#▲. headcanons. ┇ secrets are safe when one of them is dead.

[odiumdemon]

updated tags!

▲. out of character. ┇ birb of hermes.

▲. to be deleted. ┇ consumed.

▲. visage. ┇ harbinger of gluttonous yet glorious deaths.

▲. in character. ┇ a trick up his sleeve.

▲. character study. ┇ even the dead hunger; the flesh rotting away to nothingness.

▲. about. ┇ monster or man? that is up for you to decide.

▲. aesthetic. ┇ killer king; staining the golden gates crimson with the blood of his prey.

▲. ism. ┇ i go off like a loaded gun.

▲. inspiration. ┇ the devil sends his best!

▲. headcanons. ┇ secrets are safe when one of them is dead.

▲. musing. ┇ a business of pain and pleasure.

▲. self promotion. ┇ business card.

▲. promotions. ┇ new prey.

▲. multiverse. ┇ the night is still so young.

[mintyys-blog]

Hello!! I wanted to request a mark variants x pregnant!reader? Like how they would take care of her while she's pregnant; the cravings, the pain, and childbirth?

Thank you!! 🤩

HEADCANON | variants with pregnant s/o

INVINCIBLE MASTERLIST | WARNINGS: pregnancy

MAIN MARK

Attentive and anxious. He reads every parenting book he can find—even the cheesy ones.

Brings you random snacks at all hours. “Are you craving strawberries dipped in ketchup again? No judgment, I got it.”

He talks to your bump every night: “Hey little guy. It’s your dad. Your mom’s kind of a superhero.”

He panics over every tiny thing—“You okay? Was that a kick or did the baby punch you?”—but it’s sweet.

During labor, he holds your hand and tries not to cry. “You’re doing amazing, I’m right here.”

Afterward, he can’t stop staring at the baby like they’re the greatest thing in the universe.

SINISTER MARK

Possessive and fiercely protective. The moment he senses you’re pregnant, he’s ten times more territorial.

Won’t let you lift anything. Glares at anyone who so much as bumps into you on the street. “You’re carrying my legacy. I won’t let this world touch you.”

Surprisingly gentle during cravings—he hand-feeds you food if he has to, but makes sarcastic comments while doing it.

During labor, he’s composed and almost eerily calm. But if anyone delays or causes you pain, he snaps.

When the baby’s born, he looks down and mutters, “They’ll never need for anything. I’ll burn the stars before I let them suffer.”

MOHAWK MARK

Cocky and flirty, but gets way too soft once you’re showing.

“Damn, baby. You’re glowing. Literally—like, is that a pregnancy glow or are you powering up?”

Carries you around for no reason. “What if your ankles get swollen?” He just wants to be near you.

Makes jokes about the baby being a little badass. “Bet they’re already throwing punches in there.”

Tries to act cool during labor but starts pacing and biting his nails the moment you start screaming.

Cries a little when the baby comes out. Denies it immediately. “Nah, that wasn’t a tear. Just… sweat. From the joy.”

PRISONER MARK

Quiet but devoted. He doesn’t say much, but his actions speak volumes.

Builds a safe, comfortable room for you—soundproof, temperature-controlled, everything you could need.

Watches over you like a silent shadow. Always nearby. Always alert.

Rubs your back when the pain flares up. Kisses your forehead when you feel sick.

You catch him talking to the bump at night when he thinks you’re asleep. “I never had a home. But you will.”

During childbirth, he holds you so gently, it’s like he’s afraid you’ll break. Whispers to calm you. He never leaves your side.

SHIESTY MARK

Loud, protective, and weirdly sweet in his own gangster way.

“You hungry? Lemme get my queen a buffet real quick. Anything you want, I’m flyin’ to get it.”

Buys ridiculous things for the baby: diamond-studded bibs, matching grills. He’s so excited.

Talks to your belly like it’s already got street smarts. “Ayo lil’ one, you gon’ be raised in style, no cap.”

During labor, he turns serious. “Breathe, mama. I’m right here. Anybody mess this up, they dead.”

When the baby’s born, he wraps them in designer blankets and cries over them in private. “I ain’t never had nothin’ this perfect before.”

VILTRUMITE MARK

Calculating, loyal, and stubborn. He’s intense, but that makes him extra reliable.

Monitors your health nonstop. “You’re stronger than most humans, but I’m not taking chances.”

Carries you everywhere—flying to other countries if you have a craving he can’t replicate.

Trains in secret to control himself better, knowing he’ll be a father soon.

During childbirth, he stays calm, but his eyes never leave you. His hand grips yours like you’re the center of his universe.

When the baby’s born, he holds them like they’re fragile glass. “They’ll inherit everything I have. But only the good parts.”

FULL MASK MARK

Brutal to others, gentle to you. Becomes absolutely feral about your safety.

Kills threats in advance—“No risk, no harm.” It’s his way of showing love.

When you’re in pain, he cradles you close, his armored hands trembling. “You’re the only thing I can’t afford to lose.”

Brings you food without you asking, adjusts the environment to your temperature, and fights through his own rage if you cry.

During labor, he refuses to leave your side. If doctors hesitate, he growls, “Do it. Now.” Holds the baby with trembling hands. “You’re part of her. I’ll protect you the same way.”

MASKLESS MARK

Cold on the outside, deeply obsessed with you beneath the surface.

Doesn’t speak much—but you always find food, water, pillows placed near you, perfectly timed.

He strokes your belly silently at night, resting his head against it, listening for movement.

He watches your cravings like a puzzle. Memorizes them, gets annoyed when he can’t predict them.

During labor, he doesn’t panic—but the moment he hears you scream, something snaps. He holds you after, blood on his hands, baby in his arms. Doesn’t speak. But the way he looks at both of you? It’s devotion.

OMNI MARK

Cold, precise, and detached on the outside—but something about you carrying his child softens the frost beneath the surface.

“You’re carrying a Viltrumite heir. I will ensure nothing harms you. Not even yourself.”

Monitors your vitals constantly. Builds machines to regulate your stress levels and nutrition intake. “Cravings are irrelevant—but if they keep you calm, I’ll get them.”

He doesn’t coddle. Instead, he prepares you. “Labor will be excruciating. You’ll survive it. You’re strong enough. Or you wouldn’t be worthy of bearing my child.”

When the pain hits hard, he stays composed but never leaves you. His gloved hand holds yours tightly. He’s not comfort—he’s anchor.

After the birth, he’s silent for a long time, staring down at the child. “They will outlive gods. I will teach them to never bow to anything. Not even love.”

But when he watches you sleep, baby in arms… he kneels beside you. No words. Just quiet reverence.

NO GOGGLES MARK

Sadistic and cocky, full of ego—but the moment you’re pregnant, he’s obsessed in a way he can’t explain.

“My kid, huh? Must be the luckiest damn fetus on the planet.”

He brags about it constantly. “You’re carrying perfection, babe. Hope you’re ready to give birth to a god.”

Still a killer—but he gets weirdly soft when you wince from pain. Scoops you up with no warning and flies you to lie down, even if you didn’t ask.

“You’re not allowed to hurt. Not unless I’m causing it. And I don’t do that when you’re carrying my kid.”

Brings you any food, anywhere. One time you craved something from a war-torn planet—he conquered the zone just to grab you some local sweets.

During childbirth, he’s shaken for the first time. Tries to act cool. “You got this, babe. It’s just a baby. You’ve handled me, remember?”

The second he sees the child, his grin disappears. For once, he’s silent. He picks them up with bloodied hands and whispers, “Mine.”

You’re exhausted, dazed, but you swear you hear him add: “I’m not gonna lose this one…”

EMPEROR/ TARGET MARK

Regal, possessive, and terrifyingly composed—he rules empires, but you are the center of his universe the moment you’re carrying his child.

“You carry the next ruler of galaxies. You will be treated accordingly.” He clears out planets to build you the perfect palace, enlists elite medics, and annihilates any stressor in your path.

Cravings? He doesn’t question them. “You desire the fruit of Xaltar-IV? It shall be harvested by dusk.” He’ll bend time if he has to.

He’s affectionate, but in a very commanding way. He orders you to rest. “You will not endanger yourself by being stubborn.”

When you cry from pain or discomfort, his entire army tenses—but he’s the only one who approaches. He kneels, placing a gloved hand on your belly. “Endure. Our child will be worthy of your strength.”

During childbirth, he terrifies the medical staff into precision. One wrong move and they’re executed. His eyes never leave you.

When the baby cries for the first time, he doesn’t blink. He walks over, takes the child into his arms with a frightening tenderness, and says: “My blood. My heir. The future bends for you.”

Then he turns to you, kisses your temple, and quietly murmurs, “You’ve given me something even the stars couldn’t: purpose.”

