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dilatorywriting · 1 year

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Monster Mayhem: Little Red Rapscallion

Gender Neutral Reader x Jack Howl Word Count: 3.7k

Summary: 'Dear Evil, Overlord, Patron. Please stop sicking your demon guard dog on me. I'm only trying to help. Kind Regards, Little Red Ridinghood'

A/N: Thank you so much to @insideous-beez for the brain rot, which became brain fertilizer, and eventually a functional story; This one is a bit darker than the other installments due to the Warlock/Evil Deity goodness, so there is a bit more horror here!

[PART 1]

Your grandmother had always told you to mind your manners when it came to the creatures who made the forest their home.

Or, well. That was a lie. Many lies, really. If you wanted to be nitpicky.

Firstly, the old crone who lived deep within the borough of the cursed trees wasn’t actually your grandmother. At least, not in the biological sense that seemed to matter most within your little, provincial, town. She was just a kindly, wrinkled, turnip of a woman who found you wandering the mudflats one day and decided she liked your spunk and general lack of self-awareness. She patted your head, served you strange, bubbling, teas laced with sweet magics, and always returned you to your fretful parents by sundown. And so, she was Grandma. Even if calling her that aloud made your parents go nearly green and had the local shopkeepers crossing themselves and spritzing you with Holy Water.

Secondly, Grandma had never told you to keep to your manners. Usually, she encouraged the opposite. (‘Why not curse them, huh?’ she’d complain loudly. ‘They’re thieving bastards, the lot of them.’ ‘Grandma,’ you’d sigh. ‘The street cleaners are just doing their job. They didn’t mean to steal your dead racoons.’) The idea of her demanding you act ‘proper’ and ‘kind’ was damn near laughable. But what she did enforce upon you with all the firmness of a world-weary teacher was the concept of not fucking with that which ought not be fucked with.

And the sprawling, Shaftland Forest was not to be fucked with.

It had always been a great, creeping, thing. The trees would groan and whisper as you passed, and when their sharp branches tangled in your cloak like grasping fingers, it never felt like an accident. The animals that lived beneath those trees were even stranger—wild, large, beasts with glinting eyes and an arcane mysticism about them that left icicles in their tracks even on summer days, or tangled the undergrowth into something that moved.

The people of your village did not enter the Shaftland Forests. They put up signs, and wards, and spun cautionary tales to every traveler who dared step even a single foot into their teeny, terrified, homestead.

You visited regularly. Because you were half-stupid at least, and because Grandma lived in those woods. And while she’d cautioned you about treating her habitat with care, she’d promised ages ago that so long as you were sweet to the forest, it would forever be sweet on you too.

‘There is a great power in these trees,’ she’d hum to you, as she stirred a simmering pot that looked to be filled with the blood of… something you probably shouldn’t think too hard about. ‘You would have been a lovely gift for it, you know.’ She laughed under her breath. It didn’t sound like a joke. ‘But you were too precious to ruin like that. So he decided we ought to keep you.’

You had no idea who ‘he’ was supposed to be, but you always made sure to shower the forest with compliments. As thanks for not using you as whatever being a, uhm, lovely gift entailed. ‘Oh what nice leaves you have,’ you told many a tree. ‘And what large petals have bloomed today,’ to all the flowers. You’d always been safe in these woods—sheltered beneath a bubble of golden affection and the soft scents of the richest perfumes. The forest always welcomed you with open branches and the coo of creaking bark.

Which is why the twisty field of black thorns blocking your usual pathway gave you pause.

You reached out a finger and prodded one of the sharp points. It bit into your skin with the clear intention of drawing blood, before swaying away at the last moment to twine loosely around your wrist.

Huh. How peculiar.

“May I pass?” you asked the thorns.

The shivering web of ebony tightened along the path and you frowned.

“May I pass, please?” you tried again.

The briar patch seemed to heave with a gusty, angry, sigh. You were about to reach forward and try your luck one more time when a deep, rumbling, snarl curled out from the shadows beyond. Out of the sea of roiling darkness and dainty thorns strode a great, white, wolf. It bared its teeth at you in an expression that was entirely unpleasant.

Immediately you held up your hands in placation and took a wide step backwards. The wolf just kept growling at you like you’d murdered its entire family or something else equally egregious. It skulked forward soundlessly, ears pinned flat.

“My apologies,” you said, dipping your chin in a gentle bow. “I didn’t mean to overstep. I’m just trying to use this path to—”

The wolf lunged at you with a near roar, and you just barely managed to roll out of the way with a shriek. The thing landed hard in the dirt where you’d just been not a moment prior, and it swung its great, fanged, maw in your direction.

“Apologies, old one,” you tried again, just as Grandma had taught you. “But I really just—”

The wolf snapped, nearly taking off your fingers, and you folded over like a turtle that had been upended on its back—rolling around helplessly with your limbs flailing wildly as you went. The sharp crack of your head against the ground left your brain rattling around like dried beans in a can, and you could taste the copper sting where you’d bitten down into your tongue. The failed cartwheel had set you back a solid fifteen feet from the wood’s edge, and the wolf huffed at you—a stupidly pointed ‘stay away’ if you’d ever seen one. It glared at you with glowing, golden, eyes for a long moment before melting back into the shadows.

You spat out the cocktail of mud and blood pooling along your tongue, and wiped angrily at your sore chin. The forest had never denied you before. So maybe it wasn’t your lovely, lonely, trees that were sending you away. Maybe it was just this stupid wolf. Maybe the beast was trying to make a stand—to usurp the role of whatever spirit had ruled over this dark land for so long now. You grumbled and made your way back to your feet. It was fine. Your forest was strong. It would never lose to such a stupidly fluffy opponent. You’d just have to try again tomorrow.

The next day you armed yourself with a small arsenal of goodies. Daggers, ropes, armloads of talismans, and kindling, and rations. You hoisted your bow across your back and carefully plucked at the soft fletching of the arrows. The feathers buzzed beneath your fingers, and after a moment of uneasy hesitance, you cautiously replaced the weapon where it hung over your bed. Grandma had never liked the idea of you carrying weapons in the forest (‘it invites troublemakers’ she’d warned), but if something really had gone wrong in her woods, then it was better to worry about asking forgiveness than permission. And surely you could argue for a dagger. The bow… With its weighted arcana and strange, dissonant, strength felt like something dangerous.

So you apologized to the rippling thorns before cutting them back with swift, precise, strokes of your blade and starting down that familiar path to Grandma’s cottage.

You made it about fifty yards before one of your talismans began to ping worryingly. The tingling thrum along your side was just enough of a warning to keep you from being mauled outright.

The White Wolf lunged from between the trees and you skittered out of the way of its attack. For such a huge creature, it was so silent. And its gleaming, downy, coat should have more than given away its position in the gloom. There must have been some kind of magic to it—something old, and ancient, that let the beast slip through the darkness unseen.

The Wolf situated itself firmly in the center of the path, hackles raised and shoulders hunched like it was readying itself to pounce.

“I need to get through,” you told it, firm, and raised one of the Protective talismans. After a heavy moment you scowled and bit out, “Please.”

The Wolf snarled and propelled itself forward. It latched its overlarge teeth in the fabric of your red cloak and quickly began to drag you to the ground. You frantically flailed about, and just managed to avoid those glinting fangs enough to thrust the talisman up into the beast’s ribs with a heavy smack. The charm lit with a brilliant, amethyst, gleam and sparks shot through the air. You let out a triumphant, ‘ah HA!’ And then all that magic fizzled out like a dying candle. You gaped in horror as the ‘one hundred percent foolproof, don’t you worry about that child’ Protective talisman fluttered to the ground like a discarded bit of newspaper.

“Oh, shit,” you croaked, as your cloak was shredded between the wolf’s canines with a horribly shrill wriiiiiip.

You sprinted like a bat out of Hell, tearing through the undergrowth and only just managing to collapse beyond the border of the tree line before the wolf could snap its jaws around your ankles. You curled your limbs protectively up beneath you, and watched through a veil of cold sweat as it paced along the foliage—leaving no tracks in its wake.

Fine, you thought bitterly. Two can play at this game.

The next morning you walked North, beyond the only safe paths you knew. Carefully, you began to scuttle your way up the nearest, gnarled, tree. The bark groaned and rattled beneath your fingers, as if disquieted. But there were no trails of white fur yet darting about the underbrush, so you offered the tree a hasty apology before climbing higher.

From there, it was only a matter of cautiously hopping from branch to branch. Normally when you’d tried ridiculous feats of stupidity like this in the past, the trees seemed more than eager to help you along—practically reaching out with their branches to catch you in their willowy, wooden, fingers. But they seemed stiff today, testy. The leaves themselves seemed to complain as you went, and you shushed them as politely as you could.

