#farm whump

[whump-or-whatever]

Farm Whump Prompt List

Tractor rollover

Fall into grain silo

Kicked by horse/cow

Caught in machinery

Fall off horse

Slip on spilled milk

Shackled up in a barn

On the run hiding out in the hay loft

Run over by hay trailer

Crash the farm truck

No rain and the crops are failing, everyone’s starving

Pass out from heat illness/dehydration out in the field

Accident chopping wood

Tornado (cause wizard of oz)

Getting chased around by a giant with a taste for human flesh because instead of selling your cows at market for money you exchanged them for some magic beans

[rule-masochism]

you know what's better than cow farm whump? sheep farm whump.

i feel targeted . slash joking (my name is Sheep)

honestly that's kind of a hard topic since sheep are used for their wool!! it's not smth a human logically produces like they do in milk farms with their tits. ofc, im not above creating a non human whumpee that DOES produce wool.

i do like the idea of livestock whump where whumpee is obv manhandled like an animal; in this particular instance i imagine a whumpee being held down by an arm squeezing around their neck, their hands tied behind them, and their wool/hair/whatever it may be being shorn off very messily, the razors nicking at their skin.

my favorite thing that i have done with horned whumpees (not sheep-people, just whumpees with horns) is trimming or cutting their horns off so they're not a danger to whumper. some farmers do it to their sheep too!!

also... mm the wool weighs really heavy on a sheep if you don't shear them. neglectful whumper who lets whumpee's wool grow on like crazy, lets all kinds of crazy shit get caught in it, so whumpee is extra smelly and dirty. when caretaker comes around, it's hard to shear off all the matted wool, but it's such a relief when they do.

and ofc, tagged ears. need i say more.

hmm pretty typical stuff tbh, but having been best friends with a sheep when i was younger, i feel inclined to voice even some of my most basic ideas. here is a video of my long suffering boy Molière

i miss you everyday angel 🫶🫶🫶 this one goes out to you

[citrine-elephant]

the krauser/leon parallels thing. with krauser being what leon could have turned into if he turned into... hehee... his own resident evil-

anyways, so what if leon got injured in a similar way that drove krauser towards bad boy hours (i believe...? his arm injury...?)

taking leon's entire arm. yoink.

[whump-queen]

“You did so well”

It’s the way whumper says it—the way they speak to whumpee. It’s their voice—half the time angry, biting, and degrading, only to mutate into something sickeningly sweet in the aftermath of the pain, when whumper leans in close with sticky murmurs of affection—of mocking praise.

A toxic, slimy liquid that drips from whumper’s lips and oozes thick and heavy down whumpee’s ears and neck and shoulders.

It makes whumpee’s skin crawl. 

Or at least, it did.

At first. 

But there comes a point, during the more creative of whumper’s tortures, where the pain becomes too much, where the excruciating burn of the knife or the sear of the brand is blacking out whumpee’s brain and shoving their head deep underwater, shrinking their existence down through a tiny pinhole, only to be materialized again on the other side, dazed beyond belief, panting and shaking and still bound in whumper’s arms. 

It’s those precious few moments of reprieve in the aftermath, where the warmth of whumper’s shoulder against their cheek is enough for whumpee to sink into it— For their teeth to unclench, for their shoulders to slump against whumper’s torso, for their shaking knees to crumple into whumper’s lap.

For each part of them to give up—to give in— until they’re spilling hot tears into the fabric between shaking, heaving breaths, staining whumper’s shirt with the small beads of blood that still weep from their bitten lip.

Whumper only holds whumpee’s head tightly against their shoulder and let’s them ride out the sobs. 

tags—>

taglist: @whumpshaped  @whumpsday  @emmettnet  @a-whump-sideblog  @whump-it-like-its-hot  @wolfeyedwitch  @whumper-soot @unorganisedalienrubbish  @kira-the-whump-enthusiast @hidden-dreamland @whumpedydump @lonesome--hunter @ashh-ed @whump-in-the-closet @oriantthegiant @banditosong @anonymustyou @feralwhump @jieunie-23 @whumpasaurus101 @morning-star-whump @whmp @captain-bo-bob-bobby @the-beasts-have-arrived just ask to be added or removed <33

[feverdreamsanddelusions]

on that note of specific types of whump i crave but never write- i need more rural-esque whump. i don't know if rural's the right word.

like... i need more of both the general texas chainsaw massacre type but also... this very specific type of whump where whumpee is actually there to like... to do something but they're a city dweller and they're kind of an arrogant little bitch and don't realise they're so out of their element on a fucking farm. and the woods around the farm. do you know what i mean?

and i feel like this is especially good with a more tech oriented world where whumpee might own like crazy tech that's supposed to be super powerful but then it's like... they run out of battery or some shit at a crucial time (whumper is already approaching them with a gun/axe/chainsaw in hand)

[scratchandplaster]

Carrion

Did you ever wonder why Sam voluntarily helped a cult leader? Well, the more you know...

