#full of thoughts. imagination

[boringa55binch]

ok one last post before i go mimir but im actually going so insane bc of I Found You (i have. listened to it more than a dozen times already)

security breach AU where the ending is the one from the video, cut to a year later and Gregory goes back to the Pizzaplex with an entire game plan to get Freddy working again (ya boy did some digging using library computers, non-zero chance there was illegal hacking done to access certain Fazbear Ent. files)

he and cassie also get back in touch during that time and he tells her abt his plan, cassie's like "so you're going back to that hellhole where u said u almost died MULTIPLE times. you are not going there alone" BAM they end up going there together and maybe manage to salvage more than just Freddy

CAN YOU TELL I'M LOSING IT

[chloesimaginationthings]

The moment FNAF movie Vanessa knew she fucked up

[lazy-ahh]

Hello!! this is just a silly request of a idea that spawned in my head, what about a Sinister Mark (+ variants) with a male or gn Reader, they're in a 'healthy' (as healthy as it can be if they're unhinged/fucked up), like, every variant had a reader that either die or they accidentally kill them, main mark reader is dead and is just that Sinister mark is the only one with a alive reader? (english isn’t my first language so sorry for any errors, i just imagine Sinister all smug that he has a living reader)

THE LAST ONE STANDING

pairing sinister! mark grayson x gender neutral reader (+ variants)

what happens when you're the only one left alive across every dimension? ask the eight broken marks trailing behind you—or better yet, ask your mark, the one who saved you. the one who watches with a smirk as his variants crumble at the sight of you: breathing, laughing, his.

taglist @hhoneylemon , @queermaeda , @yujensstuff , @thebatsgreatestfailure , @roryroro , @cynvia

you're alive.

that’s the thing that sets him apart from the rest—the other marks, the ones who stagger in from broken dimensions like starving dogs, fists clenched and eyes hollow with grief. they’re here to burn this world down, to carve their pain into something that bleeds, because what else do they have left? some of them killed you by accident—hands too strong, a battle they couldn’t end fast enough, a mistake they’ll spend eternity choking on. others were just too slow, forced to kneel in your blood, useless as your pulse stuttered out under their fingers. and then there are the worst ones—the ones who chose it, who tore into you themselves because their love was always just another kind of violence.

but your mark?

he didn’t just keep you.

he saved you.

and not in some noble, selfless way—no, this was something hungrier, something possessive and brutal and his. he fought for you like a man clawing his way out of a grave, and he’d do it again. he’d do it a thousand times.

and yeah, he’s smug about it. you feel it in the way his fingers press bruises into your hips when another variant stumbles into your path, all ragged breath and shattered composure. his grin is a blade, glinting in the dim light as they freeze, staring at you like you’re a ghost—alive, warm, his.

"look at that," he murmurs, lips brushing your ear, voice dripping with something between pity and triumph. "another one who couldn’t hold onto you."

it should hurt you, seeing any version of mark like this—broken, desperate, ruined. and it does, a little. but there’s something else, too, something dark and curling in your chest as you watch their hands tremble at their sides, fighting the urge to reach for you. for a second, you imagine what it’d be like to see your mark like that—kneeling, shattered, yours in a way that’s more surrender than victory.

the thought makes your pulse jump.

(and from the way his grip tightens, he knows.)

it's been one day since the invincible war started.

now, it was your job to round up all the broken, furious, useless versions of mark before angstrom got them killed. you weren’t an idiot—you saw the writing on the wall. angstrom would toss them aside the second they stopped being useful, and you? you weren’t done with them yet. not when every single one of them looked at you like you were the last drop of water in a desert, starving and pathetic and yours to play with.

convincing them to abandon their posts wasn’t hard. all it took was a look, a smirk, the barest hint of come with me if you want to live wrapped in something softer. they followed like strays, hungry for whatever scrap of attention you’d throw their way.

you weren’t stupid enough to think your mark wouldn’t notice, of course. he’d let you wander, let you have your little game—because he knew, in the end, you’d always come back to him. but until then? you were going to enjoy yourself.

so far, you’d collected eight.