There was a sharp bark from beneath you, and you looked down to see the Wolf circling your perch in a frantic, pacing, dance.

“Hello!” you beamed, perfectly, poisonously, pleasant. “Nice to see you too!”

The Wolf sneered, lips curling up into a tight, tense, bow over its fangs.

You leaned forward, keeping a hand securely looped into your roost.

“Aww,” you cooed. “Is it too hard to climb up here with those big, fluffy, paws?” you mocked, wiggling your own fingers contentedly. “Bet someone really wishes they had opposable thumbs, huh?”

And then, like you were being smited by God Himself, the branch beneath your feet cracked clean in half, and you plummeted to the ground bellow with a harrowing screech. Naturally, you landed right at the wolf’s aforementioned stupid, fluffy, paws. Its great head lowered, and you could feel the heat of its breath as it growled into your face.

With a pathetic little ‘eep!’, the talisman tucked into the back of your boot burst into life and you flickered like a janky illusion. You stumbled to your feet a dozen or so yards away, fighting the urge to double over and barf. Slipping through planes was unpleasant at the best of times, let alone when under actual fucking duress.

The Wolf blinked its wide, golden, eyes at the empty space beneath its paws, and then whipped its head in your direction like a blood hound. You pushed yourself upright with the help of the very tree who had betrayed you so thoroughly, and began your hasty retreat.

You crashed through a curtain of thorns and out into the open with a gasp.

You rolled forward like the world’s most inelegant acrobat and came to a skidding halt in the dirt. You sat up with an achy cough, dislodging muck, and rocks, and leaves from your windpipe.

The Wolf prowled behind you—its glare a set of golden pinpricks in the gloom.

“What is your problem?!” you wailed.

The wolf tossed its head, like rolling its eyes wouldn’t have been enough. And snapped at you with another one of those pissy, bitten off, growls.

“You know what?” you seethed, swinging back onto your knees to jab a finger at it accusatorily. “Fuck you!”

The thing had the absolute gall to snort at you before turning to return to its ceaseless patrol.

By the time you hauled yourself back to your family home, you must have looked an absolute mess. No one bothered to stop you when you practically clawed your way up the stairs and into your small bedroom. Though to be fair, no one really bothered to stop you for anything anymore. Not since an old women with too much spare time and not nearly enough light in her eyes had decided that you were a child to be treasured.

You grabbed your bow off the wall and slung it over your back. The sleek, silvery, wood hummed beneath your fingers. It had been a gift, one whose very existence you stalwartly refused to question. The weapon was finer than anything that could have come from your village’s blacksmith, or honestly probably any human craftsman. It was weightless. It was too heavy. It sang in your hands. It was not a token to be bestowed lightly. But… Well. Whoever it had belonged to before, it was yours now.

And you were going to shoot that goddamn Wolf right in the ass.

On the fourth day of your apparent banishment from the Shaftland Forest, you stormed those woods like a would-be conqueror. The silver bow keened beneath your palms, and you held a thin, spiked, arrow knocked and at the ready. Your nemesis found you in no time at all, and you bared your teeth at the stupid, fucking, mutt before it had the chance.

“One last time,” you said, drawing your bow as tight as you could. “Let me pass, beast. Or I will go through you.”

The wolf’s hackles were raised, but the snarl had slipped off its face. It dug its claws into the dirt, and you watched something like surprise work its way across the thing’s regal features. Its golden glare flickered from you, to the bow, and back again, like it couldn’t quite believe what it was seeing.

“I have business in these woods,” you demanded. And then, petulantly—because you just wanted to know that your stupid, devil worshipping, turnip of a grandmother was okay, and you were so fucking fed up with this garbage—you stomped at the ground and shouted, “And I was here first! So scram, you overgrown Pomeranian!”

The Wolf’s ears drooped, and something like a tremor worked its way down its spine. But then the thing was shaking its giant head like it was surfacing from beneath a pool of water, and it straightened its posture with a rumbling growl.

“Fine,” you snapped, and unleased the first arrow. It whizzed past your fingertips with a thready, shrill, fwoom faster than you could track. The booming force of it shocked you enough to have you shooting wide, and you watched that pin-thin arrow hit a tree trunk and sink all the way through to the other side.

The Wolf rushed forward when you went to reload, fur standing on end like you’d run it through with a bolt of lightning. It tackled you bodily to the ground with a yelp, and you wheezed as the air was knocked out of your lungs in one, fell, swoop. The bow tumbled out of your hands and you scrabbled for it wildly. And then the beast lunged for the bright red of your hood, as it seemed so keen to do in each of your past scuffles. But maybe it was done playing with you. Or maybe it just wasn’t expecting you to flail around so terribly. Because its garish fangs bore down past the soft, billowy, fabric of your cloak and tore straight into the meat of your arm instead.

You gasped and weren’t entirely able to swallow down the sharp shriek of pain that bubbled up and out of your throat. The wolf reared back in shock, its mouth stained red. It immediately ducked back in close, and then away, and then in again. Like it wasn’t sure what to do. The stalwart resolve from earlier was gone—replaced entirely by a bumbling sort of panic that had your head swimming more than the blood loss.

You tucked your arm in close, feeling the tattered remains of shredded fabric curling beneath new, warm, wetness. The Wolf cautiously nosed forward, but when you flinched it reared back like you’d struck it. The beast stepped pointedly away, and then began to pace frantically back and forth. Occasionally it would stop, like it was going to move in close again. But then its pointy ears would press stiff and flat atop its head and it would skulk away all over again.

Whatever, you seethed silently, jerkily ruffling through your bag for some of the Healing talismans you knew were tucked away at the bottom. If the monster felt some kind of weird guilt for taking a chomp out of you when it’d already been doings its damndest to maul you for the past four days straight, that was its problem.

It was taking you longer to unearth the talismans than you would have liked, and your hand was really starting to shake in earnest. The Wolf whined high and miserable in its throat, and you rationally decided that it would be a terrible, petty, idea to waste what little composure you had left just to tell it to fuck right off.

The horrid mess of crimson had begun to seep its way along your skin—dripping down your wrist to plop against the damp, mossy, earth with an echoing plip plip plip that was not unlike the fall of slow, fat, spring rain. The air around you seemed to grow heavier with it—the trees swaying at their roots and the dark, shriveled, flowers straining against their stems to get a taste. The Wolf’s golden gaze flicked around the grove cautiously, and you watched its black nose twitch in obvious discomfort. You swore you could see hands—dozens, hundreds of inky appendages reaching out from the shadows. Fingers twisting up into claws like they meant to grab onto you and dig in, never letting go. The Wolf settled itself at your back like a brick wall, snarling doggedly at the wispy talons. The beast was so large it practically enveloped the entirety of you, and you had to fight the delirious, dizzy, urge to lean back into its impractically soft fur.

“Hey! Are you alright over there?”

Both you and the Wolf jolted in surprise as a group of adventurers plowed their way through the trees. The Wolf’s already distressed expression twisted into something nearly manic and it roared—putting all those ferocious teeth on display.

“Woah!” one of them yelped, crashing to a halt and dragging their friends to a stop beside them. “What the fuck?!”

The others all looked equally startled, hands settling heavily on their weapons. And while right now Mister Wolfy wasn’t outright nomming on you or your limbs, there was a still a steady stream of blood trailing from the wound near your shoulder—a set of very obvious teeth marks sitting stark and red against the rest of you.

“We heard a scream,” another spoke up. Then, pointedly raising the sharp edge of his sword, asked, “Is this your companion, Ranger?”

‘Ranger?’ you blinked, confused, before remembering the bow still sitting in the dirt by your feet. Before you could respond, the Wolf lurched forward over your shoulder. It didn’t leave you—didn’t stray from its steadfast position at your hind—but it pushed its gaping, angry, maw as close to the group as it could. The trio reeled back as the monster snapped, and snarled, and nearly vibrated out of its skin with rage. But… no. Something wasn’t quite right. As viciously angry as all that harsh barking sounded, there was something very, very disquieting about it. Something strained, something afraid.

The one with his sword raised stepped forward, the others moved to follow. And then they were gone.

You blinked, shocked silly. There had been people there—not a second before. You were sure of it. What the fuck was happening?—

And then there was a discordant scream from somewhere deeper in the woods. Distant, but close. Like there were arcane tricks distorting the way of the world. Keeping you separate from the horrible, grinding, shrieking noises while… whatever was happening carried on—not a dozen yards away. Cloaked in shadows and rotten, violet, petals like how a parent might gently close a curtain around a child’s bed at night. You watched in half-awe, half-horror as seeping, purple, miasma leached from the trees and into the air. It chased the intruders with vicious intent. You could feel the sharp, dark, heat of it prickling along your skin, but when that swirl of near-black enchantments made its way to you, it slipped past you like smoke—leaving only a faint trace of awful, coppery, perfume against your clothes.

