way to the surface. Of the sound of his own screaming, of gloved hands pinning him down, of his clothing being pulled off of his body. Of Parker's favorite sweater, which he held tightly to his chest, as it was ripped from his arms. He flinches at the memory of himself, just [some?] hours earlier, as he begged them to let him keep it, as a needle digs its way deep into his thigh. The darkness was quick to swallow him up after that.

And then there are other memories, too, from later in the night. Distorted flashes of the handlers coming to visit him, of cold hands pulling off the thin blanket that had been draped over him. He wondered if the drugs might ease the pain. When they didn’t, he allowed himself a moment of relief in the hope that this might all just be written off as a drug-induced nightmare in the light of day.

And now, the drugs fading, and the light of day doing nothing to erase ache deep inside of him, he swallows, blinking slowly, and longs only for the reprieve that unconsciousness may bring. That maybe they will drug him again, before they touch him again. His stomach turns over, and he draws his focus to the lights on the ceiling.

“He’s lost some weight,” he hears the doctor say, but they aren’t speaking to him, so he closes his eyes and taps each finger on the pad beneath him, just to see if he can feel them all. 

“His buyer kept him hungry,” the handler replies. He can, he thinks, feel them all. “My understanding is he kept him on a pretty strict eating plan.”

Leo recoils, hearing Parker’s voice in his head. The DLS has asked that you start out on a kind of strict meal plan for a little bit. He blinks back tears at the unwelcome memories. Of Parker, event after event, selecting everything he ate, everything he touched. Of the imperceptible nod Parker would give him when he reached for something at the dinner table. Or the terse shake of his head when he moved to something unacceptable. 

Leo wants to tell these men that Parker didn’t keep him hungry. That he was just enacting the plan he had been given.

“I’ll need a copy of it,” the doctor responds, and Leo squeezes his eyes shut, forcing his mind blank.

“It’s in his file,” the handler says. Leo’s ears ring. 

“Good.” The doctor presses his hands fingers into the back of Leo’s neck, the collar momentarily tightening as the fingers explore under it. “He’s dehydrated,” he says, and Leo can picture the handler typing his notes. “Are you going to tell me the buyer restricted his water intake too?”

From somewhere far away, the handler laughs, and Leo’s expression tightens, momentarily stunned by the mockery.

“It’s alright,” he thinks he hears, but the voices are so far away now. He doesn’t know that he’s crying until he feels a thumb wiping at his cheek, and Leo sucks in a breath. “You’re alright.”

The world stands still for what could be seconds or minutes or longer. When the doctor’s hand finally migrates upward, and a light is shined into each of Leo’s eyes, he is momentarily blinded, but immediately aware that he has lost time.

The doctor’s fingers, inches from his face, snap once. “Hi, Leo,” he says simply. And then, “I’m Dr. Grant. Are you with me?”

Leo swallows, which hurts, and other memories slide to the surface of the night before. He tries to nod. The movement makes his head pound. “Yes,” he whispers, but based on the doctor’s– what was his name?– grimace, he doesn’t think it came out right.

The doctor sighs and seemingly gives up on Leo’s active participation, instead pulling the blanket down to Leo’s waist and putting a stethoscope to Leo’s chest. It’s nothing, Leo thinks, but it’s never just this. He closes his eyes again and begins counting in his head. Every so often, he forgets where he left off, and he starts over.

The doctor explains what he’s doing as he works, and Leo wonders idly if it’s for his benefit or for some other reason. To pass the time, and maybe to distract himself, Leo imagines a new doctor in the adjacent observation room, learning this trade. He wonders if it’s a good doctor or a bad doctor, and opens his eyes just enough to glance toward the mirror, to see if he can spot him back there. There are no good doctors here, he decides, and starts counting again.

The doctor looks at Leo’s wrists and describes them to the handler, who writes it all down. He examines Leo’s arms and his shoulders and his chest and his stomach as he searches for signs that Parker hurt him beyond what would be considered reasonable, which he didn’t, Leo wants to say, and that Parker will come back for him after his trip, and that he needs to be ready to go home. Then he starts counting again, because the idea of telling this man that Parker will come back for him will be met with laughter, and Leo doesn’t know if he can handle it. He’s pretty sure he can’t.

Fingers prod at Leo’s stomach and he can’t suppress the accompanying flinch, and as the drugs start to wear thin, he feels himself less and less able to accept what is being done to him.

