whumpacabra - Tumblr blog

[whumpacabra]

a character who starts to feel faint. they close their eyes. "i need to sit down," they manage, bringing a shaky hand to their head.

"... (name), youre already on the ground," says a voice. their eyes open to see the other above them, worried, because they just collapsed.

[whumpacabra]

I think we need to torture more girls

[whumpacabra]

Tea

Angst, referenced therapy, referenced nightmares, referenced scars, referenced past trauma

[Directly follows Session #15]

It was that time in spring when it was cool enough for a jumper outside, but too hot to sit in a car in the sun. Nathan cracked open the car window and his book. He would say one thing about driving East to these weekly sessions - it gave him plenty of time to get caught up on his reading.

Or at least, it normally did. His phone started ringing just as he got settled in. Nathan was worried at first - he was always worried about his wards - but seeing the caller ID had something bitter creep up his throat.

“Jackson. How have you been?” He was too polite to start chewing him out right off the bat.

As much as he wanted to.

“I’m well, just wrapping up some loose ends. How’s East?” Jackson sounded…fine. Nonchalant and relaxed. As though he didn’t leave Nathan in charge of a man with a fabricated record, no background to speak of, and enough trauma to need weekly therapy sessions for months at a time.

“John. What the fuck were you thinking?” Nathan dropped his voice low, a furtive glance around the empty parking lot as though someone might overhear. “You shouldn’t have brought him here - I do not have the training to be an on-call psychiatric nurse.”

“I know - I know.” Jackson was almost audibly cringing. “I’m sorry, it wasn’t fair to drop…all that on you so suddenly.”

“It wasn’t... God, Jackson, you - I mean, you told me what to expect but…Christ.”

“That bad?”

“At the start. Like a goddamn robot, never left his room, always seemed a stern look away from bursting into tears.” Nathan sighed, leaning back in his seat. “Not exactly easy to pass off as a guy with assault charges who just got out on good behavior. I’m not sure any of the boys really bought that story.”

“Records are easier to fake than the experience, I guess.” Jackson sighed ruefully, an apology in his voice. “Have they been…how’s he doing with them?”

“Took a bit but he seems to have warmed up to a few. Al and Tierney took him out to the pub the other night.”

“A pub? He - that’s, that sounds like he’s doing a hell of a lot better than he was when I dropped him off.”

“Yeah, no thanks to you.” He winced even as the words left his lips - it was a bit cruel, but it was true. Jackson had really dropped off the face of the earth for the last few months. God, what Nathan wouldn’t give to be having this conversation in person. “Therapy has been helping - seems to be at least.”

“Good - good, I guess…I was worried he…I’m glad it’s working out.”

“Me too.” Nathan hummed, brow furrowed in thought. “Why call me now?”

“Well, if my time zones are correct he’s in a session right now - ”

“No, why are you checking in now? It’s been almost four fucking months Jackson.”

“I know - I know, I’m sorry - I’m on a plane home in…seven hours.” There was a rustle of paperwork on the other side of the line. Nathan could practically see Jackson dance around the question - evading explanation for what he could only hope was a damn good reason. “I was - I was actually wondering if I’d be able to meet with him in person, when I got back.”

“…sure. I’ll have to check his work schedule. Is this the kind of thing where I should give him a heads up or…if this more of a business visit?”

“Christ - no, nothing like that. By all means tell him I’ll be back in town and want to see him. I was thinking lunch maybe - if you, as his supervisor, give him permission.”

“I’ll consider it.” Nathan chuckled, sighing into the phone. “But John?”

“Yeah?”

“We’re even. Once he’s out of the program he’s on his own and I don’t want you to ask me to do something like this again.”

“I understand. I’m sorry, Nathan.”

“I know you are.” He hung up, pressing his forehead to the sun warmed steering wheel.

What he wouldn’t give for this to be normal - for East to be a normal probation case with a normal life to go back to. A normal felon with a normal support network or lack thereof that Nathan knew how to navigate, how to help. But East was so far from normal; no protocol or training or prior experience prepared Nathan for the desperate wreck of a man he had met all those months ago.

