#and then i saw GUNPOWDER

[heatherfield]

The animal he bestrode was a broken-down plow-horse, that had outlived almost everything but its viciousness. He was gaunt and shagged, with a ewe neck, and a head like a hammer; his rusty mane and tail were tangled and knotted with burs; one eye had lost its pupil, and was glaring and spectral, but the other had the gleam of a genuine devil in it. Still he must have had fire and mettle in his day, if we may judge from the name he bore of Gunpowder. —The Legend of Sleepy Hollow by Washington Irving

Headless: A Sleepy Hollow Story, Episode 10 “The Haunting of the Hollow” [x]

[your-fave-gets-saw-trapped]

Gunpowder Tim and Ashes O’Rielly (the mechanisms) are in the Furnace (saw ii)!

requested by @mjshortformcjesus !

[myhandisfatemywordislaw]

After a while all the Mechanisms forget who they were before. For many of them, all they have left are their songs, and none of them can remember how much is truth and how much is simply a story.

Tim only has the vaguest hints of memories of what it felt like to spend time with Bertie, a gentle hand brushing his hair from his face, a flutter inside his chest, but he can't even remember what Bertie looked like anymore.

Jonny can't remember what his father was like any more, though he is certain he killed him. While he remembers pulling the trigger in a flash of devastated rage, he can't remember where the bullet ended up. Did Jack ever exist? Or was he a representation of multiple people, or was the killing of Jack simply an expression of the themes of the story? Or maybe he can't face the truth of what really happened. Jonny claims One Eyed Jacks tells us how he got his mechanical heart but it doesn't, not really. Maybe there never was anyone else in the room with him and he shot himself, right through the heart, in a fit of maddened guilt and grief.

Brian will never ever forget the endless black and the terrible cold seeping deep into his bones, though he has long since forgotten what his own face used to look like.

Ashes knows their song must be dramatised since the song claims that their skin burned, but only their lungs were mechanised, so they must have died simply of smoke inhalation. They can also no longer remember if they really were a level-headed detective as they were in the song, or if they simply died in an arson attack gone wrong, and destroyed their whole world, along with everyone they ever cared about, over a mistake.

Raphaella has no song to hang onto, no story to tell, and her past is long since forgotten. Though the stench of the city feels far too familiar, and she flinches when the name Icarus is spoken, though she could not tell you why.

[cupophrogs]

I would say I'm sorry, but I needed the laugh.

Drew running from Miss Delight.

“It… it was a struggle.”

[stardustinthesky]

I don't want to be here with you right now.

[saym0-0]

censorship 😔

i just think jonny would wear a 'modified' fish fear me shirt (ashes did it) over a tassled bikini. .. ..with jorts

[chaos-inu]

This by far the dumbest thing I’ve drawn. Can’t believe this is my first art contribution to the Mechs fandom

[sovamurka]

Timebomb nation, once again I'm here to tell you about russian localisation's ekkojinx moments. When translating Tales of Runeterra's character lines our translators accidentally made a genius mistake and now Ekko has a nickname for Jinx. Try to guess which one. It's Bomb. Of course it's Bomb 💣

[majorshatterandhare]

Them : “There’s no platonic explanation for Tim blowing up the moon when Bertie died.”

Me, a borderline aroace thinking about QPRs and FPs and idolization and the white hot rage felt when someone hurts my closest friend : “Y’all are cowards.”

[lordzukosnosehair]

I love it when people mischaractrrize my favs no really it’s completely fine like yeah no that’s not how that happened that’s now how he’s react that’s not nope okay yes yes that’s okay that’s fine

[fandomregression]

uhhh tim as a regresser? i know hes usually a cg in your fics but i kinda relate to him so much

while i see him mainly as a cg, thats mostly bc i want him to be my cg, but i absolutely see how he could be a regressor so rAMBLING TIIIIIIIME

Regressor Tim Stoker Headcanons!

so tim starts regressing actually kinda young, in his early teens, because he's always lived in his brother's shadow. always been the second, despite being the older child, and its. hard. he pretends everything's okay and he isnt jealous, but he wants. needs. attention too

he learns what regression is exactly in university, and he kinda just shrugs and says 'yep that tracks' and pushes it to the side. let's bury that problem and deal with it later! that's a problem for Future Tim!