“Alright, Leo,” the doctor says, and Leo opens his eyes and is met with mostly, he thinks, concern.

“I’ll be back.” The doctor shoots the handler a look, and Leo wants to close his eyes again, but as the handler approaches, Leo knows, acutely, that it’s a bad idea.

“Are you going to cause a scene?” the handler asks, before lifting the blanket from Leo’s lap. Leo shrinks back, an instant passing in which his entire body goes rigid, but shakes his head ‘no.’ He hopes it’s enough.

He holds his breath, waiting for it to be over, or, waiting for it to start, and feels the handler’s eyes sliding down his body.

He thinks he might be shaking, but he isn’t sure. 

The doctor returns a moment later, and after a quick assessment of how things have evolved, issues a quick but gentle, “It’s alright.” It’s not, though, and Leo locks his jaw to keep from crying. He wants to ask if he can close his eyes again. Sometimes they would let him, when things were about to get really bad, in initial training. Sometimes, if he asked clearly, and if he caught them on a good day, they would let him.

“No wonder he was returned,” the handler says, leaning back against the wall. 

“Can I close my eyes?” he whispers then, before he can catch the humor in the handler’s expression. The doctor looks at him once, and nods. Leo doesn’t hesitate to clamp his eyes shut, unwilling to chance opening them at all, maybe ever, and instead continues counting in his head. 

“Continue working on your empathy,” the doctor says evenly, but Leo is pretty sure he isn’t speaking to him so he works on breathing and counting and nothing else.

He tries to block out the words. This is another moment in training, and it too will end eventually. 

“They put him through hell in training. He has a right to be mistrustful.” And then, to Leo, he says, “I’m going to give you something to help balance you out,” and his touch disappears. “Just hang tight, Leo.” 

Without warning, a hand clamps around his neck, pinning him in place. His eyes fly open, his arms pull instinctively against the restraints, as the tip of a syringe is pushed past his teeth and to the back of his throat.

He gags, his head knocking back against the thin pillow, but the handler’s grip is merciless, and in the next instant, a thick, bitter liquid is sliding down his throat. Tears well in his eyes, and he would swear the culprit was simply the bitterness of the medicine.

It’s mistaken for something else, though, and the handler releases him as the doctor runs a hand through his hair and says, “You’re alright.”

Leo’s shaking harder now, and his fingers grip into the pad he lays on and he urges himself to still. His chest aches as he tries to catch his breath, the taste of the medicine still heavy on his tongue. But still, almost immediately, he can feel his body lightening, the tension pulling back until the shaking eases, and the doctor nods, and approaches. Leo can’t feel the fear he knows he should feel. 

He can feel nothing.

Even with the memories of the night before, even with the doctor and the handler so close to him, he can breathe again.

Still, Leo can’t contain the subconscious jerk of his body as a flash of sharp pain shoots through him. The doctor issues an apology, along with a soft, “almost done,” and turns the swab, over and over, as Leo’s legs fight against the hands that hold them in place. He tries to find a place in his mind to retreat into, but he hasn’t been there in months, if not longer, and in that moment, it offers no reprieve. He thinks he cries out, locking his teeth and pressing his head back into the pillow as hard as he can to distract himself from what goes on lower. When the doctor is finished, he wipes Leo down and drapes the blanket over his lap.

What he doesn’t say is ‘Good, Leo,’ because they would both know it to be untrue. 

Still, in the next breath, the restraints are being unbuckled, and Leo is lifted at his shoulders until he is sitting, and his wrists are being examined, and there is a hand rubbing his back. He blinks slowly, willing the room back into focus, and he can hear voices but he isn’t able to follow their conversation.

“It doesn’t need to be this hard,” he thinks the handler is saying, and even though his head is hung low and his shoulders are scrunched to make him as small as possible, in his peripherals he can see the doctor shooting the handler a sharp look. “What?” he bites back. “It’s true.”

“Alright, Leo,” the doctor says then, ignoring the handler entirely. Leo keeps his eyes locked on the ground and he takes the blanket in a white-knuckled grip.

The doctor lets him catch his breath, rubbing his back every few seconds. Leo thinks he’s using it to get a read on his heart rate, but he doesn’t care just then. The doctor explains what’s next, and moves to ease Leo onto his side. Leo, for his part, cooperates, lowering himself slowly, watching as his fingers shake. He wraps his arms so tightly around his stomach he think he might leave bruises, but when the doctor touches him, he doesn’t flinch.