He hoped he had done everything right. He hoped Jackson wouldn’t fuck up what he had done right. He hoped he could forget about all this, the late night nightmares and the scars glimpsed under sleeves and the eyes that watched him with the expectation of pain. But Nathan knew he would be worrying about the poor bastard until the day he died, no matter where he ended up.

(All he could hope was that whatever Jackson had in mind, it was somewhere safe and quiet. Somewhere with black coffee and morning runs and good friends. Christ knew East deserved it.)

[Before The Target]

(Part of my Freelancers: Changing Tides series)

Taglist: @stargeode @sacredwrath @genuineformality

[whumpacabra]

Sure, torture as whump is all fine and good… But in my opinion, the aftermath is just so much better… the whumpee flinching if someone gets near them… barely able to breath without pain… having nightmares that they’re back with their torturer… and their friends watching them and trying to help, wondering if the whumpee has been permanently broken.

[whumpacabra]

I love your writing. Keep torturing those boys!

Thank you! On it boss o7

[whumpacabra]

hand-shaped bruises. bracelets of finger imprints on wrists, branded on shoulders or throats or hips. the lack of plausible deniability. the way anyone seeing it can tell something Happened. someone who cares sees it and there’s no hiding the ongoing whump anymore. the photographs memorializing it. the moment a sleeve slips and a friend or coworker or roommate asks “whoa, what happened?”

just. the obviousness of it. the distinctness of it. hand-shaped bruises my beloved.

[whumpacabra]

Safe

@whumpingmydarlings, @jo-castle, @maxclaims, @tombwriter13. @prodigywhump, @realcanadianmoose @grettiwrites, @bloodyfeverdreams, @darthsutrich, @empathetic-whumper, @burtlederp @whumperflies

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Jack volunteered to go to bed early. His nights of staying up all night, roaming the streets looking for trouble were definitely over, but now he couldn’t even manage to stay awake past 10 pm. Nearly dying in an alley will do that. He’d almost rather just believe that he was getting too old for all nighters than the reality. And he felt a lot older right now that he actually was.

And there was the added bonus of allowing Simone and Lana some time alone. They’d spent the whole day at his house, despite his insistence that they didn’t need to. Even if it turned out that he did need them. Eventually he was going to have to make it on his own. He needed a little time on his own too. A quiet, dark room. A strategically placed pillow to hold his guts in. A pillow that smelled like Sylvia. 

The peaceful part of peace and quiet. 

Keep reading

[whumpacabra]

They had protocol set up for this. Caretaker knew that. Hell, she’d help set them up. There were too many people showing up terrified and covered in nauseating wounds for them to do nothing. So, while Team Leader did what they could to track down Whumper, Caretaker and her little team had built a little network of safehouses, where they could take the people they found and help them as best they could. Sometimes it was more successful than others, but at the very least, they could deal with the physical wounds. Caretaker had done this dozens of times.

It had never been Whumpee though.

Caretaker had never seen Whumpee so small. She looked as though a strong wind would remove her limbs from her body, and it terrified Caretaker. What was worse by far, though, were the bands of deep and raw wounds around Whumpee’s joints that looked like someone had already tried to do just that. Whumpee, who seemed built out sunshine and laughter, who was always dancing around with a joke and a smile on her lips. But last night she has been a limp weight in Caretaker’s arms, barely capable of whimpering in response to the pain of being hauled across the rocky face of the woods. She had already passed out by the time the had entered the cottage, which, although it terrified Caretaker, had saved Whumpee the pain of having her wounds cleaned out and bandaged. Cleaned and treated, as much as Caretaker could anyway, Whumpee was laid out in the bed. Caretaker had crawled in after her, hoping to help warm her up. She had no idea how long Whumpee had been in the snow before she was found and was praying that hypothermia wasn’t the final nail in her coffin.

That was twelve hours ago. For the first few, Caretaker had lain in that bed, watching the shallow rising and falling of Whumpee’s chest and willing it not to stop. A small part of her brain warned her that she too should try and sleep, but the terror sweeping over her in waves promised to make that a futile endeavour. Instead, once she was satisfied that Whumpee was not about to about to stop breathing the moment she looked away, she placed a couple of hot water bottles in the bed with Whumpee and had set to work cleaning up the aftermath.

