seen from Türkiye
seen from United States
seen from China
seen from Türkiye
seen from Sweden
seen from China
seen from China
seen from Singapore
seen from China
seen from Canada
seen from Australia
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from China
seen from United States
seen from Brazil
seen from United States
seen from Croatia
seen from Finland
seen from United States
when a powerful figure is reduced to kneeling. when the lord is forced to bow. when the exile stumbles into an unwelcoming bar. when the “beast” is chained by their horns. when a god is dragged behind their enemy’s chariot, a captive and trophy. when the loyal “guard dog” character is muzzled and the silver-tongued thief falls silent in horror.
that’s the shit
it’s about the contrapasso. the reversal of roles and the sudden, plunging terror of being unable to hide.
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gunpowder tim is so gender he can stand there in 480p going 'oooooooooooooohhhhhhh' into a mic and i'll still sit there yeah, hand over the gender boy
screenshot from here https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rph_v7My-Z0&list=WL&index=2&ab_channel=tsvetya
watching pixels again. they don't make films like this any more
My hot chocolate slightly bitter
me and em:
everyone else in this discord: 👁👄👁
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Five Types of Living Weapon Whumpees
The guard dog -> loyalty has been ingrained into their bones, following their handler around like their shadow. No one dares stand against the organization because of the legendary dread surrounding this living weapon. They hardly say a word but every movement is calculated, eyes always darting, always watching. (“You always were their lapdog.”)
The loose cannon -> dangerous for both sides. Always talking back and never predictable, their value is dependent on their skill. If it wasn’t for that, they’d be dead a long time ago. Their loyalty is earned, not bought. No one wants to be on their bad side, walking on tip toe whenever they show up. And they enjoy it. (“What’s everyone looking at? Aren’t you happy to see me? I even brought my rifle!”)
The broken down -> most common type of whumpee I’ve seen. They’ve been overpowered and forced into the commission. They hate their handler more than anything else but see no way out. When they’re told to shoot, they don’t even blink. It’s always “yes, sir” this and “yes, sir” that. If they feel any sympathy, they don’t show it. They’ll do anything to avoid punishment and flinch at quick movements. Nothing they face on the field is worse than the cards they’ve been dealt. (“I understand, sir/ ma’am. I-I’m sorry.”)
The dissenter -> Usually recruited into the organization or joined as a last ditch option. Not necessarily against using their abilities or skill, they just hate being told what to do. As time goes on and their disobedience is punished over and over again, they grow reluctant. Bitter. With every order, they slip in a snarky comment. Roll their eyes. Anything to assert their own identity. Or what’s left of it. (“ah ah ah, you didn’t think i’d notice? The middle finger was a bit much. I’m afraid it will have to go.”)
The ghost in the machine -> known only by their codename by outsiders and by their number in the organization, they’ve been stripped of all humanity. They live, breathe, and think by their handlers orders. They’ve been told over and over again that they are just a weapon. And a weapon does what it’s told. Their anonymity is attached to the organization in the same way a gun is simply an extension of their arm. But at night they still stare up at the ceiling with a blank stare— did they ever a life before this? They can’t remember. (“It’s not like it’s a person. It doesn’t have feelings like that.”)
“Deep breath. This is going to hurt.”
“Don’t you have anything for me to bite on?”
A pause. “…I thought that…” another awkward silence. “Because of Whumper…”
Whumpee waved their hand in annoyance. “Yeah yeah, yeah, because that motherfucker used to leave me gagged for days you think I wouldn’t want anything in my mouth.” Whumpee grinned but their eyes were dead. “I don’t.”
“So…”
“I also don’t want you to hear me scream. Give me your belt.”
“Mine?”
“Well I don’t want to leave bite marks in mine.”
weak in the knees for situations where a stoic whumpee allows someone to help them. they don't say a word of acceptance but they don't protest either. Too injured to say no and too tired to deny they need it. Just grudgingly letting a gentle hand guide them to a bed or to wrap a wound. Then a quiet, "thank you." in between sharp breathing as they try not to break down in front of someone else. Love love love shielded vulnerability
