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disabledunitypunk · 5 months

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Is the person who made a meme about your shared disability that you don't relate to "a faker who is making light of your disability", or someone with a different experience who uses humor to cope?

Is the person who made an aesthetic board about hospitals an abled person who doesn't recognize that hospitals can be sources of medical trauma, or someone using art to deal with their own medical trauma, or any other number of things that aren't about being careless about trauma?

Is the person who makes the seemingly cringiest instagram #sickcore posts about anything from their mobility aids to their eye bags "romanticizing and/or fetishizing" disability, or are they a disabled person coping with extremely debilitating and potentially dangerous or terminal symptoms by radically accepting them?

I know normally I do focus on ableism as a whole, by trying to tie in online attitudes to very real IRL oppression as well as by generally talking about a variety of examples of ableism both on and offline. (It is the nature of a social media blog that at least a significant portion of what we address will be responses to other users of this platform, though.)

This is a much more purely online issue than most... but it still affects real people. The cruelty and bullying over how people cope with their disabilities is still being done to, hurting, and in some cases traumatizing, real people.

I've been lucky enough to avoid this online at least (though not as much IRL, ironically, though it manifests in a slightly different way obviously). But... I'm one of those people that copes in "cringe" ways that focus on the "aesthetics" of my disabilities or use humor to cope or even, horror, romanticize my own intensely personal experience of my own specific disabilities because looking at it through rose colored glasses hides the fucking bloodstains for a few minutes.

Which is a metaphor to simply say that viewing my own hardships and struggles as positive in a twisted way as a personal choice helps me get through the fact that they ARE intense hardships and struggles.

We reblogged a post earlier today that we have since taken down. We (attempt to) refuse to platform people who are ableist against any kind of disabled people if we are aware of it on principle, other than to shut down said ableism if we feel it outweighs the added reach given to them by our platform. But - the point of this post was good. The point of this post was about having a complex relationship with disabilities and that however you feel personally about your disabilities is okay.

This doesn't just extend to palatable feelings, like being sad about loss of function or proud to have a disability it's considered "acceptable" to be proud of. It doesn't just extend to feelings that make sense, such as wishing you could get rid of a disability you despise that has only horrific symptoms, or not wanting to get rid of a disability that is well-accommodated and an important part of your identity.

It's also about wishing you could not be disabled in a way that most people with said disability seem to be proud of, and even that you may be proud of but still wish not to be. It's about not wanting to get rid of a disability even though you hate having it. It's about being proud of having unpalatable disabilities and being fine with loss of function and also, I think perhaps more than any of this...

It's about expressing any feelings about your own experience with your disability whatsoever without judgment. It's about when you talk about or show or otherwise share your feelings in any form, and how you cope, and how you celebrate, and where you grieve and where you find joy and where those two are the same thing, that all of that is not just okay but extremely good and important.

(Obvious disclaimer that this does not extend to talking shit or being ableist about OTHER people's disabilities or experiences with a shared diagnosis/disorder/condition, in case my specific phrasing of "your own experience with your disability" gets lost in my hyperverbality.)

I think really, my whole point is, you DON'T have psychic access to other people's brains. You DON'T know that people expressing their relationship with disability in ways you don't like is malicious bad acting rather than just a different experience than yours. And quite frankly, basic class solidarity demands that no matter how annoying you might find other disabled people, you at least owe them the benefit of the doubt.

Let people post stuff about disability that is humorous, or aesthetic-focused, or even which looks at their own struggles through a positive lens (yes, even if it is somewhat reductive).

These aren't claiming to be education posts, and we are not responsible for any ableist assumptions on the part of abled people. Just like you are not responsible for correcting them if their takeaway is that an extremely distressing and dysfunction-causing disability (of any kind) is just "quirky" or "not that bad" or even "desirable", neither are the people making the posts responsible for accounting for the assumptions of ignorant people who aren't bothering to learn.

But if it really bothers you that much, a more productive use of your time than harassing other disabled people would literally be just reblogging education posts, even if you can't make your own.

And, of course, it goes without saying that taking it a step further and fakeclaiming people because you don't like how they handle being disabled is just blatant ableism. Finding someone personally annoying does not make them not disabled. Hell, someone actively being harmful and bigoted doesn't make them not disabled, as disabled people who fakeclaim prove.

Anyway, I'm off to some disabled aesthetic tags because my physical AND mental disabilities are kicking our fucking ass right now, and I could use the comfort of seeing other sick people finding our shared experiences of sickness beautiful and worthy of art in any way at all. But I'll leave you with: in a world where our narratives are largely limited to inspiration porn and tragedy porn, is it really so weird or terrible to post on social media in a way that says "yeah, this sucks, but because it's about my disabled experiences it's beautiful and worthy of seeing in a positive light"? Is that not also a form of radical defiance?