CW: entitlement, exploitation and jealousy

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

F5, and the wheel spun. This fraction of a second brought hope to Sam, that maybe, just maybe the connection had been the problem. A display malfunction, a bug in their website's code that couldn't handle the mass of interest. In front of their nose, the numbers stood still.

The Toy Box Killer tapes were supposed to be a perfect hit on their audience's pampered palates, so why did nobody care today? Last week's episode only got 400 views, but Sam forgave their audience this embarrassing slip-up.

After all, the whole Dahmer thing had already been bled dry before they had even completed the script. Nobody could reinvent a person who was put through the wringer every other month in a TV special, so no hard feeling here.

But to have hours of that sick fuck and his man cave etched into their mind…for nothing? It didn't sit right with them.

F5, the wheel disappeared, and the numbers on display proved how painfully irrelevant Sam had become.

Look at me.

When they had launched their podcast The Murder - not the best pun, but worth a chuckle - every comment felt like salve on a sore. Finally, a project to spend excess time; a bit of Wikipedia here, another summarized article there and the words just gushed out of them and into their microphone. With every new résumé of a failed life, the praise kept coming in sweet bursts of the week.

Six months later now, more of their little crows fledged day by day. To Netflix, or AI reels, or to Casey from reallifehorrors.com, that dumb bitch who couldn't write an engaging script if her life depended on it. 

Look. At. Me.

Sam couldn't help to believe that they deserved more. More than 56, damn, let it be 5000 views and displeasure would still itch inside them. 

So, why not use that German cannibal who munched on his buddy's dick like it's a Slim Jim? What a fucking weirdo. A lot more interesting, though, a new clown for the digital freak show. 

Next week then, they pledged to the cold screen, let next week be more fruitful. Sam knew their merit was worth more than a few dozen faceless icons when speaking into the void of the world. 

Nevertheless, none of the one-trick ponies in their notes app ought to give them what the audience longed for.

No, Sam needed someone fresh. Someone unspoiled by the mainstream, the new Dahmer or Manson or Gacy hiding in the dark and begging to be dragged to the people screaming. A person they scouted. 

A beast yet unseen.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Thanks for reading 🤍 [Masterlist]

[whump-me-all-night-long]

Midsummer Nightmare

AI-less Whumptober Day 6: Mind Control

Masterlist

TW: fae whumper, human whumpee, mind control, captivity, a bit o' pet whump

---

Arne rose to consciousness slowly, as if he were wading through a thick pool of mud. Darkness seemed to cling to him, reluctant to let him go from its grasps. His memory was hazy, his thoughts indecipherable, his mind resistant to awareness.

Vaguely, he could tell his head was lying on something soft, a thick, fluffy pillow. Had he overslept again? If he was late again, he could very well lose his work. And then how could he take care of his family?

That thought sent his eyes wide open, his body bolting upright in the large canopy bed he found himself in.

Blinking groggily, Arne frowned, looking around. What was he doing here? And where exactly was ‘here’?

He found himself in a large, elegant bedroom. The head of his bed was pressed against the middle of one wall, a large vanity with a gilded mirror and ornately carved backless chair was on the wall opposite him, a couch that seemed to be made of velvet was pressed against another wall, with a bookcase filled with leather-bound tomes next to it. There were three separate doors that Arne could see: one was on the same wall with the couch that appeared to lead into a washroom, if the white marble and claw-foot tub were any indication, one was opposite that door and it seemed to be a small balcony, the door cracked open slightly allowing sunlight to filter in as gauzy curtains swayed slightly from the breeze. The final door was the only one that was closed and it was made of a rich, dark wood with golden gilding marking out intricate designs.

As he looked around, Arne wracked his brain for what could have possibly led him here. He remembered the woods, attempting to hunt, his bounty being pitifully small.

The doe.

That golden-haired stranger.

Ikalos.

Eyes widening and throat constricting, Arne rapidly scrambled out of the bed, struggling to get out due to the number of sheets and blankets atop him and the thick mattress sinking beneath his weight. Finally, he made it to the edge, all but tumbling out.

