local sweetheart kinnie

you aren't insane you just live with your parents

you aren't insane you just live with your parents

you aren't insane you just live with your parents

They never knew what Whumper looked like. Snatched away by a masked person in the dead of night. Put through hell— never knowing when or where the whump was going to happen.

All they know of Whumper is the feel of their cold, calloused hands and the sound of their voice mocking them as Whumpee begged for mercy.

When they manage to get away or are rescued while Whumper hadn’t been there, they still don’t know who it was that did this to them. They still had never seen their face. They don’t know who they should direct all their fear and anxiety towards.

Whumper had never been caught. They could be anywhere. Anyone.

And maybe they’re forced to go somewhere crowded. Perhaps Caretaker brings them somewhere they hadn’t expected to be so filled with people.

And that’s when Whumpee hears it.

Whumper’s voice.

(because Reddit is down and I’m chronically online)

Hearing the whumpee’s screams over the radio as they’re captured, the rest of the team frozen in horror.

• Patch job in the middle of the battlefield, someone pressing down on a wound with their bare hands, whispering, “Stay with me, okay? Just stay.”

• Post-mission debrief, but the whumpee is barely holding it together, swaying on their feet as the adrenaline wears off.

• The whumpee refusing pain meds because they need to “stay sharp,” only to pass out mid-conversation.

• “I don’t leave people behind,” they growl, limping and bleeding but refusing to abandon the unconscious teammate over their shoulder.

• Waking up in a field hospital, disoriented and panicked, pulling out the IV before being restrained by a firm but gentle voice.

• “We’re not going to make it.” “Yes, we are.” Cue one of them doing something reckless to ensure the other gets out alive.

• Cold, soaked to the bone, huddled in a ruined building during a downpour, one of them feverish while the other desperately tries to keep them awake.

• Hiding an injury to avoid being benched, only for it to get worse at the worst possible moment.

• “You don’t understand—I can’t go back. I can’t be discharged.”

• A high-ranking officer demanding a mission debrief while the whumpee is barely conscious, words slurring, bleeding through their uniform.

• A medic struggling to save the whumpee in the back of a jolting vehicle, yelling for the driver to go faster.