#and there is smth somewhat comforting to put it somewhere where someone may see it. i am alive i am here i exist. you know?

[piplupod]

and i often get upset with myself for complaining and venting as much as i do, or also for being as anxious as i am, but given the circumstances that I live in, I do think realistically I am being ... incredibly "well-behaved", all things considered. i could be acting so much worse.

but i do still wish i weren't so ... [gestures vaguely at this whole mess] because it's off-putting for people! and understandably so! but i wish i could make friends!

[heartlesslywhumping]

Is it possible for you to do a Whumpee who is always like cheery and determined who kinda just breaks down in front of the caretaker or smth, if your requests are still open. Also, I love your work so much, you're freaking amazing man! Ilysm

Ahhh thank you so much! I’m glad you like my work! 🖤🖤🖤

(Prompts below the line because I write long prompts)

     The whumpee carries all their pain deep down where no one will ever notice.The caretaker lightheartedly makes a joke that sets the whumpee off. Initially, they laugh along but the caretaker watches as the laughter turns increasingly hysterical, until the whumpee is bent over, arms tight around their sides.The caretaker sits in silence and worry as the whumpee falls suddenly silent.The whumpee lets out a single, harsh sob.The caretaker is beside the whumpee before anyone can realize they’ve moved. The caretaker’s hands hover over their friend, unsure of it’s okay to touch them or not.The whumpee turns and practically leaps into the caretaker’s arms, shaking not with laughter but with heavy sobs.The caretaker uncertainly holds the whumpee, rubbing their back and murmuring soothing nonsense.

     A noise cuts the whumpee off mid-joke. Their eyes go wide and their breathing stutters to a halt. Their face drains so completely of color that for a moment, they almost look transparent.The caretaker reaches out to find that the whumpee is shaking beneath their touch.The caretaker desperately tries to get the whumpee to a quiet, secluded location. The whumpee is just shaking and staring distantly off, their eyes growing wider, and tiny whimpers escaping every so often. Every noise, every jostle by a passing person, every unexpected movement makes the whumpee tense. The whumpee’s body continues to lock up, words just barely escaping their clenched jaw. By the time they’re somewhere quieter, the caretaker is practically dragging the whumpee, and the whumpee has gone as stiff as a statue.When they’re finally alone, things only seem to get worse. The whumpee drops to the ground as heavily as though an anchor were dragging from their throat.The caretaker drops beside them, frantically asking what is wrong.The whumpee’s eyes crush shut, tears impossibly squeezing out beneath them. The whumpee is just muttering, pleading for something to stop, offering comfort to themselves, apologizing, repeating things conditioned into them.When the caretaker tries to touch them, the whumpee screams and flinches away so violently that they fall over.The caretaker watches, helpless, as the whumpee rides out their attack. As it reaches a crescendo, it breaks, and the whumpee is left a sobbing, stuttering, shaking mess.

     The whumpee receives news that someone they knew while being whumped has died.No matter how good or bad their relationship was, the whumpee breaks down sobbing immediately.

If it was a friend, the whumpee is inconsolable that they got out and their friend didn’t. They always intended to help get their friend out, to save them like the friend saved them mentally in that horrible place. The public will never know just what it was like in that place and never understand the tragedy of the friend’s death. Maybe the friend helped to get the whumpee out and now they can never repay the favor. The friend was the one thing that kept the whumpee sane and somewhat whole in their torment and now that the friend is gone, it seems that the whumpee’s last shred of sanity is going away, too. Maybe they weren’t really friends so much as they bandaged each other up, they didn’t judge the tears and the screams, they understood what it was like. Maybe they were only “friends” because there was no one else there. Maybe it was even a manipulative relationship in which this person wasn’t as bad as the others. But it was all the whumpee had.

If it was an enemy, the whumpee weeps in relief. They hate how they rejoice in this person’s death but they can’t help themselves. They relive all that trauma and horror while simultaneously feeling a weight fall from their shoulders. There was a constant fear that the enemy would find the whumpee again. Part of the whumpee can’t believe this is true, that the threat is really somewhat gone, that they never have to see that person again. Part of the whumpee thinks that this is a trick to get them to come out a bit more vulnerable. An angry part of the whumpee wonders if it was painful, if the person suffered, if it was slow and drawn out, this part of the whumpee hopes it is. The rest of the whumpee weeps that they are so “broken” as to wish harm on another person. The public will never know just how horrible this person was, they may even mourn the passing.

