#COWBOY WHUMP! COWBOY WHUMP! COWBOY WHUMP! | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

sufrimientilia · 9 days

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hmm, do you have any ideas for western/cowboy style whumps? recently saw The Good The Bad And The Ugly and the desert scene and the hangings are... quite inspiring.

eee my first ask!!

i'm sure you've seen this lovely post by @wollemi-whump. i stared at it for inspo

cowboy whump 2: electric boogaloo

the slow impact of boots on dirt, metallic jingling of spurs with each step. those same spurs kicking hard into whumpee’s side or digging into their throat

the hard thudding of nearly a dozen horses thundering closer and closer, a whole posse coming in for the attack or stampeding a runner

treated like another one of the cattle. lassoed and dragged along on foot, forced to run and hike for miles, made to drink from the same containers as the horses or denied water until they collapse

getting jerked around by a lariat kept tight around their neck or wrists, cutting and digging deep

lawman of the town overworked, over-stressed, always threatened by outlaws

lawman of the town corrupt by power and willing to toss anyone in jail for stepping out of line

small town mentality in Old Western format. just one doctor, just one minister, just one sheriff. maybe one of them is a creep/evil

everyone knows everyone and getting expelled into the wild frontier by mob mentality can happen

duels fueled by honor, aggression, booze. or getting pressured into facing the fastest draw in the West with a whole mob watching

duels where the winner still catches a bullet

duels in the town square that descend into chaos when the friends of either opponent get involved

frontier justice: lynching, vigilantism, gunfighting

frontier crime: horse theft, cattle raiding, bank robberies

very public hangings, shootings, or punishments (i.e. getting dragged by a horse)

saloon fights

the hard metal clang of a spit bucket bouncing right off of whumpee’s head

getting spat at with the sheer force of lightning

violence and alcohol. drunken aggression, broken bottles used as deadly weapons, forced to sit and drink under gunpoint before being challenged to a duel

droughts and limited resources. chapped lips and desperate sips out of a leather canteen, food too hard to come by. it's no wonder people become outlaws

dehydrated and asking for water only to gulp whiskey out of a canteen

lone survivor of a gang or posse that got wiped out

bounty hunters and getting hunted. posters with crude sketches of their face, wanted dead or alive, a hefty reward leaving them with no one to trust

forced to work on the railroad, pounding away at metal for hours and hours under the blistering sun

tied up and left on railroad tracks

tied up and shoved into a railroad cart and shipped east

native tribes being a true force of danger, almost like bogeymen among the townsfolk. faster on horseback, deadlier with arrows, experts of the land

getting targeted and hunted for being indigenous, forced to run and hide as resources are taken or destroyed by settlers

left for dead out in the desert and waking up in the care of a native tribe

stung by a scorpion

bit by a snake

boiling hot desert days, dark cold desert nights

shot off their horse by an arrow or bullet and landing hard on the ground while the horse keeps going

injured or sick while riding horseback. bleeding all over the saddle, barely able to hold on, slumping forward and eventually falling off

injured or sick while traveling across the frontier. huddled by the fireplace at every makeshift campsite, carefully draped over the horse or riding in the arms of caretaker

deteriorating away in a stagecoach with the constant clip-clop of horses rocking them back and forth

#whump #wild west #cowboy whump #tropes #writing ideas

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promptsforyourwhumpfic · 1 year

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Whump Prompt #1261

Anon asked:

Any prompts for a western/cowboy themed whump story? I feel there’s plenty of potential there (bandit attacks, dangers from the desert or plains like snakes, wolves, and heat, or the stereotypes of cowboys being stoic and independent even when hurt)

Sounds like you've got some good tropes already but I can give it a go:

Maybe a group of characters need to ride ahead to the next town, but for whatever reason they need to leave their camp standing (perhaps in case they're rejected and don't have a place to stay). So they leave someone behind to defend the camp. However the camp gets raided/attacked by the antagonists who are hunting the group. The defender of the camp is left for dead. (Bonus points if the whumpee feels guilty for the camp being destroyed.)

A character could get stranded after their horse is spooked - causing them to walk in the midday sun without their supplies. (Maybe they're lucky and a single bag drops from the saddle.)

I like the idea of the whumpees horse (maybe from the scenario above, or maybe a different occurrence.) arriving at the nearest town without the whumpee, causing the friends/team at said town to panic and send a search party.

Shootouts are always a guaranteed way to get a character hurt - whether it be accidental or they jump in the way of a bullet. It's the perfect way to have them experience bloodloss, fever/infection, field surgery and a heavy amount of angst - particularly if the character is a leader/town protector!