In the morning light, the amount of blood Whumpee had lost became startlingly clear. A full record of every movement was printed on the hardwood, like a dance frozen in time; The jagged lines around the door from Caretaker’s acrobatic attempts to close and lock the door without hurting Whumpee further, The smooth, slim ribbons from the door to the bathroom belied the haste with which Caretaker had rushed to clean the snow and dirt from her charge. The odd bootprint smeared the back half of the trail, stopping in front of the supplies cabinet. That was the path Caretaker retraced this morning. However, instead of seeking the medical supplies on the top shelves, her attention turned to the cleaning supplies near the bottom.

For most of the morning, cleaning the blood was a welcome distraction from the fear that Whumpee wouldn’t wake up. Caretaker’s terror for her friend, the anger that someone would do that to her, the frustration at her own inability to do anything, all of it fueled the fervour with which she scrubbed. But once the cottage was cleaned, a lentil soup both made and stored, it became harder and harder to find distractions from the fact that Whumpee was still teetering on the edge. The waiting was unbearable, and with no other way to avoid it, Caretaker settled in a chair beside the bed to begin.

[whumpacabra]

Session #15

Therapy, angst, past trauma, past dehumanization, implied past violence, bar fight mention, neonazi mention, referenced past character deaths, dubious psychology by fault of the author

[Follows Bared]

“It was fine until…until we got back to the house. It was late - everyone was asleep and we all went to our rooms and - ” East’s breathing shuddered. He wasn’t crying - not yet, an impressive 20 minutes into the session - but he was feeling the vice of terror squeeze his heart. “I just…I know he was an asshole, and he probably deserved it - or worse - but - I - I enjoyed it.”

“I probably would too; there’s catharsis in taking someone like that down a peg.” Judy hadn’t been critical of his parole violation - (he wasn’t actually on parole, he had to remind himself) - she was more interested in its aftermath. Which, for once, East wanted to talk about.

“It wasn’t just, as you said, taking him down a peg. It - it felt like before. When Smith would have me…y’know…” He trailed off, clearing his throat and reaching for a paper cup of water. Drinking helped him keep his voice. Judy nodded, brow knit in concern.

“Was it like a flashback, like you were feeling the way you did when he made you kill for him?”

“No - no, maybe?” East cringed, running his fingers through his hair. (It was getting long - he wasn’t sure he wanted a haircut. He wasn’t sure if he would like who he saw in the mirror after.) “It…felt safe - controlled?”

“Control I think is the right word. Smith never let you express yourself outside of when he made you kill for his entertainment. You were safe to do as you wished within the scope of his orders.”

(Except the one time he wasn’t. Except the one time he tried to be creative - to show mercy the only way he knew how - and oh, how that choice fucked him later.)

(…)

(Well, he was here, alive and free, wasn’t he?)

“I guess…yeah, the control part - controlling the situation, it felt good. But…” He bit the insider of his cheek, shame creeping up his throat. “The way he looked at me, at the end - I just - I know how that feels. And I don’t know how to feel about that.”

“Well, as much of a wanker as he is, that skinhead is still human. He still feels fear and pain and shame just like the rest of us.”

“That doesn’t mean - but he’s still a skinhead and, and I should feel good kicking the shit out of him, right? I just felt…dirty. The way he looked at me...”

East shuddered, remembering coming home that night, sitting in the dark quiet of the house. How quickly the ghosts came for him, how little sleep he stole away.

“Smith made me feel that way. And I made that piece of shit feel the same. I - I mean, like - I could have been that piece of shit, when Smith - y’know - and, and I just - I wonder if that was how Smith felt. When he hurt me. It felt good - being in control, knowing that punk was scared of me, wouldn’t look me in the eye. Wouldn’t fight back anymore.”

And that was the heart of it, wasn’t it? East wasn’t upset because he empathized with a pathetic dickhead he scared the daylights out of. He was upset because he empathized with Smith - the heady rush of power, the security of being feared.

“What was the goal of fighting him?”

“He…Alister wanted to be left alone and he wouldn’t leave. I needed to make him leave because nobody else would.”

“Did you want to kill him?”

“No - no, I only threw his knife after him to scare him.” The question startled East from his spiral. He didn’t kill. He didn’t have to kill anymore. He didn’t want to kill anymore. So he didn’t.

“Do you regret it?”

(Did he?)

