#forced psychiatric treatment whump

[only-shadows-dwell-where-we-are]

Redwood Psychiatric Institute - Part 6

MASTERLIST - PART 1 - PART 2 - PART 3 - PART 4 - PART 5

CWs: THIS IS A HEAVY ONE PLEASE READ THESE AND PROCEED WITH CAUTION - medical gaslighting, ECT mentions, disordered eating, forced NG tube (nasogastric) intubation, description of forced intubation, IV cannula, forced drugging

"I know you're lying to me." James ground out.

"James, you are ill. You are schizophrenic, and you have trouble telling reality from hallucination. I am your doctor, and I know what is best for you. And right now, what's best is for you to continue your treatments here."

"No, no, none of this is can be real, I'm - my name isn't James, it's- it's-" James stuttered. His hand trembled in the straight jacket he had been restrained in. "Why, why can't I remember?" His unruly dark hair obscured his wide eyes, pupils dilated from the medications.

"You're making things worse for yourself, James. Take a deep breath, and take some more medications. It'll make you feel much better." Doctor Wilson held out a wax paper cup filled with pills.

James shook his head as he backed into the padded wall of his room. "No, get them away from me. AWAY!" He began to scream, and realising he was trapped there rendered his flight instinct inert, he began to rock back and forth on his heels in a desperate attempt to soothe himself.

"James. Calm down. You are being dramatic. You need to take a deep breath."

James began to attempt to tear himself free from the straight jacket to no avail, letting out a frustrated animalistic cry.

"Why-"

"You can take a nice long nap and calm down." Doctor Wilson put the cup down, realising James wasn't going to let himself be soothed easily. The doctor instead pulled a hypodermic syringe out, and the boy began to scream.

"Can I have some assistance?" He called to the orderlies standing outside the cell. They rushed in, effortlessly pinning James to the floor. The orderlies pulled James' pants down to allow the Doctor access to his patient's bottom. Doctor Wilson swiftly jabbed the hypodermic into the muscle, earning him an indignant cry.

"No.. no.." James stuttered, as they pulled away from him. He attempted to pull himself to his feet, but tripped over himself, the drug already leaving him unsteady and out of it.

"Sh, my boy." Doctor Wilson soothed, helping his patient onto the bed. "You can rest now."

James eyelids, with his pupils blown wide, slowly drifted shut as he slumped over on the bed.

----

When James awoke, he decided to make a plan. He didn't trust Doctor Wilson anymore. There were gaps in his memory, and things that just didn't make sense.

And he was sure that his name wasn't really James - but what was it then?

He started by figuring out how to stop his meds. The nurses would check that he had taken them. He started crushing one or two in the side of his jaw, and swallowing the rest. The crushed pills were small enough that they weren't super noticeable, and as long as the nurses didn't see whole pills leftover. Once they left, he'd spit out the crushed tablets. Eliminating one or two of the medications certainly help to clear up his fatigue and drowsiness, but he had other symptoms instead - headaches, fevers, sore eyes. He just had to deal with it. He needed to stop the medication more.

Then, he stopped eating. Just in case the food was also drugged. But he also did it as a protest. He wanted to show Doctor Wilson that he was still in control. It started with a sausage here, some oatmeal there. He would just cut down gradually, and one one would notice until it was too late.

----

"For the last time James, eat up." The orderly, Dan, sighed as the boy pushed his tray away from him.

"'Mm not hungry." James muttered.

"You're being stubborn. You haven't eaten in 4 days. Eat up, or I'll have no choice but to call Doctor Wilson."

James didn't look up. "Don't care."

"Fine. I give up." The orderly picked up the walkie talkie hanging from his white scrubs. "Doctor Wilson, James is refusing to eat again and he's refusing meds."

"Take him to Treatment Room 2. I'll meet you there." The Doctor commanded.

The burly orderly bent down and scooped up James in one arm.

"Dan, please, please don't do this!" James began to sob.

He screamed and kicked, but he was a fairly scrawny young man, and with the lack of food, he was no match for the orderly, who dragged him down the hall with ease.

"Here." The orderly tapped his keycard on the door reader, and pushed the door open, revealing an exam table reminiscent of a dentist's chair. He place James onto the table, and began to strap him using the standard medical restraints, straps at his forehead, wrists, chest, hips, legs and ankles.

"Let me go!!" James screamed, fighting against the restraints with all the strength he had left. "You can't do this!!"

"I'm sorry buddy. It's for your own good." The orderly patted his forehead.

Doctor Wilson stepped into the room and locked eyes with James. Dan immediately backed away, planting himself in the corner of the room.

To the doctor, Jamess looked absolutely feral, his eyes red raw from crying and sleep deprivation, his hair greasy and unkempt, and his frame thin and wiry.

"Oh James, I was so hoping it wouldn't come to this." Doctor Wilson tutted, as he walked up the exam chair. He tilted James' chin, examining the boy's face closer. "You're sneaking off your meds, too." He said - a statement, not a question. "You had been doing so well.. All that progress we've achieved. Gone."

Doctor Wilson sighed, then nodded to the orderly, who began to set up a cart with medical tools and devices. Both men snapped on nitrile gloves and then pulled on medical masks.

"What are you doing?" James asked in a high-pitched tone, clearly frightened.

"Getting you back to health, my boy." Doctor Wilson smiled sadly behind the mask. "Clearly you can't be trusted to do the right thing for yourself."

Dan unpackaged a sterile butterfly needle, which he passed to the Doctor. The orderly wiped down James' elbow with an alcohol wipe, then tied a rubber band above the area. Doctor Wilson brought the needle to James' vein, and the boy whimpered.

"Relax James, you're in good hands." Doctor Wilson hushed, before sliding the needle into the vein.

It smarted, and James winced, looking away as a drop of blood bubbled up from the wound. The Doctor removed the needle and replaced it with tubing, setting up an IV which he hooked to a bag of solution on a stand. James looked to the bag as the solution began to drip through the tubing into his vein.

"What's in there?" He asked weakly.

The Doctor ignored him, and instead began to pull more tubing out from packaging. He held it up and measured it in front of James' face, who squirmed uncomfortably against the strap across his forehead. The Doctor then covered the tip in some kind of gel, held the tube under James' left nostril, and before he could react, the tube was being shoved up his nostril.

Shocked, James began to try to wrest his head away, but the restraints held tight, even as the tube slid further and further up his nose, down the back of his throat, and further, further down. James couldn't help but cough and gag on the tubing, the foreign sensation awfully unwelcome in his system. Even when he thought it couldn't possibly go any further, it did. Finally, finally, it was over. He drew in choked, panicked breaths through his mouth as his body was wracked with silent gasping sobs.

"All done." Doctor Wilson said, his voice void of any care or emotion for his patient. The orderly stepped up and helped the doctor tape the other end of the tube against James' cheek, then attached the tubing to a container sitting on the IV pole, which was filled with an odd liquid. Before long, the liquid began to trickle through the tube and down his nostril. He shuddered at the horrible sensation of the cold liquid sliding down the tube, straight into his stomach.

Doctor Wilson then adjusted the settings on the IV. "Get some sleep. You'll need it."

The Doctor left. Dan stayed for a moment, making sure the Doctor was out of sight before he bent down to whisper in James' ear. "I'm sorry it had to come to that. But you left me with no choice.." He wiped a tear from James' cheek. "Get your rest while you can."

Dan stood, and with a sad sigh, shut the door behind him as he left the room.

James was left in silence. He stared up at the cieling, the odd tear slipping down his cheek, James felt his head becoming cloudy. His limbs felt light, as though they weren't tethered to his body anymore. He was floating. His eyelids however, were heavy as lead. The longer he stared, the harder it was to stay awake, and before long, his consciousness faded and he slipped into darkness.

----

"How are you feeling, James?"Doctor Wilson greeted as he stepped into the room.

James lifted his head slowly to look up. His limbs felt less sluggish than they had several days ago, but the feeding tube had begun to disperse the liquid down his throat and his stomach churned at the uncomfortable sensation. James mumbled incoherently, a single tear slid down his cheek.

Doctor Wilson ran a hand through James's hair, sighing softly. "Oh, James. This is what happens when you don't behave. We are doing what is best for you. The sooner you accept that, the easier it will be for you."

----

James sat in Doctor Wilson's office, his eyes spaced out and staring distantly into the wall.

"James." Everything was fuzzy, blurry. His head pounded. And something was slipping down his chin. Was that-

"Wipe that off his face, please."

An orderly bent into his face, and wiped his chin, then stood up. James didn't even twitch.

"James. Are you with us?"

"Huh?" James finally responded, though there was no physical response.

"You're feeling better, aren't you? No delusions?" Doctor Wilson asked.

Taglist:

"Iambetter..." James slurred.

"Good."

------

Taglist:

@jazatronasmr @onthishamsterwheel @bumpthumpwhump @bloodsweatandpotato @whatiswhump @jancameforthewhump @dream-whump @ratking-whump @inkstainsonmyhands12 @halsteadshaw13 @sparrowsage @sowhumpful @whatwhumpcomments @caspersdelusion @everythingsscary

[whatiswhump]

Daily injections, whumpee wished they didn’t flinch. They know they shouldn’t be scared of them, they’ve had much worse.