“Why couldn’t you just stay away?” a deep, miserable, voice echoed in your head, and you jerked around in shock to see the Wolf staring at you with heavy, gold eyes.

“Did… Are you…” you trailed off, swallowing. Not sure how to even begin asking what you wanted to ask.

The Wolf sighed, bone deep and weary.

“I tried so hard to keep everyone away,” its voice rumbled in the back of your mind. “Why did you have to be so stubborn?”

“This is my forest, too,” you said after a long moment, fingers digging into the dusty material of your pants. “What’s wrong with it? What happened?”

The Wolf stared at you, quiet and considering. And then it lumbered to its feet with a defeated sort of slouch.

“Come, then, Little Red One,” it huffed, and swished its tail against your back. “I’ll show you.”

TAG LIST [CLOSED]

@marvelous-maxi, @ilikefanfics4, @jackalope08, @crocwork-clockodile, @cosmicobubisi, @buttplugs-stuff, @pomefleur, @decemebercircus, @ailynyan, @genzombie, @meliade-ot, @sunlightocean, @theofficialantitherapist, @hermiona18, @sailorenthusiast, @fantasy-dating-sim-trash, @thefiasco-onyourblock, @insideous-beez, @its-clockwork-princess

@novaloptr, @imlost-sendhelp, @matcha-berry @preciosayorgullosa @whoretaglia, @kookygirlwholikescookiesandcoke, @nanauedorian, @trixeraptops, @voxnipop, @starkling25, @thedum1, @horcrux-alchemist, @sleepykitty21, @apathicace, @instantregret101, @nekanecorvus, @looney-mori, @re-ducing, @my2phetaliaheadcanons, @naughtybodypillow, @rendy-a, @carmen-404, @candy284, @thealiennamedterry, @their-name-is-fake, @huetolog, @glacticrose, @seraphinariddle, @rabioa, @sn00zl4x, @dreasimping, @jeidoreech, @ai-dev, @galaxyshine24-7, @fatally-incorrect, @juulranch, @camrastuff, @nocteetdie, @stargaryengirl,

#twisted wonderland imagines #twisted wonderland #twst x reader #Monster Mayhem #My Writing #Twst Fantasy AU #Jack Howl x Reader #Jack Howl x Yuu #Hellhound!Jack Howl #Familiar!Jack Howl #Patron!Vil Schoenheit #vil schoenheit #Jack Howl #Monster Mayhem Jack Part 1

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capitalisticveins · 1 year

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Guy meeting Honey Headcanons (Ft. Geordi)

i REALLY wanted to write this as a oneshot but I can’t write oneshots, so hopefully this isn’t bad? It’s also my first time writing dialogue so go easy on me? Maybe? Constructive criticism is encouraged, and GENERAL headcanons will either. be released tonight or tomorrow since I still have to write DAMN headcanons

Also this features the headcanon that “Geordi and Guy are friends”

- Okay well to start these off

- Guy and Honey attended the same college within the same year, but neither ever noticed each other

- Until Honey and their “friends” (Honey would call them acquaintances) ordered a pizza while having a sleepover

- Guy, wanting a little more pay, took the order and drove over to the designated address

- Honey was busy complaining to their friends about how expensive the pizza was compared to another pizzeria’s pizza, but they already ordered it, so it’s not like they could cancel it

- Even though they very much could

- Guy eventually made it to the address after 15 minutes, and rang the bell

- One of Honey’s friends piped up and said “Since you’re not willing to play Smash with us, why don’t you get the pizza?

- It was supposed to be a joke, but Honey was willing to do it if it meant they didn’t have to hear anyone else yell about falling off the stage

- Honey gathered the money, still muttering about “expensive and shitty pizza”. Although they were going to tip the delivery guy because it was a quick delivery.

- When the door opened, Guy couldn’t help but stare at the absolutely gorgeous sight displayed in front of him. Honey hadn’t looked at him yet, making sure they had the right amount of money

- “It’s $31.89, right? Seems pretty expensive, especially for 2 boxes of pizza.” Honey couldn’t help but unconsciously pout, which only made Guy blush a tad bit harder.

- “Uh, no! No it’s actually just uh, $15! We’re currently, uh, having a discount on Thursdays so it’s just $15.” His lie wasn’t obvious, but it was ridiculous.

- “Really?” Honey looked at him for the first time, and took the tie to stop counting the money to look for any hint of a joke on his face. “But the lady on the phone said-”

- “Oh she’s new, she doesn’t know about the discounts, we’ll look into it, but yeah it’s a small $15 for tonight!” Guy hated how awkward he was being, but as long as this was the only time he’d have to interact with them, it’s fine.

- But he didn’t want this to be the last time he spoke to them! He delivered to attractive people before, but this was a whole new level of wow.

- Honey was a bit more content that the pizza was cheaper than they thought, and paid for it without any more complaint, even giving him a $7 tip for telling them about the discount.

- Guy stood at the door for a solid 2 minutes after it shut, still in awe at the person he just saw.

- ‘What was their name? Are they single? Oh GOD, are they my age or are they some super old person obsessed with looking young?’

- Thoughts raced around his head like a train, until he realized he had to cover the other $16 they didn’t pay because of him.

- The next day, Guy was ranting to his friend about the person he delivered to, describing their appearance as if it were from a poem

- Geordi, his friend, raised an eyebrow and questioned him, “You mean Honey?”

- Guy was surprised Geordi knew someone who fit his description, or in the least knew their name. “Who’s Honey?”

- Geordi looked around the hallway swiftly before pointing to his left. “Them.”

- He glanced to the direction Geordi pointed at, yet only saw a crowd around a locker, before noticing the person from last night being inside of the crowd, opening their locker and chatting with one of their friends, a tiny smile evident on their face

- Guy was in shock with his face read ‘They’re HERE? Then they must be my age. Why is that what I’m worried about, what if I make a fool of myself? What if they don’t remember me? Well no SHIT they don’t remember me I’m just a pizza guy from last night!’

- Geordi, being a chronic overthinker, noticed Guy’s mind was running a mile a minute, and snapped his fingers in front of Guy’s face

- “Y’know you could just…talk to them, right? Honey’s a little off-putting from what I’ve heard, but they’re still just another person here.” Geordi wasn’t lying, Honey usually has a RBF towards anyone they didn’t know- scratch that, Honey usually has a RBF towards everyone, but they were just another student that attended the university, even they knew that.

- “Talk to them? TALK TO THEM?” Guy said that last part a little louder than he wished, so he began to whisper the rest.

- “I can’t just talk to them! I’m not someone you just casually talk to, not even you talk to me casually. How do I even talk to them? Just go up like a 5 year old and ask to be friends?” He whisper-yelled in Geordi’s direction. Geordi would’ve flinched at the tone if Guy wasn’t his panicking best friend of 4 years

- Geordi took a moment to think before responding. “Well, Honey’s a smart person, maybe they’re a tutor? That way you could find a reason to talk to them and get some help with your classes. Lord knows you need the help.”

- Guy chuckled at the joke, or at least he hoped it was.

Taglist: @niyahbear

This took hours to write so part 2 to the meeting will be released within a week

#GOD this took FOREVER #my hands are in pain #constructive critism welcome #very very welcome #Redacted ASMR #Redacted Audio #Redacted Guy #Redacted Honey #Redacted Geordi #Redactedverse #Redacted headcanons

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schneiderenjoyer · 3 months

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it's you!! the one that made that verneider fic!!! i enjoy your fics and curious about something so i gott ask. what's your headcanons on schneider?

Vague, but yes, I write verneider stuf haha. I really appreciate and glad people like my work! (if you're actually referring to my fics like TWTR) And on the subject of headcanons...

SLAMS TABLE

You have no idea what you're asking for, anon. I'll literally go FERAL here for you asking this of me. I can go on forever talking about my personal headcanons for Schneider. And that's assuming whether or not you wanted headcanons of Schneider in general or for TWTR!Schneider. So, I'll compromise.

Normal Text is headcanons applying to both Italic mainly applies to Schneider Bold mainly applies to TWTR!Schneider

List of a "few" headcanons below.

Schneider is a good singer. Being told by her parents to go to church regularly, she'd also be encouraged to participate in church activities with her sisters like choir duty.

She's knowledgeable in botany. Growing up in an orchard, she picks up useful experience in taking care of plants, mainly fruits.

Schneider smokes and drinks. Mafia life gets her to pick up shady habits in her early days to relieve stress.

She taught herself how to use a gun. First gun she got was owned by her late father. The first time she ever had to use it is out of self-defense.