[pukefactory]

•☽────✧˖°˖ SUNSET EXIT ˖°˖✧────☾•

★ Summary: A Compilation Of Headcanons Featuring Salesperson ENA X Reader Where You Fall Into The Lost Village Together

★ Character(s): Salesperson ENA (ENA: Dream BBQ)

★ Genre: Headcanons, SFW

★ Warning(s): None - Completely Safe!

★ Image Credits: @JoelG

☆ You fall first. Into the river, into the current, into something deeper than water—like slipping into the pocket of someone else’s pants. ENA follows not by accident but by impulse. “I’ve never been one for designated exits anyway,” she chirps, clapping you on the back just before you slam into dirt covered silence. The Lost Village doesn’t echo. But ENA hums, and the walls curve to listen.

☆ ENA starts interviewing the green translucent figures like they’re clients at a conference. “Where are your assets currently invested? How lost are you, precisely?” she asks with a clipboard that definitely wasn’t there five minutes ago. The figures don’t respond. Her Meanie side throws the clipboard into the sky and shouts, “DO THEY EVEN SPEAK OR JUST FREAK?!” You gently remind her not all ghosts are extroverts.

☆ She hates the homes. Not because they vanish when she’s wrong, but because they lie. “They disappear the second you trust them. That’s dishonest architecture,” she mutters, adjusting her cap like a stockbroker with blood on her balance sheet. You hold her claw-hand tighter. “Then let’s lie back.” You two sit on the tile, laughing at your own joke while everything else crumbles politely.

☆ Every night in the Lost Village is dreamless. You sleep like nothing’s watching. ENA doesn’t sleep—she paces the eight-by-four grid like a child learning the rules of a terrible board game. When you wake, she’s always beside you, eyes twitching in opposite rhythms. “If I die in here, tell the receptionist it was an inefficient demise,” she whispers. You promise. You don’t think she’s joking.

☆ She finds a flower tile with your name on it. It wasn’t there yesterday. It’s not there now, either. But she saw it. “Your name is growing on things,” she tells you, deadpan. “We should brand that.” Her Salesperson side tries to sell it to the ghost figures. Her Meanie side tries to fight the flower. Neither succeeds. But later, when she trips, she curses your name like it’s sacred.

☆ Sometimes, she thinks the green figures are leading you both somewhere better. Sometimes, Meanie insists they’re leading you into a trap. They argue in surround sound while you quietly follow a green figure into a dead-end. The wall is soft. “I KNEW IT! THE WALLS ARE FLESH!” ENA shrieks, and then apologizes, cradling your head like she just called you a slur in a language only she knows.

☆ One door leads to a secret room. ENA won’t go in. She stands outside, fingers twitching. “I don’t… like the smell of this resolution.” You ask what she smells. “Recognition. Like I’ve been here before… but I was the furniture.” You go in anyway. There’s nothing inside but a cracked mirror. You see yourself holding her. She sees nothing. “You’re lucky,” she says. “Your ghost still shows up in reflections.”

☆ ENA begins naming the translucent villagers. “That one’s Marvin. He works in metaphors. This one’s Patricia, she’s emotionally unavailable and full of excellent advice. That guy? Definitely my boss from the eternal quarter.” You joke that you’re jealous. She pouts. “Don’t be. None of them write me poetry.” Later that night, she slips a folded note into your pocket. It smells like dirt and licorice. You don’t open it. Not yet.

☆ The moment ENA starts to glitch—arms stuttering into her green-cracked form—she grips your shirt like a vice. “Don’t leave me in here again,” she begs in both voices, harmonised, like a hymn and a siren. You press your forehead to hers and whisper, “Then don’t disappear on me.” Neither of you disappears. But something behind you sighs, disappointed.

☆ In the center of the Lost Village, where the houses tessellate endlessly, ENA grabs your hand and spins you. “Let’s become our own ghost story!” she declares, kicking up tiles and dust and giggles. You spin with her, lost in the geometry of a dream that forgot to end. Around you, doors fade. Flowers grow. Someone laughs—you don’t know if it’s you or her or both of you becoming something else. Something found.

[lynnie-s3all]

If your requests are still open, could I request some Survivor!reader x John Doe headcanons(angst).

Reader used to know John before he became heavily corrupted. Now reader just feels disgusted about what happend to John.

i was bawling my eyes out over one song by conan gray, i had to make a small drabble out of this shit.

Ofc the one i wrote might be a lil bit of you having a crush on John, probably.

The cut that always bleeds.

I made the doodle... ITS UGLY OKAY-

You we're one of his friend, the closest one of all. Even though had a crush on him, but you never confessed it, you just kept it a secret. You've been through his days talking, hanging out, and even joining in to celebrate his wedding with his new wife.

It was fun while it lasted. But the sudden feeling that you had to do something about that feeling had left you and you weren't sure what to do. You still talked and hung around, but now when he'd look over and smile at you your heart would race. You wanted more, and not just from him, but also for him to return some of the feelings. You knew that you couldn't tell him how you felt, but it might be the best to leave that feeling alone.

Now, the feeling of it is just gone. You were stuck inside a world, with several survivors trying to defend themselves from the killer. You don't know who it was, then it started to scratch you. It hurts. You can feel your blood flowing into your veins. The pain is too much for you, and yet you try to keep going. You ran away from that certain killer, unable to look who it was, because your vision was blurry. Thankfully, there was a medkit. You got it, and bandaged up your arm. It felt numb after you put them on, but it wasn't bleeding anymore.

You went up to Elliot, who was dead worried about the others, but he was relieved to found you and you stayed by his side. You glanced at the killer, realizing that it was not what you think it is. It's your friend, John Doe. But why was he doing this? Why did he have to kill so many people? Your thoughts are running wild, and it takes everything inside of you to just keep breathing. You don't want to die by the hands of his.

Elliot was looking at you and saw your state. He grabbed your hand and led you somewhere safe, but you stayed there. Just looking at your only friend who's trying to murder your other friends. "Why?" You ask with tears streaming down your face.

You felt disgusted. You don't think he even remembers you anymore, the fact that he hit you with his claws and made you bleed. He looks at you with blank eyes and said nothing. You thought he was going to kill you, but he didn't. He knew that inside of his mind, you looked similar to someone he knows. Then, he turned away from you to kill the others.

You were devastated. You knew he wouldn't remember you, and you thought maybe, maybe if you were there to help him, but now he's corrupted. You felt helpless. It was like your friend was trying to kill himself and the only person who could stop him was gone. You wanted to help him, but you had no idea what you could do. You wanted to help him, but he wouldn't even allow you to approach him.

Elliot was still beside you, and you kneel down on the patch of grass, just hugging him out for some comfort. He wrapped his arms around you and you both just sat there holding each other. He doesn't say anything else. It was enough for you. Both of you waited until the timer runs out.

Legit the whole round Elliot was comforting you.

[zenkindoflove]

Some Lady of Autumn focused headcanons I've had cooking up for a while. I thought about making a fic around this concept but I'm not sure that that will ever come to fruition.

So enjoy this headcanony drabble. It is pretty angsty.

CW: domestic violence, child abuse, suicidal thoughts

Lady of Autumn loves all of her children.

With each one she would cradle them at night, warm, inside her belly, knowing that this would be the only time they wouldn't know pain.

She loves their red hair, so much like hers and her sisters. She loves the way their toddler smiles shine, innocent and wholesome. She loves how they cling to her. How they call her Mama and look to her for her attention, always seeking her out.

She loves all of them. Even the ones that Beron twists the most.

She tries her best to temper it. To be the shield between the High Lord and his heirs. She knows if she tries to run with them, Beron will hunt them down forever. And when they are found, he would make sure she would never be with them again and they would be all alone. With him. So she stays and endures because she is the only thing that they have that is soft in their cruel worlds.

And they are all that she has.

Her world in The Forest House gets smaller and smaller as the centuries past. Her family gone. Her friends kept away. Only servants that call her Lady. A husband that calls her Wife. Children, grown males with hardened gazes, who call her Mother.

Her heart is forced to grows with each son that is born. It's a painful expansion but one she knows is needed to make room for each of them. For the small time that they are only hers, before Beron snatches them away to make them into the males he needs, she must give them her love. She prays for only boys, not knowing what life like this would be for her daughter. The Mother is kind even in this torture for that. And when her belly swells with the last one, the one she knows is not his, it's the first and only time she truly considers ending it all. What stops her is Eris walking into her room that night, like he understood what she considered doing. And as he stands there, taking care of her once again, she is reminded of him as a boy, toothless and pink cheeked, waiting for her to tell him another bed time story to stave off sleep.

She knows that to leave this world is to leave them alone. And she can't do that to them. She must endure, because to endure is to assure one more day that she is there to wipe the blood and tears from their eyes. To stay is to find moments where she can place a hand on Beron's arm, pulling his attention away from one of them, even if sometimes it means he pays too much attention to her later.