#shuffled the queue to get these in before WT #whump #writing #prompts #angst #cowboys #western setting #wild west setting #guilt #fever #infection #field surgery

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whump-in-the-closet · 3 months

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I thoroughly enjoyed your medic story! Always a fan when the whole team gets a piece 😂 Do you think you might continue it someday?

Also, if you have the motivation, I beg of you to please write the western one! I feel like there's never quite enough outlaw whump

Have a great day today!

Hey thanks! I'd probably continue it if someone specifically requested it...I just have issues with pacing in a story if I'm being honest lmao

Anyway, western whump! I was very excited about this ask >:)

cw: branding, gun wound, pistol whipping, western whump, death mention, captivity, manhandling

It wasn't supposed to end this way.

With the malignant, rose-colored sun setting behind the shredded trees.

With the blood pooling out around him, staining the red clay.

With the butt of his gun glinting just out of his aching fingers' reach.

With the sheriff's men picking their way towards him.

He was supposed to get away.

They circled him, spurs cutting through the tall grass. They towered over the outlaw, smiling with satisfied confidence. The outlaw had seen vultures with that same expression in their beady eyes.

The sheriff crouched down, pushing his hat back to look at the outlaw. He smelled strongly of cigarettes and leather.

"Well, well," his toothpick shifted between his coffee-stained teeth, "Evenin' sunshine."

The outlaw grunted, keeping pressure on his injured arm. His fingers were slick with blood. His head buzzed, and he could suddenly see two of the sheriff.

It wasn't a pretty thing to see two of.

"You ain't talkin' so proud now," he said, hooking a calloused hand under the outlaw's arm and hauling him to his feet. He tied the outlaw's hands in front of him with quick movements, giving the outlaw no time to protest. "Should have put a bullet in your arm a long time back."

The rope was thick and the sheriff cinched it mercilessly.

The outlaw cursed through gritted teeth, his wrists turning an irritated red beneath the rawhide. "My-- my arm--"

The sheriff slapped him lightly. "None of that bitchin'." He gave the rope to one of his men and picked up the outlaw's gun.

The sheriff spun the outlaw's gun, letting him get a good look at the weapon.

A murderous glint flashed in the outlaw's eyes as the rope was tied to a horse's saddle. "That's mine," he spat.

I'll kill you.

The sheriff laughed. The toothpick jumped inside his mouth. "No, it ain't. Not anymore. The only thing that's yours is a date with the gallows." He stepped in close, too close, and pressed the still-warm muzzle of the gun to the outlaw's forehead. "You got that?"

The outlaw held his gaze, then dropped it. He said nothing, setting his mouth in a thin line.

The pressure increased. "Say, 'yes sir'."

The outlaw's mouth twitched.

"Say it."

Those two words brought the outlaw more pain than the bullets lodged in his shoulder. "Yes...sir."

Somehow, he made it sound like fuck you. He worked his jaw in a tight circle, swirling the tobacco and blood out from between his teeth. Wasting no time, he spat in the sheriff's face.

The sheriff didn't waste any time either. He swung the butt of the gun across the outlaw's forehead.

The outlaw crumpled-- hot pain spiking behind his eyes.

A thin line of blood traced away down his shirt collar.

His hat was knocked off his dusty hair and when they rode away, it was the only thing to mark that they were ever there at all.

A cowboy hat, discarded in a muddy pool of blood and trampled grass.

They dragged him for miles.

Stumbling, coughing, arm ripped at jarring angles. Until his legs turned to lead, and every breath made his ribs ache. His jeans were shredded where he'd fallen, knees bruised and raw.

When they arrived at the camp, they tied him to a low-lying tree. They left him alone as they built up a fire, but his cramped muscles hardly let him stretch and every movement felt like his last.

The young moon shone with a tired glimmer, highlighting the sandy patch of earth with a watery glow.

The fire snapped, sending up sparks into the grey night.

Somewhere, a coyote yipped, and another joined in, then another. The chorus became a long, drawn-out howl.

The outlaw watched as they ate.

His stomach growled. He had been on the run for weeks, and the smell of venison made the starved realization crash down harshly.

The sheriff stood up with a long stretch. He bent over the fire, adjusting a metal prong. He turned towards the outlaw with a slow smile.

The outlaw snarled. "What the fuck are you looking at?"

The sheriff approached him, nodding to two of his men.