“There’s some bruising,” the doctor says neutrally, but Leo can’t look at the handler to see if he types it. It could be from the handlers, or it could be from Parker’s friends the night before. Leo chokes on his next breath, and in spite of the drugs, he can feel the panic rising.

“Leo?” the doctor says. “Are you doing alright?” 

The handler takes a step forward.

“I don’t consent to this,” Leo whispers, so softly he isn’t sure anyone hears him. The look the handler levels on him is scathing. “I–I kn…know it doesn’t… I know it doesn’t matter.” His voice is soft, slurred around the edges, but clear enough. “But I… I j-just– I want to make sure you know.”

The doctor says nothing, and the handler frowns. Leo wants to ask him to type it into his chart, but the doctor moves behind him, and Leo’s vision is suddenly and immediately blurred by his tears. 

By the time they finish, by the time the doctor drapes the blanket over his hips, letting his hand rest on Leo’s head briefly before retreating, Leo’s body is wracked with sobs. They leave him to calm himself down, and he finds himself, for a moment, grateful for the simple mercy.

But he cannot stop crying, as he stares into the mirror and thinks of all he’s lost. Of what, in spite of what he tried to convince himself he could have, he will never have. Of Parker, laughing with his friends as he picks out a new worker. Of the handler, and all those that came before him, smiling as they hurt him. The door opens with no warning and a familiar voice, a voice warm enough to burn Leo’s entire world down, issues a commanding, clear, “Stop this, Leo.” 

And almost instantly, Leo stops.

FIGHTER TAG LIST:

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[whumpetywhump]

Kam Pood Tee Hai Pai - Ep. 1

Requested by @applesakura

[bouncyalex]

🖼️picture frames are boring.

This is much better, and more inspiring.😏

[whump-tr0pes]

Human Heart (Terminator Salvation fanfic) Chapter 6

Masterlist

AO3

Marcus Wright sacrifices himself and donates his heart to the leader of the human resistance against the machines. What he didn't take into account was how hard his friends would fight to get him back - and how he would be accepted in his second life.

Contents: medical whump, coughing up blood, medical restraints, heart transplant, blood transfusion

~

system rebooting

Marcus’s lungs shuddered once, then inflated. They were thick with fluid. He lurched forward, mouth gaping open, desperately coughing the fluid up so he could breathe. A strap across his chest kept him tied down to the cot. He twisted, terrified, drowning in his own blood and serum. He went rigid when a hand grasped his jaw and forced it open – allowing a tube to dig into his throat.

He tried to scream. The tube made a noise like it was sucking the fluid right out of his lungs. Horror erupted in his chest as the air was sucked out of him, too. He coughed weakly. He couldn’t see anything; the world was a jagged streak of red and black. He writhed against the straps holding him down.

Then, miraculously, the tube retreated. He could breathe. He hacked up a mouthful of blood, but he could breathe. He sobbed and let his head drop back against the cot. Tears streamed from his eyes. Slowly, slowly, the light above him came into view. Behind it was the black sky.

Or the ceiling. He was inside.

He jolted and tried to look around. Agony shot through his chest. He froze, sweat beading on his brow, as his eyes darted around the room. It was small, looking more like a rusted-out closet than anything else. Straps held his chest and hips down to the cot he was lying on. Handcuffs chained his wrists to the cot as well.

He blinked, desperately trying to clear his vision. Someone stood over him – someone with red hair. Kate, that was her name. The military guy’s wife. She held a tube in her hand that was stained with blood. She stared down at him like she was staring at a ghost.

There were two other people in the room. One was the kid, slumped in the corner, looking like he was passed out sleeping. The other—

“Blair,” he croaked.

She shot to her feet and crossed the small room in two strides. “Marcus,” she said, and dropped to her knees beside the cot.

“Careful,” Kate said, still holding the bloody suction tube in her hand like she was trying to ward him off with it. “He’s—”

“He’s tied down,” Blair said as she took Marcus’s hand in hers. “He’s fine.”

“Why…” Marcus swallowed hard. His throat fucking hurt. His chest felt like it had been carved open. “Why am I tied down?”

“In case you, um… didn’t come back… yourself,” Kate said uncomfortably.

