27. Any and all whump, trapped, and mistreated in institutions is ideal but manhandling, manipulation, test subjects, and general betrayal will also do the trick. Most of my psychiatric hospital prompts and storylines are set back in the 1940s-60s, when care was particularly misunderstood.
mostly alfie and harris but a few other story lines too :)
Alfie and Dr. Harris- 1950’s psychiatric institutionalization, obsessive doctor
Xavier Institutionalized, School Spirits fanfic- He tells his dad what’s going on and suddenly Xavier’s watching the world from a padded room and his friends have no idea where he is.
Averil- 1920s, from a good family- he and his illness must be hidden from view, Ave finds himself institutionalized and being called a name he doesn’t recognize.
Max- Test subject in a lab
Silas Sevieller- villain is finally caught by the hero and this time they plan to keep him contained.. no more escapes. Hero finds out what they are doing to villain and he starts to question a number of things…
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The voice swore a few more times and then the camera switched off.
---
It was done for Sydney. But in the black screen his mind played it on. Them dragging him away, stuffing him into an unnecessary straight jacket and then jabbing him with another syringe, only to leave him on the floor of a padded box. Locked in until they wanted another crack at his mind.
That was it. He needed to see him. He’d be damned of what it looked like to his colleagues.
___
“Well sir, he’s been cooperating more lately. More enthusiastically engaging in his own care-”
“That’s what you sick fucks call care? I’ve seen the videos. Just take me to him.”
The young doctor raised his eyebrows but knew better than to reply to a comment like that from the the city if not the country's greatest hero. So he remained silent and kept leading Sydney down the hall.
“He might be-”
“I know the drill- save your breath” Syd cut him off, there was no need for pleasantries now.
The key was inserted and the lock turned. And then there was Silas. Thinner, bruises everywhere, with that awful shaved head. Straight jacket and all. His eyes were open but a bit unfocused and they didn’t seem to register the door openiing.
Syd quickly closed the door behind him, effectively cutting off the doctor.
“Silas, it’s me Syd.”
Slowly, very slowly his eyes trailed over him. Sydney felt like he was going to be sick all over again.
“It’s been awhile… I kept coming to visit but they said- well- how are you doing?”
Silas’s eyes trailed back to the window in the door, they were being watched.
“I saw- I saw what they were doing to you. The tapes.” Syd moved in front of the door to block any view.
“Which ones?” Silas finally spoke, quietly, very quietly. His voice sounded rough from screaming.
“The interviews- they drugged you.” Were there other times? Other things?
“Oh… those… sometimes I don’t know when they’re recording… what’s clinical, what’s… not.” He whispered, a sickening emphasis to the word “not”... so much to imagine.
He didn’t want to ask, “... Those interviews, they’re not the only thing?”
Silas finally made eye contact again, his old smirk ghosting his face, leaving the answer to Sydney to once again color with his imagination.
“This has to be illegal.”
“Do I need to remind you who put me here?”
Syd. Sydney did.
“I didn’t know they’d-”
Silas tried to sit up but it looked painful. There must be a lot of bruises under that jacket. Had anyone checked out the wounds from the fight in the video? He could have a concussion.. Broken wrists…
“How else do you think they keep control? You know I deserve it, Syd. Stop lying to yourself.”
“No one deserves this-”
“Where else would you put me?” It was a rhetorical question but Syd couldn’t leave it.
“-Not -not here...”
Silas closed his eyes tiredly for a few long beats. He was angry, in his exhausted, futile way.
“Silas, you’re not a bad person.” Sydney breathed out, "I don't think you're a bad person, despite what you've done."
Silas opened his eyes again, “Delusional now? Maybe you belong in here with me after all.” No mirth this time. Just a tear.
Silas is a villian. He makes his living through illegal avenues, ignoring societal morality to achieve his goals. Over the years he's earned the close attention of Sydney Fitz, a top ranking member of the city's police force, who has now made it his mission to stop criminals like Silas, in particular Silas.
The attention did used to delight Silas who enjoyed the cat and mouse game. Sydney would catch Silas, then Silas would summarily break out of whatever prison they put him in. But this time... This time was different. The Powers that Be understood that no ordinary prison was sufficient for Silas Sevieller.
Every month at least I have a night where I get stuck thinking about Bucky at a very specific time. - after he and Steve fight on the helicarrier. Bucky gets away just barely, like a wounded and terrified feral dog.
But somehow he heals. He always heals. He finds an abandoned place to live. He starts to just exist. He’s alone but there’s a fox that lives in the field by the little abandoned house he’s adopted. Things start to grow as spring and then summer warms the mornings.
After first he starved himself but eventually he begins to dig up roots and eat dandelion greens. To his surprise the tree nearby bears plums. He keeps existing. He wonders if Hydra really did forget him. He doesn’t think that’s possible but he’s still here and not at the bottom of a dark hole.
The fox and he ocassioanly observe each other. The nights are warm now too. He no longer chatters his teeth while he lays on the ground at night.