But each time the skin has to be swabbed with alcohol and that smell fills their nostrils, whumpee freezes up.

[oliversrarebooks]

fuck you, I'm a goddamn menace: the truth is...

Prev > Masterlist

This came about as a result of the Choose Your Own Whump poll! The winners were:

secret underground facility

whumpee who is traumatized and hiding it badly

creepily intimate whumper

the corruption was infecting their thoughts, turning them against their allies

tw: restraints, beatings, physical and emotional abuse, drugging, needles, poison, truth serum, mind control

One year after the city's second-most notorious villain, the technomancer Morgan, was taken in by the hero team for medical treatment...

Morgan cracked his eyes open and immediately had to shut them again, blinded by obnoxiously bright lights.

He was woozy, barely awake, and his entire body hurt -- especially his right hand, which was throbbing with pain. It almost felt like some of his fingers had been broken, but he knew from experience that that would hurt far worse than this, unless...

The dreamlike haze slowing down his mind confirmed it. He was on some pretty strong painkillers. It was the sort of thing that would have sent him into a blind panic before, terrified of being incapacitated, but lately he'd been getting used to it. When he'd worked for Salcedo, the city's nastiest supervillain, he never received any form of painkillers, his boss far preferring to use his painful, torturous healing ability to re-injure Morgan and heal him back wrong again and again. A punishment for meeting his defeat at the hands of heroes, or looking at Salcedo wrong, or anything else the boss dreamed up.

That had all changed since he'd officially switched sides. No matter how badly he screwed up, no matter how much he irritated the shit out of the heroes, they always provided him with proper medical care, complete with ample medication. The feel of a hospital bed underneath him confirmed it: he must be in the heroes' infirmary, and that meant he could actually relax. 

He'd have to deal with Arthur, the team leader, and his unwanted concern and pity later, of course. That was absolutely a thorn in his side. He was definitely not looking forward to it.

Morgan shifted slightly, his wrists sore, and realized that he couldn't. He was restrained? And not with soft, comfortable restraints either, but hard metal ones. 

That couldn't be right. The hero team hadn't seen fit to restrain him in almost a year. He'd somehow managed to establish trust with them -- an uneasy, fragile trust, but trust nonetheless -- and he couldn't remember what he'd done to break that trust. The last thing he remembered was fighting his former boss at the city power plant, Arthur shouting his name... and then it all got blurry. He'd been injured, somehow, and he had a vague memory of collapsing into a dirty puddle with the sounds of the fight still raging around him.

He'd been fighting alongside the hero team, on a mission with them, taking out Salcedo's communications equipment and drones left and right. Why would they restrain him now, when he'd been helping them? He used his technomancy to feel out any nearby machines, and found it unresponsive. They'd used power suppressors, too.

The realization forced his eyelids to fly open, and as he adjusted to the painful light, an all-too-familiar ceiling swam into view. Harsh, bare, buzzing fluorescent lighting flickered too close to his face.

He wasn't in the heroes' infirmary at all. He wasn't even in a civilian hospital or a jail infirmary or a psychiatric ward. No, he was in Salcedo's lair, drugged and restrained. The first time he'd been captured since he'd betrayed his boss and started fighting by Arthur's side to stop his plans.

Oh, fuck.

The surge of adrenaline cleared his mind enough to think. Salcedo was going to torture him, that much was certain. Salcedo punished Morgan with beatings, starvation, and torture even for small mistakes -- one of the primary reasons Morgan had finally defected -- so he didn't even want to think about what his punishment for open betrayal would be. The fact that he was still alive at all could only mean that Salcedo was plotting something truly nasty.

Why was he drugged, though? The restraints and power suppressants had him entirely at Salcedo's mercy, and drugs were never a technique he had favored, since he didn't want Morgan's mind dulled to the pain and stress. Since he was already physically restrained, the only answer Morgan could come up with was that the drugs were necessary to compromise his mind. And that wasn't a comforting thought in the slightest.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

He would be rescued, wouldn't he? The hero team would definitely notice he was missing. They'd figure out what happened to him. He'd have to deal with Arthur's smug fucking face over rescuing his stupid ass again, but even that embarrassment was a vast improvement over whatever Salcedo had planned. There was no way Arthur would pass up the opportunity to preen and gloat over his heroism. He'd definitely go out of his way to rescue Morgan for that reason alone.

Unless he didn't.

Unless the hero team decided a half-reformed villain barely in control of his own powers wasn't worth it. Unless they were only putting up with him because it stopped him from being a nuisance. Unless they thought back on the things he'd done as a villain and decided he deserved whatever Salcedo had cooked up for him.

God fucking damn it.

He hated them sometimes. Hated their easy laughter and their camaraderie. Hated the way they awkwardly tried to include him in the group like a weird kid at recess. Hated Arthur's flawless smile, and his sickening dedication to doing the right thing, and how quick he was with a reassuring word, and how he worked so hard he had to practically be forced to rest --

Yeah, he hated them all, and they probably hated him too, and they'd be glad if Salcedo lobotomized him. He never should have defected in the first place. 

Morgan heard footsteps approaching the door, and shut his eyes again just as it opened. The sound of Salcedo's heavy combat boots approaching him was enough to send panic spiking through his heart, but he tried not to show it on his face, stubbornly pretending to be out still.

"I know you're awake, Morgan," said his former boss's deceptively smooth voice. "Don't embarrass yourself."

Morgan didn't twitch a muscle.

"You're a smart man. Or at least, I thought you were before you went and pulled this little stunt. The point is that you know very well where you stand right now."

So do whatever torture you came here to do and spare me your self-important monologuing, he thought. I'd rather have my fingernails pulled out than listen to you.

"You betrayed me, Morgan."

Here it comes.

"I gave everything to you. An unhappy teenager from an unhappy home, like so many others, but you were different from them, weren't you? You had potential. You had brains. And most of all, you had that wonderful little gift of a power. And I gave you everything. I trained you, I funded your lab and your inventions, I gave you food and a roof over your head. I forgave you for all of your many mistakes with only... sensible punishments." 

Morgan tried not to flinch as Salcedo got even closer.

"And yet, you betrayed me."

Morgan tensed for Salcedo's fist a moment before it connected with his cheek, pain blossoming from his shattered cheekbone. The pain was chased by a warm stinging feeling, Salcedo's healing power, before he was cracked across the face again. Breaking faces only to heal them and break them again was one of Salcedo's signature moves, and Morgan could almost tune out the familiar beating, especially since the painkillers dampened the sensation. His ears were ringing, and he knew he'd be severely concussed with his face swollen beyond recognition if it weren't for Salcedo healing him after each punch, allowing him to prolong the beating as long as he liked.

It was only when Salcedo slowed down and gave Morgan's mind enough time to recover from the assault that he finally decided to crack his eyes open. "Is that all?" he said, knowing that his fate was sealed whether or not he provoked the supervillain.

"That was just your punishment for the time you broke into headquarters and damaged some of my henchmen and equipment," he said. "Your punishment for betrayal hasn't even started yet."

"Hm, let me guess what it will be. Is it punching me in the face? Or maybe you want to mix it up a bit and punch me in the kidneys. Or get spicy and kick me in the --"

With no change in expression, Salcedo grabbed Morgan's injured hand and twisted, the bones audibly cracking. Morgan couldn't retain his straight face, and a sad little whimper escaped from his lips.

"Now that I have your undivided attention, allow me to explain exactly what is going to happen to you. Anticipation is half the fun, you know," he said, the sickening green light from his fingertips mending Morgan's bones back into place, a process almost as painful as the initial injury. He pulled a capped syringe full of a clear liquid from his pocket.

"If you're banking on me being scared of needles..." Morgan bluffed while internally screaming. He'd rather have the beating. At least those were predictable.

"Of course not. I'm banking on you being scared of what Marcy in the chemistry department has been cooking up since you've been gone." He tapped the side of the syringe. "It's not quite a mind control drug, but it's a good start -- a combination of potent truth serum that dulls your mind, and a sedative that makes you highly suggestible. The tests we've conducted on henchmen have been most amusing."

"...So what? A truth serum? You think the hero team trusts me with some secret information? They don't. And they have official protocol to change out the passcodes when anyone's captured, so you're not going to get anything useful."

"Oh, Morgan, don't worry your pretty little head. I'm not expecting you to be useful for your information. I have much better plans than that." 

Morgan's struggles were futile as Salcedo pushed the syringe into his arm and pushed the plunger. He didn't know what the fuck Salcedo thought he was going to accomplish with this and didn't want to find out, and he especially didn't want his mind put out of commission for any length of time. 

Salcedo's smug face was both infuriating and unreadable. What was his game? Morgan knew he had better figure it out before -- before --

-- before whatever was in that syringe shifted his mind out of gear. He pulled against the restraints again, shaking his head, as though it would somehow stop or slow the deep fog settling in over his mind. His eyelids grew heavy and lidded as he blinked slowly up at his wretched former boss, the intense sense of dread muffled as it became more difficult to think clearly.

"That looks to be kicking in nicely. I'm guessing you're ready to tell the truth now. Just let it all out," said Salcedo, grabbing his chin and looking into his eyes. "How are you feeling?"