there was the mohawk-and-piercings variant, all sharp edges and sharper desperation, playing at indifference while his eyes tracked your every move like you might vanish if he blinked. you later find out that he had a harem of people who looked like you, but he had killed them off because every time they made a mistake (whether they didn't laugh the way you did, didn't stand their ground in situations where you would, didn't look at him the same way you did), it would break the immersion, and the grief would hit him ten times harder. the veiled one—arrogant bastard, vulgar as hell, fingers twitching like he wanted to grab you by the throat or pull you into his lap, never deciding which. pretended not to give a shit until something so much as scratched you or inconvenienced you, then he was the first one ripping throats out. hypocrite. the fully masked one in black and blue—no skin, no tells, just the slight tilt of his head when you spoke, like he was recording your voice to replay later. soft-hearted idiot. still talked about his dead mom like she might walk through the door, still smiled when remembering dumb childhood games. you made sure to keep him close. not because you cared. just because he’d be the first to get himself killed otherwise.

the goggle-less one was a riot—literally. his eyes too wide, too raw, like he was seeing you for the first time all over again. but he adapted quickly. cracked jokes mid-battle, laughed when punches landed, blood in his teeth and excitement in his eyes like pain was just another way to get off. you’d never admit it, but his shitty one-liners sometimes got a smirk out of you. the maskless variant didn’t joke. didn’t smile much either. just floated there like a kicked dog, staring at you with this hollow look while casually mentioning how he’d torn his father apart piece by piece for killing you. you approved, of course. even combing your fingers through his hair and watch his expression light up, a soft pink hue dusting across his cheeks as he looked at you like you just kissed him. you might've. you might've not. the red-and-white cape bastard was ice personified—monotone voice, cold eyes, the kind of guy who’d call genocide "mildly inconvenient." but his hands shook when you got too close, and that? that was hilarious. "you were the only tolerable thing on this rock," he’d muttered once, like it physically pained him to admit it. or to remember. pathetic. so deliciously pathetic.

and finally—the hardest one to crack. the viltrumite. white uniform, perfect posture, face like carved stone—until you flew in. then his jaw clenched so tight you could hear his teeth grind. called you a liability. a distraction. liar. this one missed you so much it was practically rotting him from the inside out. raised on viltrumite dogma but still clung to that last shred of humanity—you. and when you’d died in his world? that shred had frayed to nothing. now he trailed you like a shadow, silent and watchful, intercepting threats before they even got close. brought you trophies from battles you didn’t even ask him to fight—an old bully’s severed hand, the head of a reporter who had talked shit about you in the news once, even a fucking crown, gently placed on top of your head without a word. his way of saying mine.

(you wore it for a few hours just to watch his pupils blow wide. worth it.)

now, they were all yours. for now. your mark would come eventually—he always did—but until then? you had a whole collection of broken toys to play with.

(and when he did? well. you’d make sure that was fun, too.)

and just like that, the day was over.

playtime was supposed to be over. but since when did you ever follow the rules?

your mark’s face was priceless—confusion flickering across his features as you landed at the agreed spot, trailing eight battered, bruised, and entirely too attached versions of himself behind you like some fucked-up parade. the air shifted the moment you got closer, thick with tension and something dangerously close to jealousy. you could see it in the way his fingers twitched at his sides, the way his pupils dilated just slightly as you stopped right beside him, close enough that your shoulders brushed.

"had fun?" he asked, voice low, teasing, but with an edge underneath—like he already knew the answer and wasn’t sure if he wanted to punish you for it or praise you.

you grinned, sharp and unrepentant. "oh, you have no idea."

his lips curled, slow and satisfied, and for a second, it was just the two of you—his hand sliding possessively around your waist, his breath warm against your ear as he murmured, "good." because he loved this. loved that you came back. loved that you wanted to. loved that even when he let you wander, you always found your way back to him.

the other marks didn’t move. didn’t speak. some stared at you like they were starving, fingers flexing like they wanted to reach out and take. others looked like they were one wrong breath away from snapping, from tearing you apart just so no one else could have you.

your mark’s grip tightened, just enough to bruise.

he wouldn’t let them try.

you weren’t naive. you knew exactly what he was—what this was. his love was teeth against your throat, a hand around your wrist, a promise whispered in the dark that sounded more like a threat. it was obsession, all-consuming and violent, and you? you fucking reveled in it. you never flinched. never backed down.

because you were just as bad as he was.