#ableism #need to tag #mod stars

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moonyluvv · 2 years

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In honor of the "Good Boy Gone Bad" music video...

TXT MEMBERS AS TYPES OF BAD BOYS

Beomgyu

The "bad influence" type;

Has a tough life at home and uses humor as a coping mechanism;

Convinces people around him to break rules through bets and challenges;

"I bet you can't steal a pack of beers without being caught. C'mon, don't be such a pussy.";

Minor crimes (convenience store robery, underage drinking, fighting, traspassing, etc);

Zero sense of responsibility;

The definition of "I could change him";

Would fall for your really responsible and uptight self, and annoy the living shit out of you;

"Nerd" and "prude" are his favorite nicknames to tempt you;

Piercings and tattoos for days;

Annoying people = love language;

Is harmless, really, he's just kinda misunderstood and wants attention.

Hueningkai

tw: mention of (but no description) self harm, gaslight and threat to off itself

Says he's "misunderstood", but he's just emo;

Very emo;

Might try to be bad, but it's just depressed;

Uses his "puppy like face" to get girls to feel sorry for him (and sleep with him, ofc);

Looks innocent, but can ruin your life with his "nobody gets me" mentality;

Gaslight king;

Will cry in an argument to guilt trip you into apologizing;

And if that doesn't work he'll curse and break things like a child having a tantrum;

Knows exactly what he's doing;

"You just don't get it, with your perfect life and your perfect parents!";

Jealous boy;

"Why were you looking at him? I knew I wasn't enough for you, I'm never enough for anyone";

Calls you "the love of his life" all the time;

Self harms as a way to guilt trip you;

Will threat to off himself if you wanna break up.

Soobin

tw: humiliation, mention of (but no description) gaslight, stalker, yandere and allusion to m!rder

Is very nice in the beginning, but it doesn't take much time for you to see who he really is;

Very psycho energy;

Really, really jealous;

"Why the fuck are you looking at him? I fucking knew you were a slut, stupid whore can't even step foot outside the house without wanting to open your legs to every guy you see.";

When he's nice you're "baby", "sweetheart" and "honey", but when he's bad you're "slut", "whore" and "bitch";

Yandere;

Type to laugh while being beat up;

Stalker vibes, probably stalked you before you started dating, that's why you both have "so much in common";

Will never accept to be dumped;

"We're not done until I say we're done";

Toxic af;

Gaslight king nº2;

Most likely to have an ex that disappeared from the face of the earth. Did he kill her? Is she hiding from him? Who knows?

Taehyun

tw: mention of (but no description) abusive parents;

Mysterious bad boy;

Nobody even knows how his voice sounds like;

Crazy rumors about him because, really, nobody knows anything about him;

Very quiet and serious;

Doesn't get into fights unless provoked;

"He's mean to everyone but me" vibes;

Lives alone because his parents ain't shit;

"I can take care of myself";

Protective;

Finds it difficult to accept physical affection;

Scars and trauma by his abusive parents;

The first time you two have sex is very cliche, he shows you his scars and you kiss them, saying you're sorry for what he's been through and how beautiful he is. Lets just say it's a night full of passion;

Will call you "love" nonstop after that;

Has a good heart and just wants a chill life.

Yeonjun

Popular bad boy;

Total movie cliche;

Fuckboi;

Gets all the girls because of his fame, but nobody actually cares about who he truly is;

That's probably why he falls in love with you;

"You're the first one who actually cares about who I really am besides the fighting and the fucking";

You're probably the first one to ask him about himself and actually pay attention to what he has to say;

Doesn't care about school because he has rock band and will likely drop out;

If he doesn't it's because you won't let him;

Smokes weed;

Will fall for your innocence just so that he can corrupt you;

Midnight rides on his motorcycle;

Your parents hate him and he loves that;

"Don't you like doing something forbidden, princess?";

Oh yes, you do.