Schneider first killed someone at age 11.

Schneider's an adept learner. She shows signs of being responsible and understanding of the given situation at a young age, making her easily flexible. When it's beneficial or necessary to pick up a skill, she'll quickly learn and apply it into practice to be more efficient.

She's a skilled cook. Wandering around doesn't mean ignoring what you eat. Candies and energy bars won't do for a gourmet like her. She's equipped with years of knowledge and experience to feed even an entire army of picky eaters.

Schneider's favorite fruit is Sicilian Blood Orange.

Schneider didn't get a proper education. She knows how to read and write well enough, but she's taught herself how to speak English for survival.

She's greedy, but frugal. In her later years, Schneider grows to have a lavish and sophisticated taste in fashion and food, but always aims for practicality (buying cheap fake pearls because it's shiny enough and keeps the scent of oranges on her). She only splurges on family necessities and "business" resources.

Schneider is good in finances. In a struggling economy with 20 mouths to feed, she's learned to calculate the expenditures well.

Liberal in mind, conservative at heart. She's designed to be based on the American 1920s flapper girl scene where it's commonly viewed at the time as "going against the standard perception of young women" at the time. Yet, while Schneider filled into that role out of necessity to be her family's backbone (and it fits her personality better), at heart, she is still a young girl raised under conservative Christian values. Even if the possibility is no longer there, Schneider still dreams of someday marrying for love (man or woman doesn't matter to her), starting a family, and maybe be a sweet loving housewife to someone.

Hesitant leader, rebellious follower. Schneider has a complicated view of authorities, mainly the government. She's resistant and even disdainful towards blindly following higher power without questioning their motives, but knows when to lower her head for the time being. With this view, Schneider isn't interested in the leader position nor does she want to order an entire group of people to do her bidding if she really can help it.

Schneider doesn't lie. In a cruel world full of deception, the last thing she wants is to be a liar herself. She doesn't consider "lying by omission" as lying; merely stalling for time before she has to say it out loud. Her favorite tactic to avoid having to admit it openly too soon is to divert the subject or make cryptic, playful jabs. It's not lying if you never answer, after all~

She finds it hard to ask for help openly. With her background, showing any admission of weakness is a gateway to risking her loved one's life, so she finds more creative way to get the help she needs through subtle cajoling or manipulating the conversation to get the other person to engage willingly about the information she needs. Only time Schneider would ever ask help first is a matter of life and death of others rather than herself.

Schneider has a complex relationship with religion. She doesn't inherently denounces the practice, as she's lived her whole life with it, but she's jaded by it. Her shaky mindset about God and religion has led her to being she's a sinner and the reason she and her family have fallen on hard times with no salvation. Maybe if she was a better daughter...

Faith in you is belief to me. Schneider, even with many qualities of an arcanist, is still human biologically. She can't see or hear things most arcanists can, but she feels them. If her eyes and ears fail her, she places faith in those she trusts to be her guiding light.

Family over everything. Italian or no, Schneider will do anything for those she loves and considers "family." She'll place their comfort over herself and will do what she can to protect them. Even with her own life.

She loves collecting feathers. From doves to pigeons, any feather of any kind or color. It's a small hobby she holds dear in her heart.

Schneider likes watching movies, mainly the cheesy romance and slasher horror genre. Ever since finding out about "talkies" and the existence of "giallo" films, she likes to collect and binge watch all sorts of shows late at night.

Curious in the arcane. Her deepened fascination to immerse herself in the arcanist lifestyle has her become very knowledgeable in many arcane practices on a basic level. If she can't be a professional in one, might as well just be decent in all.

Schneider has a large gun collection. She takes care of it and maintains them well.

Playful business. It's hard for most to identify whether Schneider takes work seriously or not. She defaults to her usual teasing personality whether it's a risky job or a simple task. Only when the situation has her comrades at risk does she stop playing around and take things more seriously.

Selfishly selfless. It's already been shown many times in previous headcanons, but Schneider's selfless to a fault in the sense she'd do everything for her loved ones. She only gets involved and looks out for others with her best interest (and her "family") in mind. The best way you can get her on your side is to be friends with her family. (or threaten her with their life)

We win or we die. Schneider is no gambler, but when she does, she games with her life. She's long known the worth of her soul and will lay it down for any opportunity to win all odds. (to the benefit of her loved ones) Even so, there remains a heart that yearns to live.

I'll stop there since it's getting too long, haha. But yeah, I have a lot of headcanons for Schneider. Bbygirl's got so much potential and so much layers as a character. I love her so much.

#reverse 1999 #reverse 1999 schneider #schneider #headcanons #asks #thank u for the ask! I had a lot of fun with this #I cannot shut up about Schneider and I never will #together within the rubble

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ffcrazy15 · 8 months

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Headcanon: Boimler is significantly better with a phaser rifle than a phaser pistol.

So. Two things about growing up in farm country mean that most people there learn how to shoot at a relatively young age. The first reason is that coyotes (and sometimes mountain lions) will absolutely try to fuck up your shit if you're a farmer. They will try to steal your pets and/or smaller livestock, and if there's a mountain lion in the area you really don't want to go walking around in a field without protection.

The second and more important reason is that hunting is big in farming communities because the state Game and Fish department relies on licensed hunters to keep the local wildlife populations healthy. Too many deer this season means not enough food, which means a lot of sick and dying deer next season. Hunters help to keep the wildlife population in check in places where humans have driven off their natural predators (since they're also unfortunately our natural predators).

The thing is, though, generally you don't use handguns for hunting (whether for protection or food); you use a rifle or a shotgun. So I think the majority of Boimler's pre-Starfleet experience with firearms would probably have been with whatever the 2300s version of a hunting rifle would be. This would explain why he seems to prefer them and knows about how to clean and take care of them, as we see in the beginning of Where Pleasant Fountains Lie.

EDITED TO ADD: A helpful person in the comments has given more relevant information/correction on the matter; I encourage y'all to check it out! Thank you @mutualweirdcalledlove!!

#obviously my “Boimler is a farm boy who wanted adventure” thesis continues #no I'm not projecting you're projecting #I wasn't a farm kid myself but I grew up in a place much like Modesto—medium-sized city surrounded by farmland—and I knew farming families #no shade to anyone who likes living in places like that but to me it was crazy boring I can see why he bailed #it's also why he's so diligent about getting his work done on the ship #the guy definitely had to wake up at 5:00 to get the chores done before school #lower decks #star trek lower decks #brad boimler #tw guns

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keilahseverin · 9 months

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Spell your URL: keilahseverin

Spell out your URL using song titles that can describe your muse, then tag as many people as there are letters in your URL!

Tagged by @humblemooncat and @bananarose yessss 2x tags means 2x effort let's goooo

My URL = one of my WOL's name because I am so very creative haha.

This was HARD, but uhhh I made it hard on myself. I approached this a little differently from the description above and built a "soundtrack" based on Keilah's story. I had several criteria for picking songs here:

Can't pick two songs from the same band or source.

The lyrics of the song, if any, have to be relevant to Keilah's personality or life somehow.

The overall vibe of the song has to fit Keilah.

No FFXIV OST, that would be too easy (but other FF titles were fair game... even though none of them made the cut, lul).

I think the criteria worked, because I was able to fish around in my library and memory for a collection of songs that I think represents Keilah well in many different ways! (Plus, new story brainworms moved in how about that??)

If you decide to do this challenge, I encourage you to find a fun way to represent your muse that makes sense for you! Song titles, songs from OSTs only, whatever :)

---

Here is the soundtrack:

K - Kid A, Radiohead - I slip away, I slipped on a little white lie

E - E. Is Stable, Menomena - Coldness sets in like fingernails raked across the door

I - I Walked, Sufjan Stevens - I would not have run off, but I couldn't bear that it's me, it's my fault

L - La cathédrale engloutie (The Sunken Cathedral), Debussy - The slow, quiet buildup conjuring images of a drowned cathedral slowly emerging from the sea... only for the waves to roll back in, engulfing the cathedral, as they ever have. I can't help but picture Keilah's big discoveries about her own past taking place during this song. Okay and maybe I cheated a little using the French version of the name "But Keilah there is also an S in your name" Yes shhh quiet it's okay shhhhh.

A - Area Zero, multiple composers/arrangers (Pokémon Scarlet & Violet OST) [potential Pokémon SV late-game spoiler!]- The mysterious feel of this track-- like you're stumbling upon knowledge you shouldn't be witness to-- fits well with Keilah's personal journey.