She loves all of her children because in that respect, a mother has no choice. She can choose not to love Beron. She can reject her mate, never telling him the secret that she harbors to protect him and her sons. She can live in isolation. But she cannot turn off her heart to them. They are apart of her, extensions of herself that she loves more than herself. And she will keep doing what she must. Not to protect them because at that she has failed miserably. Who can truly stand against power itself? But to do what she can to give them even the small moments of comfort or reprieve. She would do it all again, over and over, if it means that she can save that for them.

The worst and best day of her life was the one when Lucien got away. Lucien, her little sunshine. Even in the darkest hours of their family, Lucien never let it dim his light. When she was finally let out of her rooms and she had heard the news - that Lucien's lover was killed, he fled and made it all the way to Spring, Conan and Cael dead - she wept tears of relief and horrific pain. Relief because Lucien was safe. He was out of Beron's clutches and another High Lord had taken him under his wing, protecting him in his sanctuary. But pain for her sons, monsters in their own right, but monsters that she couldn't help but see the little boys they once were, hugging her around the neck as she wiped their tears off their cheeks. When they had to burn them, she clutched her hands to her chest, trying to remember what it was like to feel their little hands there, wanting to preserve that memory of them forever, and not what Beron had made them.

[sweetwolfcupcake]

Wife

Since I have managed to torture you @donaka-screaming, here is something to make up for it.

Secret Garden

Category: Headcanons

Yandere Donaka Mark x Reader

Warning: Sexual themes and description, manipulation, implied stalking and generally toxic and controlling behaviour

Imagine being Donaka Mark's wife...

(Credit to the original owner of the GIF)

Unedited

You are his best-kept secret. Only a handful of people know of your existence. Handful means only his closest circle, people you can count with your fingers.

So if, by some unfortunate turn of events, the news of him taking a wife gets out, he knows exactly whose throat to go for.

Your love story is the classic--middle-class family in distress and debt, and a big, bad (anti)hero sweeps in to save the day. But there are no free lunches in the world.

So he proposed an offer you could not refuse. A ring on your finger.

Although he was gentlemanly and respectful in his proposal and approach, did you have a choice? No. Did you know that the whole thing was orchestrated by him? Definitely no(spoiler! You still don't).

But you are not a complete fool. You knew that he assessed the situation like the businessman that he is and took the opportunity to keep his bed permanently warm.

But what choice did you have? In that situation, it was your best bet. You saw how those men looked at you; you knew they already had you stripped and pinned underneath them in their minds. You were scared, you never had been so scared, so helpless. When you saw the opportunity, you clung to it like your life depended on it (it did).

Coming back to the present, one year later, life is not so bad. You have got to make the best of it. It could have been much, much worse. 

So what if you are proven dead to the world? At least your family is taken care of; they do not have to worry about a thing other than keeping up the charade of grieving your death.

So what if you rarely get to step out of the house? Your pretty dollhouse of a room has everything you will need.

So what if you rarely get to connect to your family, that too under his watch? At least they are safe, and you get to hear their voice and get to know what is going on in their lives.

So what if you can never travel without the bulletproof, tinted cars with at least two bodyguards dressed in civil clothes trailing along with you like they are friends? All you have to do is run your fingers through something, and it is yours. At times, it is only mild fascination; you are not even thinking of buying it. But the item is delivered to the bedroom anyway.

So what if random outing and self-pampering days are just nostalgia now? You have a spa day with the maids twice a month, and they take care of the grooming. 

You do look like a precious thing, perfectly glowing from head to toe. Everything done, nails painted perfectly, the cabinet filled with luxurious bath and beauty items that make sure that you feel like a nymph and smell like sweet sin. 

But you are not plastic. You know it when you see his eyes gleaming the way they did when he saw you naked for the first time. His fingertips glide along, drawing patterns, remembering every mole, every bump, and every corner, running his thumbs over what the beauty magazines will call ‘imperfections’, like he cherishes them. They make you, you.

So what if he is the centre of your world? You feel like you are his sun and moon, his sweetest secret and the cause of his fears. The reason why his eyes burn like wildfire when his finger glides over your folds, when he plays you like his favourite instrument, making you, sing with your parted, drool-covered lips. When he has you underneath him, spread out like the sweet fruit of his labour. 

The heat and passion are not one-sided, at least not anymore. His tongue has mapped your plush thighs and what lies between, invaded and tasted—pushed you closest to heaven you will ever be. And your mouth has tasted his length like sweet surrender---you worship him on your knees, the tip hitting the back of your throat, and you take the sweet ache gladly. It's worth it, especially when you see his darkened gaze, the breathless explosion as his compusure breaks, bit by bit until his hands are fisting your hair and pulling with need.

When his teeth leave their marks all over your skin with a playful lightness, unless he is jealous or angry. Someone looked at you for too long? You are in for a night of tongue and teeth clashing, teeth on your thigh and scratches on his back, rings around your delicate wrists, and sticky, wet sheets. Stickiness between your legs, over your lips, stomach, and breasts. Your body is his personal canvas.

The ache, the bliss, the wonder, the yearning--it is all for him.

And when he clicks the blue diamond choker around your neck where purples and red bloom while he wishes you a happy marriage anniversary with his lips delicately tracing yours, you know that his love, his heart, and his soul are yours to keep. 

And you know that you want to see his wrinkles deepen with yours over the years. Being Donaka Mark’s wife comes with a price, but you are willing to pay it as long as he is yours just as he claims you as his.

****

[yanderes-galore]

could I request platonic yandere stu macher headcanons with a younger sibling? -🎂

I can do some small HCs, sure!

Yandere! Platonic! Stu Macher with Little Sibling! Darling

Pairing: Platonic

Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Obsession, Overprotective/Possessive behavior, Sadism, Manipulation, Violence, Blood, Murder mentioned, Stalking, Jealousy, Forced companionship.

This is actually a scary idea.

Think about it, you always saw Stu as your playful and joking brother.

You never expected him or his friend, Billy, to be sadistic killers.

To think your brother committed such crimes behind your back is a disturbing thoughts...

Which is why Stu doesn't plan on letting you know the truth.

I imagine Stu would have some overly obsessive and protective qualities towards his sibling.

To the point he may even get overly jealous with you around other people besides him.

Maybe someone gets on your nerves at school or work?

Stu somehow manages to know about it, even if you didn't tell him.

Next thing you know, they're dead in quite the gruesome way.

That or maybe you have your first boyfriend/girlfriend?

Stu shows distaste towards them, soon even doing away with them when he's had enough.

He takes his time to taunt them about you, claiming how no one can take his sibling away from him.

It's nothing romantic, don't read it wrong, Stu just feels you two have an unbreakable bond together.

He's overly obsessive about you as your older brother.

He definitely comforts you when people close to you start dying.

You hug him, rambling about how you're afraid you'll lose him too.

Stu responds by hugging back... whispering that he won't let that happen...

All with a grin on his face that you can't see.

He's possessive of his little sibling.

A lot of the blood he spills is for you.

Stu never plans on telling you that he and Billy are the Ghostface killers.

He does it in secret, all as a way to keep you to himself.

The only way you'd know is if you caught him.

Perhaps you walk in on something you aren't supposed to... Stu hunched over someone who "wronged" you in some way with a bloody knife in their gut.

He's covered in blood... crazed eyes flicking to you and your horrified expression from behind his mask.

He grins under the mask as you run off and he gives chase.

He won't hurt you... he's your beloved brother, isn't he?

So when he corners you, his touch is gentle.

Blood smears on your skin and fear eats at you as you stare at the killer in front of you.

Your heart nearly stops when he removed the mask... revealing your brother.

His smile never leaves his face as he pulls you in for a hug.

He claims he's been doing this all for you.

He also warns that good siblings will stay quiet about what they saw.

As blood seeps into your clothes... you nod aggressively.

You'll stay quiet about this... all for your brother...

This makes Stu smile softly.

Everything he does is to keep you safe and happy beside him, after all.

[bedheaded-league]

I find it so hard to believe that Holmes would really let Watson believe he was dead for 3 years because even though he often doesn’t understand how his actions affect others emotionally, he’s definitely smart/empathetic enough to understand how much that would hurt Watson. And I also think he trusts Watson too much to believe that he couldn’t keep the secret of Holmes being alive.

My personal headcanon is that after Reichenbach, Holmes found a way to let Watson know that he was still alive, that he wouldn’t be back for some time, and that Watson needed to keep up the lie that Holmes was dead in order to keep them both safe. Which is honestly just as deliciously angsty to me as the idea that Watson actually thought he was dead for 3 years.

Imagine 3 years of Watson having to grieve a man he knew was still alive. His loved ones comforting him and him not being able to tell them that the reason he suffering so much wasn’t because he knew Holmes was dead, but because he spent every day worrying about his safety. Knowing that the love of his life is out there facing danger without him there to protect him, and meanwhile all he can do is wait breathlessly until the next time Holmes can manage to send him a message to let him know he’s okay. Knowing that at any moment, Holmes might be dying somewhere, and he might never know where or when or how.