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frecklystars · 1 month

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thinking about how sierra six - courtland gentry - knows c-ptsd better than anyone else in the mojo dojo casa keri ken dreamhouse.

there's baby geese boyfriends of all kinds in that big plastic house when they're not in their own movies dimensions. hanging out, chatting, loving their star girl, talking about her and missing her when she's somewhere else. they all have gone through some heavy shit and dealt with a lot. but nobody really knows complex ptsd the way court does.

and he sees ken with his head stuck in his books on how to handle trauma and trigger reactions. he's stressed. his girlfriend keeps turning into a star. he doesn't know what to do because barbieland doesn't have ptsd. ken doesn't have ptsd. he doesn't understand what's happening to his sweet girl and it's scaring him. nothing he's saying to her is working. nothing he's doing - gentle touches, light kisses, reassuring smiles - nothing he's doing is working. why isn't it working. why isn't it working.

barbieland is perfect. the barbies don't feel depressed or embarassed or scared. the kens do, sometimes. but they've never feared for their lives. they dont have triggers. none of them have ever been forced to do something without their consent, none of them have ever been physically hurt, none of them have ever been emotionally manipulated. he found his gf as a little star, dim with her light going out, and he brought her to barbieland and she became human again. but she's still got a lot of damage somewhere in her heart and he has no idea how to fix it.

but here comes six, seeing ken practically ripping through pages upon pages of books. reading words he's never heard before. reading about things that happen to people in the real world that he never would imagine someone could be so cruel, so capable of doing. and ken is desperate, looking up at the CIA operative with wide eyes, pleading, i don't know what to do. you have to help me. do you know anything about ptsd?

six is silent for a second. sierra six doesn't (can't. won't. refuses to.) think of his trauma.

but courtland gentry does.

little courtland gentry at 7 years old getting his head forcibly dunked underwater by his father multiple times with him kicking and thrashing, with a 41 y/o sierra six screaming gutturally and clawing his way out of water while enduring that very flashback. little courtland gentry flinching every time someone raises their voice. little courtland gentry lying to his mother with a tremor in his voice, assuring her everything is fine while hiding a burn mark on his wrist, bruises on his arm where his father had gripped him. forced him to keep still. little courtland gentry taking his father's gun from the nightstand in his bedroom and knowing he's never going to be the same again.

sierra six at 41 years old looking at this plastic doll with his head in his hands, tears staining the pages of the books. sierra six with his girlfriend's hair-ties secure around his wrist (just above his bracelet, the one she made just for him that he never takes off) so he can be ready to tie her hair back any time she stress vomits. sierra six who runs on very very little sleep, no longer plagued by nightmares of his past because he doesn't sleep deeply enough to get them as often anymore + has mastered pushing them from his mind the moment he jolts awake. sierra six who uses humor as a survival tactic. sierra six who is freakishly good at everything he does and doesn't let anything weigh him down. even grief. even nearly bleeding to death and running on 72 hours of no sleep and very little food. even having his whole world turned upside down again and again and again. no, sierra six doesn't allow himself to think of his cptsd. he can't.

but courtland gentry does. courtland gentry looks at this plastic doll and his eyes soften and he says, yes, he knows a little bit about complex ptsd. he explains how it works. the adrenaline rush, the panic. it's a bit different for everyone bc we all cope differently but he gives a brief explanation on how it feels to be triggered, how it all works, what calms the brain down afterward. ken feels a little better knowing how it works, knowing it's a brain thing. a trauma thing. not a "im a horrible ken doll who cant comfort his girlfriend no matter how hard i try" thing.

thinking about sierra six - courtland gentry - knowing cptsd better than anyone in the mojo dojo casa etc etc etc, putting his hand on ken's shoulder and reassuring him that their girl is gonna be ok. she will get through it. it might take a really long time and it will take a fuck ton of work. but if she gets love and support she will be ok. she might not be strong physically but she is still a very stubborn fighter and once she readjusts to kindness again, and is shown that love doesn't include violence, she will be ok. and there's nobody better at pure and unconditional love than ken carson.

#vent #ptsd #<- blacklist for when i vent abt shit #ok im gonna stay offline for a little longer now. sorry i needed this out of me 😭

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x-amount-verbs · 2 years

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A Helping Hand - Part 9

[start here] || Part 8 || Part 9 || Part 10

[silco x f!reader] [3.4k words] [no y/n] [during timeskip] [touch-starved reader] [henchwoman!reader] [rated M] [therapy dom silco] [same light bondage]

I lied, it’s early, I’m working on like three wips right now and need to be reminded to focus on this one for a few hours to crank out 13; enjoy! -verbs

Sitting patiently with one arm bound behind your back is… well. Not what you expected to be doing tonight. Even stranger is the realization that you’ll be staying like this potentially for the rest of the evening.

And eating dinner with Silco.

…Yeah. That’s probably the strangest part.

He’s on his fifth line of text on the paper before him by the time you have your words back to speak. The desk between the two of you makes a huge difference.

“I’m really not hungry.”

“Nonsense,” he mutters, dismissively, not looking up from his page. “No one in the Undercity should turn down a free meal.”

A valid point. “Really, though,” you argue, “I’m—” The words are stopped in your throat as Silco turns his hellfire eye on you.

“Humor me,” he drawls, voice bone dry.

