i’m corrie (they/them) i’m 28 this is my “tropes” blog
i like whump and hurt/comfort :) i also especially like arranged marriage and matriarchy stories.
follows from @forbodium
i have a g/t blog also @tiny-traps
i like writing dialogue prompts! you can use my prompts however and for whatever you want. change it, twist it, whatever works for you. if you post your writing on tumblr, please tag me so i can read it! my prompts are here.
there is nsfw on here sometimes (includes nudity or suggestive art, references to sex, and sometimes explicit written content). i make sure those posts are tagged or have a content warning. you can feel free to ask for any certain content to be tagged.
Look. Sometimes you've just got to tie up that protagonist, okay? Factually. It needs to happen. For character reasons. Let's watch how they squirm trying to escape. How their mind works when they can't rely on their body. Do they panic? do they charm? Do they go still? Is it an absolute breeze for them to escape, barely a hindrance? Or are they well and truly contained? How does their face change when they realize that? Does their stoic nature wash away? Turn to pleas and panic, knowing they can't help those they care about? Or do they turn animalistic, growling and snarling and wrenching at their restraints? Shouting threats, fighting with their words? Do they realize they may hurt themself in their struggles and stop or do they not care about that? What happens when you add a gag into the situation? Muffle their cries and threats into incoherent babble. Do they still try to speak or do they get quiet? Study how their mind works in such a situation and learn about them. ...and appreciate the squirming and noises that they make, along the way.
Look at them, crawling on the floor like the filthy creature they are. Pathetic, aren't they? Go on, give them another kick. Hear them yelp. It's fun, isn't it?
...No? What do you mean it's not? Mind what you say. Unless you want to join them down there, of course. Hmm... that might actually do you some good.
Whumper runs a charity. They help people out, giving them food and financial aid, helping them find shelter and accommodation etc etc. But when those people are in a better place, Whumper goes looking for them again. They want some credit for getting them there. A thank you. A little something in return.
"I have been so happy here," Whumpee says, smiling from ear to ear while looking around in the entryway of their new apartment. "I'm so grateful for your help -- I don't know how to ever repay you."
"Oh, don't you worry," Whumper says, closing the door behind them. "I have a few ideas in mind."
Caretaker who finds Whumpee drugged with aphrodisiacs. Whumper doesn't seem to be anywhere nearby, but Whumpee is incredibly delirious. They can't speak, they don't know what they're doing, they can hardly recognize Caretaker. Their clothes are ripped and they can't explain what happened. But something must have happened. They just can't figure out what.
one thing I LOVE about non-con is whumpee in dishevelled clothing to actually imply that the non-con happened
the collar of their shirt scruffy and uneven
buttons not fully done up
BELTS!! either completely gone or ripped or undone
smudged make-up (or someone else's make up on them)
maybe the way others find out about the SA is because whumpee's clothes slip to reveal a bunch of hickeys/bite marks/bruises
torn or stained clothes in general
haphazardly layered outfits to cover as much skin as possible
or maybe whumpee is found somewhere and from the state of their clothes it is embarrassingly easy to piece together what happened, maybe they try to fix themselves up and the others let them because it is so terribly obvious that no one wants to take away their last shreds of decency
(bonus points if the whumpee usually takes great care to look presentable and being seen in this state is very unusual of them and immediately makes others worried)
Pet whumpees in dog kennels. Leaning up against the wire where they’re lined up in ‘shelters,’ longingly watching people pass by. Or curled in the back corners, snapping at anyone that so much as looks at them. Defiant whumpees being labeled reactionary, sensitive, to be handled delicately, like a traumatized dog rather than a person that didn’t want this. Spoken about right in front of them like they wouldn’t understand the words. Idk. Pet whumpees
- pet whumpees getting to know their handlers, learning their schedules, some get excited on certain days when their favorite has a shift. Whumpees that learn to dread certain days because of who’s their handler that day.
- “reactionary” pet whumpee fitted with a collar that tracks their heart rate so it can shock them when they get angry or upset.
- socialization for broken whumpees who are sat in a room with a volunteer that can teach them that “some owners aren’t all that bad”
- whumpees who connect with each other, who become codependent and then can be sold more for a package deal.
- whumpees born into the shelter knowing nothing else!!!
- whumpees who are barely dressed or not at all, and handlers who are in full proper uniform, pressed shirts and ironed pants, shined shoes while whumpees are lucky to get a scrap of fabric to cover them.