Marcus looked from Blair to Kate. “Why am I back? Is Connor—”

“He’s fine,” Blair said, gently cupping Marcus’s cheek. “They did the surgery. He’s fine. Let’s… just worry about you, right now.”

Marcus’s breaths quickened. He knew he should feel his heartrate increase with the news – but he couldn’t feel his heartbeat at all. He couldn’t feel it in his chest, couldn’t hear in it his ears. Still, his chest ached like they really had cut him open and taken it out. He… he remembered…

“What do you mean?” he rasped. “What do you mean, you did the surgery? How am I still here? How am I… still me, if I was… dead?”

“John made a… well, it’s like a tiny pump,” Kate said, finally putting the suction tubing down. “He made it after he felt well enough to sit up. Then I installed it. Then you needed a transfusion. Well, a few.” She chewed her lip. “You lost… pretty much all your blood.”

“Who…?” Marcus’s eyes went straight to Blair’s.

“Not me,” Blair said, staring at the blanket. “We’re not compatible. It was the kid.” She lifted her chin to Kyle where he lay curled up in the corner. “Took a while for him to get his reserves back. And… he was the only one willing to donate, for now.”

Marcus’s eyes widened. “How long have I been out?” he croaked.

Blair met his eyes again. “Two weeks,” she said quietly. “It’s been… you’ve been dead for two weeks.”

[dinosaurswant2rule]

Mac deals with the aftermath of Desi being charged with domestic terrorism

Or should I say Jack deals with it

I love this couple, why do i like seeing them suffer? Got me....

[detectivewhumperfly]

Greetings all my fellow whumpaholics!

TW Whump starts roughy 1:17:35 but if you prefer skip to 1:18:20-1:20:30

Tw for suicide. NOT clearly shown but referenced and inferred

Not my favorite but it’s something 2/5

[whump-is-my-drug]

Passione episode 80

[whump-is-my-drug]

La piel que habito / The skin I live in

[hold-him-down]

🚑 Rushed to the hospital

✥ The Hospital Arc - Part 1 ✥ 

Notes: ~ 18 months in, just a little introduction to a long awaited mini-arc.

Trigger Warnings: Med Whump, Panic Attacks, Hyperventilation, Medical Restraints, Needle Mention, Institutionalized Slavery

✥ ✥ ✥ 

It was supposed to be a simple enough task. Go to the grocery store. Get the things on the list. Go home and get back to his books and cook dinner and watch the sun set and, if it’s a very good day, once Luke gets home they can watch a movie in Luke’s bed and maybe Luke will hold him, even if just for a little bit.

But it’s not a simple task. Anxiety builds in Leo’s peripheries as he weaves through the aisles, hyper-aware of every person he encounters. It’s busier here than he’s comfortable with, and the noises and the lights and the narrow walkways put him on edge. He urges himself, not for the first time that day, to pull himself together.

Still, he selects items almost carelessly, checking off his mental list as quickly as he can. 

It’s because he’s moving too quickly, and he’s too jumpy, and everything is too much, that he makes the mistake. He rounds the corner to the cashier, and his cart nearly collides with someone else’s. He dodges it, issuing an anxious, “I’m sorry,” and tries to keep his head down.

He knows the moment that he sees the scrub bottoms, though, that he’s in trouble. Handler, his mind screams at him. He tries to quiet that voice.

He closes his eyes, taking a breath. Another. Another. The sounds of the store grow distorted, far away and warbly and almost silent against the ringing in his ears.

It’s just a doctor or a nurse. The hospital is nearby. It is not a handler. It’s just a doctor. Maybe it’s Rob. Maybe it’s Luke. It is not a handler. Rationally, Leo knows that the nearest site is over an hour away, and no handler would still be in their scrubs after their shift. Leo’s not thinking rationally, though. 

He struggles to pull in air as he forces his eyes open. 

The man is staring at him. Does he look angry? He’s speaking to him, he thinks, but he can’t make out the words.

I’m sorry, he tries to say again, but isn’t sure if the words come out.

He takes a step back, raising his hands in apology, and tries to draw in another breath. He’s hyperventilating. His fingers shake as he reaches toward his pocket. If he can call… if he can call Luke, Luke can explain. If he can get home, he has medicine in the pantry he can take, and he can… he can hide somewhere until Luke gets home and helps him. He can… he needs to get home, he tries to say. 