With your good hand tied behind your back, you can’t even fidget properly, just flexing your fist in the sling, rocking your knuckles against your spine. The only good thing about the contraption he rigged up is that it keeps any motions you make well out of his sight. The posture it’s pushed you into, though…

You feel incredibly on display without 1) the jacket he’d replaced with a proper sling, and 2) your ability to cross your arms in front of yourself, or hold onto your own prosthetic hand. It forces your body language open in a way that feels very vulnerable, and it’s outright unsettling. (…You are also, now more than ever, regretting not making yourself wear firmer— foundation garments, despite the struggle of buttons and clasps. The way your back arches pulls the fabric taut across your chest and you really really would like some better layering to hide… that. The thin undershirt below your blouse just ain’t cuttin’ it.)

When Silco stands and walks to the door with the note he’s written, stepping halfway out to speak to the guard that mans the hallway, you take the moment away from his scrutiny to shift anxiously in your seat.

This is— normal. Right? This is just part of recovery, this is about making you use the hand you keep avoiding, about accepting the changes and learning to cope with them.

So why do you feel guilty? Why does it seem like if anyone else saw this— this game the two of you are playing, they’d read something else into it? Why does it feel dirty?

Your brain provides an answer, bluntly:

Because you’re imagining things. Because you want him to fuck you. Like, really bad. It’s kind of an HR issue, how bad you want your boss to just bend you over his desk and—

“It’ll only be a few minutes.”

You promptly shut the door on that thought, shoving any lingering doubts under the crack.

You never should’ve let last night happen. You opened the gates to something terrible with that little experiment. Keeping your eyes on the edge of Silco’s desk as he makes his way back to his seat, you unconsciously cross your prosthetic limb over your chest, pressing ceramic fingers against the sleeve of the sling, rubbing slightly. It’s nice to have that little bit of security.

“In the meantime, I’m sure you’ll…”

When you glance up, Silco is frowning very slightly at your tiny self-soothing gesture against your own arm.

“Is it a strain?”

You take a second to parse what he means. “Oh— no. No, it’s fine.” Shit. You should’ve just said yes. Maybe he’d undo it if he thought it was hurting you.

His gaze lingers on the way you rub your thumb along the curve of your arm. It makes you self conscious. You can’t help it when you adjust your perch on the seat, ceramic fingers pinching through the fabric. The second you do it, his eyes flick to yours, flashing with something you can’t quite name. Is he mad, or amused, or…?

“I’m not sure if I should be glad you feel comfortable touching yourself, or disappointed that you’d use my gift so irresponsibly.”

For a second you’re wide-eyed at the prospect that he somehow read your mind about last night, before you put together that he means touching your arm. The arm that currently has a ceramic hand digging into its flesh painfully.

Silco’s eye narrows. “Your bad habit.”

You have so many, really, that you’re tempted to ask which one— but that would be purposefully naive. You know which. You’re clawing hard fingertips into tender muscles even as he speaks.

That palpable force thickens the air, his pale eye a cold sea as he clears his throat pointedly.

You don’t need to feel your prosthesis to know what its position across your chest is currently hiding. Pink spreads right up to your hairline as you squirm in your seat, and fix your eyes on the desktop. Feet hook together, pressing thighs tight, before you finally - tentatively - release the death grip you had on your own arm.

Anxiety to stay huddled and hidden has sculpted fingers rising to your mouth, like you can chew at nails that aren’t there. Instead you twist your lip between finger pads, almost distracted by the strange feeling of minuscule ridges carved into the prosthetic digits.

His firm statement of your name forces too-vacant eyes back to his. You watch his gaze stray down to your mouth— no, to your hand at your mouth. His lips form a tight line, and you feel the tiniest sway in his direction. Like you can sense him quite literally pulling your attention.

The silence after your name had you on edge, but when you finally let your eyes raise back up to his, he holds your gaze. You can’t look away if you try, and with the way you’re utterly ensnared, you don’t want to try. You breathe in, practically feeling how your pupils dilate. When Silco’s hand on his desk slides forward, resting on his fingertips, you don’t need to take your eyes off his to notice. And when he lifts a single finger slowly, and taps it firmly on his desk like a command, you can read his intentions perfectly.

After only a second of hesitation, you release your lip from between your fingers - catching it in a loose hold between teeth instead - as you shift forward just enough to place your hand flat on Silco’s desk.

It is currently very very hard to think. Something about having your arm bound at your back, being surrounded by that aura of his, it just— it does something to you. Absolute godsdamned putty.

Something only furthered with his approving murmur of, “Good girl.”