Maybe he told Mary, because honestly I get the impression that she’s incredibly good at keeping secrets. Maybe it just came out one night while she was holding him after he broke down sobbing in their sitting room. I think she’d be angry at Holmes at first for causing her husband so much pain, but after Watson explains the whole story, she’d understand. The next time he got a coded note from one of the irregulars with an update from Holmes, he immediately runs to tell her. She’s so relieved to see such happiness on his face, even if it secretly breaks her heart. But it’s alright, in the end. She’s always known that Watson’s heart had never truly belonged to her. Their marriage is practical, almost fraternal, and that’s okay. What they have together is enough. She hopes that one day she can meet someone that she’ll love with the same ferocity that Watson loves Holmes, and she knows that if that day comes, her husband will be more than understanding.

And then Mary gets sick. It’s clear that she’s going to die. And all she can think about is how cruel it is that the two people Watson loves most should be taken from him.

“That man of yours had better come back to you soon,” she says in the weak voice of someone in their final days. “If he doesn’t, I swear that my ghost shall haunt him until he drags himself back to London and apologizes to you in person.”

Startled, Watson laughs. Mary smiles. It’s the first laugh she’s heard from him in weeks.

And then Mary dies, and the one person that Watson could have leaned on for support as he grieved is still lost. And now there is no one else who knows that Holmes is alive, or that Watson spends every waking hour waiting for him.

I do think the part about him fainting when Holmes comes back is true, though. Not from shock, but from pure relief.

Anyway I can’t stop thinking about this sooooo I guess I’m gonna have to write a fic about it. Goddamnit.

[fortheloveofkonig]

Hello, hope you're having a good day/night

I was wondering if I could request the 141 x Male reader, they know alot of medical like they use their knowledge of the human body against anyone whom threatens them (or people the care about). They aren't a medic are doctor parday but have extensive knowledge of the field that helps the team. Seem cold uncaring and ruthless but if anyone of them is injured its like a total switch of 'mom bear mode' checking them over the gentle hands and worry.

(Kinda of trope of don't mess with the doctor lol)

Summary: TF 141 reacts to Reader who knows a frightening amount of medical knowledge.

Note: I'm going to do this as more of a headcanons type of post ^^ hope this is good enough! ^^ I did 95% of this all in the last 2 hours

Content: Medical speak, Injuries, Slight Torture, Slightly Bad Medical Research, But I Did Research. Roach Talks.

Word Count: 1085

TF 141 x Knowledgeable in Medic Field M! Reader

Ghost

Probably first heard about your knowledge from Soap talking to him about how terrifying it is to see it come into play

Doesn't believe him.

You've always been good at what you do but have never shown any previous knowledge or interest in the medical field so, who can blame him?

There was also no way you could've went to medical school unless you were years above your usual education range

He finally sees it come into play when you two were 'interrogating' someone.

"If you're gonna stab, don't do it right there. Price said he needs to stay alive."

Ghost looks at you, annoyed. "I've stabbed many people and seen many people survive stab wounds of surrounding areas."

"In lower places of the abdomen and with quicker medical care, if you do it there" You point to where he had the knife, pointed at the tied up man's skin. "It could puncture an intestine and we will be fucked. If you want to stab, move the knife below the belly button...about right... right there. Do not remove the knife once it pierces through."

He did as you said, with questions, but still followed your lead.

From then on he watched everything you did, even noticing that you took care of some of the rookies that ended up with minor cuts and damage that wasn't enough to bother the medics with.

Needless to say, he also ended up coming to you for some patch ups, mostly when he wanted to keep his new damage a secret from Price.

He ended up finding it kind of hot during the interrogation thing so he often asked to do things like that with you again.

Soap

Honestly, probably figured out about your medical knowledge after he was being a dumbass with explosives and almost got hurt.

"Go change into some shorts and a tank top." Your voice was in a serious tone as you went to grab a nearby first aid kit.

"Already wanting to see me strip?"

You just glared at him until he actually left and did what was told.

Despite having only a few scratches, you still cleaned them up as best as you could.

You also went on a rant about it too, about how dumb he was

"Do you realize how dumb you are? What if you actually made a big explosion and a piece of shrapnel flew and hit one of the carotid arteries in your neck?

"My What?"

"Do you realize how fast you would've died? Why weren't you wearing any protective gear?"

"I'm pretty bad at forgetting protection."

If looks could kill, he'd be dead.

That was not the last time you had to clean his wounds, he seems to be a magnet for them.

Asks you more about medical stuff, just to get an idea on how much you know.

You know a lot.

Unsure at this point if he hurts himself in new ways just to hear you yell at him for what dumb way he could've gotten himself killed this time.

Gaz

He falls out of helicopters a lot, that's the truth. What's one more time?

This time (and somehow not the last?) he ended up hurting his foot, you were there the whole time when it happened.

When the both of you were both safe in the safety of a van, you got him to put his leg up so you could check it.

"This is stupid" He mutters, "It's nothing more than it has been in the past."

"Shush, let me concentrate" You mutter feeling around his bootless ankle, nodding your head when you hear him hiss at a pointed touch.

"Any pain when you walk on it?"

"Possibly....yes."

"I'm gonna say it's a sprain for now but I think we should take you to the infirmary after we get back to base. Doesn't seem dislocated. Possible fracture though."

It was just a sprain

Was surprised when you spoke fluent...doctor to the doctor.

Honestly felt like a little kid in the doctor's office, watching his parent's converse with the Doctor telling them what was wrong.

Wouldn't have it any other way.

Price

Always knew, almost nothing gets by him unnoticed

Was probably one of the reasons he wanted you on the task force.

He knows how soap and gaz the boys are

Has you teaching rookies how to probably put a tourniquet on.

"What the fuck are you doing? That's not how I taught you."

The rookie you were speaking to just looked down at the dummy that they were working on and the tourniquet, "It looks-"

"Terrible! He's still bleeding out! Retry it."

Definitely has to sit in on these sessions, some rookies have complained to him that you take it too far.

You always just use the excuse that if those were real people and not training dummies, they'd be at fault for letting them die.

He agrees with you.

The rookie looks over at Price.

"Get to it. He told you to retry it. The man is bleeding out."

Mostly just sits in because it's less complaints now that he is showing he agrees with you in front of everyone.

Roach

This fucker needs a friend that has medical knowledge

Much like Soap, it seems like he is a wound magnet

Was probably the first of the 141 that you had to go full protective, medical knowledge out and work on him.

Man's like a tank too, no matter what the day brings to him it seems he's just able to walk it off

You don't let him

"You're limping, sit down."

He just waves it off, "'m good."

"Like hell you are." You walk up to him and grab his wrist, dragging him to a nearby chair and pushing him onto it. "Stay or I'll have Ghost lay on you."

Does not stay.

You cannot get Ghost to lay on him.

You just end up pelting pillows at him until he joins into a pillow fight, and you both end up getting exhausted.

"I'll rest right here."

"Good."

Stubborn but still okay with medical help

Often comes to you with oddly specific questions.

"Hypothetically, if a car blew up in the near vicinity of where I was at, what is the possible health issues that could arise?"

"Well, burn marks obviously, depending on the distance it could be any degree. If it was enough to knock you over, then a possible concussion. Depending if you hit the ground and hard enough, possible broken or fractured bones. Not to even mention the possible pieces of metal and glass flying, and just blast trauma in general. Could cause damage to internal organs with enough force."

"Okay, so...hypothetically, if that happened, I should go to the infirmary?"

"Roach, were you next to a car when it blew up?"

"..."

"Gary???"

You immediately dragged him to the infirmary.

[pomegranate-pen]

Daym sis !! It took you this long to finally do your reqs ? Better late than never ig, ok but fr tho I’m glad you’ve decided to do your reqs for lackadaisy. Cause I was starting to worry !! So I’m glad your ok <33

Anyways, may I req a Rocky Rickaby x rich (closer to a billionaire) Fem! or gn! reader headcannons? Who is kinda polar opposite to Rocky? They’re kind, social, friendly yet calm, reserved, secretive and kinda mysterious because of their status? And it’s not like they got this money from some distant cousin, they had to work hard.

I can also see them spoiling Rocky in little, subtle ways. Like when his violin is broken from his rumrunning, the reader gifts him with a new one, and despite having no note to specify who exactly gave it to him, he can probably guess who it is. Can this also be like a friends to lovers kind of thing? That’d be cool.

Btw u dont have to do this if u dont wanna, or u can do this later, No pressure ! Make sure to take care of yourself, take breaks and have a wonderful day !!!

Rocky Rickaby x rich!gn!Reader headcanons

A/n: what?? Pomegranate pen actually keeping her promise and releasing something at a weekend?? That's impossible!!! Nsjwjwjwjw anyway, hi dear anon!! Tysm for requesting, I will admit, this was very fun to write,especially since I really missed writing for lackadaisy these few days. Thanks for requesting!! I hope you enjoy this!!