future tim is very mad and small, now. he spends a lot of time crying into his pillow and hugging his childhood stuffie, a little doggy named spot, until he falls asleep

he tries to basically never let dating partners find out abt his regression that doesn't seem like a good thing

a few of them do, and a couple try their hands at being cgs. they give up because tim is "too much" for them to handle

then danny dies, and tim spirals

hes just really, really not okay. he spends so much of his time trying to research what happened, trying to learn about the circus, trying to find anything that explains why his little brother is dead, and he can't figure it out. and he just tears himself apart over it. he's on the verge of regressing pretty much all the time, he's crying his eyes out all the time, and everything is bad. by the time he starts working at the magnus institute, he's a shell of a man whose head always feels like its swimming

then he meets jon, and he can tell there's something familiar in the ways he acts. tim's almost certain jon is a regressor, and well...he's nothing if not a good big brother. and he's a big brother who really, really welcomes this distraction from the fact that his little brother is dead

he does his best to keep jon out of trouble and take care of him, but he's well aware of his own headspace encroaching on all of this. its not easy. little things that tim does for jon are things that make tim regress, so its. not going too well!

until they meet sasha :)

sasha notices these two are a lil different pretty quickly. its become even more evident when they're researching a case, end up at a park, and jon and tim are playing on the playground like little kids

tim is very excited about this, and he absolutely climbs on top of the monkey bars and shouts for sasha

"sasha! sasha! look at me!!! :D!!!" "i see you! you're up so high!!"

she pushes them both on the swings, she pushes them both on the merry-go-round, and it feels just so natural to them

(tim picks her some dandelions and clovers, too, and sasha adores it)

after that day, when tim's big again, he realizes that sasha was able to actually play with both of them and pay attention to tim even though he was bigger than jon...sasha actually wanted to take care of *tim* and jon at the same time...and he didn't feel neglected...

(he cried himself to sleep again that night, but he wasn't sure why it felt so painful) (its the neglect trauma)

at work, tim basically just starts feeling a pull toward sasha a lot of the time, and he's terrified of being too much for her, but he...he needs this...

if he finds a cool bug, he takes a picture to show her. cool rock, he takes it inside and gives it to her. he likes to draw little doodles on his sticky notes and give them to her, and it absolutely makes his heart soar every single time she sticks them to her monitor. he's just. thriving off the affection

jon is the first one to explain regression, and he expects both tim and sasha to just push him away. he is absolutely not expecting tim to say he's a regressor too (how jon didn't notice? well...poor baby's not very observant...) and they're both not expecting sasha to just say "oh i know, who wants a juice box?"

both just. malfunctioning

tim does regress older than jon, usually around 6-8, and he takes his job as big bubby VERY seriously. he holds jon's hand when they do anything, he is always imparting his wisdom (which has been "red crayons taste bad" and variations of that multiple times), and he tries to let jon get more attention from sasha

sasha does not take too well to that last one. she notices pretty quickly that tim sacrifices himself for jon, and that just won't fly. so, extra hugs. extra kisses. lots of one-on-one playtime. tim cries a lot over this

then they move down to the archives and yay!! martin!!! now tim and jon have a mama and a papa and its even easier for them to both get the attention they need (especially tim, who doesn't feel as guilty when there's two cgs he can go to whichever one isn't handling jon)

tim has a lot of games he likes to play, and he has quite a few stuffies, but a lot of the time he likes playing nintendo with martin (and jon watches and tells him how cool he is)

sasha and martin both learn pretty quickly that anything circus/clown themed is very much a no-no with tim. if he's already regressed, its the quickest way to a panic attack he can get. if he isn't regressed, he will be very shortly, and then the panic attack happens

at that point its just...hugs and comfort until he can stop crying

when it comes down to it, he's just glad to finally have this sort of support system. to have multiple people who care about him and actually try

[cosmogyros]

.

[xbadnews]

dale gribble pocket sand but it's percy with gunpowder

[wp100]

bro, Sharpe's Challenge. Omfg.