The man takes a step toward him, his hands up, mirroring Leo’s. Leo’s eyes dart around the store, but he processes none of what he sees. 

He can hear voices behind him, telling the man to back off, he thinks. 

“I’m sorry,” he chokes out. “I–” He wants to tell them he’s allowed to be here. That he’s under contract, and that Luke told him to come here. He wants to tell them not to touch him, that if they touch him right now, it’ll be so much worse. He wants to tell them he’s going to be sick. He wants to tell them he can’t breathe. 

But all that comes out is another apology, choked off with a sob.

He’s going to black out. He reaches for his wallet, for his phone, for anything. He grasps at whatever memories of Luke’s voice he can find, clutching onto the sound and the words with every piece of rational thought that he has left. 

From behind him, he feels hands on his shoulders, and almost instantly, he’s back in training. The handlers are shouting at him, the handlers are holding him down. He’s crying, he’s begging them to let him go. He’ll do better, he cries. He’s so, so, sorry. 

✥ ✥ ✥ 

There are hands on him when things come into focus. There are fingers pressing into his neck, there’s a mask over his mouth and nose. Breaths don’t come easily, but they come, chased by a burning pain. 

He feels a jolt, and forces his eyes open; he’s in an ambulance, he thinks. He reaches up to take off the mask, to tell the man who’s holding him that he’s okay, to beg him to call Luke and to tell him that Luke will help him. His hands won’t work, though. 

“It’s alright,” the man says. “Take it easy.” 

Do they know he’s a worker? Do they kn… do they know he’s under contract? He tries to ask them if they’re taking him back to a DLS site, but he can’t. He feels tears pooling in his eyes; he tries to lift his hands again, but canvas straps dig into his wrists at the movement.

He sobs, while a desperate plea that probably isn’t understandable to the man works its way out of his chest. The mask muffles the sound, and the man looks concerned, so Leo lets himself hope that maybe… maybe he’ll listen.

Focusing is difficult. Producing words is even harder. 

“Let him talk,” another EMT says, nodding.

The first, the man at his head, says, “Stay calm and breathe, okay? You’re gonna be alright.”

The man is obvious with his movements as his hand closes in on Leo’s face, and Leo shrinks into himself.  The moment he’s free from the mask, Leo immediately whispers, “I’m s-sorry,” broken by a kind of panicky gasping.

“It’s okay,” the man responds. Leo’s not unaware of how closely he’s watching him, “You’re not in any trouble. They’ll get everything sorted out at the hospital, you’ll be out of there in no time.”

“C-Can you call Luke?” He swallows, forcing as much air into his lungs as he can. It’s not enough. “B-Bennett,” he whispers. “He’s my… he holds my c-c-c-” His whole body is shaking, and the man puts the mask back over his mouth.

“Your contract,” the other EMT says. She squeezes his hand, eying the strap holding it in place. “They’ll call him as soon as you get checked out,” she continues. “There’s… protocol, we need to follow, with people in the system.”

Luke will come, he tries to tell them. More importantly, he tries to make himself believe it. The world is spotting, though. The handlers’ voices are back in his head. Every time his eyes close, images of restraints, of hands on him, of laughter, of his collar, of tubes and white coats and bright lights and scrubs and pain, force their way to the front.

He can’t quite parse out what’s real and what’s in his head, so he sucks in breath after breath, tears streaming in waves down his cheeks as two hands turn into four hands turn into so many hands, and he's too scared to open his eyes and he's too scared to speak and all he can think of, over and over, is that Luke will come for him. He just needs to be good, and Luke will come for him.

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[jordanstrophe]

Abandoned Whumpee

[Previous]--[Masterlist]--[Next] CW: Taken, whumper medic/forced medical whump, stitches, blood loss, defiance, restrained

The last thing whumpee saw was blood leaving their body

... And nearly all of it.

They flicked their eyes open; they were laying on a table with a light beaming on their chest. Whumper was standing next to them rummaging around equipment and didn't notice them awake.

Whumpee silently stared with a horrified gaze. They could see the gloves whumper wore, drenched and dripping with blood. They tried to climb off the table as quietly as they could, but something snagged their wrists as metal clacked together.

Whumper heard the sound, spinning around as whumpee was frozen almost half-off the table. "Easy, easy now. You just got a lot of stitches." Whumper softly spoke.