“No…he was an asshole. He wasn’t going to leave without a fight, or Alister, or both.” East avoided eye contact, trying not to think about what would have happened if he wasn’t there. If all of Tierney’s 151 cm of fiery drunkeness was pit against someone as hateful and hungry for violence as that punk.

“You saw your friend was in trouble. You took control of the situation - not the person causing it. You created a situation where he chose to leave, and you let him leave.” Judy glanced up from her notes. “You are not Smith, East. You didn’t trap him there. Whatever hits you threw were precise and efficient; you could have kicked the shit out of him, beaten him to a bloody pulp, and to be quite honest I don’t think anyone in that bar would have had an issue with it.”

“But - ”

“East, you let him go when he wanted to leave. Would Smith have done that?”

(No. Never. Smith would have meted out a punishment. Nothing but immediate and complete surrender was good enough for Smith.)

“Still feel like shit about it.” He managed to mumbled, swallowing back tearful words.

“Smith was human too, East. He was a fucking monster, but still just a human, like you and me and that prick from the bar.”

“If this is supposed to make me feel better, it isn’t.”

“You’re human too, East. You're going to have moments of your life that you're not proud of. You're going to say cruel, thoughtless things and behave inappropriately and upset other people. You're going to do things that feel good in the moment that you regret later. That dickhead at the bar didn’t regret what he said to you and your friends in the moment because he didn’t see you as people entitled to basic human decency. Just because he learned to regret that choice doesn’t mean you did something wrong.”

East nodded, digesting the information.

“Smith didn’t regret what he did to you because he didn’t see you as a person. He didn’t treat you with any respect or basic human dignity because he thought you didn’t deserve it. He was wrong, of course, but he didn't regret it.” Judy’s smile was tinged with wry bitterness. “If you can look a skinhead in the eye after kicking his ass and still see that he’s still a human being, that he’s just a man, you’re not going to make the same mistakes Smith made.”

“Yeah, I’ll get to make new mistakes.” East grumbled, the retort slipping past his lips before he could catch the thought. But Judy just smiled, shrugging.

“We all do. It’s how we choose to learn from and react to our mistakes that lets us grow beyond them.”

[Concurrent to Tea]

(Part of my Freelancers: Changing Tides series)

Taglist: @stargeode @sacredwrath @genuineformality

[whumpacabra]

this is just a PSA for the whump community that we should leave more comments. most fic and art enjoyers should leave comments but i know we all love each other so i'm reminding us how happy a comment makes and artist or writer. if you're seeing this, leave a comment on the next fic or piece of fanart you enjoy. only you can make an artist or writer proud of themselves <3

[whumpacabra]

"I remember a time we came out of the woods, Dad had asked us what we'd learned. "Always protect each other." We never forgot. Logan's got my back, and I got his. He's my brother."

the walker brothers :3

[whumpacabra]

whumpee can't even tell if whumper has drugged them or if the constant, intense torture has just pushed their mind too far that nothing seems real.

they hear screams that they can only assume are theirs. they see blood, too much blood. their body is wracked with sensations, but they're too detatched to process it as pain. or as their own.

and when a flood of strangers enter the room, with noise and lights, and lift whumpee's broken body onto a stretcher, whumpee assumes that it has to be a hallucination their dying mind created.

[whumpacabra]

Alex & Friends Part 19-Commitment

Firebird, Wolfman, Elemental, Gecko, The Warden belong to @/pigeonwhumps. Go check them out!

cw: self destructive behavior, touch of angst, questionable depictions of London

“I’ll go.”

The words fell out of her mouth before she’d really thought about the consequences. All it took was the glimpse of a bloodied hero from behind Joseph’s shoulder, punctuated by the words of the news anchor, for her to decide.

Joseph slowly turned around, the rest of the team's faces painted with looks of poorly concealed shock. “Alex, I-”

She cut him off. “I know what Zorland does to people.” Her voice was hard. “I don’t care, he’s not doing that to anybody else; I won’t let him.”

“Alex, wait,” Joseph tried.

Alex didn’t listen. “You don’t have to come-' She quickly knotted her boots, “-but I’m going. Nobody else should have to get hurt.” She started to dig for the weapons she hid in her bag. “You-”

“No,” it was Eric this time, and his tone was final. Alex’s mouth clicked shut. “My team was assigned to protect you. And we’ve done that. Joseph took a knife to the arm for you, for crying out loud.”