Yeah... I now pronounce them... Richard Harper, and Patrick Sharpe (they were made for each other)

[saym0-0]

what do you think the mechs would be avatars of? my first thought was slaughter for the group as a whole bc,, duh. but now that im thinking about it, i think they'd be more eye/end aligned. because their whole thing is stories and the part they clearly deem most important is the end right? theres all the blood and gore in the middle but the important bit is everyone dies at the end

individually though, not as a whole group they're all sorts of stuff i think

ashes would be desolation for sure with all the fire and the likes, and hades makes me think web too? they're the one behind the scenes pulling the strings (granted, usually for their own entertainment but who can blame em really)

toy soldier would be stranger, once again for obvious reasons. im not really sure if theres much crossover on this one really.

jonny i reckon would be eye and slaughter, mans cares for two things and its violent crime and a good story (amen!)

brian is SO lonely coded like?? its in the backstory song man,, also vague end-ness probably, though tbf they probably all have that end cloud by virtue of being the mechanisms. maybe vast too

tim would be slaughter too, he loves a good murder spree but i feel like theres something else and ive just forgotten like half the fears lmao OUGH hunt maybe? tim goes crazy is very hunt coded

ivy is SO immensely eye. she's literally an archivist. she gathers and stores aaallll that information but her emotional connection to it is reset every night. thats so eye!!

nastya is definitely lonely, at least towards the end but probably the whole time (from what little i know of cyberian demons) and maybe dark? that ones 100% vibes i have no explanation

marius has very spiral vibes i think. hes just a silly guy ur honour i think he deserves it. i cant really think of any other one for him tbh

and raph is quite stranger coded i think, idk the detachment from humanity that comes with being a mad scientist just feels very stranger to me? more so than the average mechs detatchment from humanity

i dont know why i made this post but ive been rotating end/eye mechs in my brain for a couple days just because i think the idea of s5 jmart stumbling across a domain thats kind of an accumulation of the various album aettings and music that can be heard from anywhere in the domain and victims living/reliving the parts of the characters is very very cool and i needed to word vomit it somewhere

[luvvictoria]

I've been thinking abt a poly!tf141 with a fem!reader who like is from the country side AND I'M CRACKING, OH LAWD!!!

Task Force 141 had seen you kill a man from 700 meters away. They had seen you tear through enemy lines with the precision of a seasoned warrior, your movements deadly and efficient. But what they hadn't seen—what they couldn’t wrap their heads around—was the life you returned to after every mission.

Because while Ghost, Soap, Price, and Gaz spent their leave in safe houses, military bases, or the occasional urban apartment, you?

You went home.

To the countryside.

To your massive, luxurious farmhouse nestled in the hills of a quiet village, where the air smelled of fresh hay, wildflowers, and the occasional whiff of cow.

And when TF141 finally visited, they were not prepared.

The First Time They Saw the Farm : "What the fuck—" Ghost had been the first to say it when you pulled up to your estate in an old pickup truck, the gravel crunching beneath the tires as you parked in front of a sprawling wooden house with a red-tiled roof.

There were animals everywhere.

A massive black and white cow lazily chewed its cud near the wooden fence. Chickens and roosters strutted about like they owned the place. A gray donkey stared at them with judgmental eyes. Two ducks waddled past as if they were on a mission. Dogs barked excitedly at the sight of you, tails wagging. A cat lounged on the porch, stretching in the warm sun.

And then—a fucking horse trotted up to you, nuzzling into your palm like a puppy.

"Price," Gaz whispered. "She has a fucking farm."

"A fancy one at that," Soap muttered, still stunned.

"You lot gonna stand there all day?" You grinned, tossing your duffel bag over your shoulder. "Come on in. Dinner’s almost ready."

They were bewildered. They had spent years with you, fighting side by side, seeing you covered in blood, sweat, and gunpowder—and now you were leading them up the front porch of your cozy countryside mansion like a perfect little housewife.

And the worst part? They liked it.

You, The Deadly Soldier and The Perfect Housewife

Soap had expected you to relax on your leave. Maybe sleep in, drink some tea, read a book.

But no.

You were up at the crack of dawn, slipping out of bed before any of them could pull you back in, dressed in overalls and a white tank top, heading out to feed the animals like it was just another mission.

"Morning, sweetheart," Price murmured, leaning against the doorway as he watched you toss hay to the horses.

"Morning, Captain," you teased, kissing his scruffy cheek before moving on to collect eggs from the hens.

Ghost watched in silence, arms crossed, as you scolded a particularly feisty rooster. "You peck me one more time, and I swear to God, I’m making soup outta you."

Gaz almost choked on his coffee when you turned around and gave them the sweetest, most innocent smile.

"You boys want breakfast?"