Either way, the caretaker is left in shock because they didn’t know things were that bad. They didn’t know what it was like. They didn’t know that the whumpee still carried all of this within them. They don’t know what to do, how to help, or even how to process what they personally just learned.

     The whumpee insists that they’re “fine” in increasingly wobbly, breaking tones while the caretaker stares on in silence, not believing the lie for one bit.Eventually the whumpee breaks down, crying and shaking their head, admitting that they’re not fine. Not even a little bit.The caretaker takes them into their arms, angered and wounded that their once happy friend has been broken down to this.

     The caretaker knocks on the door of the whumpeeThe whumpee shakily stammers out for the caretaker to wait a moment.Worried, the caretaker does.Until the whumpee lets out a sob so filled with pain that the caretaker fears the worst and breaks the door down/shoves the door open.The whumpee is curled into a ball, one fist shoved into their mouth to try to stop the sounds. They don’t even look up as the caretaker enters the room, they only continue to rock themselves and sob. Their face has turned red, their eyes are watery and puffy, there are bite marks in their fist, the whumpee is practically gagging on sobs.The caretaker rushes in, trying to figure out what’s wrong.The whumpee can’t do anything but sob and apologize

A whumpee faces a setback. Normally they would grit their teeth and go on with steely determination. This time, however, the angry part of trauma rears its ugly head.The whumpee screams in frustration, throwing things, tearing at their work, cursing up a storm, screaming that this should have worked, they can’t do this, they can’t do anything, stupid, stupid, stupid of them to think that they could.The caretaker watches as their friend throws a tantrum, stunned at this turn of events. They try to calm down the whumpee, only to have the whumpee lash out. The whumpee starts to insult the caretaker, throw things at the caretaker, scream for the caretaker to get out.Startled, the caretaker tries to be harsh and shut the whumpee down. They tell the whumpee that their actions/words are uncalled for and they need to get a grip, to calm down, to apologize, to stop acting like a toddler. The whumpee only lashes out harder, upping the tantrum to putting words in the caretaker’s mouth, to making wild assumptions about the caretaker, to stepping forward as though to attack the caretaker.The caretaker catches the whumpee, holding on as they writhe and scream. They promise that they’ll never hurt the whumpee, that everything is okay, that they’ll get over this together, a thousand assurances until the anger dies in the whumpee and they’re left sobbing, every aspect of their “tantrum” a part of trauma lashing out.

     A whumpee faces a failure. Instead of laughing weakly about it and drowning their sorrows in a harmless vice (tv shows, ice cream, burrito of blankets), the whumpee just shatters. They sob as though they’ve lost the right to live, they carry this pain within them for months, they can’t work on anything else, they don’t try to do anything else. They stop caring for themselves. They’re constantly crying, their eyes a constant red, they move about in blankets when they’re moving at all. When the caretaker confronts this behavior, the whumpee breaks apart, their tears no longer a steady leak but an outright flood. They fall to the ground, hugging themselves and crying enough to end a drought, they can’t breathe for their sobs, they’re shaking so hard that the caretaker thinks their bones will break. No one is exactly sure what happened to cause this, only that their friend with god-like determination has suddenly lost their will to function.

[couchcushings]

so to continue with my tradition of writing (bad) horror fanfics i’ve started a frankenstein one. @justastormie wants to read this one, too, for some ungodly reason known only to themselves. anyway, here’s the beginning of smth that’s rlly just an excuse for me to write two assholes falling into something that might be love but they’re never going to admit it:

one.

It is a curious feeling going to sleep in one place and waking up in another. It brings a special kind of disorientation that nothing else comes close to; whether it is born of falling asleep in a carriage or being carried upstairs by a parent, the feeling never becomes less disturbing. These were Miss Eglantine Dupré's thoughts upon awakening in a strange carriage. She blinked at the darkness for a few moments before drawing back the curtains--an action which she immediately regretted. The carriage was traveling up a steep road on the very edge of a seemingly bottomless ravine. She quickly closed the curtain.

A soft laugh came from the seat opposite her. "You never did have a head for heights."

