doumidas-whumps

[doumidas-whumps]

Seizure

another one of max's crises...

I'm trying to draw more expressive poses and faces

[doumidas-whumps]

black eyed

[doumidas-whumps]

As part of the whump community I fear to say that a good aul tight grip on the back of the neck is not used enough.

Maybe whumpee thinks they’re alone- thinks they’ve escaped only to feel the heavy weight of whumper’s hand on their nape of their neck.

Maybe whumpees getting to cocky so the hand is a ‘gentle’ reminder of who’s really in charge.

Either way, hand on the back of the neck I BEG

[doumidas-whumps]

i use "^_^" so often because a sinister darkness lurks within me

[doumidas-whumps]

A captive is alone in a room, hold a dead man's switch. As long as the button is held down, the circuit is interrupted. If the captive releases the button, they get an electric shock. Whenever they start to fall asleep, their grip loosens and they release the button. It's been three days.

[doumidas-whumps]

I feel like vasovagal syncope and presyncope is underutilized in whump. It can have so many triggers: heat, exhaustion, pain, needles, intense emotions.... You start to feel lightheaded, sweaty, nauseous, your head gets fuzzy. May or may not lead to actual syncope (passing out).

[doumidas-whumps]

Okay, everyone loves a good Whumpee faint. But consider the whump potential of a whumpee who doesn’t faint.

Their face is colorless. They stumble over air. Their eyes go unfocused at random times and they can’t seem to make it through a sentence without loosing their train of thought. They keep doing that thing where their legs give out and they catch themselves at the very last second.

It’s obvious that they’re using every ounce of strength they have left just to stay conscious. Everyone around them keeps side eyeing them, and refusing to go more than an arm’s length away because it’s bound to happen any second, and what if they have to catch them?

But Whumpee just keeps going and pushing through to not be a burden to the rest of the team. Only everyone would probably feel better if they did pass out because oh my God, what have they already been through that this isn’t taking them out?

[doumidas-whumps]

Thinking about the various dynamics of the "forced to watch" trope, especially how the whumpee and the caretaker/other whumpee watching it feel...

"Don't watch." Is it that Whumpee doesn't want Watcher to suffer from seeing this, especially if Watcher is younger or more naive? Or is it also shame? Whumpee doesn't want anyone to see them reduced to screaming and sobbing.

"Look at me. I'm going to be okay. No matter what they do. I can survive this, so don't you give up on me."

Watcher who feels like they have to bear witness to what's happening to Whumpee. They force themself to keep their eyes open, to not dissociate, to inscribe this horrific scene in their memory. (And how does that make it any better for Whumpee?)

Watcher has their eyes squeezed shut, but they can still hear everything. Whumper narrates: "That sound was Whumpee trying not to scream as I stabbed them. Now I'm twisting the knife, and oh, they're crying. Can you hear that?"

Whumper has an apprentice/protege/child. Even though Whumper routinely hurts people, they don't want this person to see it happen in all the gory detail. Alternatively: they're raising this person to follow in their footsteps, and force them to watch torture sessions to desensitize them.

Whumpee who hallucinates a loved one watching them. Is it a coping mechanism, the loved one comforting them? Or do they imagine the loved one ashamed of them, hating them, saying they deserve this?

[doumidas-whumps]

does anyone care what happened to the snail

[doumidas-whumps]

I love Port's big ol ears and Sonny's chubby cheeks 😭🤭🤭🤭💞💞💞

me too :]

[doumidas-whumps]

I think it's so funny how Port seems so sweet but if you fuck around to much you find out he's not all puppy's sunshine and rainbows 🤣🤣

Unless that's just me and the vibe that I got from him.. he also seems like the type to be secretly super strong,,,, do you know what I mean? Hopefully doesn't sound weird 😭😭🙏🏻

But I mean like, he doesn't look like he's all that strong but I feel like he's kind of... Secretly holding in some type of strength... OMG 😭😭 I'm a bit of a weirdo and I definitely think too much about this 😛

i need to stop putting asks in my drafts because i lose them and forget about them >_>

lol well he's definitely been known to uhh unleash some things! considering the whole thing with klaus

physically he is decently strong. oz actually has a small home gym and port is allowed to use it. exercising is one of the things port does to pass the time. during training, keeping up his health was ingrained in him via a strict exercise routine but he's also always enjoyed staying active.

he tries to avoid the gym when oz is in there because he's kind of scared he'll manage to get a dumbbell thrown at his head

[doumidas-whumps]

would you ever write early zee looking through the garbage to find something to eat in one of the frat boys’ rooms? and then alex, dom or cam seeing it?