Fifteen minutes later, they were sitting at a massive wooden table in your warm, sunlit kitchen, eating fresh farm eggs, homemade bread, and smoked bacon.

And Soap was ready to propose.

Domesticity With a Side of Chaos

Price: Loves sitting on the porch with a cigar, watching you work. He helps with repairs, fixes fences, and absolutely adores the peacefulness of your home.

Ghost: The animals are terrified of him at first (except the donkey—the donkey hates him). But the barn cats adopt him, curling up in his lap whenever he sits down.

Soap: Thinks farm life is the best thing ever. He learns how to milk a cow, names every single chicken, and gets way too attached to a piglet.

Gaz: "Babe, I love you, but this rooster is evil." (He got chased one too many times.)

And at night?

After a long day of farm work, you slip into something soft and lacy, curl up in their arms, and remind them that you’re not just a soldier, not just a farmer—you’re theirs.

They Never Want to Leave

By the end of their stay, not a single one of them wants to go back.

"You sure we have to leave?" Soap pouts, feeding the ducks.

"Darlin’," Price murmurs against your neck one night, arms wrapped around you in bed, "Ever thought about retirin’ here? With us?"

Ghost doesn’t say it out loud, but when he watches you laugh, your hands covered in flour as you bake bread, he knows he never wants to be anywhere else.

And Gaz?

He just sighs, watching the sunset over the hills. "I never thought I’d say this, but…I think I’m in love with farm life."

They were all in love. With you. With this. With the life they could have, if only they stayed.

Maybe one day.

For now, they’d enjoy every stolen moment in their countsyde paradise. But what if we make thing spicy ? A little bit, at least.

Ghost Was The First To Break

Ghost had held strong. Longer than the others.

While Soap got weak-kneed watching you bend over to pick up hay, and while Gaz couldn’t stop staring at your thighs in those tiny denim shorts, Ghost had kept his cool.

Until that damn sundress.

White. Light. Flowy. Just enough fabric to tempt, but never satisfy—clinging to your curves, slipping off your shoulders as you carried a bucket of water to the horses.

He had been cleaning his rifle on the porch, but his grip tightened the moment he saw the fabric sway with your every step.

And then?

You had the audacity to look over your shoulder and wink at him.

He dropped the rifle.

Soap Lost It In The Barn

Soap had always been shameless about his attraction to you.

But you?

You were even worse.

It was an accident—(was it?)—when you walked into the barn one night, looking for something. The others were inside, drinking whiskey in the house, but Soap had been alone, brushing down one of your horses.

And then he saw you.

Wet.

Covered in rain.

Your thin white blouse clung to you, completely see-through, nipples pebbled against the fabric.

"Lass," he had rasped, watching as you closed the barn door behind you, stepping forward, voice all honeyed and sweet.

"Johnny," you had purred, voice dripping with something that wasn’t innocence, "I’m cold."

He snapped.

The horse had seen things that night.

Price Was The Most Dangerous

Price was a man of control.

A man of restraint.

A man who knew how to bide his time.

But you?

You tested him.

You liked to push. You liked to see how far you could go before he gave in.

And God help you—you found his limit.

It was late. The others were asleep. You were making tea in the kitchen, standing on your tiptoes to reach a mug from the top shelf.

Price had walked in just as your nightgown slipped up your thighs.

It wasn’t fair.

The soft, white cotton. The little lace trim. The way your bare legs looked so smooth, so inviting—and the sleepy way you turned, so unaware of what you were doing to him.

You looked up at him, mug in hand, and smiled. "You want some tea, Cap?"

And then—his hands were on your hips.

Voice rough.

"You know damn well what I want, sweetheart."

Gaz Had It The Worst

Gaz?

Gaz was a goner the first time he saw you in nothing but boots and his shirt.

You had come in from the field soaked in sweat, hair messy, thighs speckled with dirt. You had tossed your muddy clothes into the laundry room, grabbed his green tactical shirt, and walked around the house like it wasn’t driving him insane.

"Babe," he groaned, rubbing a hand down his face, watching you stretch, the hem of his shirt riding up to dangerous levels.

You blinked. All innocent. "What’s wrong?"

Gaz was a patient man. A respectful man. A man who was about to lose his goddamn mind.

"Come here."

You smirked, walking over slowly, pressing your hands to his chest.

"You’re so easy to rile up," you giggled.

His hand wrapped around your throat.

"And you’re about to learn what happens when you push too far."