Whumpee plummeted into sheer panic. They tried to sit up, but a weight around their chest strapped them down.

"Oh no no no, take a breath, we're almost done." Whumper tried to soothe. They grabbed whumpee by the hip and pulled them back to the center of the table. They tightened the strap around whumpee's chest and gave the binds on their wrists a tug.

"Wh-y ... Why are you do-doing th- ss... Le-let me go-" Whumpee heaved. Whumper touched their forehead as whumpee flinched and squeezed their eyes shut. They hoped when they opened them next, whumper would be gone.

They ended up not being able to open them at all.

.........

.........

Whumpee could barely blink awake. They felt numb.

They were laid on a stretcher in an infirmary; their enemies infirmary, nonetheless. There was a blanket tucked around them as whumpee frantically ripped it off and pulled their shirt up. There were perfect stitches and a well dressed wound on their side. Their right arm had a silver handcuff that bound their wrist to the bed.

Whumpee let out a long, drawn-out sigh. What had they gotten themselves into...

"How do you feel?" A voice asked.

Whumpee looked up; whumper's head was poking out from the side of the divider watching them. Whumpee almost gasped, but managed to clench their jaw instead.

"That's a cute expression. Really though, how do you feel?" Whumper came out and crossed their arms.

"You saved me." Whumpee hissed like an accusation.

"Yes, you're welcome. How do you feel." Whumper repeated more sternly.

"Why would you save me? You ... You of all people. We're enemies. You were supposed to kill me on sight." Whumpee narrowed their eyes.

Whumper sighed and dragged a hand down their face. "You still don't understand..." They sat on the bedside as whumpee tried to jump off, but the handcuff held onto their wrist. "Is that all you think you're worth? Nothing but a sacrificial cattle? A lamb for slaughter?"

"-Yes! Yes I do!" Whumpee shouted over them. "My sacrifice was worth it to me. Because I stayed back, my team is safe now. Safe from you." Whumpee snapped and leaned in. "You lost."

Whumper stared with a raised brow; they were mostly surprised whumpee had the energy to throw a fit.

"You know, you're not the only one they've left behind." Whumper shrugged. Whumpee cocked their head to the side without taking their eyes away.

"Every time we corner your team, one person always gets left behind. It's sad, really. Your team's been getting picked off one by one if you think about it. Was it your turn to die?"

Whumpee swallowed past the pit in their throat. "Look... If you saved me just to get information out of me, then I'm terribly sorry, you've wasted a lot of your time. You know I'm willing to die for them, so either get it over with, or let me go." Whumpee spoke behind clenched teeth.

"Let you go?" Whumper belted out laughing, "My darling little lamb, that would be the same as killing you!" They wiped a tear and put a hand on whumpee's knee.

"What's that supposed to mean." Whumpee swatted their hand off.

"Then let's say I let you go. You go running back to your team, they see you alive, intact and... Well, they'll assume you gave them up." Whumper pulled the blanket back around whumpee and tucked them back in.

"-And then, they'll kill you."

Whumpee's face went blank, both fists clutched the blanket, their eyes didn't cry, but glossed like they wanted to. They wished whumper was playing mind games, but there was truth in it. Their team would assume they were compromised and whumpee was the cause.

"Regardless if I left you or took you, you're dead to them. You wouldn't be welcomed back; would be one of us." Whumper poured a glass of water and nudged it into whumpee's hand. They barely reacted, they were far gone in their own thoughts.

"Now I'll ask you one more time."

"How do you feel?"

[Masterlist] - [Next]

@parasitebunny @starzabove @frog-hat-fa-ggot @morning-star-whump @memepsychowhowantsuperpower-blog @mommymarichatfurever​  @isita-torrrres @tobiaslut

[cravesunconditionallove]

Thinking about torture methods.

It would be pure lovely evil, imagine taking away Whumpee’s ability to breathe? Injectable paralytics exist (rocuronium, succinylcholine) and are easily reversible.

So, you have a restrained Whumpee. Inject just enough to make them unable to breathe on their own, maybe a tiny inhale here or there, and let their SpO2 drop a bit, just enough to be really uncomfortable, dying for air, but not giving them the relief of passing out. Give them a few breaths with a bag-valve mask, until their sats are normal. Repeat as needed.