A straw-haired man put out a cigarette on the heel of his boot and walked towards the outlaw. Another man, with a greasy mustache and striped shirt, followed.

The outlaw glared at both of them, straining against the ropes. "Fuck--" Too much pressure on his arm. Hurt. He inhaled deeply. "Fuck off."

The sheriff looked down. He spat at the outlaw.

Tobacco-stained spit dribbled down the outlaw's face, and he couldn't wipe it away. He squinted up at the sheriff.

"Do y'know how long I've waited for this?" drawled the sheriff. "A long time. A long, long time."

The straw-haired man grinned. He was missing his front teeth. "We always knew you were gonna git him, sir."

"Shut up, Barney," said the man with the greasy mustache. "Kissass."

The sheriff ignored both of them. "I reckon," he said to the outlaw. "You know how many men you killed when you stole those cattle?"

Three.

"I dunno."

"Three," the sheriff confirmed. "Three good, hard-workin' ranch hands, you cattle-lovin' bastard." The sheriff spoke in a low, harsh voice. "Now the ways I see it, you're about to get what you deserve."

A cold dread filled the outlaw. "The gallows?"

The sheriff smiled. "That. And this." He waved his two men forward and turned back to the fire. "Death is too kind for the likes of you."

The straw-haired man flicked open a knife, and the other pinned the outlaw against the tree. They cut off his shirt, leaving the fire to cast shadows on his bare skin.

The outlaw cursed them, cursed the sheriff, and cursed their mothers.

The greasy-mustached man grabbed him by his hair and yanked his head back until he shut up.

The sheriff's spurs clicked to a stop beside him.

Out of the corner of his eye, the outlaw could make out the red-iron of a cattle brand.

His breaths quickened, rising and falling at a sharp, frantic pace. "No--"

"Yes. A cattle brand for a cattle thief. Only fair."

A new terror blossomed, wrapping around the outlaw's ribcage and rising up his throat as the brand loomed over him.

He could feel the heat before it even touched. He shrank back, incomprehensible swearing cutting through the night. Like his words were the only thing protecting him from the burning touch.

The sheriff pressed the brand down on the outlaw's chest.

The pain was instantaneous and brilliant, a fiery throbbing that made him scream until his voice was raw. He ripped away, back arching in a futile attempt to escape. Raw tears burned their way down his face, blurring his vision until the world narrowed to two things: the smell of burning flesh and the sheriff's veiny hand.

He collapsed as soon as the sheriff's men let go of him, spine curved in the moonlight as he doubled over.

The agony was new and fresh and throbbing, throbbing, throbbing.

The coyotes paused their chorus, then started up again. This time, the outlaw's crying joined them.

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whumpbug · 3 months

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whumperless whump event day 6: summer is a curse @whumperless-whump-event

heat stroke / panting / “why don't we… find some shade, quick?”

see this post for character information!

caretaker: Gene

whumpee: Cassidy

༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶

It was the hottest day of the year, and Cassidy was starting to think that anyone trying to travel in this weather had a screw loose.

Well, maybe he had a screw loose for trying to pull a job in this weather in the first place.

He gripped the top of the door of the stagecoach he had heckled into stopping in the middle of the road. The metal burned his hand. He stepped into it, ducking down to face the man sitting in the seat, looking about ready to crap his pants.

“Ante up,” He barked. The passenger whimpered softly and reached into his shirt pocket.

Cassidy resisted the urge to swipe the sweat from his brow. A bandana was pulled up over his face to conceal his identity, and he was seconds away of saying to hell with it and yanking it off. He had no idea why Montana insisted they had to rob the stagecoach today, but who was he to argue? He just needed to get in and get out. He could cool off at the river later.

He glared down at the man and clicked his revolver, pointing it down.

“Don’t got all day,” He grumbled. The man’s hands shook as he emptied some coins into the pouch Cassidy held out. Cassidy could see a drop of sweat fall from the tip of the man’s nose.

Suddenly, a gunshot rang through the air and everyone inside the stagecoach froze.

“Silver! We gotta run, law’s comin’!” A voice called from outside. It was another of Montana’s boys, Red.

Cassidy cursed softly under his breath as he heard distant shouts and hoofbeats. Goddamn it. He snatched away the pouch and cocked his gun.

This was just his luck. The law always managed to catch up with him at the most inconvenient times. He just hoped Delaney wasn’t with them. He wasn’t sure he had the energy to deal with that stuck-up deputy, feeling as shitty as he did.