"missed you," you muttered, just for him, just to watch his eyes darken.

he laughed, soft and dangerous, and pulled you closer. "liar."

(you were. but he loved that about you, too.)

the red-and-white variant scoffed, turning sharply so his cape snapped like a whip behind him. "this is beneath us." his voice was ice, but the leather of his gloves groaned under the pressure of his clenched fists, betraying him.

the mohawk-and-piercings variant barked out a laugh, sharp and jagged. "what in the actual fuck is this?" he sneered, arms crossed so tight over his chest it looked like he was trying to physically restrain himself from reaching for you. "some kinda twisted harem fantasy? fuckin’ disgusting." but his eyes—dark, hungry, jealous—never left where your mark’s hands gripped you.

the maskless one was silent. just staring, his expression hollow, fingers twitching at his sides like he was already imagining the way your mark’s throat would collapse under his grip.

the veiled mark dragged a hand through his hair, laughing—a bitter, broken sound. "oh, this is fucking rich," he spat, voice thick with something between fury and desperation. his fingers jerked toward you before he forced them into fists, knuckles white. "you really dragged us all here just to watch you play house with him?"

viltrumite mark didn’t speak. didn’t move. just watched, his face carved from stone—but you saw it. the way his jaw flexed when your mark’s fingers pressed possessive bruises into your hip. the flicker of pain in his eyes, raw and aching, before he locked it away.

something twisted in your chest. guilt? pity? you couldn't imagine what it was like to lose someone—really lose them—and for a second, you wondered what you’d do if it were your mark gone. if you were the one standing there, hollowed out and desperate.

but then—

the way they looked at you. pathetic. submissive. like they’d fall to their knees if you so much as crooked a finger. and god, the thought of them breaking further—lips trembling, eyes wet, soft whimpers escaping no matter how hard they bit down—sent a thrill down your spine.

your mark smirked against your temple, his kiss burning like a brand. "cute," he purred, voice thick with mock pity as his fingers tangled possessively in your hair. "look at them—really thought they stood a chance." his lips curled into something vicious as he glanced at the broken reflections of himself, his grip on you tightening just enough to make his point. "weak. all of them. couldn’t even keep what was theirs."

you leaned into him, arms locking around his waist like a claim of your own, sighing as his other hand traced down your spine—gentle in a way that would’ve seemed impossible for anyone else. but this was yours. the way his touch lingered, the way his voice dropped into something warm and honeyed when he spoke only to you. "not you, though," he murmured, lips brushing your forehead. "you’re perfect. mine. only one smart enough to stay alive."

his grin sharpened as he looked back at the others, drinking in their rage, their grief, the way their hands shook at their sides. "bet that stings, huh? seeing what you could’ve had if you weren’t such fucking failures?"

you laughed, low and satisfied, pressing closer just to watch their expressions crack—

and something sick twisted in your chest when you saw how they flinched, how their eyes burned with something raw and starving. because that sound—your laugh, bright and fucking alive—it had been years for them. years of silence, of bloodstained hands and empty beds and the ghost of your voice haunting every battle. and now here you were, curled against him, looking at him like he hung the goddamn stars while they rotted in the periphery.

(and oh—the way their faces twisted. like they wanted to scream. like they wanted to beg. like they’d burn the world down just to tear you away from him.)

(they wouldn’t. couldn’t.)

(your mark would make sure of it.)

hey chat!! hope you enjoyed this messy little 2.1k word dump—this fic fought me like a rabid raccoon and had me struggling the entire time not gonna lie 😭 sorry anon if it's not exactly what you pictured, but i tried my best to make it deliciously messy for you! (lowkey viltrum mark kept stealing the spotlight in my drafts like the favourite he is—had to physically restrain myself from writing 5k words of just him sigh. the struggle was REAL y'all) BUT OMG THOSE LAST LINES WITH SINISTER MARK??? even i was kicking my feet and giggling like an idiot while writing that possessive bastard's dialogue heheh