But it doesn’t last- he should’ve known- he did know- they would never let him stay gone. He knew they would find him.
But he had gotten soft. He didn’t know what had happened until the the needled dart had already pierced the skin of his neck. He pulled it out but it was too late.
He fell, very slowly it seemed, and hard. His vision blurred as he registered men in black tactical gear approach, their boots at his eye level. He could’ve sworn he could see the fox watching from the tall grass.
He vaguely felt restraints being fastened around his powerless limbs. Then a collar clicking around his neck. Somewhere in the back of his mind he knew it would shock him if he tested it. Pierce had liked that behavioral tool.
Then there was another needle and eyelids grew too heavy to hold open. He was out like a switch.
-
When he woke, he smelled vague damp, the kind they tried to scrub out with institutional bleach.
The polished concrete floor under him was very cold against his bare skin. They had taken his clothes.
He knew they would start the reconditioning now, maybe if he was vicious enough they would wipe him quickly, not bother with all of the punishment if it was too unwieldy to teach a lesson. But he knew that was a foolish hope and he also knew he was too tired.
He was so tired.
So when the door eventually opened to his cell he only curled into himself tighter, bracing for the inevitable onslaught.
“Mr. Barnes. It’s time for your meds.”
He stayed as he was, hoping to endure their plans with any semblance of sanity. Because they would try to take that. They had taken it many times before.
“Mr. Barnes. We can give it intramuscularly if you don’t want to swallow it.”
He didn’t know a Mr. Barnes and he knew there were no choices so he stayed curled tight. He felt the metal collar. If he moved without direction while personnel was in the room they’d probably shock him.
Someone sighed. He could tell there were a lot of them at least three. Rubber shoes and tactical boots. He smelled the oil and gunpowder of regularly cleaned guns.
Then there was a syringe in his hip, “he’s been like his for awhile, uncommunicative, so the doctors just want to keep calm.” A voice said.
Awhile? He had only just woken up.
The people left. He drifted away. Some part of him knew it was odd for them sedate him, unless it was for transfer.
But he woke up in the same place. Still cold, still bare, thoughts blurring from what they had put in him. He dragged himself to the corner. There was a tray of food by the door he saw. He made no attempt to get it.
This time when the men came in he was facing them, barely propped up against the wall. He still shrunk back, he was afraid.
It was two men in medical uniforms and two in black tactical suits holding their guns tight.
“Ok Jimmy, you gonna take them this time?” One of the men held out a white paper cup.
The solider didn’t understand why the lab tech was asking him like it was a question. They man took one careful step forward, the soldier opened his mouth to accept the medicine. Lab techs were usually not cruel. They scrubbed the blood out from under his nails after missions. They hooked him up to drips that dulled the searing pain of bullet holes if he had been good. They would shock him though if he did not comply with the tech. Zola would be very angry with him.
The man looked surprise for a brief moment before stepping closer to tip the assorted capsules into his mouth. His throat was dry but he swallowed.
“Good boy,” the tech backed away, “you also need to eat James,”
The soldier didn’t tell him he wasn’t James. He could not contradict medical techs or personnel. Instead he just looked at their feet. Would they drag him out now for water boarding? No that wouldn’t be horrific enough, they had better tools up their sleeves.
“Didn’t they say he’s kind of brain dead or something?” One of the guards asked.
“They think it’s conditioning, but they don’t really know- most of zolas notes on what he did to him were destroyed.”
-
Later he woke up and there was a folded square of fabric by the door. He only looked at it.
After about an hour there was a crackle and buzz and then a voice over speakerphone, “Mr. Barnes. Please put the gown on. It is for you.”
He just stared at it.
Another hour passed and then men came in. One picked it up and they put it on him themselves. He stayed still as he always did while techs washed him or dressed him. The guards looked very nervous. He had killed a few guards in the 90s he thinks. He remembers a lot of blood and Pierce smirking.
They left him and a few minutes later the door opened again. It was a blonde man. He was familiar. His first thought was 70s… pierce? Then he remembered the helicarrier. He shrunk back. This man meant pain. He meant getting wiped.
“Buck.” The man was in civilian clothing. He looked in pain also.
The solider knew they would surely hurt him after this. He tried to shift to the corner, his eyes widened, feeling fear and memories of profound pain.
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CW: Medical whump, refusing food, restraints, noncon sedation, referenced force feeding/feeding tube, ripping out IV, panic attack, self blaming, referenced suicidal/”let me die” thinking, referenced torture/captivity, referenced conditioning,
Masterlist
—
“Come on Milo, please? Just a little?”
Nick’s heart sank as Milo pushed the tray of food away, face pale. His hands were shaking, scars along his wrists visible under the sleeves of the hoodie Nick had convinced the nurses to let him wear. One sleeve was rolled up above his elbow where an IV was, giving him a small, constant dose of painkillers and fluids. It was his old favorite one, one Nick had kept and held every night Milo had been missing. It stopped smelling like him after the first few weeks.