Trashcan

Yes! Have some early frathouse boxboy era (how I see it now, anyway)

CW: controlling Cam, imposed hunger and its symptoms, eating out of the trash, spitting out food, face slap, blood, noncon weed use mention, generally abusive language and behavior, mild sexual tension, hurt no comfort, technically bbu

-

It wasn’t the hunger pangs that finally made Zee dig through the trash can. It was the headache. It was always preceded by a feeling of slight dizziness, a light sharpness that was almost euphoric. But then the sharpness turned to nausea, and that led to a headache that made him want to crawl into a hole.

He just needed some food. The last time he’d eaten was Saturday morning, when he’d pilfered a stale breakfast sandwich and a bottled orange juice from the leftovers of a catered event. He’d been starving then, too. It was now Sunday night.

He’d been holding out for Alex Clair to show up, but he was missing in action this weekend. Dominic Carter was away at home— he knew for sure because he’d found him and said goodbye to him on Friday before he left.

He hated the way he watched for either of them, but everyone else would either check with Cameron before giving him anything, or rat him out for even asking. He hated that if he saw Alex or Dom he’d try to catch their eye, or slip away from Cameron’s sphere of immediate influence long enough to communicate his need to them like a neglected dog following someone around who once fed them a treat.

But there was just no food lying around for him to grab. The fridge was full of condiments and soy sauce packets. He’d sucked one the other day for the sodium. The counters were cluttered with takeout bags and fast food styrofoam cups, but sadly free of snacks he could grab a handful of without any being missed.

There had been pizza delivered earlier. Something of a Sunday night movie night tradition among a group of the brothers, it smelled greasy and hot and heavenly.

Cameron hadn’t offered him even a bite from his lowered hand, like he occasionally did. The hunger-punishment was not for anything he’d done. It was a general reminder of Cam’s control over him, and that he found him lacking in some way. Disappointing. Zee still hadn’t quite figured out how, but he felt it like an extra lock on the collar around his neck.

He slipped off to the kitchen when Cameron wasn’t paying attention, aware of the doorway behind him as he lifted the corner of a pizza box on the counter. It was empty. Just grease marks and crumbs. He pressed his forefinger onto a crumb licked it off. He considered drinking one of the garlic butter dipping sauces they’d left unopened, knocking it back like a shot, but worried it would just make his nausea worse. And Cam would probably smell the garlic on him like a bloodhound.

He put his bare foot on the pedal of the trash can. The pedal, and the entire can, needed a wipe down. He should do that before someone yelled at him. The lid lifted to reveal nearly an entire piece of pepperoni and mushroom on the top of the pile.

It had one bite taken out of it, as if to tease him. Who took one bite just to throw the rest away? Just leave it in the box. But his mouth watered. His stomach felt like it was clawing up out of his throat. The slice was only touching cardboard, and a fairly unsoiled paper towel. It wasn’t even that gross. Not really. Just on principle. And he was so, so hungry. With a cursory glance at the doorway, he picked it out gingerly.

Saliva filled his mouth. He took as big a bite as he could. He closed his eyes and thanked whoever took a single bite and threw the rest out like an asshole. He would have liked to savor it, to break it into small pieces and chew slowly, but at any moment he might be missed from the living room. He hurried to tear through it and swallow. The greasy carbohydrates hit him like nectar, and he could swear his dizziness abated by the time he was ready for a second bite. He could easily finish it in three.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me, Z2.”

He froze. He didn’t dare chew. He knew the voice before he turned his head, of course. Somehow, by an asinine turn of events, he was legally and contractually bound to the every whim of not some old money aristocrat or unctuous politician like he’d imagined, but of an absolutely average nobody. A boy his own age— younger actually, who just happened to be the biggest cunt on the eastern seaboard. But not just him. It was a group project, but Cameron Byrne selflessly took on the lion’s share of the responsibility.

“You can’t just starve me forever,” he said with stolen pizza in his cheeks.

Cam came closer, looking from Zee to the open trash can. “Why not?”

“It should go to a vote.”

“A vote.”

“Yeah. I’m not just yours.”

Cameron grabbed the back of his hair in a tight fist and pushed him so his head was over the can. “Spit that out,” he said quietly. “Do not swallow it.”

He obeyed. It was weird to spit out half chewed pizza while someone watched. Someone with a fistful of his hair. Like that old movie trope of chewing gum being confiscated by spitting it out into someone’s open palm. He mourned the loss of calories, but his pounding heart reminded him he might have bigger problems very soon.

“Throw away what’s in your hand.”

He did. He noticed the arrival of two other guys on his peripheral. They paused in the doorway at the scene, but then continued to the fridge for drinks. They were all used to strange rituals of hierarchy and control surrounding the boxie by now.