[hopeswriting]

reminder that if you back tsuna into a corner he

A) sends you right back into the worst prison for mafia criminals you just escaped from, but even worse than before (enjoy being unconscious and tied up in your one room swimming pool for the next 10 years)

B) freezes you with flames burning so hot they turned into ice (< this isn't how the zero point breakthrough is explained in canon but it's the more dramatic explanation), fully knowing you were already frozen by similar ones for 8 years until, like, a month prior

C) burns you fucking alive and also undoes the last 10 years of your existence across all existing timelines. also he won't think anything about it afterwards ever (?????? like. it's not that he didn't deserve it, to be clear, but damn. 😭😭😭 middle schoolers when you just want to take over the world(s) for a bit, smdh 🙄)

D) is willing to become the boss of the most powerful mafia family in the world with a bloodstained history if it means getting the opportunity to get his hands on you and kill you beat the shit out of you. but you're lucky he likes you so you could stay on very thin ice long enough for both of you to clear things up

E) gangs up against you with all the current and future strongest people in the world, and then punches you so hard he makes you see the light of doing the right thing despite your centuries years old deep rooted hatred which singlehandedly kept you alive as an undead person

also reminder he did all that while he was only 14 years old. this is all things he did in less than a year.

this is tsuna's resume during the course of less than a year of proper mafia business.

so, you know. the next time he goes "i just want my friends and i to be safe and happy and live in peace. 🥺🥺🥺 please don't make me fight you to make it happen? 👉🏽👈🏽🥺👉🏽👈🏽🥺👉🏽👈🏽🥺"

just maybe, consider listening to him

[lcndo]

okay... but bestfriend!lando who has kissed you only once before, is DYING to be your new years kiss, who sticks with you throughout the new years party. this boy does NOT let you have a single moment with anyone else. he's needy, he's got his eyes stuck on you, his hands on you at all times. and when you're no where to be found 10 mins before the clock strikes 12, he loses his shit, frantically going through every room in the house to find you, only for you to be in a bathroom, brushing your teeth and using mouthwash- cause lando's made it quite clear that he is gonna kiss you at midnight and you are NOT risking bad breath, not today. you come out, glancing at the big numbers on your lockscreen which scream 11.59 back at you. you finally bump into him in the corridor, from where he practically drags you out to the balcony to see the fireworks when he finally, FINALLY, kisses you. you both make it just in time, the cold air wracking a shiver down to your spine. lando places his hands on either side of your neck, cradling your face oh so close to his, when your lips meet, devastatingly slow. he kisses you, passionate and rough yet sweet and gentle and god... his kiss has you weak in the knees, moving impossibly closer to him to stabilize yourself. you finally pull apart, a string of spit still connecting your lips to his. his voice is beautifully low, eyes half-lidded and focused on you, through all the chaos of the party around you. he's asking you if you've eaten a mint- and when you can only muster up a nod, half out of your mind, still dizzy from the kiss, he's telling you to never do it again, telling you that he's obsessed with the way you taste, that he misses your flavour. he's telling you that his appetite for your lips has only grown larger now that he knows what he's missing out on. and if this is the beginning of your year with him, you're only left wondering how much better it gets from here.

[aka-indulgence]

Do I want to write today or do I wanna draw today. Do I wanna make fanfic/art or do I wanna make an original. Which fandom? Which character? Which ship? Which scenario? Multi chapter fic or a one shot? Comic? Which indivual original idea? Do I continue a WIP or make a new thing?

How about I just lay in bed and imagine doing these things

[blueberrybeomgyu]

leehan edging himself? FANTASTIC ill have 14 of them

1/14 coming right up!!! I actually had two ideas for this one, so I’m gonna write about one here and the second one i think i'll turn into a full fic, so look out for that, nonnie <33 i feel like self-edging is a bit hard to write a drabble on, but i did it anyway, sorry if it's lacking!! i'm also sorry if this doesn’t make sense, they’re just ideas!