-----

Maintaining a bountiful fortune costs your time, soul and trust and in the world where greed overtakes all morals people have, you always need to be careful on whom you let see your weakness, whom you let see your heart.

So safe to say, you weren’t so keen on trusting a place so deeply rumoured as the lackadaisy speakeasy, let alone become a sponsor of it.

Or at least, that was the case before you met the infamous bootlegger of the place, Rocky Rickaby when he suddenly crashed face first with your car in a farmer's field late in the night. You truly thought he was dead at that moment, you were certain you just accidentally killed someone late into the night because the exhaustion of your soul-consuming meetings finally caught up to you. but then as you got out of the car, as you tried to reevaluate the situation and tried to find any sort of farm or shelter that you could ask help from, a sudden groan of pain gets your attention. The grey cat looks at you with the wooziest eyes and the silliest of grins.

One of his hands shakily goes up to point at you. “…has the nightingale sent her prettiest angel to take me away?” His voice was anything but coherent. “…why I must be quite the lucky…poet..”

As relief washes over you to the fact that he’s breathing, at the very least, you notice a nasty wound opening up on his head, a bit of blood ready to gush out of it. then you notice the box of what seems to be bottles of moonshine that spilled with him as he was running away.

 Before you could think of anything else- you hear grunts, gunshots and yells from across the fields, and in that moment of flight or fight, you grab onto the concerningly lanky cat and drive away.

Through all your yells to yourself about literally taking an injured stranger into your car and running away, you also realized why you felt such an urge. Your brain has seemed to connect the dots.whoever this guy was, it was obvious his job was the unsavoury kind, a bootlegger. An occupation you remember having a long time ago, a job you remember being your worst. Perhaps,you’ve felt sympathy for the guy and decided to save him before things got deadly.

Nevertheless, with an abundance of self-deprecation and worry for what will be the outcome of your quick and on-pressure decision, you took him to your house.

Maids and servants alike gasped in horror when they saw their boss caryying a man who looks like he took a deep swim in the mud, blood trickling down his blue suit and staining your own clothing. You quickly ask for their aid and bring him to the fireplace, let the maids patch him up while you get a proper change of clothes and soothing tea as well.

 The servants urge you to go to bed, to be rest assured that when the mysterious lanky cat wakes up they’ll be there to explain everything to him. Yet, you could not let anyone face the burdens of your silly and perhaps bad decision (though some of your employees commented that you could be deemed heroic in a certain lens. “some might even say a tad romantic!” a certain person with a known interest for romance novels added. You dismissed it all.)

You decided to stay the night sitting by the arm-chair next to the couch he laid on, awaiting his clarity while taking a small nap yourself. With a grunt and roll of their eyes,some from amusement and others from worry, they brought a blanket and a pillow and left you be. Next to the lanky, drifted asleep and bad-shape cat that was covered in bandages.

You were expecting at least a decent night’s sleep, since there’d be no way he’d be able to wake up quickly after the day he’s been through.his body would definitely take its time in recovery. What you hadn’t expected, was hearing rustling and shifts in the night, ones you dismissed as servants just shifted around to finish up the last of their tasks, but then hearing creaks, stumbles and the sound of something clunking and shattering on the ground before finally, a creak of a window opening. That is when your eyes immediately opened, and you were met with the cat who was hit with your car tangled up in his own bandages trying to make an escape. You both froze for a moment. Him, being midway out with his escape, his hand still latched on the window, and you, still in your armchair with a frazzled expression.

 “uh…sorry about that….” His eyes trail to the ground.”statue?...” he gives a nervous grin while pointing at the shattered artifact.he then looks up and gives a nervous chuckle. “and the torn drapes.” He then looks around again and winces. “annnnd the shattered vase.”

 After that failed attempt to escape seemed futile, you brought him back in and briefly explained the situation. Rocky told you his side of the story- though, with a few skipped parts and avoiding to get into details about what specifically failed so spectacularly in his task to retrieve some booze.

You talk for a little while, giving some small brief summaries about who you are and what you do, and gleefully answering some silly questions Rocky had about your status. You found yourself enjoying your talk with Rocky, talking to someone who's so incredibly lively. You've been around soulless businessmen for so long that you almost forgot what it’s like to actually speak to a person, to forget about status and money, to not read between the lines of every sentence someone utters. You finally felt like yourself for a moment, like something about Rocky’s eccentricities and unhinged nature has rejuvenated your soul.

 Yet, as Rocky looks back at the clock, he quickly gets up to leave, needing to go back to his work before anyone assumes he’s dead. You tried to convince him to stay a while longer, to sleep for the night so he can heal up. yet he didn’t falter. He quickly put on his coat and hat, looking at you with a charming smile. He tilts his hat, giving a small bow before graciously saying goodbye.

What he hadn’t noticed, was that your eyes trailed his clothing for a moment and noticed something intriguing. Something that could hint at where he truly works at. A small pin, in the shape of a club.

  After that, a few weeks have passed by before you decide to finally visit. Your main reason was to just make sure he’s  okay and that his injury has finally healed up. yet a part of you knew that you were also deeply curious about him, and had felt the urge to know more about his life. Perhaps, he’ll rise the ranks like you did. Or maybe just like old co-workers of yours at the bootlegging game, he’ll get himself into deep trouble.

Nonetheless, you visited the Lackadaisy speakeasy. The place you heard a cacophony of rumours and chats about, yet never visited it yourself. The empty mine with dark lights engulfed in the room left a lot to be desired. something was missing, something crucial that was holding the whole place up together. The very few guests that were there however, were noneother than the wife of Atlas May and…

  “…Wick Sable?!”

Wick chokes on his drink, tail frizzing up in distress as his ears perk up and take a note of the familiarity of that voice. He coughs out the drink he was meaning to enjoy (even if it’s taste wasn’t really in the highest of tiers in terms of ‘enjoyable’), looking at you with a stressed smile. “ah…L/n..what an unexpected surprise.”

Depending on your relationship with Wick, this interaction could go in three ways. If you're good friends, he’d have to suffer a bit with both your teasing and Mitzi's about not telling you about his frequent trips here. If you're mere acquaintances, then though he’d have to suffer only  Mitzi's teasing about him being so secretive about his visits, he’d still be forced to explain his relationship with the place to you over a few drinks. If you’re known to be rivals or enemies, well, not only would he be utterly displeased by the idea of you finding his go-to bar, but what would irk him more would be how Mitzi will try to make you a regular patron around here. often shutting up any sort of jab or retort Wick has to your musings and letting you have control over the conversation.

 As you start getting accustomed to the ambiance of the mine and the piercing galre of the bartender, the man of the hour-well, your hour, at least, comes in. this time with his suit only a tiny bit ruined by dirt and tears, but still not as bad as his awful state when you first found him.

His eyes beam when he sees you, and he immediately starts flirting with lines of poetry and song while he shoves the cart of illicit beverages he found into a small orange cat;s hands and takes the abandoned violin that was on the bar counter to strum up a tune.

Everyone expected him to be flat out rejected, to be ignored and maybe even weird out the new patron. But low and behold, the new patron merely giggled and smiled, matching his playful energy and cheeky jokes.

Safe to say, everyone’s jaw was dropped, while Rocky himself was beaming with joy and pride.

After that, you’ve become a regular at the speakeasy.often visiting the place to mainly speak with Rocky and develop a nice friendship with him. 

Your conversations with him were always insightful, since he was the very clear opposite of you. While you were known in society for your calm demeanour in different matters (often preferring to panic in the inside rather than out.), Rocky was known to be loud and spontaneous. No one knew how on earth you two got along so well, but you somehow did. He was able to bring charm and joy to a conversation, something that you desperately missed from your old life. While you were able to become the reasonable one in the relationship, often convincing Rocky to avoid causing some disastrous chaos that would’ve left the speakeasy in shambles.

Rocky’s clumsiness and acts of chaos has left him with more injuries and broken things than he can count. It’s something that you took note of immediately, and whenever you’d see his clothes, your heart would often ache for him. But you knew Rocky. You knew he wouldn’t accept something you bought with your own money, that though he’d act grateful, he’d somehow make some gleeful excuse to try to avoid taking it. And so, you’ve decided with the help of a few delivery boys to send these gifts to him anonymously instead. 

Now, though in everyone else’s eyes, Rocky doesn’t look changed at all, the keen observer would notice his new and clean clothes, and his violin of fine-quality and craftsmanship.

You’d often rant about your job with Rocky. Especially when you had had enough drinks in your system to forget the poised and strong demeanour you must uphold. Ever since you reached the top of the board, you’ve become a fish out of water. You cannot relate nor have any sort of fun with the people you’re often forced to speak with. Especially since the people in question are known to be incredibly judgemental and gossip-obsessed.Rocky would always hear your whines and try to cheer you up with a song, or maybe a funny story he can tell about another dangerous and concerning adventure he had for the day. Since he noticed how you always smile when he rambles on and on, and though you often give him a concerned glance, you never stop listening to him with a smile.