H - Hand in my Pocket, Alanis Morissette - I'm sad, but I'm laughing. I'm brave, but I'm chicken shit. I'm sick, but I'm pretty, baby

S - Sacrifice, The Weeknd - Every time you try to fix me, I know you'll never find that missing piece

E - Emil (Sacrifice), Keiichi Okabe (Nier Replicant 1.22... OST) - "There are as many ways to view the world as there are people in it."

V - Valley of Calm Trees, Klaxons - While passing through the clouds of diamond dust as two mock suns arise beside our one, the sun-dogs guide the way towards the east and set behind the valley of calm trees

E - Exit This Earth's Atomosphere, Camellia - keilahbossfight.mp3

R - Recover, Chvrches - And if I recover, will you be my comfort? Or it can be over. Or we can just leave it here

I - Invincible, Muse - Don't give up the fight. You will be alright, 'cause there's no one like you in the universe

N - No One Knows, Queens of the Stone Age - I drift along the ocean, dead lifeboat in the sun, and come undone

---

Tagging 13 people here we go, 0 pressure to do this especially if it's not your thing, more of an FYI hi this might be cool if you want: @archaiclumina @miqomonkly @gobbie-boom @ravendas-xiv @ishgardmuffin @umbralaether @irisopranta @emetkoto @arinaxiv @emc2beans @protection-and-pleasure @whimsyxiv @wingedasarath and of course anyone else that stumbles upon this and wants to try!

Feel free to do this with your character's name instead, whatever floats your boat really heh heh.

#thank you for the tag!#ffxiv #final fantasy xiv #ffxiv viera #ffxiv wol #keilah severin #ffxiv oc #music #playlist #oc playlist #oc soundtrack #tag game

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reallyhardy · 2 months

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actually i need to put some GOOD in my life onto the blog, bye bye 🩸period vent posts🩸, hello really wonderful experience i had recently:

so most months once a month i get my sweet sweet gig of outdoor art messy play with families at the art gallery in our garden. we make magic potions with leaves and water and sometimes dried tea and spices for extra magic, and we do mud painting with just like dirt that i dig out of a big hole in the ground.

it's THEEEE most fun i get to have, basically just rush around refilling buckets of water and seeing kids have fun learning about how to be creative with what there is around us to use (for free) but of course it generates a lot of mess...

well last summer during our outdoor play sessions i got quite a lot of different volunteers who would come help out on different days, and we encourage family volunteering where people can bring their kids and the kids get to wear volunteer t-shirts but we basically just tell them their job is to be in charge of 'fun'. anyway this one lady brought her twins, boy and girl, age about 6 on a few days and OMG these kids. such shining little humans, and always so ready to help out with tidying up. i remember by the end of summer i had to send their mum a message just to tell her what a great job she's done raising her two lil superstars honestly...

anyway last saturday i was doing the first outdoor art club of the year and it was getting to the last hour when this lady and her twins arrive and the absolute JOY on their faces 😭😭😭 never seen any child look happier to see me that wasn't a member of my family - or maybe more so i cannot lie. they were like "OMG LOREN'S HERE! the guy at the desk said it wasn't you running it today!" and i was like "WOAH well i am here and what a wonderful surprise to see you guys here!" like literally. so so sweet and adorable.

so we played around for a bit, they tried out painting and all the activities, anyway obviously i had still to attend to all the other visitors but i kept circling back, then when it was packdown time and me and the other facilitator started tidying... the twins came back around and kept on asking all the different ways to help out, they helped me rinse down all the mud paint palettes and put everything away, even helped me carry a bunch of easels inside... i kept trying to tell them "okay great job thank you for your help! i got this from here" but they were SO determined to make sure they helped me with every little thing 🥺 like obvs. little children i am much stronger than you yes i can lift this easel on my own and prob get it done way faster too but i SO so appreciate you wanting to help me.

anyway sent another message to their mum the next day just gushing about her lil critters, she sent me a whole heartfelt message back saying my thank you message is going in a scrapbook. just... so so sweet. maybe on those days, i literally DO have the best job ever i can't even deny it. for me it's perfect

#loren talks #honestly just SO sweet like #life is good sometimes life is amazing and the KIDS??#the kids are alright. the future is in good hands when there's kids like this in the world

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lilac-gold · 7 months

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Mind Control

AI-less Whumptober: Day 6 Conditioning | Mind control | Forced to hurt someone else @ailesswhumptober

Fandom: OMORI Rating: Teen Word Count: 2625 Summary: Under Bossman, Hero is a puppet. He has no say in what his body does, and no way to resist when it starts to hurt his little siblings. AO3 LINK

“Hero, I want you… To take over the Last Resort for me.”

It had begun small, inconspicuous. Everything had been fine, and while Hero had been apprehensive, sure, he was hardly out of his mind with worry. He’d reminded Jawsum of his age, but the businessman was firm in his decision, luggage held tightly in-hand.

“I know you can handle this, Hero,” Jawsum told him, face softening a little as he averted his eyes. Jawsum wasn’t a fan of open affection. “You’re resilient, and smart, and I trust you. I’ve spent way too long at this business, growing my net worth, improving my stocks, but in the end, what’s it worth? This building’s falling apart, and now that I have a successor, I finally realise that I don’t have to stay here anymore. After all, I’m a billionaire!” Jawsum laughed heartily, then something guarded crossed his expression and he beckoned Hero closer. “Just… Stay true to yourself, and you’ll be fine.”

As Hero processed the alligator’s words, Jawsum snapped his fingers, and a Gator handed him a bright red tie. “Your tie, bossman.”

Bossman. Hero wasn’t sure he liked that. It felt too professional, too uptight. That wasn’t him, and the Gators knew that wasn’t him. Hero had befriended plenty of them, and they knew he wouldn’t care about titles like that. Still, he said nothing at the term of address, awkwardly fastening the tie around his neck instead. As he did, a strange feeling of wrongness sweeping through him. It was like he’d been dunked in a pool of ice, a shiver overcoming him as he fidgeted with the tie nervously.

“Lookin’ like a real champ, Hero,” Jawsum offered him a thumbs up. “Don’t tell the others, but you always were my favourite. For what it’s worth… I’m sorry.”

Hero blinked in confusion. “Sorry for wha–”

“It’s vacation time, baby!” Jawsum interrupted hastily, standing atop his desk. “Ol’ Jawsum is gonna have the time of his life!”

Hero noted the absence of a ‘Mr’ before his name. Wow. He really was serious about giving up the business.

Jawsum laughed one final time, then headed to the elevator, almost running towards it. Hero wasn’t quite sure why he was rushing so much, but figured his bo– his former boss must just be excited. Soon enough, it was just he and his kids left in the office.

“Woah!” Kel exclaimed cheerfully. “I can’t believe my big brother is a boss now! Way to go!”

Hero smiled nervously, still not quite sure about this whole ‘boss’ thing. It… Didn’t quite suit him. He was all for helping people out, and there was no denying his enterprising prowess, but being in a position of authority meant having to order people around. That didn’t sit right with him. Besides, Hero always worried about making big decisions, not wanting to upset anyone. As boss, he’d have to make those decisions all the time. Uneasily, he tugged on the tie again, the fabric feeling just a little too tight around his throat.

“Your tie looks great, Hero!” Aubrey beamed, eyes sparkling. “How does it feel?”

“It feels…” Hero shifted uncomfortably, the tie seeming to tighten yet again until it pressed against his windpipe. Again, that cold sensation flooded through him, and he tried to swallow through his dry throat. “Alright… I guess,” he finished hesitantly. That was a lie. It felt wrong.

“Try snapping your fingers!” Aubrey encouraged enthusiastically, and Omori nodded minutely beside her.

“Okay. You mean like–”

Hero was about to oblige, lifting his hand into the air. Then, ice ran through his veins, freezing his arm in place as his words cut themselves off, Hero’s breath escaping him in a visible puff. The tie squeezed his throat, something pressing against his mind that shouldn’t be there, and Hero distantly felt himself fall to his knees.

“Hero!”

“What’s wrong?!”

Aubrey and Kel’s voices overlapped, shocked and concerned. That was reasonable, really, Hero thought as he wheezed on the ground. His lungs were being choked, his throat clogging with pain and the threat of oncoming tears, and a headache hit him at full force as he clutched at his temples.

“The– the tie–” Hero forced out, then another spike of agony shot through his head and he doubled over further, every limb seeming to tremble. He didn’t know what was happening, terror ploughing through him, destroying every ounce of rational thinking in its path.

Then, suddenly, it all stopped.

Hero felt a slow exhale leave his lips, no longer a concerning smoky white. The cold feeling dimmed a little, but the pressure against his throat and brain vanished, and Hero absently adjusted his tie, not even realising he was doing so at first. He opened his mouth to tell his friends he was okay.