- whumpees getting wrongfully beaten by a handler, the handler’s punishment is likely going to be a slap on the wrist compared to what they did.
- good whumpees given dog toys for enrichment. It’s better than nothing but it’s still humiliating.
- Whumpees taught that being bought is salvation because they get a way out of the kennels.
Whumpee is still wearing the clothes they were wearing when they were assaulted. The clothes smell like Whumper, and every fiber against their skin feels like Whumper's hands. So, as soon as Whumpee is safe, they just start frantically stripping. (Bonus points if Caretaker accidentally walks in on this)
the zipper is stuck. the fucking zipper is stuck, whumpee can't get this stupid fucking zipper down, and they have to. they have to, because if they don't get this shit off immediately, they're going to be sick. it's dirty. they are dirty. their whole body is dirty, and they can't exactly peel off their skin, but they can get off every stitch of fabric that they were wearing when- when whumper- when-
"hey, i was looking for- whoa! whoa, shit, sorry!"
caretaker's voice isn't any louder than a normal conversational volume but whumpee flinches anyway, cringing away from the newcomer to the room. if it had been anyone else, maybe whumpee wouldn't have done it. but it isn't anyone else. it's caretaker. it's caretaker, who whumpee trusts more than they can put to words.
they tug at the piece of clothing they'd desperately been trying to get off. it's- it's stained, there's fluids on it, and if caretaker gets any closer they'll see, but whumpee needs-
"please help me," they beg, voice cracking and shuddering. "i can't- the zipper is- i need it off, please, i need it off. please."
"okay." caretaker's agreement is quick and easy, soft and worried. their eyes narrow as they study whumpee's body, the clothes already discarded on the floor, the way that whumpee is standing and the stains. worry grows swiftly into fear, into the horrible dread of what's happened. "okay, i'm gonna help you. i'll get it off you. just- just hold still. it's okay."
it's not okay. nothing about this is okay. but whumpee manages to hold still anyway, except for the way that their whole body shudders. caretaker's hands shake too as they reach for the zipper to manipulate it until it can be taken down. and it hangs between them as whumpee flinches and bites off whimpers, shame choking them, as caretaker helps them strip the rest of the way, not pointing out where they are or asking what happened. they don't have to ask. they know. they both know.
Rescued whumpee, finally seeing their friends again, maybe seeing a lover again, and telling them: “It's fine if you don't want me anymore / after this. I get it, I really do.”
What if there was a whumpee who got sent to auction but nobody’s bidding on them and they even lower the price. Carewhumper gives an exasperated sigh before throwing out a pity bid.
#353
content: servant whumpee, humiliation, dehumanisation, human trafficking whump, past trauma, implied past torture, implied starvation, implied murder, carewhumper
Whumpee was standing on the stage, emaciated body full of cuts and bruises unable to be hidden behind the clothes their handler had hastily procured for them, and stared at the crowd with wide eyes. The starting price for them was already low, lower than for many of the other servants, and they knew full well why. They were not a good servant. They tried and tried and tried but their body simply couldn't keep up. When they fell behind, they got punished, and the punishment made it so that they were unable to do even the tasks they had previously been able to. Rinse and repeat.
"500," the auctioneer tried again, and Whumpee closed their teary eyes for just a moment. The lighting in the tavern was dim, and yet they felt like if they had to stare into the lamp for one more second they would throw up. The other servants went for 700, 800, even 1000. And there were bids for them. They were wanted.
Whumpee wasn't.
"500?" the auctioneer yelled, and Whumpee opened their eyes. Nobody in the crowd was really paying them any mind. They were the last servant of the evening to be sold, and most of the guests already had a servant by their side that they'd purchased. The ones who didn't — well, they weren't interested in Whumpee either. "450!"
Great, they were lowering the price even further. Whumpee's legs were shaking from having been up and working all day, only to then be led to the auction where they had to stand for as long as the others were sold. They longed for the uncomfortable wooden chairs of the tavern.
"450?"
Whumpee glanced at their handler, and they got a glare in response. They would get the biggest cut of the sale, and the further the price went down, the less they would get. Whumpee looked away as quickly as they'd glanced at them, down at the floor. Their bare feet were bony and deformed from having spent so much of their time walking back and forth.
"400!"