Another way you try to help Rocky is by helping the speakeasy itself, since you know how much it means to him. You sponsor the place and try to help Mitzi when she’s in any sort of financial difficulty, and you try to strum up some business by making your clients and fellow businessmen have meetings in the speakeasy.

This has created a sort of conundrum for the guests you bring. Because unknown to their own knowledge, they're often the same people you rant about all the time to Rocky. And so, Rocky always has the urge to somehow scare and intimidate them with his insanity. He treats them just as he treats Wick, sometimes even worse. He jabs, he nudges and he pretty much freaks them out when you’re too distracted talking about the business at hand to even notice his actions. And the worst part is, whenever you do look up, Rocky immediately stops his actions and gives you a charmed smile and innocent wink. As if he’s been as innocent as an angel the entire time. 

After a while, it didn’t take long for your maids to realize that Rocky wasn’t just some simple friend to you, but in fact, someone you’re into. And they made this theory of theirs become known to you when they suddenly start asking for details about your day at the speakeasy, specifically your hangouts with Rocky. You try to deny it at first, but you couldn’t help but admit that something about Rocky was different from others. To you, your friendship with Rocky was an entirely new and incredible experience, an experience that you cherish deeply, and…you wouldn’t mind for it to become something more.

So,you start initiating the flirtations, ones that Rocky immediately answers back with equal amounts of enthusiasm. Slowly but surely, your hangouts have become dates, and your rants have become more personal.

soon enough, and in the other’s point of view, shockingly so, you two have become a couple. An incredibly cheesy one at that.

 For a moment, everyone thought perhaps this was a sugar baby type of situation. That was until they all wondered what on earth could their lackluster bootlegger and not-half-bad violinist Rocky Rickaby offer in the sugar baby aspect of it all? they all came out with an utterly empty answer. However, though the relationship was far from such a thing, it doesn’t mean you don’t like showering Rocky with gifts all the time. Especially since you firmly believe he deserves at least some sort of nice luxury in his life. You’d often try to do the same old trick of anonymously gifting them, but he has caught you once in the act, and with a bountiful amount of kisses has convinced you to drop the whole act.

Rocky may at first be in somewhat of a denial for such attention. Though he will gawk, be giddy and awe-struck about the amount of gifts he is receiving, a part of him would also somehow feel guilty for it. like he doesn’t deserve such nice things in life. it’s a guilt that you quickly scold him for, and as punishment by even more gifts for him than before.

Though you are of high-status, both you and Rocky still prefer dates in the dark streets of Mississippi rather than any luxurious restaurant. You once tried to go to one  of course, but the night has ended with the kitchen going on fire and Rocky somehow freeing all the lobsters from their tanks. Nevertheless, it was still a great night, one where you couldn’t help but laugh in pure freedom because you felt all the societal pressure in your shoulders wash away. It didn't matter who the guests were in that restaurant, it was of no importance what they whispered about you or your partner whom you wouldn’t trade for the world. All that mattered was you and Rocky, dancing under the stars as rain started to pour.

Teasing Wick has become a mutual activity for you two. An activity Mitzi even joins in from time to time. Lord knows how many jabs Wick has to put up with whenever you both are at the speakeasy at the same time (which unfortunately for him, is quite the common occurrence.) it’s gotten to the point where whenever he sees you two together he gives out an exhausted sigh and asks Viktor to give him a stronger drink.

There are times where Rocky wonders if he’s worth it. times where the stink eyes and glances of high society get in his head a bit and he wonders if he’s truly worth all the reputational risk you’re putting yourself through. Those are the times where you must quickly go against such negative thoughts, to grab his hands and tell him firmly that he’s worth more than anything to you. though it never truly diminishes his insecurity in the matter, it does help lower it down.

You’re absolutely horrified and livid when you realize he’s living in his car. It’s something your heart breaks at and you quickly urge him to just come live with you instead. You have plenty of room to spare and would absolutely adore having him around. It’s an offer you wouldn’t let him say no to, no matter how hard he tried. You even offer to buy a house for him, if he’s uncomfortable with the idea of living with you. He quickly denies having such a thought, and in the end, he moves into your mansion.

Some maids are weirded out by him while others are a bit fearful. But they quickly learn to accommodate him, especially since he’s always bringing you into a better and happier mood. Hell, you even renovated one of the rooms to be his own workshop of sorts where he can write his poems. He never really uses it, preferring to work on his ideas with you beside him instead, but he does put some sizable amount of things in there. things he has definitely brought from his cluttered car.

Even though everyone had their fair share of surprised reactions when they finally found out you were dating, it was Aunt Nina who was the most shocked of all. she never believed Rocky could find a normal partner..let alone one that’s known for their wealth and successful businesses such as yourself. She even once wondered if Rocky has used some sort of devil witchcraft to steal your heart.

There are often times where both of you tend to falter, tend to become incredibly silent after a conversation that went wrong. You both have so many secrets you can’t share, so many thoughts and feelings that are hard to describe, let alone explain where they came from.Rocky admires you, he truly does. Because he knows you’ve worked hard for your status in the world, and that it’s normal for wealthy people to have secrets of their own. You are the same, you respect him, and know that his life wasn’t the most simple nor easiest. Yet both of you cannot help but sometimes get frustrated by the other for keeping important things a secret. You more than him, you will admit. You can’t help it. You don't want him to be in danger. But knowing how strange and unhinged his luck is, you’re certain he’s bound to get into deep trouble if he doesn’t find someone to help him. And that’s when you ask him, why can’t that someone be you? Why can’t he rely on you when he needs it? You’re not a simple person, you have more than enough resources and money to protect both you and him from any problems.

and that is when he asks why can’t you be more open to him,yet ask him for such an act? He knows very little about your family life, and there are times you skip a few stories and relationships you had with certain people you rant about. He has noticed, he just never spoke about it.and then, a chilling silence takes over the room. And you both need time to collect your thoughts before you talk.

In the end, you both reach out for each other at the same time and talk things out, and though you both know talking about each other’s past will take a lot of time and trust, you’re willing to wait for it, and will never forget that you’re by each other’s side for when you’re in need of help.

Though you both are an unexpected match for sure, that doesn’t falter the endless love and admiration you have for each other.

[is-on-its-way]

The moment Mulder quits

A point in which Mulder was ready to quit the minute he saw Scully hold a baby in season 7 and its effects in season 8

*this is my headcanon, its not gospel obviously Firstly, two scenes that are very linked in my head

Season 7 Ep 22 Requiem and Season 8 Ep 16 Three Words

Look at that face. That dead serious, at all costs face.

Season 7

Requiem. The culmination of Scully and Mulder's secret yearish? long quest for a baby. They've tried for a baby with IVF already. Mulder has promised her he wont give up on a miracle for her and they're well... trying basically, throughout season 7. Perhaps I would call it "hoping" for a baby. Maybe Mulder is hoping and Scully is characteristically ambivalent? Fully not using any contraceptives and I know there's a fic in there somewhere, anyway

The first scene above is why Ive never watched past the season 8 finale. nothing past them agreeing to be a family makes any sense because of Mulders face here. People knock Duchovny for not showing out when acting, but I will always be a defender of subtle acting. The way he can say an entire monologue of dialogue with the minute expressions on his face is quite breathtaking here.

Hes goes from sorrow at Scully not being able to have a baby, sorrow at her loss, sorrow at not being able to give her that; to regret at what he thinks is all his fault, at dragging her into this life; to pure love and affection for her seeing this baby in her lap and how good she is with him; and then a smile peaks out. A smile of hope that could compete with the Mona Lisa. Hope for their future and the certainty with which he knows what he wants so clearly, maybe for the first time in his life. His own family.

Like for the first time hes really deciding the cost is too much and he chooses her over the mission. He chooses their future over everything. And he's hopeful and perhaps even happy about it. which for someone with his amount of family trauma is a seismic shift. For so long he's chased the past in hope of fixing it, completely discombobulated and reckless in his search for well, his family.

Though, from the beginning of that moment in the rainy graveyard, he has slowly unconsciously coming to regard Scully as his family. In small gestures, a hand on her cheek or voicing out loud how important she is to him; to big gestures, giving up who he believes is his actual sister to save her.

We are lucky here, to be able to witness the moment the sparks of unconscious thought bloom into the flame of certainty. He follows up as well. Tells her she has to stay, that the cost doesn't outweigh the price anymore. Sure he wants to finish out this case, but he doesn't work without her, thats been established. Him telling her to stop, is his resignation as well. (There's a fit there too, with Skinner and him on the plane probably Skinner already knowing he's done.)