Your skin is notably tight, face flushed, heart racing. Shit, that has to be intentional, doesn’t it? There’s no way he can’t tell what he’s doing to you. His attention is fixed on the hand, consideringly, but you feel as his gaze slowly combs up your body. Your stomach turns over itself; are you just imagining his eyes pausing at the swell of your breasts, or did he catch sight of your, um… painful alertness? Your tongue swipes across too-dry lips nervously, throat squeezing as he rakes over your neck, before finally rising to meet your eyes.

The tense pause between you is broken by a rap at the door.

Silco’s attention slides off of you, loosening the reins, and suddenly you can think again.

How unfortunate that the first thought is one graphic scene of your prosthesis gouging a grip into his desk, good arm pinned against your back by a long-fingered hand while Silco—

“Come in.”

Panic has you snatching your hand back from the desk, brow furrowed, trying to slouch and hide yourself from whoever’s entered, even while twisting enough to see the door. Hopefully your reflexive scowl helps you not look quite as stupid as you feel.

Silco’s sharp tone as he speaks your name demands your attention back on him.

Half-obedient, your eyes cut to your periphery, trying to spot the employee whose tray rattles as they enter. Then back to Silco.

“On the coffee table,” he instructs the person with the tray. When his gaze shifts to you, lips purse. His voice is a low command. “Desk.”

You hesitate. Of course you hesitate: someone else is in the room, and you don’t want them to see you— take up position. Or whatever you should call it. It feels too— private. Personal. It feels like letting someone besides him see you obedient will undermine your identity in this organization, the independent and self-sufficient image you’ve cultivated.

Your obedience towards Silco is respect. Not blind adoration. And you won’t let someone else see you trembling like a damned blushing virgin. Your jaw tightens, frowning, and you give the tiniest shake of your head. The hand clutches your arm again in that defensive shield, twisting in the fabric of the sling.

Silco’s gaze is sharp, but it doesn’t hold the weight it sometimes does. He isn’t furious, you can tell that at least. Mildly irritated, maybe, but accepting that you’ve made the choice. There’s a warning in the way he looks at you, but he only holds it for a moment before shifting his eyes over your shoulder. “Just leave the tray.”

He’s letting you get away with this, and maybe that should worry you.

But really: what’s the worst he’ll do?

Once the door closes, Silco catches your eye.

A tense moment passes before you grudgingly look down, then uncurl from your defensive position and straighten, placing your palm flat on the desk again, gaze fixed on the edge of the table. The motion alone threatens to knock you back into that hypersensitive dumb feeling you had, but irritation keeps your mind sharp. It helps to not look at him.

“Better.”

Your lips twist, censoring your argument. Telling him not to do that again is a presumptuous waste of time; you’d only be whining.

You can feel as his attention leaves your face, and your surreptitious glance spots him looking thoughtfully at the hand. Like he’s calculating something, or cataloguing something, or… simply taking note.

After a moment he nods. There’s no apology spoken, but you sense some silent acknowledgment. A step back, a loosening of that noose his mere presence wraps around you.

He lets out a long breath, and your own tension settles somewhat.

“Now that you’re cooperating…” There’s a touch of sarcasm that settles to something milder as he goes on; “We have a tasting menu.”

—

‘Tasting menu’ is a mockery of his intentions. It’s not about the food, that much is obvious. The food itself isn’t anything special, just standard fare that was already in the kitchen; what’s important is, clearly, how much of a pain it’s going to be to eat with your prosthesis. Noodles that will slip off the fork, thin-handled spoons that will inevitably spill soup down your front, a sandwich that’s most likely going to fall apart. Fucking grapes, which are basically the squishy edible equivalent of paintballs.

Your glower at the approaching dishes as Silco brings them over earns you a gratified smirk as he settles again. Obviously, your punishment for not following the utensils rules is to let your boss witness the humiliation of your inevitable failure.

“Any preference to start?” His flippant tone does nothing to hide whatever sadistic glee he must take in watching you struggle.

“Is this really necessary?”

“Either you pick, or I will.”

Ever since his last show of power earlier, he’s backed off, allowing wiggle room for your little acts of obstinance— which is why you don’t feel bad for the scathing glare you level on him across the desk. When you refuse to answer, you get another breath of a laugh.

“You’re pouting,” he observes wryly. “After your display earlier, I was expecting a young woman determined to prove her autonomy, not a child refusing to eat her vegetables. You’re as bad as Jinx.”

Your gaze shifts sideways to avoid rolling your eyes. “I don’t appreciate having a spectator,” you mutter, barely managing to hold on to politeness.

“Do you intend to handicap yourself at every meal?” Silco speaks conversationally as he takes dishes off of the tray, setting one bowl in front of you and taking the other for himself. “You don’t think you’ll need the use of both hands?”