She stood frozen, guilt suddenly flooding her veins. “I-”

“I’m not done,” Eric took a step forward. “If you think, for a second, that we’d abandon you to Albert fucking Zorland, then you’ve made a serious misjudgment about us.” She swallowed nervously. “If you wanna go, we’ll go. You’re right, your presence there could be helpful. But you’re absolutely not going in alone. Give us time to suit up, and then we can go do this properly.” He paused to take a breath. “You said you didn’t want anyone to get hurt? That includes you.”

After the dust had settled, Alex let out a quiet “Okay.”

Eric seemed pleased with her answer. “Get suited up. You have twenty minutes.”

***

Half an hour later, they pulled up to the gates of the maintenance office on the New Charlton side of the river. All sorts of vehicles were clustered around the entrance, mostly INSUPA, but some were HAL as well.

From the back of the van, she could hear Eric negotiating with whichever junior hero had been put on gate duty. Using her finger, she pulled the collar of her suit away from her neck. It was a little too tight, since she was wearing one of Avia’s old ones.

Even if it had been custom fitted to her, she still would’ve felt awkward in it. There was no hiding her affiliation, not with the blue and orange stripes and the INSUPA logo stenciled on her sleeve. The intelligence corps didn’t have a sleeve patch, but Eric had let her wear the team one, which was awfully kind of him, considering the circumstances.

Her stomach had hollowed itself into a deep, cavernous pit on the drive over, and the tightness of the collar hadn’t helped calm her nerves at all. There was no turning back now, though, and it was the right thing to do. Using her pointer finger, she traced a figure eight on her leg, taking steady, calming breaths.

It was the right thing to do.

The van lurched forward. Eric had gotten them in.

***

A command center had been set up behind one of the office buildings, the tips of the pier’s roofs just visible. As they walked towards a group of HAL superheroes, Alex could make out the light purple glimmer of a force-field. That would denitely complicate things.

A person wearing a dark blue HAL uniform waved them over. “Good afternoon,” he greeted curtly, shaking hands with Eric. “I’m Wolfman (he/him), I’m running the show right now.”

Eric nodded. “I’m Unshakable, (he/him) INSUPA. The person that Zorland’s been asking for, they’re detailed to my team.” It was a half truth at best, and the chances were high that Wolfman would guess there was more to the story. Hopefully, he wouldn’t say anything about it.

“Thanks for coming,” Wolfman nodded, leading Eric and the rest of them further into the building. “One of Zorland’s henchmen can make force fields. It's a challenge.” He pushed a door open, and started climbing the staircase. “My team is up top.”

Wolfman quickly introduced his team. First, there was Gecko, whose name is easy enough to remember because of the small green creature painted on her cheek. Then, The Warden, whose suit was gray and shimmery and, last but not least, there's Elemental, who was wearing a striking gray suit with dark purple and pink accents. Alex found it a bit weird that there were only three of them, but that was quickly explained by Wolfman introducing the one other member of his team.

It was Firebird, the hero being held hostage by Zorland.

The plan came together quickly. They needed him to lower his shields, and the only way for that to happen was if Alex showed up. Being used as bait twice in the same day was far from ideal, but at least both times had been her choice.

The first part involved approaching the pier where Zorland was barricaded on a boat, using Alex to get him to lower his shields for the exchange. Sil would be driving, Joseph would be along to tend to Phoenix when they got them out, and Gecko, a telepath, would be there to make sure that Zorland or his cronies didn’t try anything. Eric would lead this team, communicating with Wolfman, who’d lead the second team.

He, along with The Warden, Avia, Teri, and Elemental, would use the underground tunnels to gain access to the pier from underground. Once the shield was lifted, they’d be able to get in no problem. With good timing, they would cut off Zorlands escape routes and attack him from two sides. He’d be cornered. As a final precaution, Aarav would keep watch from the roof, communicating with his pigeons to make sure that all their bases were covered. The plan was solid.

For both her sake and Firebird’s, Alex hoped it would work.