Thomas Flight praises subtly in acting better than I could ever articulate here:

Season 8

Mulder was weird and the PTSD was implied, but I choose to see it everywhere. After the moment in three words where Mulder tries to let them go gently because he thinks he's too damaged to be a father (Thanks @randomfoggytiger for the meta on that) (there's a fic here obviously where Scully gives him the space to be broken and also hers) After this though, he's not the Mulder as we've seen, ever. He's not the Mulder who

cares about exposing the government so he can say I told you so

cares about saving the public from the invasion

cares about finding the ultimate truth that has driven him since he found the X files

cares about solving cases and one upping the FBI, trying to force them to admit the truth out loud.

Mulder is fighting the entire season for his family.

he cares about exposing the conspiracy so everyone including his child will be safe.

he cares about saving the earth for his child's future

he cares about his childs and his families safety

he has zero concern about the FBI and what they do anymore.

In the second scene above, he's about had it with the entire conspiracy and he's downright pissed. He wants it all to end he doesn't care how. He wants to protect his child above everything. Sure he's usually reckless but this isn't for him and his self involved cause anymore, it's for his family, his wellbeing be damned at some points along the way. He states his thesis in three words while breaking into FBI files in an astonishing show of recklessness

"Look, Scully, I need to make sense of what happened to me. So that I can stop it. Because if I can't stop it, it could happen to anyone. It could happen to you. And who's to say it's going to stop there?"

I always wondered why he was putting Scully through all that, without realising this was the reason. Poor guy. There's nothing else in his purview anymore besides that baby who's in danger, and his family, so much so, when he is ultimately fired from the FBI, he's positively giddy at his newfound freedom.

If he had then gone down a path temporarily where he murdered his way through the remnants of the syndicate to assure the safety of his family John Wick style, I would've absolutely believed it.

It would've been insanely intriguing look at an evolving dynamic between Scully and Mulder. Scully law abiding Mulder reckless as always but with a different motivation. Becoming what he's always feared, to protect the family he has never had. A family he feels like he's only grasping at, as they're slipping through his fingers due to the danger and his recent and past traumas.

There's a reason a lot of the fandom sees Mulder as a happy stay at home dad post wherever they decide to end watching. Thats what he's been searching for his entire life. A happy family with loving parents. When he let go of that dream for himself in Closure, he found he could want that for his future family whatever that looked like (adoption, a miracle, etc.) in Requiem. And I personally don't believe he ever would let that dream go once he realised, I mean we all saw the devotion he had to his sister right?

In other words these are my reasons season 9 onwards make zero sense and I regard them as AU

[pukefactory]

not a lot of taski maiden x readers out there! good job writing her! if you want, could you write some x reader headcanons based on what you think taski might be like as a little bit of a yandere? thankyus, and safe flying

-jj

˚₊⋅─── GRID BANISHED ───⋅ ˚₊

⦮⦯ Summary: A Compilation of Headcanons Featuring Yandere Taski Maiden X Reader

⦮⦯ Character(s): Taski Maiden (ENA: Dream BBQ)

⦮⦯ Genre: Headcanons, SFW

⦮⦯ Warning(s): Abusive Behaviour

⦮⦯ Image Credits: @JoelG

！She absolutely does not know she’s obsessed. She’ll pop up beside you, eyes wide, smile like a cracked teacup, and shout “I’m NOT STALKING YOU!!!” before you can say anything. She follows you around in spirals—ducking behind doors, poking out from vents, giggling from behind vending machines. “I’m practicing my future wife powers!!! That’s when you teleport to where ur love interest is n’ just EXIST there really hard.”

！She leaves you bizarre, deranged gifts. Not flowers. Not chocolates. Things. One time she gave you a burnt-out lightbulb wrapped in glittery yarn. Another time it was a rock with “KISS ME OR DIE (JK UNLESS??)” scribbled on it in sharpie. And when you don’t react, she tilts her head and mutters, “Okay. Okay okay okay. Maybe you’re into secret love. Cool. I can play that. Like a game of unrequited tag!!!”

！She has no filter when it comes to her threats. If someone even talks to you for longer than 12 seconds, she shouts across the room, “IM GONNA PEEL UR HEAD LIKE A FRUIT SNACK!!!” then immediately waves like it was a joke. “I’m sooo quirky!! MwaahahahA!! >:)!!!” But the way she stares at them after? Yeah. Not a joke.

！Taski’s jealousy isn’t slick—it’s dramatic. She’ll fake faint, fall off furniture, throw confetti at herself, anything to get your attention back. “HELLO??? UR BEST GIRL IS DYING FROM EMOTIONAL STARVATION??? Poo on YOU if you don’t CPR me w/ kisses!!!”

！Sometimes she gets quiet. Dead quiet. You’ll turn and find her standing too still in a dark hallway, just staring. Not blinking. Not moving. Her red kite-shaped eye glows slightly. When you ask what she’s doing, she chirps, “Watching you. For science. For love-science.” Then she runs off, laughing. But the next morning you find she’s scribbled your name all over her room. Some of it’s on the walls. Some of it’s in lipstick.

！Taski gets unhinged about being perfect for you. She tries to learn your favorite foods, colors, words, planets—and then becomes them. If you mention liking red? Suddenly she’s wearing a red scarf made from someone’s curtain. If you say you like smart people? “I’M GOIN’ TO COLLEGE NAO!!!” She then tries to enroll in a university by drawing a picture of you and writing “My reason for living: Certified. Give me diploma.”

！If you try to create distance, she’s all teeth and tears. “WAS IT SOMETHING I DID? SOMETHING I A-T-O-M-I-Z-E-D?!” She panics in spirals, shouting nonsense like “POO BRAINS!” and “I CAN FIX ME IF YOU GIVE ME A KNIFE AND A MIRROR AND THREE MINUTES!!!” Then she slumps and sobs into your shoulder. “I’m not weird!!! I’m just TOO IN LOVE!!! It’s a MEDICAL PROBLEM!!!!”

！She doesn’t want to hurt you. She can’t. But she does entertain awful thoughts—threats of hurting people who keep you from her, daydreams where you get so hurt she has to take care of you forever. She tells herself that’s love. “Just lil’ brain spirals. Swirly ones!!! Not violent. Just…possessive. Very… very… hugs-all-to-myself vibes.”

！If you give her affection, even an ounce, she gets euphoric. Stars in her eyes, spinning in circles, screaming into the sky. “YOU LOVE ME! YOU LOVE ME! I AM THE CHOSEN ONE!!! I WIN!!! I. WIIIIIIIN.” She’ll immediately try to tattoo your name on herself with a marker. Her obsession intensifies like a wildfire on gasoline.

！If you ever told her you hated her? It’d crush her. She’d laugh like it was a joke—over and over—until she collapsed. Then she’d disappear. Vanish. For a while you’d think she was gone. Until one night you find your window open. The lights flicker. And from the shadows: “You didn’t mean that… right? You were just being a DUMMY HEAD!!!…Right?”

[weewookinard]

Buck is always cold despite and, despite actively shivering, will insist that he's fine, unless you're tommy then of course he's freezing to death and needs the sweater off his back rn before hypothermia sets in 🥺

If you ask him Buck is not always cold, California is just a fraud. He should not need to wear a sweater in L.A., is it because of climate change?? Nobody wears sweaters in L.A. in the movies (the few he actually saw).

Maddie bought him a nice jacket but he cannot wear it because he might damage it one way or another. So he goes out underdressed and it's fine, he is okay, he will just move a little and he'll get warmer (and it works because he moves a LOT). Plus it helps him with his focus, the cold forcing him to concentrate more to stay still.

But since he met Tommy? He is in perpetual risk of dying from hypothermia Tommy! If you don't give him your jacket your boyfriend is gonna be dead and it's so sad Tommy, do you want to be sad? Because it's so cold, how can you not get cold Tommy? Are you a secret superhero? You are so strong that's why you are not cold, you don't need your jacket you have muscles, big hot muscles! Don't worry Tommy, Evan will keep your jacket safe while you save the world -and him, because he might die from coldness, remember??

Yes, Tommy thinks Evan is a huge drama queen when he wants to be one.

Yes, Tommy will give him his sweater nonetheless, and he'll kiss him on the lips and everywhere else he wants to help him warmup. He might even use his so-called superpowers to save Evan with a warm hug, or something hotter....

Send me more cute headcanon about them and I'll yap about it! ❤️

[popironrye]

Max's reveal at the end of The Lost Boys is another one of those scenes I've been overthinking about. Particularly the few seconds post revelation that the boys were all dead.

When Max and Lucy return home he takes little time to head to where David died. An obvious choice given the fates of the other boys what with Paul being soup, Dwayne blown to pieces, and Marko's body being way back in the cave.

In the background Sam, the Frog brothers, and Lucy are pretty loudly arguing and talking over each other in the other room but this scene is eerily quiet. The scene plays out is a realistic view of mourning. Max's actions here are rather tender and you can tell by the look on his face that seeing David like this does have an affect on him.