Morgan wanted to spit in his fucking face, but instead... "Groggy. Out of it. What the fuck is in that stuff?"

"It's a miracle drug, isn't it? That's why Marcy is a star employee and you're an also-ran. I only wish I could use this on Arthur. See what the city's shining hope really has buried deep down inside."

"There isn't anything buried," said Morgan before he can think twice. "He really is just that fucking heroic. Makes me sick. ...And jealous." He shook his head again, trying to could do anything to clear that uncomfortable fog. He had the dim feeling that he hadn't meant to say all of that, that the drug was working, but he didn't seem able to resist. The words came out before he could measure them.

"Is that so?" Salcedo chuckled. "Is that why you betrayed me?"

"No, I betrayed you because you're a fucking miserable sack of dicks who beats me for fun," said Morgan, fire cutting through the fog. "You think consequences will never apply to you, that there will never be any repercussions for treating your henchmen like shit smeared on your shoe. I can't wait until they all turn on you. I hope they kick your fucking teeth in."

"How charming," said Salcedo in a strained voice. "Now, I realize you can't help expressing your true feelings while you're high off that drug I gave you, so it would be unfair of me to punish you." 

Then he smashed his fist across Morgan's mouth, allowing Morgan to cough up a mouthful of blood before healing him.

"Listen to me, Morgan," said Salcedo, this time grabbing his face with more force and purpose. "You will listen to me, and you will absorb everything I have to say."

"No, no --" Morgan tried to pull himself free, but he'd always been physically much weaker than his boss, and the drug cocktail wasn't helping.

"You've always been a villain, haven't you? I found you and I molded you int a villain, one capable of terrorizing the city on so many occasions. Have you forgotten that?"

"No..."

"And you enjoyed yourself. You loved making your gadgets, you loved watching the civilians scream and cower. You loved the feeling of power and control. And you still love it."

"I... I do..." he said. He'd been fighting so hard to suppress all of that lately, to show the hero team he could be more than just a villain, that he could do something helpful for a change... but deep down inside, a part of him missed laughing maniacally while riding some mechanical monstrosity through the city.

The truth was, heroics was fucking hard. Civilians were unpredictable and frequently ungrateful, and with the hero team, he was no longer allowed to blow them off and make them someone else's problem. He had to work had. He had to care.

"That's right, Morgan, you miss being a villain." Salcedo's voice was like a snake tightening around its prey. "It's all you were ever good for. It's all you'll ever be good for."

That was exactly what Morgan often felt late at night, in his bunk in the heroes' headquarters, wondering what the fuck he was doing there and how long it could last. "I'm..."

"It's all you'll ever be good for," said Salcedo with more force, letting it sink into Morgan's compromised brain.

"It's all I'll ever be good for," he repeated in a dull voice, resistance crumbling. 

"You hate trying to be a hero. It's too hard. You're awful at it. You're tired, and you want to give up. You want to give in."

He really was so, so tired. "I want... I want to give up..."

"You hate working with the hero team," Salcedo hissed in his ear. "You're jealous of them, aren't you? How they're praised and fawned over while you rot in the shadows, fighting for the smallest scraps of recognition. How they don't trust you."

"I..." A memory flashed through his mind. Arthur convincing him to join in on the team's horror movie night. Julie, the youngest, screaming, while Toshiro criticized the effects. Laughing, eating popcorn, forgetting for a moment who and what he was.

He couldn't forget for long. He could see it in their eyes, in their hesitance, how fragile the trust was.

"You'll never be one of them. They'll never trust you. You're a villain, and that's all you'll ever be."

It was true, wasn't it? They would never trust him. He'd escaped Salcedo, only to spend his time scraping and clawing to get the hero team's trust. Fighting to be something he wasn't, when he knew, he knew, he'd never be good enough for them.

And this was the proof, wasn't it? They weren't coming to rescue him. No one was coming to rescue him.

"You hate them, Morgan. I know you do. You hate them more than anything."

"I... I hate..." The corrupting voice was twisting his thoughts, making it hard to think anything but what he was told.

"That's right," he coaxed. "You hate them. And you hate Arthur most of all."

Arthur. That's right, he hated Arthur. Arthur with his perfect smile. Arthur with his words of encouragement. Arthur telling Morgan that he believed in him, believed he could be something better, as though he had any right. 

Arthur, who probably knew by now that he was wrong, that Morgan was no better than any other villain, who wouldn't be lifting a finger to rescue him from the trap he'd inevitably found himself in.

"You hate Arthur," Salcedo insisted.

"I..."

It should be so easy. It was the truth: he did hate Arthur. And he hadn't been able to resist the serum up until now. Why was he choking on these words?

"You. Hate. Arthur."

"Of course I don't hate you," said Arthur, once, on a quiet, moonlit night, sitting on top of a building, guarding a museum from an impending heist. "You're a clever guy and a hard worker, and you can do the right thing when it really matters. And the villainy? I'm not saying it's okay, because it definitely wasn't, but I get where it comes from. I do. Any of us powered people could've gone down the same path."

"I don't," said Morgan under his breath.

"What was that?"

Morgan's voice caught again. He did hate Arthur. Hated how much he wished he could see Arthur's dumb fucking face as he kicked down the door. Hated how much he wanted to be in the heroes' infirmary, with Arthur checking up on him and delivering a snack or book of puzzles, instead of here.

He hated how Arthur made him want to be something more than just a villain, and how fucking hard it was, all the time.

"I don't hate Arthur," Morgan said more clearly, unable to stop it. "I want to hate him, because it'd make everything so much easier, but I don't. I can't."

Salcedo recoiled in disbelief, a look of shock and disgust on his face. "Oh, for fuck's sake. You can't be fucking serious. He hates you, you know. He's foiled your plans so many times --"

"He doesn't hate me," said Morgan with more confidence. "He said it himself, every time I asked him. And he doesn't fuck around with that kind of thing. If he says it, he means it. It's infuriating."

"Fucking hell. I suspected, but --" Salcedo grabbed Morgan by the front of his flimsy medical gown, pulling him close enough that he could feel hot breath on his face. "Are you in love with him?!"

Morgan froze.

No. Fuck no. That's what he wanted to say. No, obviously not.

But he couldn't.

His head pounded.

"I don't know."

"You. Don't. Know?" Salcedo screamed in his face.

"I don't know!" The fog in his head was so thick, making it impossible for him to think through his words. "I don't know how I feel about him -- or about anything -- or if I'm even capable of --"

Salcedo grabbed his head and slammed it against the medical bed, sending his ears ringing. "Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck! The one fucking thing I wanted you for, the one fucking thing you were going to be good at and you can't even do that right -- what kind of useless, idiot villain can't even hate the man who beats him into the ground once a week --" His laugh was harsh and bitter. "Oh hell, maybe you actually like that. I bet you do. Fucking little freak."

Morgan ignored the insult, trying to push aside the insinuations that he really, really didn't want to think about in this state. Salcedo had wanted him for something. There was a point to all of this apart from psychological torment. He tried to grasp that thought with his slippery mind, recognizing its importance. "What were you going to have me do?"

"Be a sleeper agent. Stoke the fires of hatred within you. Let the hero team rescue you, pretend everything was normal, and then when their guards were down, kill them all."

His chest tightened. "No -- I don't want to -- I won't!"

"Oh, it's beyond obvious you won't. I can see that now. You're not only useless, you're fucking delusional. So it's on to plan B."

"Plan B?"

"Remember these?" Salcedo held up a glass vial. Tiny, iridescent insects were flitting around inside, crawling up the glass and bumping against the lid.

Morgan surged forward in the restraints. "My babies!" he said, in the tone of someone reuniting with a long lost pet. He certainly did remember them -- his mechanical mosquitoes, one of his favorite inventions, which he'd had to leave behind during his semi-involuntary heroic turn. These small drones were easy for Morgan to control with his technological powers. They could be used for surveillance or distraction, equipped with tiny tools, or used to inject small amounts of potent drugs, incapacitating enemies and guards with sedatives or hallucinogens. On one memorable occasion, he'd laced them with the common cold, ensuring that the heroes would stay home while he raided the semiconductor factory. Good memories.

"They're my 'babies' now, I'm afraid," said Salcedo, pulling the vial further out of reach. "It took a while to override your protocols and reprogram them, but I think the effect will be worth it. You always used them for disgustingly non-lethal purposes. I've always wanted to change that."

He shrank back, not liking where this was going. 

"They're fitted with a potent and especially painful neurotoxin, but they won't sting you immediately. No, they're programmed to hide in your clothing until disturbed. When Arthur comes to save you, that's when you'll get the privilege of watching his excruciating death, knowing he died in agony trying to save you."

"No, no, there's no way. He's not even going to come save me, you know, he's --"

"Oh, you fool. He's already on his way." Salcedo shoved a gag into Morgan's mouth, clasping it firmly shut. "Don't want you warning him. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have more important business." He opened the vial, and the little mosquito drones flew out and nestled in Morgan's medical gown, in the restraints, even in his hair. With his power suppressed, he was helpless to control them. He could only watch as Salcedo left the room.