Cassidy found his gelding, Scotch, waiting outside the stagecoach, whinnying softly. He ran at him and used the momentum to hoist himself onto the horse. Scotch anxiously hoofed at the ground.

“Sorry boy, y’gotta run a bit more, alright? I know it ain’t fun..” Cassidy placated, clicking his teeth and tapping a heel into his mount’s side.

Scotch huffed, but was spurred into action, and soon, Cassidy was off.

Red had gotten a headstart and was already out of sight, and Cassidy thought he might make it out as well, but it seemed even Scotch was feeling the sluggishness of the heat.

The law caught up.

Gunshots rang out behind him. Warning shots. They were practically at his heels. He grunted in frustration. There was almost no chance of outrunning them this time, and he really didn’t want to be roped off the saddle.

Montana was gonna kill him.

He yanked back Scotch’s reins, causing the gelding to slow and pin his ears back in annoyance. Cassidy whispered an apology and clutched at the reins until came to a stop

The next thing he knew, he was surrounded by 3 lawmen and--

Goddamn it.

“Now Silver, tell me, why in the hell did you decide today was a good day t’pull this stunt,” Gene huffed, steering Calliope in front of Cassidy, effectively cutting him off.

“Delaney.” He mockingly tipped his hat. “Fancy seein’ you here.” Cassidy tried for a smirk, but it came out as more of a grimace.

“Enough. Get down.”

He grumbled and swung his leg to hop down from Scotch’s back. He gave the gelding a light pat, partially to comfort the animal, but also partially to steady himself. Truthfully, the quick movement caused a vicious headrush that had him seeing stars.

He was really wishing he could shed some of his layers.

Gene was suddenly beside him, yanking his wrists behind his back, and he figured he oughta cooperate. It beat the alternative of being sent to the gallows for resisting arrest.

Soon enough, his hands were cuffed, and Scotch was being hitched to Gene’s mare.

Gene turned to his men and told them something, but Cassidy stopped listening after a few seconds. Now, since he wasn’t moving anymore, he felt the sun beating down on him at full force. He moved to pull his bandana down to get some air, but all he could do was jerk against the cuffs uselessly.

This heat was starting to get real unbearable.

The other lawmen left, presumably to go chase Red, and Gene pulled Cassidy towards the horses.

“You can ride double with me if you behave. Act a fool, and I won’t hesitate to drag you all the way to town,” Gene grunted, heaving himself up onto Calliope. He cooed at his mare under his breath, silently apologizing for the extra weight he was about to add.

Without warning, he grabbed Cassidy under the arms and began pulling him up. Cassidy, to his credit, didn’t try to make it harder for the deputy. He simply hooked his foot into Calliope’s stirrup and settled behind Gene.

He was too goddamn burning to try and resist anything.

He was sweating even more than before, if that was possible. When Calliope began walking forward, he found himself jolting with the movement and leaning more on Gene than he’d like to keep himself upright.

Gene wasn’t a big talker, especially not with Cassidy, but he found himself wishing the deputy would make some kind of conversation, so he could focus on something other than the dizziness and nausea that was beginning to overtake him.

He swallowed reflexively and tried again to release the bandana around his face.

“Quit squirming, Silver,” Gene barked, patting Calliope when she became fussy.

The truth was, Cassidy was trying not to squirm, but he couldn’t seem to find his balance.

He practically grew up in the saddle. He started riding when he was just 11 years old, so it made no sense that every small movement the mare made seemed to send him listing to the side. His world was tilting on its axis. He felt like he was seconds away from spewing or blacking out, and he wasn’t sure which would be worse.

“D’laney,” He slurred, focusing every muscle in his body on keeping himself upright.

“What is it?” Gene grumbled, wiping some sweat from his neck with a handkerchief. Lord, this weather was miserable.

“I.. I don’t..” Cassidy swallowed again, blinking against the black spots that danced in his vision. “D’laney..”

Suddenly, Gene let out a curse as he felt Cassidy start to slip to the side. Calliope and Scotch both let out a worried huff.

Gene caught Cassidy limply by the waist, straining his arms behind him to hold the man up. He cursed again at how clammy Cassidy's skin felt, even through the layers of fabric.

“Goddamn it, Silver..” He breathed, carefully dismounting Calliope while keeping a hand on Cassidy to keep him steady on her back.

Cassidy’s eyes were half-lidded and hazy, and he was unnervingly pale. His lucidity was going, and fast. His breath was coming out in short, quick pants and sweat dripped down his jaw.

Gene made quick work of pulling him off the horse and lowering him unceremoniously to the ground.