“What’d he do?” asked Sean. His eyes seemed to gleam as he cracked open a Dr Pepper, which for reasons unknown to Zee was the frat’s drink of choice, a running joke among the brothers which had origins in some obscure past event he wasn’t privy to.

“Eating out of our trash,” Cameron answered, his hazel-green eyes never leaving Zee’s. “Like an animal.”

Cam oscillated between cold, aloof cruelty and cruelty with a scathing personal touch. The indifferent kind was usually worse, though the up close and personal kind carried its own sort of dread. He could satisfy Cam in that latter mood, at least. Rarely could he be appeased in the former. Zee searched his proxy master’s eyes for which kind he was up against tonight.

“Pretty gross, dude,” said Sean.

“Yeah, rush week’s over,” Michael added eagerly, pleased to have cracked a joke. “Eating garbage for fun’s a bad look, boxboy.”

“The rules are real simple,” Cam said to him with the tone of a disappointed teacher. “If you want something, you just have to ask my permission to have it.”

Zee stayed perfectly still, trying to keep all expression from his face. All three of the brothers waited for a reaction. The overhead light was harsh, making the kitchen feel something like an interrogation room. In its white glare he could see sneaker scuffs on the linoleum and smudges of food debris on the fridge and stove.

The trash can he’d just eaten from smelled distinctly like garbage all of a sudden, and the crust he’d thrown back on top combined with the cheese and pepperoni taste in his mouth made his stomach turn.

He’d just wanted something to eat. He was so tired. If he were alone, he’d probably cry. He swallowed hard against the feeling of it in his throat.

“I’m sorry,” he said, flicking his eyes briefly to Cameron’s and then dropping them again deferentially.

“I know.” Cameron eased his fist out of his hair and smoothed it back down so gently that it sent an odd thrill down the nape of his neck, and a spark of something between his legs. He shut his eyes against the touch.

“Try asking permission, though.”

“I will.”

“I mean right now. Give it a try.”

Sean and Michael grinned hyena grins. Cam’s eyes were dark and serious.

He licked his dry lips. He didn’t want the pizza anymore. It had become repulsive to him. But telling Cam he didn’t want it was not the right move. This was not a hill he was willing to die on.

“Since you’re done with it, may I have the pizza in the trash?” he asked.

He and Cam both noticed as Sean took out his phone and held it low, at an unmistakably straight angle. Recording him.

“Magic word?” Cam prompted, probably just for the sake of Sean getting it on video.

It was a small consolation that the video would likely only ever be circulated among the brothers, if at all. They had the sense not to broadcast the endless hazing and abuse of a boxie around campus.

“May I have the pizza that’s in the trash, please?”

Cam gave him a little smile. Zee noticed the dimple it gave him, the freckles on the bridge of his nose. He was attractive in an offbeat, intense sort of way. Or would be, if he wasn’t such a dick.

“No.”

Michael snorted. Zee hung his head an inch in a nod of acceptance, like a private being chastised by a drill sergeant. He willed this little exchange to be over. He’d go to bed with hunger gnawing at his ribs and be glad for it.

“Don’t be gross. You can take the trash out and clean this place up, though.”

It was framed like a gentle suggestion of penance for the bite he’d taken without permission. But it was the dripping condescension that made him want to headbutt Cameron in the nose. The strength of the urge surprised him. But this was Cameron being playful. Cameron being vindictive was something he had learned he should actually fear. He would not headbutt him over being condescended to.

He tamped down the sudden surge of hate into something befitting the situation. “Of course, your highness,” he deadpanned, hoping Cameron felt at least a twinge of embarrassment at the tight, sadistic control he imposed.

He must have, because he slapped Zee in the face so hard it knocked his head to the side. He stumbled backward in surprise. The trashcan was in his way as he tried to catch himself. He fell gracelessly to the floor, clutching his cheek. It was bleeding on the inside where it had knocked against his teeth. He sucked on the wound. Perversely, the taste of blood it made his stomach growl.

Cameron squatted down beside him and took his chin in his hand, wrenching his stinging face up to meet his. If he thought his head hurt before, it was nothing compared to now.

“Learn to shut the fuck up, Zee, and I’ll let you have something to eat tomorrow.”

Cameron pushed back to his feet. Sean and Michael followed him out. Michael, who still had shoes on, gave Zee a vicious little kick to the shin as he passed that earned him a yelp.

Zee stayed on the floor for some time, his slapped cheek pressed to cool tile.

[doumidas-whumps]

Amidst the screams and terror, there is a pause. Whumper looks down at their bloodied, breathless Whumpee with an unreadable expression.

“That was a lot to handle, wasn’t it?”

Whumpee is panting, entire body trembling, and doesn’t answer.

“Would you like me to stop now?”