Morgan screamed through the gag, accomplishing nothing but straining his throat. He had to come up with some sort of plan, but his head was swimming from stress and drugs and he couldn't hold on to any one thought long enough to formulate a strategy. 

It didn't matter. Salcedo was wrong. No one was coming to rescue him.

...He must be imagining the sounds of a fight, drawing closer...

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[inevitably-johnlocked]

Five Fics Friday: Aug 14/20

Happy Friday everyone! I hope y’all are doing alright! Here’s your weekly Friday Fic Roundup! I decided to give you guys some more Anything Goes fics since it’s been awhile! Literally was “close my eyes, scroll, and where I land is the fic I rec” LOL. Hope you enjoy! <3

NEW MFL’S THIS WEEK

Precious Series by SherlockedCumbercookie (E, 37,511+ w. across 2 works || Series WiP || Slavery Omegaverse || Omega Sherlock, Alpha John, Slavery, Abuse, Mating, Mpreg, Male Lactation, Slow Burn, Abortion / Forced Abortion, Non-Con, Breeding, Fluff, Knotting, Parentlock, Kidnapping, Angst, Happy Endings) – John Watson, a 24-year-old soldier recently returned from service in Afghanistan, is gifted with a young, 17-year-old omega slave named Sherlock. This is the first of a hopefully three-part series dictating John and Sherlock's life together. Both are broken. Both need each other.

Bring Me Back To Life by yalublyutebya (E, 51,357 w., 19 Ch. || Historical / WW1 AU || PTSD, War, Mild Gore, Mental Health Issues, Mental Institutions, Ableism, Depression, Period-Typical Homophobia / Prejudices, Violence, Drug Abuse, Withdrawal, Hurt/Comfort) – After being injured on the Front, John Watson is sent to Craiglockhart Hospital for psychiatric treatment and finds himself sharing a room with the mysterious Sherlock Holmes.

ANYTHING GOES

High and Tight, Soft and Loose by cwb (E, 7,429 w., 1 Ch. || Jealous John, Miscommunications / Misunderstandings, First Kiss / Time, BAMF John, Insecure Sherlock, Clueless Sherlock, POV John, Embarrassed John, Adorable Sherlock, Junk Size, UST / RST) – John pressed the knuckle of his index finger against his mouth and sighed. “So, you're coiled like a spring and ready to be ... sprung?” “If you want to be pedestrian about it, yes.” “Like I said, you should do something about that.” “And like I said, pedestrian. What would you have me do? Take up jogging? Yoga? Oh! Unless you mean –” “I don't mean anything. Let’s drop it.”

Here Comes The Sun by JennLynn77 (E, 32,126 w., 15 Ch. || Post S4/TFP, John Whump, Caring Sherlock, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Friends to Lovers, Emotional Sex, First Time, Virgin Sherlock, Switchlock, Cuddling/Snuggling, Surgery/Injury Recovery, Endearments, Anal, Hand Jobs, Porn with Feels) – John suffers an injury and needs surgery. Sherlock, and those around him, help John recover. Along the way, John and Sherlock realise what they mean to each other, and what they've had together all this time.

That Partitioning of the Things of Youth by wearitcounts (E, 35,353 w., 7 Ch. || Humour and Angst, Post-TRF, Fake Relationship, UST / RST, Friends to Lovers, Jealous John) – Victor Trevor is in town, and nobody's happy.

[macaronis-telegraph]

Outdated Psychiatry Whump?

I was watching some documentaries about old psychiatric hospitals, asylums if you will, and all their horrific treatments, and was thinking, this could make for some good whumpy opportunities. Before I start, I'm of course no doctor or historian, just a fascinated writer who enjoys her whump. 😉

Onto some elements:

Blood letting - definitely archaic, believing that draining one's blood would remove whatever demons plagued them or what have you.

Hyrdro therapy - this came in so many forms. Douse your whumpee in cold water, wrap them in layers of cold soaked sheets, or force them into a prolonged hot bath. The intentions were to calm and/or stimulate the patient.

Hot boxes - other forms of temperature therapy also were used, such as enclosing a patient in a box heated by bright lamps.

Restraints - we've got the classic straight jacket, being strapped to a chair, leather wristlets, and even some nasty coffin sized metal cages.

Induced high fevers - because the fevers was shown to cure syphilis in some, a psychiatrist decided you could roast out mental illness too. He even won a Nobel Prize for it! I don't think your whumpee is gonna be thinking it's deserving of any prize when they are injected with malaria.

Insulin therapy - patients were injected with insulin to eat up all their blood sugar, putting them in an unpleasant coma. They'd eventually be given glucose to wake up, but yeah.

Metrazol - this caused really intense seizures. In one account I read, the patient thought they were going to die each treatment. Also posed a high risk for broken bones. And fractured spines.

Shock Therapy - this is a classic, also with an aim to cause convulsions. In its heyday, it was rarely performed with anaesthetic.

Lobotomies - another infamous one. Performed rarely with precision and with varying effects. And could leave 'dents' on a patient's head from where the hole was made in the skull. Or you can go for the classic through-the-eye. For a slighly more modern and precise variation, inserting an electrode into the brain to burn part of it.

New drugs - maybe your whumpee is being used to trial or test a new medication... A lot of psychiatric research went on within asylums. The effects could certainly be questionable.

We can find some other good stuff in the environment too. Is the asylum over crowded? Or maybe your whumpee has been confined to isolation. How about the staff? Are they cruel? Brutal? Or maybe there's a single nurse who's actually nice to your whumpee.

And why is your whumpee in there? It seems many asylum patients were people who would be regular members of society today, such as committed for things such as depression, or a small violent outburst. There were possibly even cases of unwantedness, parents who didn't want to deal with a 'difficult' child, or etc. Or your whumpee could have a more debilitating mental illness. In any case, your whumpee won't be okay after some time spent locked away.

Or what if they were committed for something more super natural. Maybe your whumpy is possessed. Or has some kind of power that society doesn't understand.

And that's what I've got for now! Please add on some ideas!

[only-shadows-dwell-where-we-are]

Redwood Pyschiatric Institute - Part 5

MASTERLIST - PART 1 - PART 2 - PART 3 - PART 4

CWs: mention of ECT, mental hospital whump, mental health gaslighting, force used against patient (electric shock baton), forced psychiatric care

Matthew Cooper pulled up in front of a small house on the end of the street, pulling out his phone to send a quick text that read 'I'm here.'

On the screen were a series of previous, unanswered and unread messages he had sent to his friend Rowan.

'Hey Rowan. Just checking in.'

'Rowan, it's me. What's up bud?'

'Where are you?'

'PICK UP ROWAN'

'Fine. If you won't talk to me, I'm not going to try anymore'

Then, from today. 'Rowan, I'm coming over.'

Matt sighed as he dropped his phone into his pocket and clambered out of the car. He walked up to the front door, and rang the doorbell. He waited a moment, and when there was no answer, he rapped on the door with his knuckles. Still, nothing. The whole house seemed to be silent and still. He pressed his face to the one of the windows, attempting to peer through.

"Rowan!" He called.

No answer.

"Crap." Matt murmured. "Where the hell are you.."

He strode around the back of the house, searching for any signs of life from his friend. Finally, he spotted a back door, slightly ajar. It struck Mathew as strange. Rowan was not a careless person - in fact, quite the opposite, he could be rather paranoid, in Mathew's opinion. So it was completly out of the ordinary for his friend to leave a door unlocked, and Mathew also had no idea how long it had been open or if Rowan was even in the house still.

Cautiously, Matthew entered through the door, calling Rowan's name as he went. There were no traces of recent life - everything was put away neatly as Mathew would expect of Rowan, until he reached his friend's bedroom. This room was a mess - papers were scattered everywhere, on the bed, on the floor, on the desk.. Rowan's laptop was also still there, but Mathew wasn't keen to go trying to break into that. He pick up a paper sitting on the desk, and scanned through it. It was a newspaper article.

'Redwood Asylum patients claim gross mistreatment'.  The headline read. The article was dated 1964. The next article, from 1970, announced the closing-down of the Institute. The outdated facility had claimed around 1000 lives by the time of its closure, almost a hundred years since it opened.

All the other papers and articles were about the institute, why puzzled Mathew further. Why was Rowan so obssessed with this place? And more importantly, where was Rowan?

Mathew did a quick google of the place, finding that it had since been reopened and claimed to now be running as a more modern psychiatric hospital. Matthew was all out of options - his only remaining option was right in front of him. He hit the phone number listed on the web page, drew a deep breath, and hit the call button.

"Hello, you've reached Redwood Psychiatric Institute. You're speaking to Carol, how can I help you?"

"Uh, hi Carol, my name's Mathew Cooper. I was wondering if you recently had a visitor by the name of Rowan Murdock?"

"I'm sorry but we can't disclose information on our visitors. We have, however, got a patient by that name. There's a note on his file saying he can't have visitors, are you family?"

"Oh, uh.. no, I'm a long-time friend of his though. I was just wondering if I could get some more information on what happened." Mathew stammered, shocked at the news. Rowan was a patient?

"I can arrange for you to meet his doctor, in that case. Doctor Wilson. I'm sure he'd be willing to discuss Rowan's - well, yes. Rowan's recent weeks with us."