bsf!leehan who…

can’t stop thinking about you when he jerks off, even if he tries to push thoughts of you away

you always manage to cross his mind anyway, and the second you do, he’s cumming quicker than he’d care to admit

eventually gives in and indulges in all of his perverted fantasies of you sucking him off, riding his face, fucking him until he can’t think anymore

wants to spend more time with the image of you in his head, so he denies his own orgasms

like riwoo, i’d say he’s pretty good at holding out, not losing his mind, he’s able to stave off the first two or three orgasms easily

sometimes he doesn’t even let himself cum at all, he knows about your sassy/bratty personality well, and likes to think you’d be kinda mean to him in that way

he’s so desperate for your touch, always on edge, and when your eyes or hands linger on him a little too long, he’s using all of the energy in his body to no buck his hips up into the air

he’d be hanging over at your apartment one day, and it’s laundry day, and you're out of underwear!! you tell him with a pout :(

follows you around like a puppy on a normal day, and today isn’t any different, but when you bend over to switch your clothes over to the dryer, he can see the outline of your cunt pressing against your shorts, and he has to pinch himself so hard it bruises to prevent himself from cumming on the spot.

he swears you’re doing this on purpose, throwing him mischievous smiles when you catch him staring at you, but he can’t be sure, so he suffers in silence (definitely won’t admit that he enjoys the game you’re playing)

lingers by the laundry room even after you’ve left, and takes the opportunity to snag a pair of dirty underwear from the hamper of clothes you haven’t gotten to yet, stuffing them in his pocket and putting on his nonchalant act when he joins you on the couch again. 

spends the rest of the evening half-listening to what you’re saying bc his mind is so focused on your panties sitting in his pocket

immediately falls into bed when he gets home that night, stuffs your dirty underwear in his mouth and fucks up into his fist and he looks so stupid, bet you’d call him pathetic as you grind your clit against his nose

he spends hours like that, pulling his hand off of his cock whenever he’s close to the edge and imagining it’s you denying him

he’d whimper desperately around the cotton in his mouth when he finally gets the release he’s been chasing, and it hits him so hard he passes out

wakes up the next morning and is so embarrassed about the state he finds himself in that he doesn’t talk to you for the next four days

✧･ﾟ: *

[ssongsboo]

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❕ : happy sion day ᰔᩚ

⟢ she keep me going .ᐟ

the lingerie was supposed to be a surprise.

a look-but-don’t-touch-yet moment.

but then he kissed you like he missed you from the other room, like the day wasn’t long enough to be apart. and your knees just sort of… hit the floor on instinct.

“fuck, baby,” he groans, head thrown back as your lips wrap around him. “you’re too good to me.”

your mouth’s full and your hands are busy- one pumping what you can’t fit, the other gripping his thigh to keep yourself grounded. it’s messy already, spit sliding down your chin, lipgloss smudged into a sticky ring at the base of his cock.

you’re trying to impress him. to give him something to remember when he closes his eyes tonight.

and you are.

but sion’s eyes catch something else- something behind you- and his breath stutters.

“fuck-”

you blink up at him, confused, lips still wrapped around his dick. he gently grabs your jaw, pulls you off with a wet pop, and angles your face toward the mirror on the far wall. your brows knit together, cheeks flushed, mouth shiny and open.

“look,” he pants. “look at yourself.”

you turn slightly, confused- until you see it.

your reflection. on your knees, back arched like a goddamn wet dream. and behind you, framed perfectly: the swell of your ass in that see-through lace, the way your thighs twitch every time you moan around him. and worst of all- the way your cunt clenches around nothing, desperate and fluttering like it misses him.

his cock twitches in your grip.

“you’re fucking dripping,” he growls. “sucking me off like a good girl but leaking all over the floor like you need to be split open. you like this?”

you nod, almost dazed. “i love it.”

“yeah? you like being seen?” he fists your hair, dragging your mouth back to his cock. “i’ll keep watching, baby. watch how pretty you look gagging on me.”

so he watches as your throat bulges, as tears glitter in your lashes, as your lips stretch around him. and behind you, the lace sticks tighter to your heat, slick making the fabric glisten. your hips grind subtly, needy, empty.

“fuck,” sion chokes out. “i’m gonna cum just watching you fuck yourself on air.”

you whimper around him, trying to take him deeper, and he loses it- hips jerking forward, hand tight in your hair, voice wrecked and raw as he spills down your throat.

you swallow all of it.

wipe your mouth with the back of your hand. blink up at him through glittering lashes.

he looks down at you like you’re a fucking miracle.

