#firearm tw

[trash-raccoon-in-a-trenchcoat]

Living Weapon Whumpee gets taken out to the "shooting range" after a particularly bad week with Whumper...

---

It had been a hot day so far. Whumper's dark blue bronco was practically an oven, though he didn't seem to mind. Whumpee knew better than to ask for AC, or even to crack the windows. Water was out of the question until they had earned it, and the beads of sweat forming on their skin seemed to taunt them.

Barely any rations last week, and now this... The bastard must be trying to kill me.

The winding dirt road led further and further into the middle of nowhere. The view may have been pretty under better circumstances; blue sage brush cascading over little rolling hills, mountains rising and falling in the distance, a scant few clouds dotting the horizon.

Whumpee couldn't bring themself to enjoy it.

The bronco screeched to a stop in the bowl of a large gravel pit, jerking Whumpee forwards and exacerbating their growing headache. They looked to Whumper, bleakly awaiting instructions. "Go set up the targets." Whumpee needed no second invitation to get out.

A breeze started picking up, to Whumpee's relief. They grabbed the targets out of the back of the truck, and glanced the spare water bottle. Whumper wasn't looking, so maybe they could just... No. Whumpe shook the thought from their head before it landed them in even deeper shit.

They strode towards the gravel pile, targets in hand. Whumper would give them hell if they fell over like last time... Once the supports had been nestled securely in between the little rocks, they went back. The dull ache in their head began to throb as they walked.

Whumper had set up a folding table with a few pistols and a rifle on one end, and the bullets and protection on the other. He took a swig of water from a clear bottle as Whumpee approached. He looked them up and down, set the bottle on the table and glanced at the targets. "You put them too close together," Whumper griped, but didn't follow it up with an order. He took a pistol and handed it to Whumpee. "You're starting with this one. Don't waste the ammo, Whumpee."

Whumpee looked it over briefly.

I have a gun.

They donned the glasses and earplugs.

I have a gun in my hands.

They took a handful of bullets and pressed them into the magazine.

I could do it.

They popped the magazine in with a *click.*

I could kill him.

They gripped it and took aim at one of the targets.

I could kill him right now.

They glanced over at Whumper. He had dropped something, and was bent over attempting to pick it up.

He wouldn't even know what hit him.

Whumpee aligned the sights.

I could end all of it.

They put steady pressure on the trigger.

I would never have to deal with him again if I just...

*BANG!*

A wave of nausea hit Whumpee. The world began to spin and twist, swimming in their vision. The gun dropped out of their hands at some point, registering as a dull echoed thud.

Whumper whacked them up alongside the head, and that's what finally sent them to the ground. "Do I have to tell you not to drop the fucking guns?! My god, you're useless. Get up."

Whumpee could barely see straight, let alone move fast enough for Whumper's liking. He hoisted them up roughly and shoved them towards the folding chair. "Drink some water, and don't even think of passing out on me."

Whumpee cursed themself.

One of these days... I'm gonna do it for real.

[murdocs-sweetheart]

Mr. Giggles McGee and the gun pointed at him (by one very agitated Jack Dalton)

[museflocked]

↬ @hellsredeemed asked: ↫

↬ demons don't make promises.

( Oryth to Joe) ↫

Howl's Moving Castle Prompts

⤨▦⤪

"Demons make plenty of promises," Bear growled quietly as he held his firearm steady. "They just don't keep any of them."

He didn't know how he had ended up in this situation. Separated from his team, lost and bewildered, and now facing off against something he'd never seen before. He didn't know what to do about it, and he'd never have believed in monsters of this nature if he wasn't looking dead at one.

"Is that what you are?" He took a step back, but he kept his eyes on Oryth. "A demon?"

[minglz]

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ OPEN

ㅤㅤ𝓗e shoots (at) your muse.

[crocdocz]

Yu’s aim is dogshit

[xdemonicheartx]

Firearms cw

Just wanted to practice drawing my sona's face because I've been wildly inconsistent ...

But I ended up getting carried away with this sketch page and made something I actually like so wahoo art posting

[strawberista]

⚅— @phoenixfiiire asked: —⚅ ⚅— "So, I... I am afraid I do have some bad news for you." Joshua's voice was gentle but with a touch of something-- tiredness, maybe? It was clear that whatever speech he was about to give, it wasn't going to be the first time he had done it.

"You're- do you want a snack?" A candy bar is offered to the man. "You're dead. You did die. How... how do you feel?" —⚅

— ★ ⚄ ★ —

Hanekoma's jaw dropped, he look of complete shock on his face, "I'm dead? What the hell happened!?"

Beaten to a pulp.

But that's not what had killed him, no. It was something that Hanekoma was intimately familiar with at that point. He was a man that had lived almost his whole life in Shibuya, and in the years of his early adulthood he'd been on the streets getting in a new fight just about every day. Illegal gambling in shady parts of town was sure to wind you up in some tricky situations, and this particular group had been attempting to wring him dry for years at this point. This fight was nothing new to Hanekoma, who fought like a wild animal seeking its survival. Teeth and nails and cheap shots were all fair game when he was fighting. Using his head and kicking and swinging his body when he was grabbed. Even using the elements around him, crushing his attackers into the brick walls of the alleyway and slamming heads in dumpsters. He fought only with the intention of getting away, but he never pulled punches.

There had been a lull in this kind of activity for a while. The current Producer of Shibuya, Haruto Abe, had been a prime source of a lot of Hanekoma's woes without him even knowing it, whispering to his debt collectors and guiding them anonymously to Hanekoma's locations. It was a great deal of wonder, then, why Haruto had been the one to find and take Hanekoma under his wing just as he was about to die the first time. It was an incident that was hard to ignore by any angel watching the city in any capacity. Haruto had taken Hanekoma in and started getting him back on his feet. Years of lessons of various kinds, for his speech and his handwriting and his behavior. Years of teaching him to be a functioning member of society again. And all that while Haruto had been careful to keep those same debt collectors off of Hanekoma's back, now misleading and confounding them any time they tried to ambush him. At this point, Hanekoma was well on his way to starting his own business.

And yet, this day, this very day, Haruto had been nowhere to be found when those debt collectors came to ambush him. He was sitting peacefully in his cafe, ignoring the entire situation as Hanekoma wove his way through familiar alleyways and right into the hands of his enemies. All of the lessons and therapy had not taken the fight out of Hanekoma. Even after all that time, he still kicked right back into gear when three men jumped on him at once. Blood spray and bones cracked, Hanekoma had fought those men with the same ferocity as he always had. He had taken all three of those initial attackers down before the end finally came, something he could have never been prepared for.

A gun, illegal and rare, Hanekoma had never seen it coming. The fourth of his enemies rushed up behind him as he tried to catch his breath and had grabbed his arm, twisting it behind his back. On any normal day, that wouldn't be a problem. Hanekoma had never been against breaking his own bones to get out of a situation. But he didn't anticipate the cold barrel shoved into the back of his head, or the sudden shot that rang out. It was something that this particular gang member would be punished for later, but at this point the bad blood against Hanekoma was personal enough that it was worth it.

Hanekoma had died instantly, completely unaware of what had even happened, still sitting rigid in his fight or flight. Where had Haruto been when a gun was drawn on him in that alley?

"I-- no-- I was doing fine," Hanekoma protested, holding up his hands as if to seek out the rot of death. "I'm fine, see?"

[millies-theme]

been playing a lot of rimworld and on one playthrough all of my pawns just. decided to be a polycule and then divorced the one man in the polycule so now it’s just an unhinged trio of women who commit crimes