They knew what happened to servants that didn't get sold. They'd never personally seen it before, but they knew. They'd seen their handler come back with patches of blood on their shirt, they'd heard the rumours, they knew they never saw someone from previous auctions ever again.
"300," someone finally yelled from the crowd. Whumpee risked a glance up at them. They were middle-aged, with hair down to their shoulders, in clothing that was quite unassuming. They didn't look cruel. If anything, it looked like they were trying to save Whumpee from the fate of an unwanted servant.
But would the auctioneer accept such a low bid?
When Whumpee looked at them, they looked a little taken aback. The whole night, the prices had only gone up, not down. The auctioneer exchanged a glance with Whumpee's handler, and when their handler nodded, they turned back towards the crowd. "300! Once, twice…" Whumpee held their breath. "Sold!"
Whumpee was grabbed by their handler and dragged off the stage, and they followed clumsily. "Lucky, aren't you?" their handler sneered.
"I'm sorry," Whumpee said, as though they had any power over the bidding process. They felt like they'd robbed their handler by being such a bad, useless servant.
"300 is still money, I suppose. Do not embarrass me. Do everything the way your master wants, be quiet, be docile. You know the rules. If they bring you back and ask for their money back, I will personally wring your neck."
Whumpee had no doubt about that. "I will do my best," they said quietly.
They finally arrived at the table where Whumpee's new master sat. "Whumpee, was it?" their master asked.
"Yes," they said meekly.
"My name is Carewhumper, I—"
"Money first, introductions later," Whumpee's handler cut in rudely. Carewhumper sighed and reached into their pocket, pulling out a purse with more than enough money to pay for Whumpee. They took out some coins, counting them carefully, not wanting to pay more for a no-good servant than they absolutely had to. Once they handed over the money, Whumpee's handler was gone. Not even a goodbye.
"I'm sorry you had to pay for me," Whumpee said, eyes downcast. "I will do everything I can to make your purchase worth it."
"I'm sure you will," Carewhumper said, and Whumpee could hear the thinly veiled threat in their voice. "But not tonight. Tonight, just sit here with me. Enjoy a beer or two. Your job only starts tomorrow."
I'm so taken by the idea of Caretaker and drugged Whumpee. Maybe Caretaker finds them in the aftermath of what Whumper did, maybe Whumper did this to Whumpee and told Caretaker to "clean up the mess". The vulnerability of it, the humiliation.
Whumpee shaking, unable to speak clearly, curled into Caretaker's lap.
Caretaker looking around, waiting for Whumper to come back, because they know that they have to be nearby.
Whumpee trying to explain what happened, but they can't, for whatever reason that may be.
Whumpee apologizing. "I know I'm meant to be stronger than this, I know I'm meant to be better, I don't know why I can't stop crying, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry."
"I don't want to, I don't want to, I'll be good, I'm sorry."
Whumpee not being able to move... nearly completely immobile, completely in Caretaker's hands, forced to trust that they'll be kind.
"Shh, shh... it's alright, it's just me. You're safe now."
Caretaker calling them pet names, stroking their hair, doing anything they can to try to reassure them.
visual. they might see bugs crawling all over them. or they might see shadows from the corner of their eye. or they might see whumper where whumper isn't actually. or they might see gore where there isn't
auditory. they might hear their name being called. the voice might sound like whumper. or a completely other person
in that vein, command hallucinations. after so many commands being barked at them it wouldn't be far-fetched to think the command hallucinations would be similar
olfactory. they might smell something foul, but what could've gone bad in their bare cell? or they might smell smoke. what if they think the whole building is on fire and they're locked in the basement, unable to escape?
delusions
what if they start thinking they're more important than they are? they're the second coming of the messiah, that's why whumper is keeping them locked up. or they might have secret superpowers
what if they start thinking it's the government that's out to get them, and whumper is just an agent? they can't go to the cops either, they're in on it
what if their family has made a pact with whumper and that's why whumper had access to them to kidnap and torture them? nobody is looking for them, they're all in on it
what if everything they're presented with, food, water, is spiked and drugged and poisonous? especially if it has happened before
severe derealisation
nothing around them is actually real
everything is just shapes and colours
whumper is a moving talking mass of flesh
severe depersonalisation
this isn't happening to them
this body doesn't belong to them
the voice they're speaking and begging in doesn't sound like them
they don't know who they are or where they are
please please please i don't know who i am but i'm not this