“get on the bed,” he growls. “mirror’s staying right where it is. i want you to see what i do to you. how good you are for me.”

[dreamsy990]

TELEMACHUS AND ANTINOUS. FINALLY

[kalied0skull]

“ front and center, girly! ”

— “ yeah, I'm hearin'! ”

now playing: Hey Cowgirl — Mac Demarco ♪

★ ramble & extras under the cut !

it was only a matter of time until i got my grubby hands on cowgirl curtis, i have been running around grabbing EVERRYYY SINGLEEE trans headcanon and absolutely eating that shit UP!!!

shout out to @trevination & @broareweabouttoviberightnow because when scrambling around for ideas to draw her I've discovered that she is your guys' collective daughter and it feels only right to show her to you (so sorry for the @'s I'm not prone to tagging people but i take it you both wouldn't mind much 💀)

this is my little take on cowgirl! and AAAUGHHHH I LOVE HERRRRR I DOOOOO!!!! i am holding her so gently in my hands and brushing her hair with a tiny little comb ,, she's my gal. ..

soemthing about transfem curtis brothers makes my heart go wah, i love them really i do they're so lovely to me

I don't have many headcanons of cowgirl at the moment, but i am obsessed with the idea of calling her "girly" (thankyou to my memaw, who uses girly and inspired the idea) — like... pony / girly? the parallels... okay whatever I'm shutting up i promise /j+silly

anyways, whilst trying to make up a little design for her, i got a bit sidetracked and made this drawing of ponyboy and cowgirl sharing a cigarette and having a real short talk

the specific ponyboy i have there IS post-story, his bleached and overgrown hair making a weird appearance in the drawing. i dunno, i like to imagine post-canon pb would have a way more enamored response to cowgirl compared to pre or during.

he's really in love with the girl he becomes in another universe, even if it might not be him. he still loves her no matter what, and i think that's really neat :D

my favorite little detail of cowgirl has to be the little designs i put on her clothes, something tells me she is a girl who is in LOVE with embroidery. i think it might be one of the things she picked up when transitioning, because you always have to be a little punk in terms of being transgender in my opinion — and i take cowgirl to be quite crafty :3c

i just think she'd fawn over tiny flowers and spirals all over her stuff, because "they are so cute n' simple, right?! but they're so complex and cool!" and awawawahhh... she just likes her details in my eyes

anyways i really really REALLY enjoyed making this drawing, mostly digital though – the traditional sketch was a hit of a process, i accidentally made her too tall at some point and was like "??? nuh uh" 💀 but she's beautiful and she's such a doll and wahhh my babyy...

i hope all the transfem pb fans out there can appreciate another addition to the gallery, I'd also like to shout out GLORBIEZ' ART !!! who also inspired me very heavily to make my own version!

please please please go look at it glorbiez is an amazing artist and i really love their take on cowgirl /BEGGING, DESPERATE (/silly)

who am i if not to jump on a trend with a very niche headcanon amirite ;3

[shower-phantom-ideas]

Danny is just a kid ya know? Like he is just a little guy. A baby really. 14? Tiny child! Look at him, he needs to be protected. Someone has to help this poor little dude. I mean he forgets to use his own powers to avoid attacks all the time.

Anyway cut to Batfam not knowing all of Dannys power set cause the lil dingus keeps forgetting he can do that stuff in the heat of battle.

Danny uses his invisibility all the time… to avoid being followed. But in a fight? Oopsies hes too busy thinking of funny one liners to realise he could do that.

Intangibility? Give the guy a break. I mean who calls themselves condiment king. Even he was stunned.

He so rarely actually uses his biggest advantage powers that the League doubt he actually has them. He, like any naive child, trusts them and reported fully on his power set. Instead of just asking him to demonstrate his powers they instead start watching him and try to find evidence of his powers.

At least they know duplication was true since they watched him make a copy of himself to go to the bathroom and not miss any of his fav tv show.