Mathew arranged a time for the meeting and then hung up the phone. He began to head out the room, when he turned back, picked up one of the articles on the psychiatric institute, and then continued on his way out of the house.

------

"Mathew Cooper, I'm here to talk to Doctor Wilson." Matthew announced to the woman at the front desk.

"Sign here, and then take this visitor pass, and it'll be the third door on your left." She smiled, a friendly but tired, 'I've been here all day and I'm just trying to be friendly to you but I could care less' kind of smile.

"Thanks." Mathew smiled back as he followed her instructions and then headed down the hall.

Inside the office, the doctor sat behind the desk, looking comfortable but composed.

"Hello Mathew, take a seat. My name is Doctor Wilson." The doctor smiled from behind his glasses.

Mathew sat in the chair across from the doctor, and extended his hand to the doctor, who took it and shook it firmly.

"Thank you for coming, Mathew."  Doctor Wilson greeted. "I understand these circumstances must be.. rather confusing, and I appreciate your willingness to discuss this in person."

"Thank you for meeting with me, Doctor Wilson. I understand you must be very busy." Mathew acknowledged.

"Indeed. Now, allow us to get right into it. Now, when did you last see your friend?" The doctor asked.

"Well, I must have seen him last a few weeks ago." Mathew answered.

"I see. Well, he came here as a voluntary self-admission on September 13th. He was incredibly unstable, and we immediately began his treatment. When we admitted him, we looked into his medical records and his personal records. Now, while I'm afraid I have some hard news to digest, there is no other way to say this - his name isn't Rowan Murdock. His real name is James Lawton."

"What- you mean, he's been lying to me this whole time about who he is?"

"No, not at all. James is a very mentally ill young man, not a pathological liar. We discovered symptoms of schizophrenia throughout the last few years of his life, but it was not yet diagnosed or treated. It has just since accumulated and worsened. He has been in dire need of treatment for years, but when he came to us, he was at the height of a schizophrenic breakdown, believing he was Rowan Murdock, a profilic journalist investigating the asylum before deciding to admit himself.  We've been treating him with medications and ECT. He has been doing better the last few weeks, however,  we are worried that a visit with you, an old friend of 'Rowan's may cause another setback." The doctor sighed.

"Oh..." Mathew's heart sank at the explanation. He couldn't comprehend the whole story, it was not anything he could have imagined. Of course, he had accepted there was some horrible series of events that had led to Rowan- or, James - being here, but not like this. "I.. I'll do anything you need, I'll say anything, I just- I need to see him, I need to talk to him."

"Alright, I'll arrange a visit." Doctor Wilson conceded. "But you mustn't encourage any of his delusions relating to 'Rowan Murdock'."

"Understood, Doctor. Thank you very much."

------

"James, I have a visitor for you." Doctor Wilson stood in the doorway, ushering Matt ahead of him.

Matt entered the room hesitantly, his eyes scanning around until they landed on a small figure, hunched up in white in the corner of the small room.

"James?"

The figure Matt had once known as Rowan did not acknowledge the presence of anyone in the room. He simply muttered something under his breath.

"James. I've brought you a visitor." Doctor Wilson repeated, mild annoyance already in his voice as he approached James and bent down, waving at his patient to try and gain his attention.

James blinked, several times, slow and sluggish, as if drawing himself out of a trance. He glanced around the room, eyes landing eventually on Mathew.

"Who.. whoareyouu-" James slurred softly, as Doctor Wilson grasped him by the arm and helped him onto his feet, bringing him over to the small bed in the centre of the room.

"He's on a lot of medication right now. He may be suffering some short-term memory loss right now, so remember that this will pass. Just remind him who you are." Doctor Wilson said to Mathew.

Mathew nodded and approached the bed, kneeling in front of his old friend. Rowa- James, he reminded himself, looked pale, and his usually-thin frame looked even thinner than usual, or maybe that was the ill-fitting hospital gown. The circles under his eyes were dark, and his face was pinched and gaunt.

"Hey, James. It's me, your old friend Mathew." He said softly, reaching out a hand.

James didn't take the hand, instead, he sat there, staring blankly at it as Matt continued talking.

"We've known each other since university. You used to come and 'study' at my house. I'd steal your notes, and then we'd play video games together until 3am, even if we had class the next morning at 9." Mathew chuckled slightly at the memory, his heart aching a little to see his friend of five years in this situation. They'd been very close through university, but in the last two years they'd drifted apart slightly as both adjusted to their adult lives. Still, he cared for his friend.

Matt drew himself out of his own thoughts and looked up to see James staring at him with an.. odd expression.

"James, are you alright?" Matthew asked gently.

"That's.. not my name." James said flatly.

Shit.. He'd triggered James. His friend began to cry - no, more like tears were slipping down from expressionless eyes.

James suddenly stood and lunged at Mathew, knocking him to the ground as he began to scream at Matt.

"HELP!"James screamed as he shook his friend. "THEY'RE TORTURING ME, LET ME OUT YOU HAVE TO LET ME OUTYOUHAVETOYOUHAVETOYOUHAVETO-"

Mathew was so shocked, he couldn't react. James screamed himself hoarse until suddenly, he gave a suprised shout, and collapsed onto his back, convulsing in agony at the hands of orderlies who had appeared in the room.

"Are you alright?" Doctor Wilson asked as he extended a hand and helped Mathew to his feet, pulling him away as the orderlies descended upon James' form, brandishing a syringe. Quickly, Doctor Wilson escorted Mathew out of the room, away from James' dreaful shrieking protests.

They returned to the doctor's office, where Wilson handed Mathew a glass of water. Matt graciously accepted it, ignoring the odd drop spilling out from how badly his hands shook. He downed the glass, wiped his face, and finally spoke. "What- what will happen now?"

"We will have to change his medication, and I'm going to perscribe another course of ECT." The doctor replied, calm but with a hint of frustration.

Mathew realised that clearly, James' treatment had been quite a difficult process that was now far from over.

"Shock therapy?" he asked.

"While that is the outdated term for it.. yes. It is now quite safe, and often used in quite severe cases of mental illness. Clearly, his schizophrenic hallucinations and paranoia are not yet treated. We will have to increase our efforts to stop these delusions that he is being trapped here."

"Will I be able to return and visit him again, Doctor?"

"Maybe after the next round of ECT. Thank you for coming, Mathew."

As Mathew drove away from the Redwood hospital, he wondered what fate he was leaving his friend to.

Tags:

@jazatronasmr @onthishamsterwheel @bumpthumpwhump @bloodsweatandpotato @whatiswhump @jancameforthewhump @dream-whump @ratking-whump @inkstainsonmyhands12 @halstead-shaw13 @sparrowsage @sowhumpful @whatwhumpcomments @caspersdelusion

[whatiswhump]

"Ah ah ah, it's time to go to bed now-"

One firm hand tightened the restraints while the other stayed on his forehead keeping him in place.

"Please- I want-"

"You need rest dear, it's okay, I'll help you."

Something flashed bright in the haziness then a sharp prick and he felt the familiar descent into nothingness. Not again, not again...

[whatiswhump]

Their teammates appeared today. The people here told him he had to wear a jacket with no ends on the sleeves to see them. It wrapped his arms around his body and he didn’t know why he needed it.

When the teammates entered his small white room where he stayed on the floor, he called out in relief. They would take him home now.

He didn’t understand when they shook their heads and grimaced. They said he needed to get better first.

He didn’t understand when they said he needed help.

What was wrong with him?

And most of all, he didn’t understand when his friends just stood there while they held him down to inject him yet again while sobbed to them.

It’s plush here. Everything is soft and clean, the voices, the sheets, the light.

And the people aren’t mean, so they don’t know why they’re always crying, so brittle and weak.

And they don’t know why they can’t behave, confused and at odds. They wish they would.

But they can’t take the pills they are given or talk with the men in white coats and they wish their friends would come back and take them home.

[only-shadows-dwell-where-we-are]

Redwood Psychiatric Institute - Part 1

MASTERLIST

Edit: Not me accidentally giving the dr two names - I originally had him as Morgan but changed it to Wilson later. I must have left a Morgan in there. Sorry for the confusion!!

Note: This was going to be in two parts, but I thought it would make more sense to combine them and put them in one post. So if you've already read the 1st bit, please keep reading!

Also, Happy New Year! I wanted to kick off 2023 with some whump writing that I'm proud of.

CWs: noncon drugging, forcedsedation, medical restraints, medical gaslighting, forced 'mental illness' treatment

"The psychiatric hospital stands tall with three story buildings, a sprawling lawn, and 6 foot fences enclosing the entire property." The figure narrated from the edge of the grounds. “In the moonlight, it’s an eerie sight to behold.”

He paused the recording temporarily to fiddle with the settings on the microphone, and snap another photo on his camera. ‘Low battery!’ warned the camera. 

“Damn..” He muttered under his breath. 

He turned back to look up at the building, and suddenly heard a twig snap behind him. He froze in place. It was just his mind playing tricks on him, he reasoned. He was alone. He didn’t speak again - just in case. The wind howled through the trees off in the distance. The hair on the back of his neck stood up. 

“Who’s there?” He breathed. 

No response. The woods stood silently swaying in the breeze. 

WHAM!