He squinted against the sun and scanned the area around them. “Why don’t we go find you some shade, alright? Won’t do me no good if you kick the bucket on the way to town.”

Cassidy found it odd that the deputy was being so amiable to him, but he wasn’t about to complain. Usually when he felt this run down, Montana told him to suck it up and figure it out. This was a welcome change of pace. He was too out of it to think too hard about it.

Gene half-helped-half-dragged Cassidy to a small tree off the side of the road. It did little to block the sun, but it was better than nothing. He lowered him against it and jogged back to lead the horses over as well. Scotch flicked his ears worriedly and leaned down to nose the side of his rider's head.

Cassidy was still panting hard against the heat, feeling like his entire body was pulsing with nausea and vertigo. He had heard about one of O'Malley's boys dying of heat sickness a while back, and he vaguely wondered if that was what was happening to him. He shuddered at the thought.

Gene approached once again, and before Cassidy could attempt to ask, he made quick work of yanking off the fabric around his face, before bending down to begin stripping him of his extra layers of fabric. He removed his own hat and fanned Cassidy, seeming a little more worried than he was initially leading on.

Cassidy wanted to say something, maybe make a snarky comment and the situation, but instead, his head lolled forward lazily. He could practically feel the deputy’s worried gaze boring a hole into the top of his mussed hair.

Suddenly, he felt gentle, calloused fingers grasp his wrist and press against the artery. Gene counted quietly and frowned.

His voice was now much more serious. “We need to cool you off.”

Suddenly, Cassidy was leaning back a little further against the tree with the buttons of his shirt pulled open. Gene fumbled around his bag for his waterskin, and unscrewed the top. He wet a small strip of fabric and placed it on the back of Cassidy’s neck before pressing the spout to his lips.

Cassidy drank desperately, not caring that the water dribbled down his chin. He was left breathless when the waterskin was pulled from his mouth.

“Alright, you just stay there. We’ll keep moving once you’re more.. stable. And for the love of all things holy, wear less clothes if you’re gonna pull a stunt in heat like this.”

Cassidy let his eyes flutter close, his head finally feeling a little clearer.

Gene clicked his tongue in disaproval and smoothed Cassidy's sweaty hair from his face.

"Just so you know, you're still gettin' locked up for this. I'm not that nice."

Cassidy huffed a small laugh. Yeah, it was probably deserved.

༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶

#whumperless whump event day 6: summer is a curse #whumperless whump event day 6 #whumperless whump event #heat stroke whump #enviromental whump #whumpblr #whump prompt #whump community #gene and cassidy #cowboy whump #western whump #fun fact this was the first fic i wrote for them

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socialc1imb · 5 months

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Because I think it’ll be fun and motivating for me, here are the things I want to draw next

Silly shitpost for Jash’s cover of You Sound Like Louis Burdett

JASH PIRATE COMIC.

Cowboys redraw

Forgotten Fourth, next comic

Yearly self portrait (based around either Liquid Smooth by Mitski or a Riproducer song)

Light Animatic :agonies:

StaaS Animation :AGONIES:

#social’s wips #cj pirate au #cj cowboy au #ffau #forgotten fourth au #no one let me slack off #hold me accountable #not included in the list but def something i want to do more of: whump art #so much whump art i would like to make #just for funsies

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paperprinxe · 4 months

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Western whump!!!!

Have you seen how cold it gets in the west when the sun goes down? It’s freaking freezing. Some poor whumpee having to hesitantly creep up to a campfire, unsure whether they’re friendly or not but desperate for the warmth.

Dragged behind a horse, stumbling, eyes tired and weary, desperate for a break.

Dust getting everywhere, in whumpees wounds, in the house, on clothes. It’s impossible to get rid of.

A sheriff captured by outlaws, trying to keep calm and talk their way out as they are surrounded, their hands up and shaking slightly as they try to plead their case.

A cowboy hiding a bruised face, a long shirt hiding blood.

#cowboy whump #whump #whump prompt #western whump

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generic-whumperz · 1 year

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I need a cowboy Whumper to lasso Whumpee atop a horse, then he needs to glare down with that stereotypical furrowed brow and tilted cowboy hat look and spit in the dirt before saying, “you just yee’d your last haw!”

#crack whump #whump scenes #whump scenarios #whump scenario #whump stuff #cowboy whump #yee’d your last haw #whump drabble

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whumpitisthen · 8 days

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Have you ever considered cowboy whump?