[daenysx]

just imagine getting your nails done, only a bit long and painted in a fresh, dark red, and you love to torture your boyfriend with them. you rake them slowly on his abs and poor james doesn't know how to stop you because it's so good and so bad at the same time. he leans forward instinctively, his hands finding your waist, your fingertips start wandering on the soft skin of his belly and his happy trail, leaving faint lines behind. he's making a noise without meaning to- you kiss his neck as he puts his head on your shoulder, fuck, do that again. you do as he says, using your fingers just right to stimulate him, he rolls his hips gently. he can't control himself, he pulls you to his lap. you can feel how excited he gets and keep playing with him, this time using your fingers on his scalp as he tilts his head back with a soft groan. he looks adorable, so turned on and he can't wait. you gently draw lines on the back of his neck, his hands are shaking as he tries to take off your sleeping shorts.

[harzilla]

Honestly can I admit I've been sitting on writing a full God!Yuu fic? I keep trying to turn game mechanics into God skills. I just wanna throw this out there. Sorta a ficlet? It's mostly my kind of stream of thoughts.

Imagine the guys are absolutely clueless that the "magicless" human is a god. Like a trickster god and whatever little thing that follows their amusement and they notice a weird little blip of magic one day and decides to follow where it leads.

they immediately shift into a vessel that fits the world and when Grim busts open the coffin the god realizes it's his magic they noticed. Oh? Interesting....

The dark mirror can't read their soul because the mirror is tuned into the souls of those born in Twisted Wonderland. The body? Yes. Their actual being? No. So for the first time the mirror calls a colorless empty soul since it's creation.

The god soon realizes they're in a school of humanoid mages and they can sense the different flows of magic from everybody. Allowing them to be able easily analyze what kind of magic it is, ties into the world/nature(aero, water, fire) and emotions(void/light)the self.

Our God realizes that things could get boring fast if they push their powers around and they decide to handicap themselves by only using intentional power to prevent somebody from dying. They're not particularly interested in seeing a bunch of kids die. Mortal lives are fleeting but full of fascinating things.

It turns out that Twisted Wonderland is very interesting if you're willing to see where things lead. But, they can still interfere if they do it within the limitations of a magicless mortal, right?

They also can also pick up on the emotions of mortals and the drips of blot they see are literal buildup of negative emotions starting to manifest in a physical world, very nasty little thing. But only they can see it at this point. They stick by Ace and Deuce because they know that the two will lead them to Riddle. The only one dripping blot at this point within their line of sense. They work with Ace and Deuce, so it's only natural they follow because they helped make the tart, right? They know they can only allow the overblot to happen because they limited their powers but the rancid magic wafting off Riddle makes them unhappy. Diving into Riddle's mind they gently pull through his memories and pull the threads of his thoughts in the right direction. Weakening the link to the overblot and allows Riddle's own mind to push forward and ask the question he needed to hear. This Allows Riddle to hit a breakthrough the overwhelmingly destructive negative feelings. It severes the link to the overblot completely, killing the overblot and allowing Riddle to live.

Riddle awakens and now our God slips back into the magicless human act. They know something is off and they're going to follow along because they want to see just what is causing the world to flow in the direction it's going.

The sticker system is them giving the guys blessing. Our God likes interesting things and the entire rewardable cast is their kind of fun. These stickers kind of create a pavlova effect where they feel positive energy/feelings when around the prefect. The emotions trigger the blessings they received that it boosts their magic. Thus the higher the friendship the higher the magic output

Honey? Candies? All the treats? More blessings. Increased lessons is the god blessing them with more lessons by tweaking the flow of time. They can't perceive the change unless the god wants them to.

They enjoy learning new things about everybody and seeing their progress. They like studying the different dynamics between everybody and are always curious about what's running through their head. A bunch of hormonal teenagers with way to much power at their fingertips always attracts trouble. But also they find them all endearing in their own weird ways.

Of course our god sometimes creates it's own trouble, oh my it seems the tsums felt the gods power somehow and they showed up at specifically Ramshackle? oh my how odd? The God permits it because, well it's interesting and the tsums are harmless if not as chaotic as their counterparts. Just the right kind of mischief they're looking for. Of course maybe our god might have felt a tiny bit bored, saw this adorable magical creatures by staring out into the infinite void of space, magic, and existence and was all "Visit this world please? 🥺"

I just have so many ideas for this I honestly feel like I should try to make a long fic of this idea. But I just want you to think about the absolute crisis all of them go through when they're revealed to be a god that has just let the guys do everything that has happened throughout the entire plot and events because they're amused?