Well. Hero tried to open his mouth, but it remained firmly, frighteningly shut. Then, he tried to stand, to blink, to move, to do anything. His body didn’t respond to a thing, and panic built within him as it piloted himself, standing up and walking behind the desk.

“Hero?” Aubrey asked uncertainly. “Are you… Okay now?”

“Heh,” a small laugh escaped his throat, unlike any sound Hero had ever made before. It was unfamiliar in his mouth, seeming to belong to someone else entirely as it built and built. “Heh, heh…”

“Umm… Hero?” Aubrey tried again after a second, sounding worried.

“You seem a little too happy there,” Kel sounded unimpressed, but some sort of hidden concern lingered within his tone. Hero knew his brother far too well for Kel to be able to keep secrets from him for long.

“Happy?” His voice said suddenly, loud and clipped. Derisive, even. Hero felt horror swell within him as a too-wide smile split across his face, making his cheeks ache. “Don’t be silly, Kel.”

Hero would have recoiled if he were able to at the pure patronisation dripping from his voice. That wasn’t him, they had to know that. That wasn’t him. Hero didn’t know what was going on, but it was awful.

Then, his eyes widened manically, and the grin somehow widened even further.

“Bosses don’t feel emotion!” He heard himself exclaim, a high giggle rising in the back of his throat. This was not good. This was very not good.

“Oh no!” Hero heard Kel cry out. “Hero’s gone mad with power!”

At that, his body did laugh, that strange, unfamiliar chuckle leaving him yet again. “Not quite, Kel. Not quite.”

Now that he could see his siblings’ faces again, Hero looked over each of them frantically. Kel and Aubrey each exchanged a troubled glance, Omori stood firmly between them with narrowed eyes. Why couldn’t things just go nicely for once? Not a single one of their trips so far had ended up in anything less than disaster. Captain Spaceboy’s alter ego coming out, Sweetheart imprisoning them all in her dungeon, the Slime Girls trying to dissect his little brother… Heck, even their initial employment at the Last Resort had wound up with Jawsum refusing to let Hero go, setting Pluto on him in a fight. Hero should’ve expected this sort of thing by now.

“Hey, I’ve got an idea!” His voice said smoothly, far more confident than Hero ever was usually. He sounded suave, commanding, authoritative. The sort of person Hero himself would usually struggle to argue with. “Now that Hero’s the boss, why don’t you all come work for us? Of course, I won’t offer any pay, but I see a great opportunity for growth in the future.”

Hero’s kids ignored the belittling tone to his voice, determination and suspicion crossing their faces. Aubrey crossed her arms. “What do you mean ‘us’?”

“Heh,” a snigger left his lips. “I’ve been looking around in his brain; Hero sure does think you kids are smart. A sharp little girl, aren’t you, Aubrey? That’s an excellent quality in an employee. I’m sure you’d be very useful to the company– these two, however? I’m not quite so sure, no matter what Hero seems to think. It would probably be easier to just get rid of them.”

Panic flooded through him. He needed to get control back, now. He couldn’t let whatever this… Thing was hurt his kids.

“Hey! I’d make a great employee,” Kel huffed, a defensive look clear as day across his face. “Who are you, anyway?!”

“You can call me Bossman,” Hero’s voice told them, and realisation dawned within him. Oh. So that was what the Gator Guy had meant. A sinking feeling began within him. Did… Did Jawsum want this to happen? “It seems Hero’s finally catching on. He’s a little… Indisposed at the moment, you see,” Bossman kept that grin across his face, tapping his forehead. “But I have no doubt that he’ll be a great tool for the business to progress.”

“You leave him alone!” Aubrey cried out, eyebrows turning downwards sharply in anger.

“That would be rather difficult, Aubrey, considering that we now share a brain,” Bossman told her, voice dripping with condescension. Hero’s heart would have leapt if it still responded to him. No. No, this couldn’t be permanent. “As much as it bothers me to admit it, I’m afraid I need him, just as I used to need Jawsum.”

Nothing happened.

Bossman was under his skin, using his body like a puppet. Hero was forced to move along with him, to dance in whatever way the entity desired him to. The feeling was like nothing he'd ever experienced before, invasive and controlling. Hero was completely helpless to stop Bossman doing whatever he wanted.

“So, Aubrey, Omori, Kel ,” Bossman smirked, snapping his fingers. “What’s it to be? Either you work for me…” Gator Guys flooded the room, standing at attention and ready for any command ‘Hero’ was about to give them. “...Or we do things the hard way.”

“I don’t know about you guys, but I’m always up for a challenge!” Kel turned to his friends, and Hero felt a disconcerting rush of affection, pride and anxiety for his little brother. “Let’s do this!”

Aubrey and Omori nodded either side of him, Aubrey setting her jaw as Omori readied his knife. They needed to leave, Hero couldn’t bear it if he hurt them! He had to fight, to force his way back in possession of his own body, as impossible as it seemed. He didn’t so much as know where to start, but that didn’t stop him from trying.

“Disappointing, but not unexpected,” Bossman sighed, sounding completely unbothered as he snapped his fingers again. “I hope you are prepared for defeat.” More and more workers exited the elevator– how they knew Bossman had called was beyond Hero, but there were more important things on his mind. He felt his lips curve upwards into another cruel smile. “Enjoy the show, Hero.”

And they began to fight. Hero willed his body to stop, wished he was able to wrench back control somehow. But his attempts were fruitless, and each snap of his fingers felt like a death sentence, and the Gators just kept coming. Eventually, all three of his kids looked exhausted, on the brink of becoming toast. Hero was their healer. He was supposed to keep them safe. He couldn’t lose them too.

Despite Hero’s pitiful attempts to resist, his fists swung at the trio, growing bruised and bloodied. He could feel everything, from the ache of his cheeks to the unnatural straightness of his spine. Bossman surveyed the damage with a sort of clinical intrigue. “Ah, it is nice to feel properly again. Jawsum was getting far too old, and he was never much to my taste. I much prefer this body.”

As was inevitable, Aubrey, Kel and Omori were defeated, three pieces of toast falling to the floor. Hero felt hatred and horror swell inside of him like a crashing crescendo, both at himself and Bossman. He’d done that to them. His fingers, his contracts, his fists. His kids were toast, and it was his fault. He should have fought harder.

“Leave, all of you. And throw that toast out. I have no need for useless materials,” Bossman ordered coldly, and even more fear flooded through Hero. Bossman rolled his eyes once all the Gators were gone, observing his nails as he sat down at the desk and pulled a mirror from one drawer. “You are far more soft-hearted than anyone I have inhabited before, Hero,” Bossman said disdainfully. “Not a proper trait of a businessman in the slightest. Oh sure, you have the skill, but I have the confidence. Don’t worry, Hero, I’ll take care of everything,” Bossman purred, staring into the mirror nastily as he surveyed his new face, running a pale finger down Hero’s jawline, tilting his head this way and that. “As pathetic as you are, you do have a pretty face. That will be useful when attracting investors; things go far more smoothly when they feel they are talking to someone they can trust, and who is more trustworthy than a naive child in a boss’ suit?” Bossman snickered. “Heh. This is for the best.”

Fury boiled within him. Hero was a person, his kids were people! They didn’t deserve to be treated this way! Besides, he’d just gotten Basil back. He couldn’t lose everyone. He couldn’t.

“A people pleaser, hm? Not generally a trait of a businessman, but I cannot deny that Jawsum was right in seeing something in you. Of course, I care not about others in the slightest, and I am a far superior boss than you will ever be because of that. People are a hindrance,” Bossman looked over at the photo of Hero and Jawsum that the alligator had kept on his desk. “We do not need Kel, or Aubrey, or Omori, or Basil, or Mari, or any other irrelevant relation you had before. They are useless to me, and that makes them useless to you too, Hero. I doubt it will take you long to understand the rules: you seem easy enough to mould.”

Bossman scoffed at that. Hero got the strong feeling that Bossman hated him. It was a good thing that loathing was entirely requited.

“You’re so weak. Pathetic,” Bossman repeated disapprovingly. “Far too soft, and agreeable. From looking over your past encounters with Duchess Sweetheart alone, it is easy to tell that you cannot adequately handle yourself. Now that we are sharing a body, that simply will not do. I will not permit anyone touching you. To touch you is to touch me, and I despise that almost as much as I despise you. You are the very antithesis of myself, Hero. Compassionate, sweet, neighbourly, sensitive…” Bossman listed mockingly. “Ridiculous. Bosses do not feel anything as frivolous as emotion.”

‘What do you mean, “sharing a body”?’ Hero queried cautiously within his own head. Did he still have some semblance of control? He really hoped so. Then, he could save his siblings!