Whumper chasing down whumpee and lassoing them? Dragging them on the ground behind a horse? Branding? Idk I think the Wild West should be renamed the Whump West since there’s so many good things there.

Im gonna be honest i am not American and cowboys always looked silly to me so no i haven't rly thought about it much......

...but the way you talk about it is in fact very intriguing and i think you are correct 👍

A cowboy that is a boy that keeps cows except the cows is also whumpee and they get treated like cattle and dragged around in the searing sun and branded!! Or hiding out from whumper and fearing the sound of horse hooves and gunshots so so bad because that means whumper is close... Held at gunpoint...... No civilization for miles and miles in a merciless desert...... Left to die there..... Medicine is probably not very good quality, if it's even available...... Incredibly rich in whump!

#whump #asks #anon #cowboy whump #branding #left to die #cowboy whump approved ✅#also ive heard that to most normal people out there cowboys are incredibly hot so that is a bonus for sure #guns

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mynightingalecomplex · 9 months

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Happy Whumpmas (੭*ˊᵕˋ)੭*🎅⛄❄️!!! You have just been snowballed by a secret whumper. Help to keep the snowball fight going by anonymously sending this to five other whumpers with a whump-related question of your choice: what's your favorite whump that is unique to old westerns?

Oooh. There are several western whump tropes that I love (shot and left for dead, bushwhacked and rescued, injured and forced to survive in the wilderness), but I think a great one that's unique to westerns is the "exhausted bobbing on the back of a horse". See examples:

There are more examples to add later, but here are a few.

#cowboy whump #whumpmas #western whump #whump #vintage whump #western #cowboy #horseback

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hurtmyfavsthanks · 8 months

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Febuwhump Day 5: Rope Burns

Content warning: none

The sun was high in the sky, beating down on the earth unforgivingly, heating each grain of sand to an unforgiving degree. It was sweltering, without a hint of civilization for miles. There was nothing but a dirt road in front of Whumper, the sound of hooves stopping through the dust beneath them, and the unrelenting sun above. And the sound of ragged breaths behind them.

Whumper huffed, licking at the sweat collecting on their lip. They pulled their hat low and, one hand firmly on the horse’s reins, turned to look at their newest catch.

Whumpee was walking behind the horse, brace brisk despite the exhaustion written on their features. They had no other choice; their hands were bound before them, the rope’s other end leashing them to the saddle. They’d be coming along regardless of if they cooperated or not. The dirt clinging to their skin, the bloody nose left to dry unwhipped on their face, showed exactly what standing still would earn them.

They’d been walking for hours now, and the strain was clearly wearing on them. Whumpee’s once defiant glare had turned glassy, lethargic. They looked like a starved, overworked dog, mouth open in a half pant, dragged along by an unrelenting master. Even from their place on the horse, Whumper could see where Whumpee’s wrists had been rubbed raw, and bloody from where the rope had irritated the skin.

If the sheriff ever asked, Whumper would swear up and down they only dragged prisoners along for purely practical reasons. To avoid putting either themselves or their horse in danger, to keep prisoners too exhausted to be a threat. But in the privacy of their mind, Whumper wouldn’t deny that they mainly did it for the entertainment. The life of a bounty hunter wasn’t all shootouts and excitement after all.

Whumper smirked.

“Ya hangin’ on back there?”

Whumpee flinched as they were addressed, expression souring as their defiant glare returned. They opened their mouth to speak, but only a dry, hacking cough left their lips. Whumpee stumbled, barely righting themselves in time.

“G-go to hell,” they finally stuttered out, voice weak.

“I’ve had plenty of folks tell me that, but none of ‘em ever managed to send me,” Whumper chuckled. “Now don’t you worry none. I’m sure the sheriff’s got a nice, cozy cell with your name on it. You’ll have plenty of time to rest there.”

Whumpee opened their mouth to retort, a scowl on their face. At that very moment, Whumper urged their horse forward. The horse hastened its pace, jerking Whumpee forward. Without their hands to protect them, they fell face first into the hard dirt, pulling a startled gasp from their cracked lips. The horse kept moving, pulling a squeal of pain as Whumpee as they were dragged across the hard, burning road. Whumpee struggled to regain their footing, scrambling to right themselves against the force pulling them unrelentingly forward.

“Watch your step now,” Whumper called, turning back to the road with a grin.

#febuwhump #febuwhump 2024 #febuwhump day 5 #whumpee #whumper #defiant whumpee #my stuff #cowboy whump #idk if that's a thing but! there is a horse

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