There's a blatant pause. I like to think that was Max grieving, coming to terms with what's happened. His boys are gone, probably reliving a lot of memories. It's never revealed, but I choose to believe Max turned David first, and the following boys were slowly turned the same way Michael was, by drinking Max's or David's blood. And I headcanon he was turned a long time ago, meaning Max had a lot of years with the boys. He is shown as hostile in the beginning to them when they come in the video store, but I like to think that's just Max wanting to keep a reasonable distance to keep suspicious eyes from prying (and to keep things a twist for the audience) especially since he's playing the childless bachelor as that's what's has worked for them for so long so far (although come on Max, if you played up the single father to Lucy, you would have totally won. Just saying.)

But what about the rest of that scene? Max recovers pretty quickly from losing his boys. While some may argue it's because Max didn't really care for them, I choose to believe that's not the case at all. I think he's putting on a face to remain calm in front of the others, especially Lucy. Since he still wants to turn her into his vampire bride, even without his boys to mother. Perhaps he could just be thinking he can start his vampire boys over with others boys, but then there's THIS scene!

The scene where Star reveals to the audience that David was hiding Max's involvement from her and Michael. David wasn't just keeping Max a secret, Star declares that he was "the secret David was protecting." Key word being, 'protecting'. Max's identity as the head vampire is important and it's in his best interest for the vampire boys to be seen around him as little as possible. Especially since Sam figured it out early on in the movie he was one of them. And so, David and the boys choose to act on their own most of the time. Not only to give themselves the feeling of carefree freedom, but also to keep Max safe. And it's clearly a situation they all like, or at least tolerate, as while there is no hope in them turning back if Max were killed first, but David and the others had no intention of ratting him out and letting him die.

My favorite part of this scene. Max's smile. After Star says her line, Max nods in agreement, but the smile afterwards is interesting. I think he looks proud. Proud of David. Proud to have heard that David, even as he died, was protecting him. I choose to believe Max cared a lot for the boys and I also choose had he be given the chance later, would feel very lonely without them.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

I see you are open to Ms Spade/Lilia prompts. I am seeing a lot of speculation that Ms Spade might have been a delinquent in her youth like her son Deuce. It would be funny if Ms Spade and Lilia got to talking and the topic turned to the crazy things they've done in their pasts. Who has the crazier story: delinquent Ms Spade or former General Vanrouge?

Referencing this unofficial blog event!

adklbaboiyfyegea It might be hard for me to write stories in headcanon form, so instead I ended up doing general headcanons for delinquent!Dylla and Lilia sharing their experiences with each other!

Curiouser and Curiouser...

Dylla is very shy with sharing about her delinquent days. She holds a lot of shame and guilt about that era of her life, especially since she blamed herself for being a poor influence and a bad mother to Deuce when he went down the wrong path. It's only when Lilia talks about his own past as a veteran that Dylla gains the confidence to let him in on her secret.

She's still not that proud to talk about her delinquency, but Lilia lends her the encouragement and the kind ear she needs to truly open up. When things get to be too much and the feelings overwhelm her, Lilia stays with her and holds her until Dylla has stopped sobbing. "There, there," he murmurs soothingly, a hand rubbing her back. "Let it all out. A good cry will set you straight."

With time and practice, Dylla becomes accustomed to sharing her stories. It's hard to believe that she was ever insecure about them to begin with, not when Lilia grants her so much strength.

She's surprised that Lilia fought in a war before--and not only that, was served as a general--because he's so tiny. (Huh, that's odd. Dylla doesn't remember there being a war or major conflicts in recent years. She wonders which war Lilia is talking about, but he doesn't elaborate.) But Lilia reassures her that it's the cutest ones you have to look out for.

He demonstrates a few of his moves from back in the day, each of which Lilia has lovingly granted an overly embellished (almost magical girl-esque) attack name. Moving with lighting fast swiftness, he very adorably chants, "Ora, ora, ora 🎵 Watch out, I'll kill you dead 💞 Take this! Lilia-chan's Super Special Axe-Grinding Roundhouse Kick~!"

He casually talks about all the people he killed--"My, I was quite the reckless roughneck in my youth. If only I could go back now and properly mourn their losses."--while squirting ketchup all over the omurice she made for him. Dylla awkwardly laughs, but only because she thinks he's making a dark joke. (Lilia was, in fact, not making a dark joke.)

One day, Lilia brings his magearm with him to show Dylla. He even encourages her to try swinging it around! ... Which she does, and nearly chops off some of his bangs in the process--but he took it in stride and came out of it unscathed.

Dylla was a self-described speed demon. She loved riding fast on her bike--a hobby Deuce also picked up--but seldom rides anymore. After all, she has to keep her driving safe and smooth, especially when she's on the job! "Oh? I would love to go out on a romantic ride with you someday," Lilia tells her. "Let's do it--and no holds barred, okay? I want to see how fast you can truly take me."

Her fashion used to be a lot more daring. Leather jackets, combat boots, bold animal prints. Now all that remains of that era is the roots and strands of her bleached her. "You should consider experimenting more!" Lilia suggests, fingering his own hair. "I used to have this much longer, up in a ponytail--and I regularly dye my streaks different colors."

Compared to him, Dylla thinks her stories are much tamer. Sure, she committed minor crimes (shop lifting, skipping school, drinking while underage, being a public disturbance, etc.), but the worst she ever did was get into fights with peers. "I think I was just lost," she admits to Lilia. "Lost and mad at the world for not guiding me." He takes her hands and looks at her tenderly, whispering, "... And I as well."

Lilia mentions that he used to have a crush on the person he was sworn to protect. "That story," he admits with a sad smile, "is one that ends in tragedy." Dylla's heart aches--not with jealousy, but for him and the pain he feels. She takes his hands--like he has done for her--and lets him know she's there for him too.

At the end of the day, both Lilia and Dylla understand that they're changed people, and they're so proud of each other for that. They have new lives, new children, new identities--and each other. They aren't lost or mad or alone anymore.

[lurkinglurkerwholurks]

For the ask game - what are your headcanons for Bruce?

I feel like my life revolves around headcanons for Bruce, to the point that they're integral to me and maybe I don't realize they're headcanons. 😅

Headcanon 1:  Realistic

Bruce is little more than a figurehead in his own company and has no input in its daily operations. He has an eye for people who do good work and are known for their integrity and is aggressive about headhunting them to fill his ranks, and they do the company-running for him. His role is to be the public face, but he is only a face, not the hands.

That said, as Gotham's largest employer and a key economic driver, Bruce pays more attention as Batman to his own company's policies than its shareholders or board might suspect. As Wayne E leads, so their competitors must strive to keep up, so Bruce is vigilant about making sure their stated policies, procedures, and driving vision, as well as how all are enforced, remain beneficial, equitable, and socially conscious.

Headcanon 2: May or not be realistic, is definitely funny (at least to me)

Bruce Wayne is the weirdest mix of hyper-rich privilege and dead-broke ignorance in anyone you've ever met. He has no middle-class touchpoints in his lived experience.

He only flies on his private jet! He once snuck onto a baggage car and hobo'd his way across half of India because he didn't have the fare.

He has eaten foods too expensive for the common person to even know exist, his pantry is stocked with ingredients that would mean nothing to anyone normal but would make a Michelin chef weep for joy. He was a freegan who knows how to source still-probably-safe food in the dumpsters of behind local restaurants.

He has acquired skyscrapers and entire urban blocks. He has never refinanced a mortgage.

Headcanon 3: Evil and heart-breaking why would you do this

I don't think Bruce is one who sits with what-ifs for too long. That is, I think he feels responsible for so much, too much, and when those what-ifs come, they drive him to do better, plan better, be better. But what-ifs in and of themselves are not something he invites in to linger. He also doesn't find them enjoyable thought exercises. They arise from his own guilt and self-recrimination, he sucks their marrow dry for information and logistics, and then he moves on.

But sometimes...

Sometimes, when he sits quietly on a little bench in front of two still mounds, or when an anniversary creeps up and leaves him feeling lost, cold, and alone, or even sometimes when he is surrounded by those he loves, full to the brim with love and gratefulness, he wonders...

What would his life have been in his parents had never died? If they had survived the mugging or never turned down that alley at all, if they had been by his side to watch him grow, if they had continued their own (different, but no less ambitious) mission to improve Gotham for her people, if they stood in front of him now—older, grayer, with laugh lines framing their eyes, but alive...

What would have become of his children?

And what kind of father was he if he dare, even in the small secret heart of him, risk them even in the breath of an I wish...

Headcanon 4: Doesn’t align with canon (or maybe even reality) but I do what I want

Any canon in which Bruce Wayne raises a hand in anger to a child—any child, but especially one of his—is not canon to me. Full stop.

Once, in the early days, Dick made him so mad that Bruce bellowed at him and immediately felt so bad that he looked dyspeptic on the spot (actually, he was trying really hard not to cry because oh no, he's ruined everything, he's a Bad Caretaker.)