Alternatively, you could be more invasive and just intubate them, which is more uncomfortable but carries the risk of vomit aspiration if your Whumpee has just eaten.

Caution: can cause brain damage if continued for too long! Sessions should remain under 20 minutes.

It’s like waterboarding but instead of water you just keep them from breathing. Have fun with this new Whumpee pain method :D

[oliversrarebooks]

lay down on the operating table

TW: forced sedation, experimentation, restraints, struggling

Lay down on the operating table for us. I know you're upset about being experimented on and brainwashed, but it's for the greater good. You'll feel much better about it once we've sedated you. These restraints are for your own safety. Just put your arm down, and -- there we go, all secured. Just relax. There's no point in fighting. You should know that by now.

That's right, soon you'll be trapped inside a body that's too heavy and too drowsy to move, completely relaxed, unable to focus on anything but how much you want to sleep. Every fiber of your body will be relaxed. Your eyelids will become too heavy to keep open. The sedation will slowly overwhelm you until you can't fight it any more. 

And once you're asleep, no matter what is done to you, you will not resist. You won't even be aware of what is happening. You'll be completely at our mercy, sleeping so peacefully. Once the sedative starts to kick in, you won't even remember a thing.

Here, let me put the mask on you and secure it. It's only oxygen. Now breath in deeply. One deep relaxing breath for me. In and out. That's it. Another deep breath. In and out. Good.

Now I am going to start the drug that will put you to sleep. It'll take a few minutes to work, but soon it's going to make you very, very relaxed, and very, very sleepy. No use holding your breath. Just breath normally. There you go.

That's it. Relax and let the sedative work its magic on you. You'll start to feel drowsy and floaty as the drug enters your system. Your eyes will become heavy, and you'll let them drift shut. Your mind will blank, leaving you so relaxed. Do you feel it yet?

You're starting to look a bit dazed. The sedation is beginning to work, I think. You're feeling nice and relaxed, aren't you? And so sleepy. I can see your eyes blinking so slowly. No, no, it's no use to struggle against the restraints. Eventually, you'll stop fighting it and go to sleep. 

Your body is becoming heavy and your mind is growing hazy. Just lie back on the table, yes, that's good. Take another deep breath. Is that a yawn? Is the gas making you drowsy? You're starting to feel it affecting you, aren't you? Lying there, staring up at the ceiling, fighting those heavy eyelids.

I bet you feel so calm and peaceful. Like you want to let yourself drift off to sleep, right?

Your body and mind are relaxing and becoming more sedated, and there's so little you can do about it. Your eyelids want to drift shut. That tiredness is spreading all throughout your body. Is it starting to get hard to keep your eyes open? Is your head starting to feel heavy? Do you feel like you could fall asleep at any moment if you wanted to?

Yes, that's how the sedative is supposed to make you feel -- calm, relaxed, heavy, sleepy. You're fighting your body's natural urges to go to sleep. You'll lose that battle. You are going to go to sleep. 

Did you realize that you've stopped struggling against the restraints? It looks like you can barely keep your eyes open. Slowly and surely, the sedative is putting you to sleep, and there's nothing you can do about it. It's no use fighting those heavy, tired eyelids. They're shutting all on their own.

That's right, you're completely unable to fight the sedation. It's strong and powerful. It will make you feel floaty and drowsy and oh so blissful. It will override your desire to stay awake. It was all over the second we started the drug, and you knew that.

The sedation is conquering your body and soon it will conquer your mind. Your body will fall asleep soon. Let yourself stop fighting, let sleep claim your helpless body. Let sleep take you. Let the sedation claim you. Let your eyelids close. 

You're becoming drowsy, drowsier and sleepier. Soon your eyelids will close, and you will give in to the sedation, and you will be so docile and pliant and entirely at my mercy. Are you ready for that? The moment when your eyelids close will be the point of no return. A fleeting moment when you are not yet asleep and not quite awake. A moment where you know you've lost the fight, where you feel utterly helpless.

There we go. Shut those sleepy eyes for me. Don't open them again. Let the sedative put you fast asleep. There we go, fall asleep. Go to sleep, deep asleep. So deeply asleep. It feels so good to stop fighting and go to sleep. And now that you've fallen asleep, we can do whatever experiments we please.

Now, we can get to work.