It’s incredibly strange to see him almost relaxed, brow raised as he stirs his bowl with irritatingly graceful fingers. Meanwhile, you scoot your chair forward, tighten your jaw, and just attempt to pick up the spoon, needing a couple tries to get an angle that doesn’t immediately slip.

You ignore his question. “…It’s not even vegetables,” you mumble, “it’s fuckin’ soup.”

Silco ducks his head as he takes his own spoonful. You have a sneaking suspicion he’s hiding one of those masked smiles. “Language,” he murmurs before taking his mouthful.

Whatever. You let out a short frustrated huff, and carefully lift your spoon to your lips. You barely pull back in time to avoid the little splash of the utensil falling back into the bowl. Gritting your teeth, you make another effort with the same result.

“You’re thinking too much.”

“If I don’t think, I won’t hold it hard enough and it’ll be worse,” you point out, tone clipped. Your next attempt is maddeningly slow, having to almost balance your grip, awkwardly leaning in at an angle, mouth wide to catch the spoon, but at least you did it. You raise your eyes at the noise you’ve begun to identify as Silco’s I’m not going to laugh, but I’m laughing at you noise. “And what exactly are you doing?” you ask, indignant.

“Spectating.” He doesn’t bother hiding his amusement. “It’s quite a show.”

Your eyes narrow at him. His light lift of a brow is infuriating. “I don’t want any more soup.”

“It’s less than a cup. We’re not moving on until it’s finished.”

The spoon is annoying you. At least a fork can spear things: spoons drop their contents as soon as they angle too much one way. Stupid things. Totally unnecessary. You can just drink out of the bowl.

Determinedly, you drop the utensil on the desktop, and cup the bowl itself in your hand. When your attempt to lift it makes it wobble precariously before you can even get it off the table, you give up on that. Instead, you stubbornly hunch over and lower your mouth to the bowl, tilting it toward you and slurping pointedly.

When you look up at Silco, as if daring him to protest, he’s calmly eating his own dish with a spoon.

“All of it, if you please.”

Your eyes flick back down to the bowl. Tipping it any more will probably have it tumbling over. There’s barely any left. “Oh come on.”

“Every last drop.”

Something about those words pin them in your head, pulse picking up even as you scowl. After another glare, you turn your attention back to your task, heat tipping your ears. Fine. If he’s going to be an ass about it. You lean forward and tilt the bowl again, angling to sweep your tongue into the curve of the dish. Three licks is all that’s left. When you’re done, you let the bowl fall back, rattling against the desk.

You drag the back of the hand across your mouth, and shoot a pointed look at your boss. There. Satisfied?

His spoon hovers halfway between his bowl and his mouth, but as soon as your look sharpens, he smoothly takes the mouthful as if he’d never paused, like he has not a single concern. “Crude,” he observes, “but I suppose it was effective.”

You can’t help the spiteful smirk.

In his same lofty tone he adds, “Perhaps you should take all your meals like a dog, if you insist on behaving like one.”

That sours your mood, and this time you do roll your eyes. “It’s soup. People drink soup all the time.”

“The lewd tongueing was a bit much,” Silco muses half-scathingly, finishing his own bowl.

That word makes your cheeks burn. “It wasn’t lewd,” you say defensively.

He makes a noncommittal hum, taking your bowl and spoon and stacking the dishes to set aside. “Next course?”

“Do I have a choice?”

“Do you like your hand?”

“Honestly? No.” A half-truth. “But I’d like to keep it.”

“Then we’ll continue the meal.”

—

By the time you’ve finished the fourth and final course (a simple half sandwich that was much easier to hold than you’d feared), you’ve decided that Silco is, obviously, a sadist. He no longer bothers to hide his self-satisfaction every time you fail.

He also has, for some reason, maintained a respectful ease between the two of you, never exerting that imposing will of his. In fact, your stubborn irritation only seemed to amuse the man rather than anger him.

“Now that wasn’t so bad, was it?” He’s gloating. Maybe not theatrically, but it seems very apparent to you.

“Delightful,” you say flatly.

The smirk is back. “I could reward your participation?” he suggests, sardonically. “Dessert? Jinx keeps us well-stocked with ice cream.”

“Appreciate the offer, but no. I think I’ll be throwing away all the spoons I own, thanks.”

“A cone then?” There’s something sharp to the curve of his mouth, tone derisive. “You can put that tongue of yours to use.”

Your eyes snap to his, heart stuttering in your chest. The slight raise of his brow seems challenging, wondering if you have the gall to talk back, but you’re too distracted by the heat flooding your face. It’s impossible to tell if he’s actually flirting, or just ridiculing your primitive behavior earlier.