“Ah-ah-ah, slow down, Hero. We may be sharing a body, but I rule it,” Bossman said spitefully. “You are my subordinate. You are expected to act as such. I will do what I wish, and letting you have a brief bit of freedom is lenient of me. I am far superior to someone like you, and you are fully aware of that. There will be no attempts at resisting, or rescue, or any form of fighting. You are good at following orders, so that is what you will do.”

Hero didn’t respond, mind whirring away in search of a loophole, some sort of an escape. He couldn’t let this happen, he refused. The images of his kids’ scared, battered faces flickered through his mind. He wouldn’t fail them again. He had to resist. An amused smile quirked up Bossman’s lips. “I have a feeling that this is the start of an excellent partnership, Hero.”

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one-black-rotary-phone · 8 months

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Just heard there might be a tbp 2 and my tbp phase is coming back full force 😭😭 but I was wondering if you could do platonic Gwen Headcanons of being her best friend? She was so funny in the movie with her cursing💀💀 definitely my fav character

Being Gwen's Best Friend Headcanons

Okay I really just disappeared huh. Like, for at least a month, right? So, life happened (woah, crazy, right? I was like "whaaaat????") and I haven't been writing in ages. Also my interest in TBP evaporated and I wasn't on Tumblr for ages so y'know. I'm still not really in the Gwen headspace right now but I'm doing my best.

Anyways Gwen is best girl and thank you for your patience in me getting this done.

Also TBP 2??? Huh???

Not proofread! This is short lol

TW for abuse (her home life), death/suicide (her mother, y'know), bullying/violence, swearing, kidnapping

Gwen is hard to befriend. She's pretty reserved, closed-off - all that stuff. It's not impossible by any means, but it's not easy. You can slowly build up conversation with her, whether it be waiting at a bus stop or at lunch. Or, you can befriend Finney first and get to know her through him (the longer but easier option).

Either way, it'll be awkward at first. She won't really say much to you, and if you catch her in a bad mood she'll snap at you very quickly. You better be prepared to take the load of her cussing and curses. But as long as you keep coming back to her (provided you aren't annoying about it), she'll warm up to you.

Once you are friends, she's still pretty reserved around you. Gwen is not one to spill her secrets so easily. Sure, you probably already knew about her mother's suicide and her father's abusive actions, but it's not like she's the one telling you about it. That's saved for when you're closer.

And only when you are at that best friend level will she tell you anything. When she does tell you, it's very quiet and bare-bones. She doesn't go into detail about it all, because why would she? She's not that kind of person, and it's forcing her to relive the trauma. Honestly, the only reason she'd tell you about it is because she's needing help.

Speaking of help, you two have sleepovers at your house all the time to get her out of the house. It's better if Finney is there, but that may not be possible (and he may not be comfortable if you're not friends). You two gossip about school, play traditionally girly games (even if you're not a girl! She'll force you into it), and stay up late giggling about whatever comes to mind. Once the sleepover is over, though, you always remember to send her off with some encouragement or advice.

Other "fun" activities you indulge in include beating the shit out of Finney's bullies. Gwen won't force you to help her shoo them away, but she will complain about having to do it all on her own. Which is fair. I mean, she's at max a ten-year-old kid; she can't be expected to be beating up people at least three years older than her in a group. If you are a fighter, though, and don't mind getting some blood on your hands, don't hesitate to join in to send a message. (That's a lie; please don't hurt people I can't condone violence).

But once the kids start going missing is when things really start to shake up. First is was Griffin, someone I headcanon Gwen is good acquaintances/semi-friends with. It freaks her out, obviously, but even more because she was one of the few people who knew him well enough to ever consider him a friend. She goes to you for support in that moment, so you best be prepared to give it to her. Still, she manages to remain relatively calm--just concerned.

But as more kids go missing, Gwen--just like all the other kids in the neighbourhood-- starts to get more anxious. I have to stress that she's still a pretty calm kid in these situations, but that doesn't stop it completely. You have to have a good eye at reading people, because she's someone who tries to cover everything up. You have to remind her again and again not to bottle everything up or else she might just metaphorically explode.

And that is definitely true once Finney goes missing. Gwen spirals, as would anyone. She's in desperate need of a friend, and you need to help her out. The school counselor is not enough, and they've got other things to deal with, too. To be honest, most of the support relies on you (and her few other friends, too). It sucks, but it's really the only thing she knows to do. It's not like she can go to her father for support, anyways.

#the phone rings #tbp #the black phone #tbp hcs #tbp headcanons #the black phone headcanons #tbp x reader #the black phone x reader #the black phone x you #gwen blake #tbp gwen #the black phone gwen #abuse tw #death tw #suicide tw #bullying tw #violence tw #swearing tw #kidnapping tw

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athousandmorningss · 10 months

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Serious walking wound energy today.

The new coffee shop is real nice: sweetheart employees and coffee that is light and smooth, not dark and bitter/strong. Posted up in a corner and read/annotated some pages of things. Y’all ever done some crying in a coffee shop? Cos I sure did: on and off for about two hours. Read Paul Tran’s Poem “The Three Graces” and: “how miraculous it is to exist./ To live beyond survival” encouraged tears.

I am also reading Heartbreak: A Persona and Scientific Journey by Florence Williams. It traces the physical and mental impacts of life after divorce. So much of it resonates. “My husband was gone,” she wrote. “So much unseemly, adolescent, self-involvement: daydreaming, journaling, wanting to lie around and listen deeply to music and tell all my friends exactly what was going on. It’s tempting to dismiss the mistiness of this time as juvenile spaciness, but there was something else to it. It was about the process of becoming. It was hard work. It demanded attention and space...you have to plunge back in the jar like a pickled kipper and cure some more. You have to become again” (p. 97).

Yeah. That part.

A thing I’ve been feeling a lot lately is piercing anxiety and the inability to relax. I was so tense at the coffee shop: whole body vibrating nervousness and tightness. The book I’m reading reminds me to pay attention to my body and to care for it.

The flowers I got are fragrant and stunning.

My Ub*r driver on the way home was an old woman, old enough that she lives in a retirement community, as described by her. She told me her husband of 40 years died a year ago. “We had a long run together. I tell him all of the time, that if he ever needs me to go to him, to just tell me” and she snapped her fingers. “I’ll be right there.”

Old people working beyond retirement breaks my heart. I tipped her a $15.00, a habit I’ve started to do as an easy means of recognition. I hope it helps her.

Pride was all fucked up this year. They put metal fences in places that were several feet away from the actual parade. So, you couldn’t actually see it or get close to it. There was no energy moving between the viewers: it was so quiet and weird.

There was also an old man holding a “got aids yet?” sign. In sweltering, near hundred degree heat. This old man risking heat stroke for THAT. I cried immediately when I saw it. That shit really, really hurt my feelings. But across the street was another group of people I think from a church, holding signs that read “we love you” and “we’re sorry you don’t feel welcome” and other beautiful sentiments. One of them was an old woman, prolly in her 60s or 70s. The high five exchanged between us and my “thank you” also made me want to cry.

I often think of Pride as “for them,” but it is also for me. I am decidedly not straight but carry a great deal of internalized homophobia.

Oli is showing signs of his age today: a real slow walking gate and sore movements. I’m going to buy him stairs to help him get onto the bed. And I’m not going out tonight, but will instead stay home and snuggle my boy and rub his tummy.

16 years with my dearest friend.

#love ethics #divorcin' diaries #tw homophobia

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letterslaura · 3 months

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Writing as an articulating axis and practices involving Educational Technologies

Coucou everyone!

Today we are going to tackle a very important topic: developing writing skills in school.

What memories do you have of writing practices in school? In my case, it was always fun and natural, just because I was so eager to practice my writing skills, but we know that this may not be the reality for most children. When I was in school, the methods were pretty strict and mechanical, with very little room for imagination. In Portuguese we were taught (a lot of) fixed rules, systems, genres (not the cool ones) and structures, everything for the sake of Enem’s essay. In the English classes things were not so different. In a room full of people, with a diversity of confidence and enthusiasm, imagine trying to apply the same monotonous pattern. What could it lead to? This rigid approach to writing can turn it into a monster for students, a real struggle, especially when in another language. It should not be like this. Students should be encouraged to see writing as a simple skill that helps us convey messages in the best possible way. And they should know that they are all capable of learning it!

Now, let’s move away from the past and take a look at what schools are teaching today. From the Common National Curriculum Base (BNCC), we can grasp how things should be done inside the classroom. Regarding writing practices in primary education, the BNCC states that writing is an essential competency that crosses many areas, not being restricted to language itself. In other words, writing practices in school should not focus only on language or on grammatical rules. Instead, it should aid students express their ideas and communicate adequately in the other disciplines as well. Could you spot the difference from the previous approach? I was so thrilled to read about how much has changed!