[whump-tr0pes]

Human Heart (Terminator Salvation fanfic) Chapter 7

Masterlist

AO3

Marcus Wright sacrifices himself and donates his heart to the leader of the human resistance against the machines. What he didn’t take into account was how hard his friends would fight to get him back - and how he would be accepted in his second life.

Contents: medical restraints, back from the dead, dehumanization

~

“Two weeks?” Marcus wheezed. “I… wh-where did I… go?”

I was dead for fifteen years. Two weeks is nothing.

“You, ah… cooled down,” Kate said uneasily. “Your… batteries… kicked on and started cooling you as soon as—”

“As soon as you killed him,” Blair said through her teeth, glaring up at Kate through her lashes.

“As soon as we harvested the organ,” Kate finished, taking on an icy tone. “We think you have cooling plates on the inside of your skull and along your bones. They kicked on immediately. We think that’s how your brain stayed… uh…”

“You keep avoiding the fact that you cut him open and murdered him, Kate,” Blair said. The tension between the two women felt brittle, like the slightest provocation might have Blair up off her knees and at Kate’s throat with a knife.

“He was a willing donor,” Kate hissed.

“Signed a fucking document, too,” Marcus said through numb lips. His mind was spinning.

Kate’s eyebrows pulled together as she stared down at him. “…sorry?”

Marcus swallowed hard and shook his head. “Nothing.” Agony thundered through his chest with every breath.

“Now that he’s awake…” Blair reached into her pocket, as if looking for a key. When she didn’t find what she was looking for, she patted another pocket. Then, slowly, she raised her gaze to Kate again. “Where the fuck is the key?” she ground out through clenched teeth.

Kate clutched the suction tubing. “Barnes took it while you were sleeping,” she said. Marcus watched as her breathing sped up.

Blair got to her feet in one smooth motion. Marcus’s hand felt cold and empty without hers squeezing his.

“What the fuck did you say?” Blair breathed, leaning forward until her nose was inches away from Kate’s.

Kate lifted her chin. “Marcus came back. That’s great. But we have no idea what that means. When humans come back after being dead, it can change their personalities. With him—”

“He is human,” Blair spat.

“For all we know, rebooting him triggered some underlying programming that turned him into a sleeper agent,” Kate said, her face flushing pink. “We have no idea. This is uncharted territory for us.”

“He fucking sacrificed his life for Connor, and this is how—”

“We can never be too careful,” Kate said. This time, her hand covered her growing stomach as if she could fend off the entire fucking world off just with that.

Blair glared at Kate. “So this is how you treat the people who sacrifice everything for you, just because they’re not the right people?” she seethed. “Or would it have been more convenient for you if he just never woke up?”

With that, Kate pushed past her and headed for the door. “He stays restrained,” she said, not even looking back. “We’ll give it time. He can earn our trust. But until then?” She threw a glare over her shoulder. “You’re in charge of keeping him fed. And if you even try to free him again before we’re ready, we’re asking questions second.” She turned and stalked out of the room.

Blair stood staring after Kate for a long moment. Marcus coughed weakly and let his head sink back into the pillow. “Fuck,” he breathed.

Blair dropped to one knee and slid her hand back into his again, fuming. “I’m gonna get you the fuck out of here,” she growled. “No fucking way they do this to you, after everything you’ve done for them. No fucking way.”

“Don’t get yourself in trouble,” Marcus said softly. “I can’t run with you this time. Fuck, I—” Pain flared, and he stifled a cry. “I don’t even think I’d be able to sit up.”

She pinched the bridge of her nose. “Fuck. Fuck.” She drew in a deep breath and slowly let it out. Then she whistled, one short, sharp burst. Kyle jerked awake in the corner. “Hey kid,” she said, drawing her free hand through her hair. “Wake up. He’s back.”

[whumpy-bi]

Whumpee in an enemy hospital. Forced into medical treatment after being captured.

Always restrained to their bed, always under supervision by someone—a nurse, a guard, a doctor. All part of the enemy forces, all regarding them with a detached coldness.

They don’t know where they’ll be taken after they’re healed, they’re afraid to ask. Maybe, if you’re into it, Whumpee fights like hell for the first few days because they were still captured and finally stop after days of drug induced sleep. Hoping for rescue, because there’s absolutely no chance at escape with their current condition.

They try to plead with doctors, asking for any small mercy—to let them go, to take the restraints off, anything!—but to no avail.

Just…captured in an enemy hospital.