“Mr Lawson..” The doctor set their hand on his shoulder, voice tight. “Can I speak to you a moment?”
In no particular order: Roswell, Dark Angels, Old Guard, the OA, Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Gen V, Iron Fist, Captain America Winter Soldier, the X-Files
I love rewatching edits I’ve made bc of course I made them for me first and if it’s been long enough I’ll think “wow this is REALLY good” which makes sense bc I made it for an audience of me. Still delights me though
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hi hello just wanted to say i love ur stories so much!! I have psychiatric trauma which has felt very isolating but reading this stuff makes me feel less lonely. Youre an amazing writer!!
HI!
I’m so sorry that happened to you.
But I’m honored my stories can help in any way. I often forget that real life people might actually be reading what I put out here, let alone finding interest or any thing else, I really appreciate you sending this message
Alfie is sent to the normal hospital for a broken wrist
-
He came back slowly.
At first there were only sounds. Shoes on tile, the rhythmic hiss of oxygen, the murmur of voices behind a curtain. Then light pressed against his eyes.
Something tugged at his wrist. Not the sharp pain from before, dull now, heavy and not right. He blinked and saw that his arm was wrapped in thick white plaster, elevated on a pillow. The rest of him felt strange and weighted.
“The Woodford patient is waking. Will he need restraints?”
“No, not for now, his med chart calls for consistent sedation. That should keep him manageable.”
The words slurred together in his ears, like he was hearing through water.
A nurse leaned over him. She didn’t look very old. She looked nervous.
“Mr. Finch? Can you hear me?”
He nodded just barely.
“Good. You’re at Northfield General. Surgery went well. You’ve got pins in your wrist now, that’s what the cast is for.”
He knew the nurse had said these words a thousand times before but it was normally to boys who had fallen on their bikes and unsteady grandmothers. Her tone was reassuring, but her attention was already moving past him to the chart clipped to the foot of the bed.
He tried to speak. Nothing came out, that wasn't unusual. The nurse noticed, adjusted the IV line, and turned away.
Two orderlies came in with a clipboard.
“This the psych transfer?”
“Mhm. Pins in his wrist, needs pain management every four, just gave him his next dose of clonazepam."
“He lucid?”
“Off and on. Woodford chart has orders not to not engage. I think we should keep pushing fluids, looks like he could use them.”
"Yeah came in looking that way. Don't they feed them over there?"
They spoke plainly, without malice. He wasn't quite a person to them.
He understood. He had a feeling he could guess a little of what was written in the chart they were given.
The nurse checked his pulse again and then wrote something down.
He stared at the ceiling. The edges of the fluorescent panels trembled slightly.
Someone in the hall laughed in conversation. A radio played faintly from somewhere down the hall. Everything was ordinary. The ordinariness made it worse and confusing. It was like he had traveled back in time. Back out in the real world, so very odd.
He drifted again, then woke when someone adjusted his bandaged wrist. It hurt intensely even through the sedation.
“He’s waking up again,” a voice said. “How do we keep him from pulling the IV.”
“You want restraints?” He hadn't moved. He was being good, he knew that.
“The chart says softs are recommended, let’s go ahead.”
But of course he didn’t protest when they looped fabric around his uninjured wrist and ankles and tied them to the bedrails. The movement was procedural and impersonal.
“There we go,” the nurse said. “You’re safe now.”
Safe. He looked down at the cast, green and purple fingers, the gauze, the IV taped to his arm. Safe was a funny word to use.
When the sedation finally began to thin, he felt it all at once: the incredibly severe ache in his wrist, the dryness in his mouth, the distant hum of a world he didn’t belong to- didn’t live in anymore. It occurred to him he was like a ghost- in his old world, the real word- but only half way and wouldn’t stay.
Outside his curtain, someone said, “Transport for Woodford’s delayed. We’ll have to keep him overnight.”
“Alright then, well, make sure he’s medicated. We don’t want any trouble.”
The nurse nodded. A drawer opened. He saw the small paper cup in her hand before she spoke.
“Just something to help you rest, Mr. Finch.”
He didn’t resist when she lifted it to his lips.
Afterward, as the edges of the room softened again, he thought he heard rain outside. But maybe it was only the sound of the ventilator down the hall, breathing for someone else.
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Hi!! I was wondering if you have any new chapters coming soon 🤍
I love hearing from you! And thanks for the Xavier compliment!! I have had no time for any of my hobbies and I miss writing. Tonight, I have the night to my own and I have sat down to look at all of my Alfie chapters. I have so many that are unedited/ I wasn't sure how they would fit into the narrative, but I am determined to post an alfie chatper tonight
Helo, your character Alfie reminded me of the song "The Mind Electric" by Miracle Musical. Sorry if this is a gross mischaracterization, the story the song just made me think of him. Their entire album tells a similar story i believe!
Just listened to the song! I totally see it, some old music basis the distorted hard to follow pace. Very cool!
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