Further on, the BNCC stresses the relevance of integrating educational technologies into the writing practices, such as softwares, collaborative platforms, multimedia resources, etc. Thankfully, there are plenty of resources at our disposal and they can greatly enhance the teaching learning experience. This integration opens up a world of possibilities.

After that, according to Liberali, “social activities in second language teaching focuses the study on activities where the students interact with each other in determined and historically dependent cultural contexts.” (LIBERALI, 2009, p. 12). Educational technologies are able to facilitate social interactions with speakers of the target language (in this case, English) and there lie glorious opportunities to teach writing practices smoothly.

One of my favorite writing activities (if not my favorite) was a movie review requested in the third period of the English discipline. Learning every aspect of an adjective was never so fun! In my opinion, it is a brilliant idea, since there are many interesting literary and linguistic aspects to be explored in a movie review and it can be done with just the amount of difficulty you want. How cool would it have been to write a review of "Finding Nemo" back in the day?

Movie reviews are also easily relatable, as everyone has a favorite movie, making it much easier for the students to connect and really engage with the proposal. To make the experience even more realistic, if the students' age group allow, it is also possible to introduce the Letterboxd website, according to the students' age group. In this site, they can read reviews of the movies they like and maybe even post their own later. In order to enrich the activity a little more, there can also be held peer reviews and presentations.

Another idea is to explore the world of comics! What Brazilian kid does not know Monica's Gang? Comics are very appealing for primary students, it is usually a genre that they are comfortable with and it really stimulates creativity. You can begin with reading and understanding the components of comic books, leaving the writing to the end. By creating setting and characters first, the story will be less difficult to write. It is important to get to know your students in order to pinpoint what activity would be a better fit to them.

Finally, there are plenty of writing resources online, which can be used to help students in their process. My favorites include: Thesaurus, Cambridge Dictionary, Collins Dictionary, Linguee and Grammarly. These tools can give a little extra confidence to those embarking on the adventure of writing in another language.

Now that you know a little more about writing practices and educational technologies, make sure to leave a comment below with your own experiences. I want to know all about it!

XOXO

Laura

#education #teaching #learnin #writing #brazil #esl #english #portuguese #school #text

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elijahxseok · 3 months

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[cis man and he/him] Welcome to Aurora Bay, [ELIJAH SEOK]! I couldn’t help but notice you look an awful lot like [DANIEL HENNEY]. You must be the [FORTY FIVE] year old [TRAINER AT THE TITANIUM GYM]. Word is you’re [DETERMINED] but can also be a bit [ARROGANT] and your favorite song is [SWIM GOOD BY FRANK OCEAN]. I also heard you’ll be staying in [CRYSTAL COVE]. I’m sure you’ll love it!

tw: murder, death, injury, power dynamics

basic

Full Name: Elijah Seok Age: Forty-five Height: 6′2″ Gender & Pronouns: cis-man & he/him Orientation: Heterosexual Residential Area: Crystal Cove, Aurora Bay Occupation: Trainer at the Titanium Gym Relationship status: Single

bio

Pride. That was the first thing that Elijah learned as a child, and it was a trait that was instilled in him as soon as he could comprehend it. With his mother not really in the picture, his father wasn't really involved in raising Elijah either. The only thing he wanted from his child was to follow in his footsteps and make him proud. After all, that was what he did, and that was what his father did before him.

Little did Elijah know what kind of pride they were after. Talented at martial arts, he was quick to pick up taekwondo and work hard to excel at it. Not just excel; he was genuinely great, using his wits and stubbornness to achieve greatness. Whilst having a temperament was generally frowned upon, his father encouraged it, and the boy was keen enough to gain his father's approval to do whatever it took to achieve it.

It was at the age of sixteen that Elijah learned a bit more about his father - and his grandfather. The men in his family were bound to mix with the wrong crowd, all craving for power, status, and authority the Seoks did not have. Whilst it should have been a huge red flag, Elijah went right along, knowing nothing better and desperately wanting to be the best. It didn't help that he was arrogant from his success in martial arts, thinking that he was absolutely invincible.

The next twenty years of Elijah's life were spent mixing with the wrong crowds, becoming part of the same mob that his father and grandfather had joined. He continued to work on his martial arts skills, becoming a champion and never once stopping at perfecting his abilities. He had to be the strongest, the most agile one in the room. He had to be the best. And whilst that's what he did out in public, with many people either loving or absolutely hating him, behind the scenes, he was a whole other person. He had no issues doing what the mob asked him to do, all stemming from his need for approval and validation.

Climbing up the ranks and becoming the best - or trying to - was incredibly difficult, but Elijah never once gave up. He raged when he lost a championship, but then trained a thousand times harder to win again. He loathed anyone who was a bigger favorite of the boss and did everything in his power to make them fail. He played dirty, obsessed with wanting to be accepted, disregarding everything else in his path.

It was bound to all come crashing down, but Elijah would lie if he said he was expecting it. Actually, he probably did lie. There was a shake-up in the mob he was part of, and after an extremely brutal takeover, their boss was murdered in cold blood. Many went down with him, his father included, and when consciousness left his body, Elijah thought that he would join them, too. So when he woke up, consumed by pain and rage, surrounded by bodies of those he once deemed acquaintances, Elijah was confused. Running on pure adrenaline, he managed to get away, get himself patched up just enough, before getting out of the city. Even in the state that he was in, he knew better than to go back to his old home, and

Whilst the recovery of his injured body took a while, the healing of his wounded pride took even longer. With his father dead and no way to go back into his old lifestyle, Elijah was at a loss. There was only one thing he knew; rage. It drove him to crave revenge, and the next years were spent recovering from his injuries, getting back into shape, and planning a way to take down those who took his old life away from him. Elijah was almost alarmingly quick with being consumed by it, so when he stumbled upon a sudden discovery, his world came to a complete stop once more.

For a long time, he had no idea why he was so shocked by the discovery of being a father. All of his life he focused on making his father proud, living up to his expectations, and finding out he was a father himself threw him off. Was he... excited? A mix of emotions Elijah did not recognize boiled within him, and he had no idea what to do. He wanted to get revenge for his father because that was what he was trained to do, and he didn't know how to react to anything else. At first, Elijah wanted to disregard it - the poor bastard child just had to live with not knowing they were Elijah's- but as months went by, he couldn't.

Slowly, the raging thoughts of revenge were replaced by the thoughts of his child. He knew who the mother was - the young woman he met roughly twenty years ago, someone who wasn't scared of calling him out or bringing his ego down - and it took him only so long to track her down. It took even less time to track his child down in some small city in the United States.

Roughly a year ago Elijah had left South Korea and made his way to the United States. He had no idea what was pushing him towards it, and he refused to admit the obvious. His own upbringing doing nothing but pulling him down into the darkness was affecting his decision-making, but slowly, Elijah learned of his own feelings that he had been suppressing for all those decades. Was it actually care? Love? Or desperation that was running through his mind when he finally arrived at Aurora Bay, settling down with a plan of meeting his own child.

Whilst Elijah had retained most of his character traits - he is still as egoistic, arrogant, and prideful as he had always been - he has been working hard to change. It's painful, and it's difficult trying to break down the traits his father had instilled in him, and whilst he relapses fairly often, he knows now that what he had done - and was made to do- in the past is not the right way to go about life. Recognizing his own faults is still a work in progress, but Elijah wouldn't be himself if he wasn't a determined and hard worker.

wanted connections

The mother of his child - it would be someone around his age - maybe a year or two older/younger, at most, as they would have had their child when they were still very young. This is someone who was not scared of challenging Elijah, arguing back, or calling him out when he was being insufferable. Their romance was quick and passionate, and when duty called, Elijah did not hesitate to leave her behind and do whatever he had to do for the organization. Deep down, he's always admired her for her amazing qualities, and even all these years later, he can still admit that he tolerates her.

His child - someone who would not know about Elijah. They could have his traits, or they might have been smart enough to realize that it was no good, and worked hard to improve themselves. Whilst Elijah knows of their existence, they do not know of Elijah or that he's even in the same city as they are. - Arabella Park

Clients at the Titanium Gym. Elijah's way of training isn't exactly orthodox. His clients would have had to work hard to prove that they were worthy to be trained by him, and once they have achieved it, he has been extremely hard on them. This is all because he's seen their potential, and wants nothing more than for them to succeed. Not to mention, Elijah just likes to be surrounded by the best.

The odd best friend. Elijah's been struggling with making close connections, still working hard to destroy the way he was raised, but this person has managed to get through to his soft side. Whilst it's rarely on display, Elijah still cares for this person, and would do whatever it takes to help them - complaining the whole time, of course. - Eric Kang

@aurorabayaesthetic

#aurorabay.intro

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