Something slammed into his back, knocking him to the ground. The camera and recorder were sent flying, the air was shoved out of his lungs from the impact. He didn’t even get the chance to scream, before something sharp pricked his neck. The world dissolved into darkness.

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

His eyes flew open to find that he was lying on a bed.

'It was just a dream, Rowan. Take a breath. You’re home. You’re safe.'

He looked around. Except, he wasn’t home. He was in a vast, empty room with pristine white walls and white linoleum flooring. Definitively not-home. 

'Where am I?'

The door cracked open. 

'Finally, someone to explain what’s going on,' Rowan thought. 

Three men stepped in. The first, a middle-aged, medium build man with small round glasses, a clean-shaven face and wearing a doctor’s coat. The other two were well built, tall, and wore white nurses’ scrubs. One had a scar below his left eye, with thick, dark curly hair on his head, and the other had blonde cropped hair and a mean-looking jaw. Blondie also had a nasty black eye.

These were not exactly the people Rowan was expecting. 

The doctor gestured for the two nurses to stand in front of the door, and then he slowly approached Rowan’s bed.

“Hello again. Glad to see you’re awake.” The man had a calm, quiet manner of speaking as he sat on the end of Rowan’s bed.

“Uh.. hi.” Rowan said slowly.

“Ah, I’m sorry.. one moment.” The doctor pulled a small penlight from the pocket of his coat, and shine it in each of Rowan’s eyes. “Hm..”

“Am I in hospital?” Rowan asked as the doctor put away the light.

The man glanced at the two in front of the door, before turning back to Rowan. “You don’t remember?” He asked, his cool tone giving nothing away. 

“No. I was.. what..” Rowan sighed, furrowing his brow as he tried to remember how he’d gotten in this room. 

Oh! The article!

“Well, I was conducting an.. article on a mental hospital.” He said, trying to mimic the doctor’s cool tone. Technically, he wasn’t lying. But he couldn’t let on the full truth, either.

“I see.”

“And then.. and then…”

'I can’t remember. What happened between the woods outside, and here?'

“Can you tell me your name?” The Doctor asked, pulling Rowan out of his thoughts.

“Rowan Murdock.”

“I see, Rowan..” The man glanced at the two nurses again.

“I’m a journalist for The Daily Press, maybe you’ve heard of me?”

The man looked back at Rowan. “Ah.”

“Look, am I in a hospital?” Rowan asked.

The man sighs softly. “What I’m about to say might be very hard to hear. I want you to stay calm, or those two orderlies will have to give me a hand, alright?” He asked, pointing with his chin at the two men in front of the door.

“Okay…” Rowan murmured. “Just, tell me.”

“Yes. You are in a hospital. But... Your name isn’t Rowan Murdock. It’s James Lawton. And you’re in a psychiatric hospital.”

Breathe, Rowan. Just breathe. Stay calm.

“But- that can’t be right. The last thing I remember was walking through the forest. On the outside of Redwood Psychiatric."

"Well, at least you remember the name of this place. You're a patient here - this is Redwood." The Doctor explained, gesturing around the room.

"But I'm not. That's what I'm trying to tell you! There's been some kind of mistake." Rowan pressed, fighting to keep his voice level. "My name is Rowan Murdock, and I'm a journalist. Not a crazy person."

"Listen, James. Take a deep breath. You're in good hands here. Of course you aren't crazy. That's a very outdated and harmful term. You just need help. There's nothing wrong with that." The Doctor placated. "And you've clearly lost your memory after the relapse caused by your escape attempt. So let me refresh your memory. My name is Doctor Wilson. You voluntarily placed yourself in the care of this hospital four months ago, after an increase in hallucinations, paranoia and violent behaviour. The most accurate diagnosis for your symptoms is schizophrenia. I'd like to continue working on your treatment with you, James."

"My name isn't James. If you found my camera, or looked in my-" he'd started to reach for his pant pocket as he spoke, only to realise that the clothes he had been wearing had been replaced by a thin white hospital gown. "-pocket… Well you must have, then. You'd have found my ID, with my name on it. Rowan Murdock."

"We didn't find any camera or ID, James."

"Stop calling me that."  Rowan protested.

"As your Doctor, it is not my place to play along with your hallucinations. I will only set back your recovery further."

"But I'm not your patient! You can't do this!" Rowan fought back tears.

"Take a deep breath, James. You voluntarily committed yourself to our care, meaning that you gave your permission to be here. We can even show you the paperwork if you like. We can keep you here for as long as we think necessary to treat you, because you legally gave us permission to do so." The Doctor tried in a soothing voice. "In a moment, Nurse Dean will bring your meds. You're going to take them for me, and you're going to calm down, okay?"

Rowan stared at the wall, refusing to meet the Doctor's gaze. A knock sounded at the door, and the two orderlies stepped aside to open the door. A man entered, wearing nurse's scrubs and carrying a tray with a dozen small wax paper cups, each with names printed on them. 

"Hello, James." The man said as he stepped up to the bed, handing the tray to the orderlies and picking up a cup with James Lawton on it. "Glad to see you're back with us. Here's your meds." He held the cup out to Rowan.

Rowan reached out and took it, holding up the small cup to inspect the half a dozen pills of different colours and sizes. "What are all of these for?"

“James, you might not remember, but I have told you this before - I can’t tell you, or any of the other patients’, that. You’d only try to avoid certain medications to avoid their effects.” Nurse Dean said firmly. He pushed the tablets closer to James. “Come on, take them. You know the drill, if you don’t take them, we have to inject the medication anyway. So you choose - easy way or hard way.”

Rowan stared into the cup for a moment longer, then slowly tipped the pills back into his mouth. And proceeded to subtly tuck them under his tongue. 

“Open wide.” Nurse Dean pulled out a tongue depressor, and used it to check in Rowan’s cheeks, and then lifted the patient’s tongue. When he found the tablets, he sighed. “James….” 

The nurse lifted the pills onto the wooden stick, then deposited them all at the back of his throat. Then, he placed his hand on Rowan’s throat and massaged firmly, forcing him to swallow the assortment of drugs. Rowan’s throat hurt from the large mass being shoved down his gullet all at once. He coughed, and the Doctor picked up a paper cup from the bedside table, and handed it to Rowan, who took it gratefully and swallowed several mouthfuls of water from the cup.

“I’m sorry. But that one’s on you.” Nurse Dean took back the tray of pill cups from the orderly, and turned to leave. “See you, James. Behave for Doctor Wilson.”

Rowan didn’t say a word as the nurse left, cataloguing the doctor’s name away - information that he was likely supposed to already have, but he didn’t want to add fuel to the Doctor’s claims that he had lost it. He balled the bedsheet in his fists for a few minutes in silence, until he realised Doctor Wilson was talking to him.

“-I’m very disappointed in you, James. You’re going to have to try better than that.” Doctor Wilson said, brow furrowed. 

“Ma nerm.. isen J-” Rowan stopped, realising his tongue was thick and heavy in his mouth, and words and syllables weren’t coming out properly. “Wh-”

The fluorescent lights were blurring above his head. He couldn’t hear, the world had been submerged in water. Where was he again? 

'The article. Something to do with the article. He said-'

'I didn’t-'

'Where am I?'

'Why is everything moving. It hurts.' 

'Let me sleep.'

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

James lay on the hospital bed, his head lolling around. He was blinking furiously, trying to stay with it, but they’d put him on such a high dosage that his efforts were futile.

Doctor Wilson stood and pulled the blanket off of his patient. He then turned to the orderlies. “Move him to the maximum security padded room, and restrain him.”

“Yes, Doctor Wilson.” 

The two orderlies approached the semi-conscious patient, picking him up from underneath his armpits, and began dragging him down the hallway.

“Excellent.” Doctor Wilson stepped out the room and closed it behind him.

He walked down the hall of the hospital, following closely behind the orderlies with James. He stepped in front of them, and opened the door with his thumbprint so that they could enter. 

The orderlies placed James on a small, frameless bed against one padded wall. The young man looked tiny as he curled into himself on the mattress, wispy strands of his short caramel hair hanging in his eyes. The orderly with the scar reached under the bed and pulled up padded cuffs that had straps attached to them, with the other ends of the straps sewn into the mattress. As the orderlies and Doctor Wilson held James down and started placing his arms and legs in the restraints, the patient tried to pull away, but he was too weak in his drugged state. With ease, the three men restrained him to the bed. 

Doctor Wilson and the orderlies left the room, closing the door behind them. Doctor Wilson knew that there would be a problem when his patient woke up, but he or the other staff would be watching from the cameras inside the room. 

“Martin, I need you to destroy that camera and ID.” Doctor Wilson said to the curly-haired orderly.