"Aldis? Is that you?" She squinted in the renewed darkness. "Have we reached Cambridge yet?"

He laughed again, leaning forward into what little light there was. His face was gaunt and shone with a sickly pallor in the darkness. "In a manner of speaking. We are in Switzerland."

A peculiar panic rose in Miss Dupré's throat. "What are we doing in Switzerland?"

"It cannot have escaped your attention these many months that I am not a well man." He coughed, as though to prove his illness to her. "There is a," he paused, "specialist who lives in these mountains who may be able to cure me once and for all. Unfortunately, I did not have the means to make such a journey. That is where you came in, darling. Your father paid for this little trip."

"My father would do no such thing!"

"Not willingly, no. I kidnapped you, Eglantine. This trip and the money to pay the doctor were provided by your father on the condition that you be safely returned to him."

"And yet here I am in Switzerland with you. How can this be?"

"For the simple reason that I killed your father when he handed over the money. I couldn't have him tarnishing my reputation as one of Boston's most eligible bachelors. Your presence is merely a boon. It became... inconvenient to leave you behind. Besides, you may prove a valuable bargaining chip. I hear Baron Frankenstein has been locked up in his chateau alone for almost three years. He will be desperate for company."

Eglantine slapped her ex-fiancé across the face.

"Well, if that's how you feel." He returned the blow with twice the force and was about to renew his blow when the carriage drew to a halt. "We will have to postpone this little argument, darling. It appears that we have arrived at Chateau Frankenstein."

The carriage door opened to reveal a shabby coachman dressed in a faded black cape and top hat. He smiled with yellowed teeth. "We're here, Mr. Jones."

"Excellent, Clemens. How did you and Mrs. Clemens pass the journey?"

"Oh, very well, sir. Although Mrs. Clemens weren't too fond of those heights when we went through the pass."

"Miss Dupré wasn't please with the heights either," Aldis chuckled. "But the views were spectacular." He exited the carriage and, for a brief moment, looked as though he was going to fall. Mr. Clemens steadied him. "The air here is excessively thin," Aldis said. "It appears to affecting my head? Would you please fetch Miss Dupré, Clemens?"

The coachman did as he was asked and fairly pulled Eglantine from the carriage. "Now then, miss, there's no point in being difficult. Mr. Jones has brought you a long way to meet the baron and meet the baron you shall!"

"Is that what you told them?" Eglantine cried. "That you brought me here to meet Baron Frankenstein?" She struggled against Clemens' grip. "He's kidnapped me," she screamed, hoping that someone would hear her. "He kidnapped me and he killed my father!"

Clemens shook his head. "We know that, miss. We helped him."

She went limp. Her only chance at escape now lay with the mysterious doctor that Aldis was hoping to consult: Baron Frankenstein. She allowed Mr. Jones to take her arm and lead her up the drive to the door.

Chateau Frankenstein was crumbling in every sense of the word. Great chucks of rock had fallen onto the path and the stones that remained were split with worrying cracks. The door spit dust the moment Aldis touched it with his knuckles. The sound of his knock rang out.

They waited. Eglantine swallowed her fear and straightened her dress. If she was to enlist Baron Frankenstein's help she would have to look halfway presentable. Just as the silence was becoming oppressive, the door creaked open and they caught their first glimpse of Baron Frankenstein.

He was no longer a young man. His hair was slicked back in a severe fashion and what little he had left was liberally tinged with gray. Eglantine put his age somewhere around fifty. He surveyed them with sharp blue eyes. "May I help you?" He asked.

"Baron Frankenstein? I am Aldis Jones, I believe you received my letter.”

The baron frowned. "I don't receive mail."

Aldis almost laughed. "I find that hard to believe, sir."

"It is somewhat hard to receive mail when one is legally dead, Mr. Jones," Baron Frankenstein said, arching his left eyebrow in an artful manner. "You will have to tell me of your letter's contents."

He took a step forward. "May we at least discuss this inside? It is of a delicate nature."

"I assumed as much." The baron's eyes flickered in Eglantine's direction. "Please, come in, I was just making tea."

The interior of Chateau Frankenstein was a stark contrast to the exterior. It was beautifully furnished with sumptuous antiques of the previous century. It was all Eglantine could do to suppress a gasp. Aldis was not so subtle.