As he stood on shaking legs, Arne noticed that his clothes had been… replaced? Although he was not sure that what he was currently wearing could even be considered clothing. A thin white shift hung on his bony frame, with a wide neckline, showing his protruding collarbones, and ending a little above his knees. His feet were bare.

As Arne looked around, bewildered, the glint of the door handle turning caught his eyes, and he scrambled back against the far wall, imagining he did not look unlike that doe that he had shot.

The door swung open on silent hinges, and the sunlight reflected off that golden hair as Ikalos stepped inside, smoothly shutting the door behind him.

Arne stiffened, distrust evident in his eyes. “Where am I? What did you do to me?”

Ikalos let out a low chuckle, the sound sending goosebumps down Arne’s spine. “Relax, my dear,” he said, in that same strange lilt. “All will be answered in due time. Please, don’t worry yourself over such trivial matters.” He glided forward, until he was only inches away from Arne, who felt his back straightening almost impossibly more. Ikalos raised a single hand, his fingers unnaturally long and thin, and gently rubbed in between Arne’s eyebrows with two fingers. “You’ll give yourself wrinkles if you keep frowning like that. And you’re such a young beauty too, it would be a shame to throw that away prematurely.”

“Please,” Arne said softly, weakly. “Just let me go. I- I don’t have anything valuable, I’m not worth this sort of effort. Please, just let me go home.”

Ikalos moved his hand downward, so that he was cupping Arne’s cheek softly, rubbing circles with his thumb in what was presumably a comforting manner. “Oh, my dear, you are truly something valuable. You are most definitely worth this effort, and more. And now, my sweet free bird, that I’ve caught you, you won’t be going anywhere for quite some time.”

Shaking his head slightly, Arne shifted, futilely trying to put space in between them. “Why are you doing this?” he asked, his voice a hoarse whisper.

Chuckling softly, Ikalos dropped his hand and took a step back. “Why?” he repeated, arching a brow. “Because I could. Because I wanted to. Because I was bored and you, oh, you just looked so… delectable, out there in the forest.”

Arne’s breath caught in his throat, and he desperately lashed out, shoving Ikalos away with all his strength before making a mad dash towards the balcony door.

He wasn’t quite sure what he was planning to do, once he got there. Maybe he could jump, if he wasn’t too high up. Anything was better than being trapped against the wall with that, that creature.

Behind him, Ikalos straightened, running a hand down the imperceptible wrinkles in his clothing. “Arne,” he called, voice shifting, “Arne, stop.”

Midstep, Arne’s body did as commanded and froze, leaving him stuck with one foot hanging in the air and both his hands stretched out wide to the side. All Arne could do was dart his eyes frantically around as his chest heaved.

Soft, smooth footsteps warned him of Ikalos’ approach, but he was utterly helpless, unable to move in even the slightest way.

As Ikalos stood in front of him, Arne could tell there was something different about him. Everything about him just seemed… sharper, somehow. Arne couldn’t really explain it. Most notably, though, was the way his golden irises seemed to be liquid, shifting and spilling over within itself. Arne highly suspected that if he were capable of movement right now, his legs would most likely give out from under him, pure fear soaking into his bones.

Ikalos clicked his tongue, shaking his head in faux disappointment. “Tsk, tsk, Arne. I thought you were smarter than that. How stupid are you, that you thought you could outrun me?”

Arne felt tears swelling in his eyes, causing him to blink hastily, which only sent salty droplets dripping down his face. His tongue felt as though it had an anvil pressing down on it, rendering him mute.

Ikalos ran a light hand through Arne’s hair, in a mockery of comfort. “You really are just another stupid, pathetic human, aren’t you?” His grip turned cruel as he fisted a chunk of Arne’s hair, bending his head at a near-painful angle. “Aren’t you so fortunate to have someone as kind as me to take care of you? Aren’t you?”

Arne could only stare up into those otherworldly golden eyes, tears continuing to pour down his face.

Ikalos wrenched his head to the side. “Aren’t you?!” he repeated. “Thank me! Now!”

All of a sudden, Arne’s tongue felt as if it were light as a cloud, but before he could control it, his mouth was already moving. “Thank you, Ikalos, for taking care of me.” His voice sounded strange to his own ears, lifeless and dull, no inflection in it.

Ikalos rolled his eyes in disgust before tossing Arne carelessly away from him, sending him tumbling into the corner, knocking the breath out of him and leaving him sprawled out on the floor, gasping heavily. “You may move again,” Ikalos said, almost bored, and with his words, Arne’s body came back under his control, and he curled up into the fetal position, staring up at the creature before him with loathing burning in his eyes.