“Yes sir.”

~~~~~~~

PART 2

Taglist (there will be more parts so please let me know if you want to be added to the taglist!): @whatiswhump and @jancameforthewhump

[only-shadows-dwell-where-we-are]

Redwood Psychiatric Institute - Part 2

MASTERLIST - PART 1

Note: Please feel free to send me asks or prompts for this series!

CWs: psychiatric hospital whump, medical gaslighting, noncon drugging, noncon sedation, syringes, ECT mention

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Everything hurt. His muscles ached, his head pounded, and his stomach did somersaults. He couldn’t remember what happened, but he knew he must have moved somewhere. His environs were now much brighter white and more sterile - which didn’t help the headache. He couldn’t remember falling asleep, but he felt like he was just now waking up. He was on his back, the padded walls of his new room just barely visible in his wavering vision.

“James.”

He finally realised someone was talking to him. He was only able to move his gaze slowly over to where the voice came from. 

“Are you with me now, James?” Doctor Wilson asked.

He nodded, but he wasn’t quite sure. His brain is too heavily fogged for it to comprehend and protest the issue of his name.

“Good. It’s time for you to have your therapy session. We placed you in this special high-security room. It opens onto a nice treatment-slash-office space.” He gestured to the orderlies standing at one of the walls of the padded cell.

Rowan didn’t respond as the orderlies stepped forward and lifted him to his feet. Doctor Wilson pressed a button on the furthest wall, and the entire padded wall slid up into the ceiling. The orderlies dragged Rowan through into the second room. He didn’t take in the operation table, or the dentist-like chair, or any of the other equipment. They took him to the corner of the room which held a desk and an armchair. Rowan was placed in the armchair, and Doctor Wilson took the desk chair across from his patient.

"Let us begin. Can you tell me where you are?"

Rowan remembered. "Redwood.. the camera.."

"You are in Redwood. But there was no camera. Can you remember your name?"

"Rowan."

"James Lawton." Doctor Wilson corrected. "And my name is Doctor Wilson."

"No.." Rowan's face is pale as he begins to piece his thoughts together. 

"Do you remember how you got out of the institute, when you wandered around?"

He couldn't think. He didn't understand. 

"How did you escape?"

He didn't escape. He knew that much. But how did he know that? There was something he was missing..

James? Are you with me?" Doctor Wilson peers at Rowan's face. "It seems our current treatment plan isn't working. I think soon we'll try a course of ECT - Electro-Convulsive Therapy."

After that, they dragged him back to his room to sleep off the medication. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

For several days, he was woken up, force-fed his medication, dragged to the next room for therapy, and then dragged back. Each time he resisted the medication, Doctor Wilson became more and more agitated. The next time he was roused, Doctor Wilson entered the room with the orderlies and Nurse Dean. Nurse Dean held his usual tray of medication cups. 

"This is your last chance. If you don't take your medications, it's going to be injections." Doctor Wilson warned.

Nurse Dean offered the wax paper cup to Rowan. It was labelled James Lawton. As Rowan accepted the cup, he frowned.

"That's.. not. MY. NAME." He growled, throwing the cup full of pills to the floor. 

Doctor Wilson's face went red. "That's it."

He gestured furiously to the orderlies, who swept forward and grabbed Rowan by the arms. He screamed, trying to yank his arms away. His coordination was poor, inhibited by the drugs they'd been forcing him to take. With one, most desperate tug, he pulled his arms free of the orderlies and raced for the door. He shoved his shoulder into it, and he burst through. He was out. The white halls spanned away from the room like the tunnels of a rabbit warren. He heard their shouts, but he didn't listen, lunging forward into the mess of hallways and sprinted as fast and hard as his wobbly legs would take him. He ducked behind a corner, watching some of his pursuers lost his trail and ran off. He slunk down another hallway, coming to a stop as he saw a door left ajar. He could see vibrant flickers of orange and red and yellow at the back of the room.

Curious, he stepped into the room. There was a figure with his back to Rowan, standing at a furnace. In large, mitt-like gloves, he pulled open the door of the furnace and reached for one of the two objects on the table beside him. It was a large, square-like black object. Puzzled, Rowan continued watching. It was only as the figure placed the object into the flames that he realised what it was.

My camera!

He watched in stunned silence as his beloved Cannon EOS 1500D DSLR camera began to melt, flames licking up the metal and plastic like a delicious meal.

The figure picked up the other object - Rowan's ID card - and placed it into the furnace too, and then closed the door.

Arms grabbed ahold of Rowan from behind, knocking him out of his stupour. The figure didn't move from the furnace.

"NO! YOU LIED! YOU LIED!" Rowan screamed, lunging for the figure. "YOU FUCKING ASSHOLES!"

The orderlies in their white scrubs swarmed around him.

"James, calm down."

"Everything's okay."

"STOP BURNING MY THINGS. YOU CAN'T KEEP ME HERE, MAKING ME YOUR PRISONER AND DRUGGING ME SENSELESS!!!" He screeched, jabbing his finger at the figure in front of the furnace. "GIVE ME BACK MY THINGS, RIGHT NOW!"

At this, the orderlies exchanged glances. Their expressions made Rowan's blood boil.

"James.. there's no one there." A young female orderly said, her tone sickeningly gentle and polite.

An older woman took over. "Yeah, there's no one there. Why don't you take a breath and-"

"NO! GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM ME!!!" He yelled, fear and anger spurring him on. He tried to lunge from their grasp, but this time, they held him fast.

He was eased to the floor, where he continued kicking and screaming. Two large, burly orderlies pinned his arms and legs to the cold linoleum floor. He tried to keep thrashing even as they pulled down his pants and underpants, exposing his bottom. The young woman pulled a syringe from her pocket and uncapped it as she approached.

"Stay still, James. It'll hurt less." The burly orderly to his right, the man, tried in a friendly tone."

He didn't care. They weren't going to drug him, not again, not-

It really hurt as the orderly drove the syringe into the muscle of his bottom and injected the drug. She pulled the syring out, and the others thankfully pulled his pants back up. He was too weak to resist them any longer, but the orderlies didn't realease him, not yet. They pulled him to his feet, the world already spinning as they began half-dragging, half-carrying him down the hall. The last thing he saw before the darkness pulled him under was Doctor Wilson, standing at the end of the hallway with his arms crossed, waiting for his patient to be returned.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Taglist: @jazatronasmr @onthishamsterwheel @bumpthumpwhump @whatiswhump @jancameforthewhump

[whatiswhump]

“I’m not sure that you will ever get better.” The doctor replied impassively.

Whumpee’s hands began to shake, “You can’t keep me here forever. I have rights.”

The doctor shook his head slightly, “That’s where you’re wrong. You are a danger to yourself and even more importantly a danger to others. You are a case of the state. That means that it is entirely up to my psychiatric expertise whether you remain in this institution.”

Hot tears welled up in their eyes as they responded barely above a whisper, “But you know. You know that I’m not sick.”

[whatiswhump]

“They took away my glasses... So I don’t hurt myself with the lenses.” He looked down as he said it, avoiding eye contact.

[whatiswhump]

When I dream I see green and blue. Like I am traveling by car and looking up at the tops of trees where they meet the sky, vague and indistinguishable but it makes my chest hurt. When I dream there is sunshine and warmth and the colors are bright and pure as they undulate endlessly in the midwestern summer.

This is what I hold onto. For it seems I am now eternally in the winter of my life. I have been here for so long that I should have stopped keeping the time long ago. The colors of green and blue are here too. But they don’t come in the rustling of leaves or the buzzing of a field in the late afternoon light. Here, they are flat and inanimate, cold to the touch and unsympathetic in their sterility. The green in my cell is the green in the hall and the green in the bathrooms and the green in the treatment rooms. I can’t see the blue of the sky uninterrupted from the bar clad windows. 

They tell me I might never be fit to leave this place. So I curl into myself and try to fall asleep again to drown out someone struggling and screaming in the hall. Maybe I will dream.

[whatiswhump]

I especially like ‘the ambiguous caretaker’ in mental hospital fics. When the whumpee is panicked or confused and they gently calm them or wrestle them into a straight jacket regardless they do it because it is for the whumpee’s own good. It’s their job to keep them safe. They’re a professional. So if they have to force-feed, inject a sedative or help a drugged whumpee shower they will and they won’t feel bad about it. While the whumpee suffers they just do what’s in their job description. Plus it is the doctor that prescribes most things so even if they do feel bad about doing something to the whumpee, it’s not their choice. They have to do it. But at the end of the day, they will simply clock out and go home while whumpee stays delirious and locked up in the padded cell.

[whatiswhump]

Tom

Another psychiatric whump OC, actually my original one! Pulling into the archives for this. It's a continuation of something I've posted before if you recognize the beginning :)

-

CW: manhandling, forced drugging, restraints, needles

-

“Do you need to go lie down?” Her light pink lips were turned into a solicitous frown.

“No Darlene, I am fine.”

“Okay pumpkin, if you insist.” Her drawl was not motherly like the young nurse probably intended but instead just I ncredibly annoying.

“I am not a gourd Darlene.” He mumbled under his breath as she walked away.

“Oh honey, simmer down!” She had heard him and called back amiably as she entered the nurses station, hips swaying.

Tom shot a glare in her direction and settled further into his chair, pulling his arms around himself.