Both?

Regardless, he’s toying with you. Mocking you in one way or another.

When you say nothing, Silco huffs a laugh. He waves a hand loosely in your direction. “You’re dismissed.”

“The sling?”

With a put-upon sigh - which feels so strangely… comfortable - he leans back in his seat, turning it slightly aside. “Very well. Come here.”

You stand and walk around to his side of the desk.

“Turn.”

You feel the hum of his authority gradually curling around you now that you’re so close. It makes your pulse pick up. You press lips tight and turn, hearing his chair creak quietly as he stands, and then his heat is at your back.

A sudden pang makes breath freeze in your chest as he slides a hand across the back of your neck, and you find yourself resisting the urge to squirm, instead subtly shifting foot to foot.

He pushes your hair over your shoulder, and then hooks a finger under the strap of the misappropriated sling. “Hold still, it’s sharp,” he warns, and a shock zings up your spine, stiffening as you feel the dull side of a blade brush your back before the sharp edge snags on fabric and cleanly cuts through.

You expect him to step away immediately, but he takes a moment to untangle your arm, and words completely slip from your mind as his hands steady you. One grasps your shoulder, keeping you in place while the other kneads your good arm. “No numbness, no pain?”

Your brain can’t function. His words are so casual, but your mind has been slammed with so much contact all at once. You sway forward, and his grip tightens on your shoulder to keep you upright. A tiny breath escapes you, body suddenly on high alert.

Silco’s hand slides down your arm to squeeze your hand briefly. “Circulation alright?” His voice is suddenly more serious than a moment ago, more concerned.

Your face burns - hell, your body burns - fixated on the firm pressure of his thumb rubbing at your forearm like he needs to bring back the feeling there. A choked noise of affirmation catches in your throat.

Silco’s movements pause. Then, he lets go of your arm, shifting back slightly, giving you room to breathe, even while maintaining his stabilizing hold. “Steady?”

“Mmhm.”

He releases your shoulder.

It takes you a second to remember to move, and you stiffly step away, heading straight for the door.

He calls your name when your hand is on the door knob, and you falter, almost terrified to look back at him. When you warily half turn back, his brow is furrowed.

“5:00. Set an alarm if you have to.”

You nod, silently. And then you leave.

It takes some convincing to believe you’re not running away.

—

[next part]

[Hnng. Okayijustreallylovethischapter. Please GOD give me your reactions, I’m over here with grabby hands like 🤲

As always, please counteract crowded tags and tumblr rules by reblogging this post! You can join the tag list by commenting on this linked post, or you can go sub to the fic on ao3. Gimme a little sustenance via tags and replies and comments please, I’m begging 🥺 ❤️-verbs]

[ps: there’s a reverse POV for this chapter, called Tasting Menu]

Tag list: @hawk4president @mello-jello29 @jennrosefx @dad-dumpster @ellhd-imagination @zuckerwattencupcake @meep-moop-mystic @of-the-argonath @arrlaauud @witxhy-lexx @mazikomo @leave-me-alone-doctor @antoine-tte

#silco x reader #silco/reader #silco x f!reader #silcoxreader #silco arcane #silco #arcane x reader #wip:a helping hand #a helping hand #x-amount-writes

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michu-writes · 2 years

Note

can i have some comfort from the eddsworld main 4? Me and my boyfriend have been fighting a lot and i'm really sad. It can be platonic or not:(

A/N: Of course I can! I'm so sorry about you and your boyfriend :(. I really hope the fighting ends! Please enjoy <3.

Edd

Edd is oblivious. If you're really good at hiding your feelings, he'd just think that you're completely okay. You have to tell him if you're feeling down or not. He'd immediately apologize and comfort you once he realizes you're feeling down though! He won't leave your side until you feel better!!! Edd would bring Ringo and cuddle together, as he's listening to you vent. And of course he's respectful, so if this seems too much for you and you just wanna be alone, he will. But you can't stop him from checking up on you if you've been in your room too long. He just wants the best for you and loves you so much :((. You'll be showered with kisses and hugs afterwards <3333.

Matt

Just like Edd, he's also oblivious. But I do think that he'd be the master at comforting!! He'll definitely say something like "You're too beautiful/handsome to cry!" and he will praise you to make you feel better <3. Would also just hold you close to him if you wanna cry more. MATT WOULD ALSO USE HUMOR TO MAKE YOU LAUGH AND FEEL BETTER!!!!!!! I mean he's dumb all the time so anything he does makes you laugh but- He'd do something fun with you so you can get your bad thoughts out of your mind! Like he'd do your makeup or maybe like cook something together (although the kitchen will get destroyed but). HES A TOTAL SWEETHEART AND HE JUST WANTS TO MAKE YOU FEEL BETTER :((((.