Squatting before him, Ikalos chuckled, roughly petting his head, only frowning when Arne flinched away from him. “Pet, you are not allowed to move away from me.” He sighed. “I really ought to start training you right away, shouldn’t I?” He smiled down at Arne, who had frozen at the command, although this time, he could tell it was from his own will, not from the otherworldly compulsion Ikalos appeared to possess.

Swallowing, Arne looked up at him, relieved to see his eyes had returned to their normal appearance, no more swirling gold in them. “Please,” he begged, allowing all the desperation and fear he had to shine through. “Please, sir, good sir, just let me go. I will pay whatever ransom you desire. I will do whatever you request of me, just allow me to lea-”

His words were abruptly cut off as a painful slap sent his head cracking to the side, causing his neck to immediately begin to ache. A throbbing, burning pain flooded his cheek, slowly traveling to encompass his whole face. He gasped, reaching up one hand to cup his beet-red skin, eyes once again flooding with tears.As if nothing had happened, Ikalos resumed his methodical stroking of Arne’s hair. “Aw, pet,” he said condescendingly. “You’re mine now. There’s nothing that will cause me to let you go. You are mine.”

---

Taglist: @thelazywitchphotographer @whither-wander-whump @theelvishcowgirl @deckofaces @badluck990 @whumperofworlds @cupcakes-and-pain @misspelledwitch @winged-wolf-s-collection-of-arts

[whump-it-like-its-hot]

Today I present to you Whumpees that get injured but don’t realize it/don’t think it’s bad until a while later, when they accidentally touch the injury in an unfortunate way or move the injured limb wrong and they just fucking crumble

[scattered-winter]

let it be known that i am VIBING more than i ever have before

[whumpinthepot]

@whumpmasinjuly 2023, day 10,

drop an ask to a new whump blog

So I haven’t had a lot of time to check out a lot of new blogs and wasn’t sure what to ask anyone so instead I interacted and followed a few new people to get to know :)) I interact with a lot of blogs to begin with but wanted to say that im always up for chatting w new people about ocs and stories and stuff!! Dm’s are open.

Im too scattered atm with irl stuff to tag people and this is more of a post for my own archive reasons <3

Heres a tiny chicken its just a baby still

[kim-poce]

I can't get over the day my grandfather (a farmer) was showings a video of his house in the countryside and his animals to this woman and they woman asked “Oh they are yours? You look like a real farmer!”

[sillywhumpcreature]

WOAH ANDYS APPLE FARM AU WHUMP?

Since one of my whump idols reblogged smth i wrote and said it was amazing ahah

CW: Wolf Attacks, Blood, Gore, Broken Bone, Bruises, Permanent Injury, Limb Loss, undead whumper

Have you heard of the black wolf haunting? I doubt you have. As these attacks have been labelled by the public have been labelled as silly urban legends despite the victims having obvious proof it happened. It exists... I exist. Yes, I am the black wolf. My name is Arthur. Vicious serial attacker, with all the tricks up his sleeve. I am the one who had torn off limbs and made them into a necklace. I am a creature of the night. I'm this urban legend. This little fairy tale is about me. The villain of this tale. 

It all starts with a hunger. A new form. I had become a black wolf with red eyes. However, I was bound to this virtual farm, never to escape. I couldn't help but feel a searing rage at the one who had murdered me. I did all this for him only to be blamed for his house burning down, slaughtered, then forced into a game to never escape? Though, it wasn't all bad. I had a new form of a wolf, and a perfect target to let my anger out on. Andy was always Thomas's favourite character. So, if Thomas can't die with me... How about I take it out on his favourite? I waited until night time to begin...