"This is magnificent, sir!" he exclaimed. "Is it even the same building?"

"It is. The shabby exterior keeps me safe. It was not always as such, I had to retrieve most of my family's belongings from the Burgomaster's widow." He gave a sly smile. "But widows are so easily persuaded."

Aldis chuckled politely. "Indeed they are."

The baron led them through a series of tapestried corridors and into a comfortable sitting room. He poured three cups of tea and handed the first to Aldis. "Now, tell me of your letter."

"I am not a well man," he began, "to be quite frank, I am dying of something that even the doctors cannot find a name for. It pinches and wastes at my body. I wish to find a cure."

"So you came to me for this cure?"

"I came for the ultimate cure! There are whispers, /Herr Baron/, that you have performed miracles of surgery. That you have even brought the dead back to life!"

Baron Frankenstein scoffed. "Silly rumors spread by the local peasants."

Aldis shook his head emphatically. "No! I spoke to a man named Hans, he said that you built a man in your laboratory and that you gave him life! He saw it!"

The baron took a sip of his tea. "What else did he tell you?"

"He said that you had perished in a terrible fire; but I didn't believe him. I knew that a man like you would always have a way out."

"It's a shame. Hans always had such faith in my abilities. Tell me, how is the girl? The one he took for his wife?"

"The deaf woman?" Aldis made a disgusted face. "She continues to be a burden to him, night and day."

Eglantine clutched at her tea cup. She felt compelled to speak. "Liar," she spat, "Elizabeth and Hans are very happy together and she has even learned to speak a few words. Not that you would have paid any attention to her—you couldn't bed her or convince her to give you any money!"

"Silence woman!"

Baron Frankenstein raised a hand. "Please, you'll spill tea on my carpet."

She set her tea on a nearby table.

"I'm sorry, /Herr Baron/. It is the sickness." Aldis passed a hand over his face. "Please, I have brought you a million francs worth of gold!" He grabbed Eglantine by the wrist and threw her at the baron's feet. "And I brought you a woman."

"What makes you think I want money? Or, for that matter, affection?" He looked at Eglantine as though /she/ were a tea stain on the carpet.

"Being dead cannot be easy," Aldis said, leaning forward in his seat. "The money would see that you could fully restore the chateau and your laboratory. And as for my dear, sweet, Eglantine," he chuckled, "women are good for so many things."

Eglantine sprung from her spot on a floor and rushed at Aldis. "Bastard!" she cried, grasping for his eyes. "You killed my father!"

The baron pulled her hands from around Aldis' throat. He pinned her arms behind her. "Do shut up. Mr. Jones and I can't talk business with you screeching like some second rate banshee." He returned to his seat and forced her to sit next to him. "What makes you think I would accept this shrew as payment? Am I really presumed to be that kind of man?"

"I don't think you understand. Miss Eglantine Dupré is the eldest daughter and only heir of Auguste Dupré, the Boston steel magnate. A million francs doesn't even scratch the surface of her fortune. You only need find a suitably disreputable priest of marry you and you would be rich beyond your wildest dreams!"

Eglantine glared at the baron, hoping her gaze would be suitably venomous to dissuade him from any kind of untoward ideas.

He released her hands. "I don't think the money is enough. She's suitably attractive, but too strong willed for my taste."

"I see, you like your women weak and passive." She rubbed her wrists. She could already feel the bruises forming.

Aldis spoke before the baron could rebut. "She also had eight years medical training at Boston University. If you don't want her for your wife you could have her for your lab assistant."

"Eight years?" Baron Frankenstein frowned at her.

"Haven't you heard, /Herr Baron/? Women can have minds and careers of their own now. I'm sure it wasn't so when you were born /in the 1600s/, but we like to keep up with the times. It /is/ almost 1900."

"I am well aware of the year, Miss Dupré," he said haughtily. "Mr. Jones, why should I build you a new body? This is what you have come to ask, is it not?"

Aldis nodded. "It is. And I have offered you all reasons except one."

"And that last reason is?"

Aldis pulled a colt revolver from his jacket pocket. "If you do not agree to build me a new body I will shoot you dead where you sit."

The baron adjusted his cravat. "It would appear that we have a deal."