Prompt #3414

Prompt #3414

“Someone needs to teach you some manners.”

“Sh-shoving people up against a wall is not- not proper etiquette. Maybe you n-need to mind your manners.”

when I say “I love this character so much. they’re my blorbo” what I mean is “I’m gonna break them down until they’re covered in blood on their knees weeping and begging incoherently for mercy by putting them through the worst pain and torture known to mankind in this fic I am writing. y’all stay tuned 🥰✨✨”

“Oh, Whumpee,” Whumper cooed, their voice filled with feigned sadness, “I should thank you. You never fail to amuse me, trying to escape like that. It’s almost adorable, really.”

Whumpee glared at Whumper through tear-filled eyes; their voice was barely a whisper, a testament to their broken spirit. “Go to hell, Whumper.”

Whumper chuckled. “I might just. But first, I’m going to have to make sure you never try that again.”

“You need to sleep.”

“Sleep is for the weak.”

“You are weak because you haven’t slept in three days.”

The screaming goes on for hours.

The caretaker can hear it. The caretaker can hear little else.

There is nothing they can do. Nothing they can say. Nothing.

They feel numb.

The screaming continues. There is laughter. The whumper delights in this.

They stare blankly at the wall.

They listen to the screaming.

And they wait.

Eventually, it will stop. Eventually they'll be allowed to tend to wounds and ease the pain.

But for now, they can do nothing.

And so, too, they feel nothing.

Just a dull, distant ache, and a faint static in their hands.

The screaming continues.

A new mode of production arises out of the newly networked masses.