Time for my hunt. I stalked Andy from the forest I was in. I couldn't help but laugh as well as my growling voice could as I crept up on the unsuspecting apple, who was simply wandering, oblivious to me. With a sudden howl, I pounced on my new victim, and dragged him deeper in the forest by his leg, making sure to throw him around a bit during the journey, making him repeatedly hit his head on rocks and trees as we went deeper and deeper still into the shadows. As we finally arrived in the darkest corner of the forest, Andy was already unconscious and bleeding heavily. The place we were in was a beautiful, yet shadowy place that I assume had never been discovered by the others, because of the overgrown grass and fallen trees. It had patches of flowers that seemed to.. glow. I was almost distracted by the beauty. I flung Andy randomly elsewhere, and he ended up on the patch of glowing flowers, the blood from his head dying the normally blue-ish purple flowers a deep scarlet. I leapt on him and tore and clawed him, leaving multiple scars and wounds painting his red apple body. That's when a sudden crack came when I tugged at his arm. I looked down to see I had ripped the arm right out of the socket. Hm. Wasn't expecting that. Eh. I had just noticed Andy was starting to awaken when I aimed to bite his bruised, half shut eye... A crunch. Andy started to scream and I stabbed him in the cheek with my claws to shut him up. I heard the gate to the farm re-open and in a panic I grabbed Andy and ran back, hitting him against trees and rocks again, this time breaking a lot of bones on him. I put him back by the edge of the forest, so the gang could JUST see him before running to hide. I blended in well. I heard a scream from one of the members of the newly arrived friends. I smiled and growl-laughed a bit as I lay on a tree stump. I now had a random arm. What should I do with this.. I know. I grabbed a piece of string from nowhere, tied a bit of skin I had just tore off the arm onto the string and put it on the necklace. It was still bleeding.. perfect.

[bunnyboy-whumpee]

If anyone is interested i can open Up a roleplay of the "farm where Osheen was born, if you're looking for a whumpee adopt with specific traits or just want your whumpees to live a fucked up huc0w puppy mill fantasy my asks and anons are open.

[flowersarefreetherapy]

Back at the parents’ for a weekend and yeah, I could get used to being a farmer’s husband

[abhainnwhump]

What I believed Barney was like when I was 4 years old:

(SPOILERS) BARNEY & FRIENDS WHUMP LIST

(NOTE: this is a joke post, in case it's not obvious enough. April Fools!)

(Also gonna do just season one because fuck that not gonna do all 14 seasons)

1x01: Kidnapped, held hostage, bank robbery, tied up

1x02: Barney gets fucking shot, bleeding, passing out, wake up in the hospital

1x03: kidnapped, used as bait, bound and gagged, comforted after rescue

1x04: BJ betrays Barney, stabbed in the back, gets brought back to life by Baby Bop

1x05: Crying, argument with Baby Bop, torture

1x06: Drugged, forced to watch, crying

1x07: Barney is fucking dead, grief, funeral, gets brought back to life by Baby Bop

1x08: Kidnapping, used as bait (again), hostage situation, near death

1x09: got caught snooping, tied to a chair, tortured, threats of life

1x10: Crying, forced unmasking, betrayal, blood loss

1x11: Gagged, captivity, near drowning, experimented on

1x12: Lab whump, needles, blood loss, rescued

1x13: Displaced by time travel, kidnapped by cowboys, tied to a pole, left out in the sun

1x14: Baby Bop's blankey ripped out of her hands, beaten up, rescued, thief tortured for information, escaped from bonds by breaking hands

1x15: Broken bones, left to die, crying, traumatic flashbacks

1x16: Drugged, nearly shot

1x17: Forced to watch someone die, shot in the head, brought back to life by Baby Bop

1x18: Argument between BJ and Baby Bop, parting words regret

1x19: Captured and thrown in separate cells, forced to listen to others get tortured, escaped by breaking the bars but broke hands, finding friends bloodied and beaten

1x20: Threats of life, threats of torture, forced to give up blankey

1x21: Screaming, bloody hands, crying

1x22: Trapped in a video game, captured and put in a cell, forced to leave behind an ally, returned to real life bloodied and beaten

1x23: Traumatic flashbacks, past torture, nightmares, comfort

1x24: Sick, kidnapped while sick, rescued

1x25: Swept away by the river, near drowning

1x26: Hostage situation, held for ransom, gun to head

1x27: Running fever, coughing up blood

1x28: Capturing the thief who stole Baby Bop's blankey, thief begs for his life to no avail, broke free by slipping through his bonds, holds Barney hostage via knifepoint to make the others back off before fleeing

1x29: broken leg during chase, knife thrown and hitting Barney on the chest

1x30: The thief (Keme) is the final battle who caused all the suffering, holds Baby Bop at knifepoint, gets shot in the leg by BJ, begs for his life, Barney stomps him to death

[crimsons-whump-pile]

some good ol’ physical whump for today in the form of whipping! the unbearable sting as it comes down on whumpee’s back, the air of punishment, of being treated like a misbehaving farm animal at the mercy of a cruel handler. the open gashes that the whip leaves carved into their torso even weeks later, deep enough to leave visibly divoted scars cutting through that fragile flesh. the whip coming down right along the curve of their spine as whumpee is unable to hold in a scream of agony, knowing that even when the torture is over, the marks will never truly be gone.