But oh what fun they can have now! Now that they can mess with the guys openly. Only the ones they permit can tell anything is happening.

Pay backs fun now isn't it?

[witchofthesouls]

Imagining middle adult human being turned into a sparkling and the Ex-human just Traumatizing the heck out of Cybertronians who don't know their story, (perhaps relates to the fact I turn 37 tomorow), IE organic alien blessed and uplifted by the Primes/Primus.

Because to the mechs who don't know the story the ex human's horror movie level creepy on first meeting. Their mental developmental stage and their physical developmental stagrs are all out of synch.

First of all, Happy Belated Birthday, booky!

Second, it would definitely lead to a lot of suspense, tension, and general fuckery. Honestly, everyone will be traumatized at some level here.

The Cybertronians are just completely baffled and absolutely worried over the sudden sparkling with the soul of a burnt-out worker with potential alcoholism, a nicotine addiction, and terrible sleep habits to go with their poor emotional regulation and shit diet.

Meanwhile, the ex-human would have to deal with specific-frame instincts, especially if they're a type of Seekerkin since those kind of frame-schematics have very specific, built-in quirks.

You think you have the alien equivalent of GERD or pulled a muscle-cable because of chest pain.

No. You, a Seekerkin sparkling, are developing the initial signs of spark palpitations as your spark is reaching out for someone to step up as a creator to regulate your spark energy levels back to acceptable levels. Otherwise, the constant calling will lead to your spark to collapse upon itself, burning out without a proper check.

You ping out as a very stressed, desperately-in-need-for-an-adult-RIGHT-NOW sparkling, so every Seekerkin (and other frame-types that function well in groups) can't help but drop things to bundle you up and pur you into submission as they wrangle your spark back into acceptable levels since you're vehemently refusing to actually bond with anyone.

You can't do anything but allow the mechs to swaddle you, press you against their frame, and rumble for an undetermined amount of time until your chest stops hurting and you get the feeling back in your limbs.

You didn't think you're emotionally-constipated, but it seems like Cybertronians have a different definition, especially since they can make physical contact between their very touchable souls.

Bottom line, one day you'll stop stress-weeping on a random mech's lap from a rumbling hug session, but not any time soon.

The fact that it takes so much energy from you that you literally drop into sudden, hiccuping nap right on the mech doesn't help either.

[the-original-skipps]

Life with the Itoshi Bros: Imagine watching a horror movie with them.

Let's pretend Rin can tolerate being in the same room with Sae without raging and that you somehow managed to convince them to watch it with you. You're the acting barrier so you're sitting in between them.

You don't know what's scarier the movie that's playing or how dead silent they both are. The movie you're watching could be the most goriest, creepiest, jump scare inducing movie ever but these two still aren't batting an eye, especially Rin.

You don't know if your eyes are playing tricks on you but you could almost see a faint smile on his lips. He's laser focused on the movie. If you try talking to him he's not even reply because he even didn't hear you. That or he's purposely ignoring you.

Sae, on the other hand looks like he's bored out of his mind. He literally pulled out his phone during the middle of it because that's how uninterested he is. If he is watching, it's most likely because he's spaced out. His eyes are glued to the screen but his mind is else where, most likely thinking about soccer.

If you're not a fan of horror movies or you get scared easily. These two would make the worst horror movie watching companions. If you get scared, the most they'd do is glance at you and that's about it.

Not to mention how far apart they're sitting from each other. You could fit a whole other people in between you and them. It was a miracle in itself that you even managed to get them to sit on the same couch.

Absolutely no talking during the movie or Rin will have your head. Don't look to Sae, he won't help you. Yeah, maybe you're better off hanging out with the monster/villain in the movie.

You: Who do you think is gonna die next?

Rin: ....

Sae: ....

You: Never mind, I'll just shut up.

(Rin is holding himself back from flinging you off the couch for talking.)

[notimeforlaugh]

once I promised phil as a tourist dad

here he is