Taglist: @pigeonwhumps @sassafrassmoke

[whumpacabra]

Caretaker falling apart over what might’ve happened to Whumpee, but deciding to respect Whumpee’s privacy. They have to stop themselves from prying or asking certain questions, knowing full well that there’s a darker, painful, intimate story behind Whumpee’s condition.

Alternatively, Whumpee’s history is eating away at them, and they’re dying to tell Caretaker everything. They decide to repress themselves for one reason or another. Maybe they’re afraid of disturbing Caretaker. Maybe they’re doubting their own recollection of what happened. Maybe they’ve been conditioned to view vulnerability as weakness.

Either way, there’s something preventing these two people from sharing the whole truth about a painful situation.

[whumpacabra]

Alex & Friends Part 18-Bad News 2

*smiling like a idiot*

cw: mentions of vomit, panic attack aftermath

Joseph wasn’t really prepared for what he saw when the bathroom door opened. Judging from the noises coming from behind the door, it wasn’t going to be pretty, but it was far worse than he anticipated.

Alex was crying, breaths fast and uneven, body quivering. Her eyes were red, tears still streaming down her face. The bathroom reeked of vomit, the pungent odor stabbing at his nostrils as he took in the scene.

“I’m sorry,” she rasped, voice quiet and shaky. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright,” He assured her, quickly closing the door behind him.

“I..I can’t do it again,” She wheezed, eyes wide with fear. “I can't.”

“It’s okay, you don’t have to,” He didn’t really know what she meant by that, but panic attacks weren’t renowned for being easily comprehensible. “Do you want something to drink?”

Alex nodded, but didn’t say anything. It seemed like she was only half present.

“Why don’t you have a seat on the toilet, okay?” He said as he dodged the vomit that was pooled in the sink and started to ll up a plastic cup.

She carefully lowered herself down, reaching a hand out behind her to steady herself. The bright lights of the bathroom made the bags under her eyes even more pronounced as he handed the cup to her. Her hands shook as she took the cup, water vibrating as she put it to her lips.

“There you go.” He leaned back against the wall opposite to the toilet to give her some space. “That better?”

She hummed in the affirmative, slowly drinking the water he’d given her. Her breaths were starting even out, and the flow of tears was finally slowing. “Thanks,” she whispered.

“No problem,” he said, shrugging his shoulders.

A beat of silence passed before she spoke again. “Well that fucking sucked.” She let out a half-hearted chuckle.

“I bet,” he nodded. The room still reeked of vomit, and her shirt had been stained in a couple of places by the offending liquid.

She gripped the counter for extra stability as she stood. “I’m gonna need a new shirt,” she said while she turned the water on to wash the vomit out of the sink.

“Where are your shirts? I can go and get you one.” He used his foot to push himself o the wall.

“They should be by everyone else’s stuff. Think the bags purple.” She said as she lathered her hands in soap.

Just before he turned to leave, he remembered something. “It’s okay if you want to wait a little longer, but I do need to change your bandages. Can I go get stuff for that?”

Alex seemed to lag for a second before responding, but her face remained still. “Yeah, that’d be fine.”

“I’ll be right back,” he said before he reached for the handle.

He was greeted by Eric standing directly in front of, arm raised as if he was about to knock. “Is she okay?”

“Yeah, why?” Joseph asked, a little confused.

“There's something you need to see.” Eric’s tone was filled with urgency.

Leaving the bathroom door open behind him, he quickly walked over to Teri’s computer. The rest of the team was clustered around it, but they moved to the side so he could see. Teri turned the volume up.

“If you’re just tuning in, convicted supervillain Albert Zorland has escaped. He, along with several henchmen, have barricaded themselves on a pier. They are holding a hero hostage, and are demanding that Olena Lepshev, who he claims to be an INSUPA operative, hand herself over, in return for the hero’s release.”

Zorland had captured a hero. Fuck.

The feed cut to a picture of the captured hero and Joseph's heart sank. The hero’s their whole body was covered with blood. Even with their face masked, Joseph knew exactly who it was.

Phoenix.

Taglist: @pigeonwhumps @rainydaywhump

[whumpacabra]

The whumpee had been specially trained to be the whumper’s attack dog- someone who wouldn’t hesitate to kill in the name of the whumper. While the whumper knew the whumpee’s loyalty was forced upon them, they still liked to reward them, just to balance out the constant punishment.