Ten minutes later he was unconscious again. He couldn’t help it, it was the drugs, there was a fine line between subduing the patients and knocking them out and they seemed to have not hit the balance with him yet.

Since he had arrived here he normally spent all day every day drifting out of hazed reality and sleep.

This time he was woken up by one of the orderlies with his hands under each arm lifting him to his feet. Tom startled awake in panic.

It would be okay if they woke him and asked him to get up or something, but he was treated like a rag doll. They didn’t expect him to be capable of much. Not much of the patients in there really were. They were drugged into oblivion. Most of them used to be dangerous. They thought Tom used to be dangerous. Riley told them that, harmful to himself and others, he had said… and much more.

“What- where are we going?” Tom broke out of the grasp to stand on his own and pull his thin white hospital t-shirt straight. He couldn’t help but already feel smaller than he knew he was.

The orderly raised an eyebrow. Tom knew the translation to this now- are you gonna be trouble for me?

“It’s time for treatment Tom.”

“Aren’t the drugs aren’t doing enough? I don’t need that.”

“Tom, that’s not up to you to decide. Are you going to cooperate or do I need to let the doctor know?”

“What kind of treatment is it? You could at least tell me that.”

“Tom, your brother signed off on it, it’s okay, just come along, behave and it will all be over before you know it.”

Another orderly noticed the pair and joined the group. Ready to reinforce. It made a deep pit twist in Tom’s stomach.

To them he was dangerous and unreasonable. A threat waiting to happen. They would never come close to treating him like a real person. It didn’t matter what he did to prove to them that he was sane and not meant to be here.

Tom couldn’t help it- despite the full knowledge that it was futile. They had everything in their arsenal to outpower him. He would never stand a chance but he couldn’t turn himself over- not like this.

“Seriously, I feel fine today. I don’t need treatment.”

“Tom, I’m going to ask again. Are you going to behave and come along or do I need to call the doctor?”

Tom backed up a step, away from the orderlies, “I don’t want to do electroshock.” he answered in an uncharacteristically small voice. He knew they were avoiding telling him becuase it was going to be this.

“Come on buddy. It is not so bad. You won’t feel a thing.”

So it was ECT.

The guise of bravery that Tom himself had almost believed was all but gone now.

He shook his head in refusal as he backed up another step. There was something solid behind him, another orderly. He took the opportunity to grab Tom’s arms. It was abundantly clear at this point that he was no longer going to cooperate.

A chill ran through him. A fear that he hadn’t been familiar with before his admittance to the hospital. His elbows began to fly which successfully loosened the grips on him. But the other men were fast, they were used to patients like him at this institution.

They lunged. He dodged. But the game didn’t carry on for long, he was grossly and pitifully outnumbered. Where had they all come from? Where had they been waiting?

They had him pinned down after a couple more seconds. But Tom had grown hysterical. He writhed and fought harder and harder to free himself.

���PLEASE! Let go of me!”

A nurse, was it Darlene? Rushed over with a syringe and he caught sight of it.

“No, no, no, nooo. Not again.” He watched the shiny needle out of the corner of his eye like a feral dog. The volume of his voice had decreased into breathless and low plea.

“It’s okay honey, we’re just gonna calm down now.”

And with a smile that she probably thought was reassuring rather than sadistic she pricked his leg.

In moments, Tom was plunged under an ocean of waves. He was heavy, very heavy. Was the ground wet? Reality was altering more and more with each beat of his heart, pumping the mystery drug through his veins.

Two of the orderlies hoisted him up under his arms and dragged him out of the common room. Everything receded and came back at irregular intervals, Tom couldn’t say which was when. With the aid of a nurse, they wrestled his dead arms into sleeves with no ends. They pulled off his blue hospital pants and did he hear a nurse saying something about cleaning him up? They were wiping off his thighs and pulling fresh underwear and then pants on.

And then he was huddled on a floor.

He slowly entered reality hours, minutes, or days later, he couldn’t know, with a thudding skull and a smell. He abruptly realized where he was when he couldn’t stretch his arms. He tried to sit up and squinted, a plush room. He wasn’t on the raised area (that was probably meant to be the bed he surmised with a grim logic) but rather on the ground up against it. It hurt his head to try to remember. He tried but was already drifting back to unconsciousness.

He resurfaced what felt like a little while later maybe. He was now curled up in the corner of the small padded room. He didn’t recognize that there were people above him at first. What felt like directly above him stood the doctor and an orderly, looking down at him. Did he see pity? He felt confused and barely above the surface of consciousness.

“How are you feeling, Tom?” Dr. Fitz asked gently.

Tom could do nothing but screw his features in confusion.

“I was told you were very uncooperative Tom. Why didn’t you go to treatment when asked?”

Tom shifted further back into the corner, attempting to build more space in between the men and him. “I didn’t want to.” He slurred out.

“Well there’s no reason to be sca-”

“And. I don’t need it.” Tom spoke up.

“Tom,” The doctor intoned obnoxiously. “You were brought to us for a reason. You need-”

“No, my brother-”

“Tom. Stop this. Your brother cares about you, he brought you here to get the help you need. He and your father want you to be well again.”

That familiar feeling of indignation rose in his throat like bile. They wouldn’t listen to him, they never did, but something wouldn’t let him drop it, he couldn't go along with it, “Riley lied to you! Riley-”

“Tom, that’s enough. We can discuss it calmly during your next therapy session this afternoon if you can behave.”

Despite himself, Tom’s cheeks burned with shame, they really thought he was crazy. Once they made their decision, every word that came out of his mouth was discounted.

“Tom, now what do you say Jared helps you get cleaned up now.” The doctor smiled tepidly at the sudden change of topic.

Tom furrowed his brows, clean him up? He looked down at himself and his stomach plummeted. There was a darker stain around his crotch than the rest of the blue hospital pants. Was that what happened to him last night? Had he wet himself also during the struggle? He vaguely recalled a nurse using a wipe on his thighs before inching a fresh pair of underwear up his legs. The orderlies had to hold him up because he was too drugged to stand up straight. The shame he had felt moments ago deeply intensified.

The doctor and orderly observed the stricken look on his exhausted face.

“It’s okay Tom. It’ll be no problem once you get in the shower.” The orderly offered some reassurance.

He couldn’t bear to look back up at them. Crazy people couldn’t control themselves, no wonder they were convinced, all the signs were there.

“Here, Tom, first can we take these.” It wasn’t a question, a demand. A wax paper cup was offered from behind the orderly’s back. With his arms strapped to his sides, Tom was forced to simply open his mouth and allow the assortment of pills to be tipped in.

“Tongue out, come on. Okay, nice job, bud.”

By the time he was hoisted up by the elbow and being dragged down the hall, he swear he could already feel the world dimming again. He, two orderlies, and a nurse marched to the bathroom together. He barely moved past a shuffle. He was sore from the tussle and the dosages were clearly upped as a result of the outburst.

The orderlies kept closer than usual as the nurse briskly stripped him of his clothing and straight jacket and turned the shower head on. He just stood there, zoning in and out of awareness as she scrubbed him down. If he weren’t so far away with what they gave him, he wouldn’t have been able to bear it.

Once they finished bathing him, he was dressed and the nurse asked him a question. He was so distant that he didn’t hear her the first couple of times.

“Tom? Tom honey, do you want to go back to your room to rest?”

Tom managed a nod and they guided him back through the halls to his normal cell. The orderlies helped him settle onto the bed but didn’t leave immediately. One of them, was his name Jared? Had kept his hand on Tom’s shoulder.

“Tom, buddy, are you sure you’re alright?”

Tom gave a feeble nod back and murmured, “Sleep”.

“Okay, buddy. We will be back to check on you later.”

And then he was all alone.

[whatiswhump]

Alfie and Dr. Harris Masterpost

Note: Most of these were not written in any sense of an order but I do attempt to give them some organization below.

Summary: At the very beginning of his life, a young man and artist of 25 in the year 1954, Alfred Finch has more than he previously thought he could ever hope for, people he can call family and a path for his life. But it all quickly dissolves away once his best friend, Delano Sullivan is murdered and Alfie is the one they pin it on. It’s easy after all, “the boy has a documented history of an unwell mind”. He gets committed to a psychiatric hospital for the criminally insane. Alone in the world and looking down a bleak future is when he meets Dr. Harris, a particularly invested pysychiatrist who takes a special interest in the new patient.

Themes: Psychiatric whump, possessive whumper, forced treatment, mental hospital, forced restraints

Video Edits:

Alfie Mood Video 1

Psychiatric Mood Video 2

Fie and Del

Also some songs

Image Boards:

Appearance 1

Hair Cut Sketches

Drabbles:

The Introduction

Cooperation or Consequences

The Hair Cut

Commercial Break of Whumpettes

You Know

Don’t be Fooled

How Many Times?

Sick Day

Captured

Welcome Back

Friends in High Places

A Calming Touch

The Birthday Boy

Catatonic

Catatonic pt. 2

Bad Boys Get Mittens

Piece by Piece

Escape Attempt

Arts and Crafts Room- Fluff

Memory Loss

More Therapy

Hydrotherapy

Hydrotherapy pt. 2

Hydrotherapy pt. 3

Truth Serum

Truth Serum pt. 2

Side Effects

Delusions

Untouched Snow

The Surprise

You’re Not in Trouble

If You Weren’t Sick

I Believe You

Alley Cat

Electroconvulsive Therapy

Someone Else’s Photographs

Learned Helplessness

Dormancy

Visitor

Visitor pt. 2

In a Bed of Flowers

Alone

Christmas 1957

Prompt Dialogues

Dr. Harris