“Y-yes,” Whumpee says through gritted teeth. “I - I can’t - please just stop.”

“Mmm.” Whumper gazes down at Whumpee almost fondly and brushes sweat-drenched hair off their victim’s forehead before returning to their tools. “Not a chance.”

[doumidas-whumps]

I like inspections in whump. Not super detailed but detailed enough as to not be a once over but it isn't an exam. Nothing medical about it. Everything to do with upholding social standards whumper has set up!

YEAH I LIKE THIS TOO. I like the sort of livestock-y kind where they’re super clinical and rough about it but it’s not for anything even remotely resembling Whumpee’s own good.

[doumidas-whumps]

whumpee who never talks about what happened to them. doesn't talk to the police or friends, no matter how much they urge them. whumpee who would rather suffer in silence.

vs

whumpee who talks about it night and day. that's all they talk about. their friends are begging them to just shut up already because their tales are so horrific, but whumpee doesn't want to, and can't.

[doumidas-whumps]

Alex’s Necklace

hi have a small moment with cam and zee

cw: jealousy, controlling behavior, slightly threatening physical touch to the neck, bbu, collar mention, unhealthy dynamics, implied nsfw, implied sex, mention of zee’s anxiety, dubcon and adult themes, cam is just so stupid

***

“Where’d you get this?” Cam murmured, twirling a scratchy hemp necklace so it tightened against Zee’s throat like baling twine.

Zee was used to Cam’s hands near and on his neck, but this time he pushed them away. “Don’t. It’s Alex’s.”

The smile froze on Cam’s face, turning brittle. “He gave it to you?”

Zee closed his sketchbook and looked at Cam closely. He was tuned like satellite fuckin radio, a byproduct of being kept on his toes for so many months in that zoo of a house. He picked up on the slightest inflection like a barometric drop in pressure.

“Yeah,” he answered, his hair longish on the top now, dark copper as a penny. “He said it suited me.”

Cam felt that old, unfair jealousy creeping up his arms, tingling in his chest. It’d always been this way with Zee and Alex, even before Cam had fucked either of them. It turned his insides hot, made him feel like he did when Amber answered her phone in his room and started smiling as she dressed, talking to some other guy on the line. 

He reached a finger under the necklace again, hooked it so Zee could not swat it easily away. 

Zee frowned at him, but didn’t fight. His voice was soft.  “Please don’t break it, Cam.” 

That only annoyed Cam more. How was he so upset over a stupid necklace when Zee was so calm and unbothered? It looked like something sixteen year old Alex probably wore to rich kid summer camp anyway, with his Invisalign and floppy blonde hair, a hemp necklace with a jade bead at the throat.

“A collar suits you,” Cam said. “Not this 90’s stoner shit.”

Zee blinked, but did not look hurt. “I’d still rather you didn’t break it.”

Cam huffed through his nose. There was a red ring starting on Zee’s neck where it had pulled tight, like a ligature mark. He let go and held up his palms, as if Zee had been the one overreacting.

“Whatever." 

Did Prince Charming put that thing on you himself?

He couldn’t ask that without revealing his petty jealousy. He knew Alex didn’t think of Zee like that. Couldn’t. It bothered Alex that Cam did, but that was simply too bad, wasn’t it? 

So was he jealous because Alex hadn’t slipped some old necklace around his neck? Or was he just annoyed that someone else had a private moment with Zee, given him something as intimate as a piece of jewelry? Could it be both?

"I need new shoes,” Zee told him flatly.

“What?”

“My shoes. The soles are coming off. I Gorilla glued them but that’s coming apart now too.”

Funny. He would’ve thought Zee would’ve taken this complaint to Alex. He was the one always giving him clothes in the beginning. Although Cam had serving cash now, and had been generous with him since getting his new job. Maybe Zee didn’t see Alex as the spoiled rich boy and Cam as trailer trash. Maybe that was his own private perception of this whole dysfunctional arrangement. 

Or maybe Zee was totally aware of all of that, and was only asking him to trick him into feeling useful and important. Still, he wanted nothing more than to foot this bill and have the shoes arrive without Alex’s involvement. He could take care of things just as well.

“You want to buy online or go to a store?”

“Online,” Zee answered. He gestured apologetically at his head, which had been giving him so much trouble with the ocular migraines and the unpredictable bouts of anxiety these days.

Cam pulled out his phone, unlocked it with a lazy swipe of his thumb. “I’ll do the typing bit, and you pick them out by picture.”

“Sort by price,” he said, scooting closer to look at Cam’s screen. “I don’t go many places.”

“Shut up. Don’t worry about that. If we get nice ones, they’ll last.”

[doumidas-whumps]

does anyone care what happened to the snail