Tom

Okay, so you might think Tom is shitty at comforting. But nope, he's actually pretty decent at it (as long as he knows what he's doing ykyk). First, he'd awkwardly ask if you wanna talk about it. If you don't and wanna be alone, he'll let you be until you'll feel better and talk to you afterwards. If you want him to stay, then great! He's a good listener, and even if he can't help. Tom will still be there for you, and listen to your problems. He'll tell you what he usually do to cope with bad thoughts! He'll just pat you on the back. And if he feels extra, he'll even give you a hug! Depending on why you're feeling sad, he'd say "Those are just shitty thoughts trying to get under your skin. Don't make those thoughts take a hold of you, even if it seems hard sometimes." ORRR "Ignore those bad people. They're just seeking for your attention, which is a stupid way of doing that. Ignore them next time and fucking spit on them. If they won't stop, tell me, and I'll deal with it. No one's allowed to hurt you."

Tord

He's kinda bad at comforting, sorry 😭. If you're really close friends with him, he'd actually try. If you're looking for advice from him, he'd say something dumb like "You wanna know what I do when I'm sad? I just bottle it up like a big boy. Maybe you should do that too?" I wish I was playing 😕. BUTTTT he's also a good listener like Tom. He's WAYYYY better at listening to you vent other than giving advices as you can see…. because sometimes he can seem a bit harsh. BUT I SWEAR HES JUST A BROKEN COMMIE AND HES TRYING HIS BEST TO HELP YOU OUT. But something he would do is beat the shit out of the people who made you feel that way!!!!! He'll just hug you as he's drawing circles on your back with his hands, plotting revenge for the bullies :3

#Eddsworld #matt #edd #tom #tord #x reader #x y/n #reader insert #fanfiction #headcanon #eddsworld x reader #Matt x reader #edd x reader #tom x reader #tord x reader

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starlightrows · 2 years

Text

4 — Bittersweet

Hiding In Plain Sight

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Pairing: Commander Wolffe x reader

Words: 4.3k

Warnings: Morning after awkwardness, descriptions of war and a battle, character death, early stages of grief, healthy coping skills

Summary: You and Wolffe come to an arrangement, and The Pack’s first real mission is an emergency in a familiar location

“Oh shit”

“I uh… I don’t think anyone saw us” you sit up and try to start getting your things together “I don’t think anyone is back from the event yet, if I hurry–”

“Wait” he cuts you off, sitting up too. You turn back to look at him, pulling up your panties and covering your breasts. “I don’t want you to run off and feel like this was a mistake”

“But wasn’t it?” you ask “If we get caught… if anyone finds out… they will court martial you”

“They might” he agrees “But I don’t regret anything. I would do it all again”

That stops you in your tracks. Standing there in your undergarments, looking at him with a surprised and slightly sad expression on your face. “You would?”

He would. He absolutely would. True he hasn’t known many people outside of his brothers, but he’s never met anyone like you. It’s not just that you’re beautiful, because you are beautiful. It’s your sense of humor, your friendly yet discerning disposition, your acceptance and fealty to this team, your talent as a medic, and your undeniable attraction to him in return. “In a heartbeat”

“So where do we go from here?” you ask, sitting back down on his bed.

“I don’t know. You’re right, no one can ever find out. But I don’t want to pretend this never happened” he says

“So we don’t. When we’re on duty, things are normal. I think you and I are both more than capable of keeping our work and personal lives separate” you start “But when we’re off duty… we’ll figure something out. Find a way somehow”

“I don’t think there is a better option than that at this point” he agrees. You’re both quiet for a moment, taking in the reality of how difficult this could prove to be… but also how exciting it is to have a secret.

“I probably should sneak back to my own room before anyone gets back” you say with a bit of heat in your cheeks

“Suppose it wouldn’t be good if we got caught 5 minutes into hiding in plain sight” he chuckles, standing up and putting his undershorts back on, while you work on getting your dress back on. He steps in front of you once you have your dress back up over your shoulders, and helps you zip it back up on the side. He stands there for a moment, gazing at you in your gorgeous dress. A slight smirk quirks his lips upwards, as he draws a hand up to your face to brush his thumb over your cheek. He leans down just a bit and kisses you, just to cement in his mind that this is real.

He pulls away, adjusts your hair and sends you on your way. Luckily you don’t have far to go and it’s a straight shot back to your quarters. Once you were alone and behind closed doors, you had to sit there and take a minute. Stars you wish you could write this down or take a holo image of yourself with your make up all smeared to prove this wasn’t just a dream in the morning. But writing it down or even taking a holo image would be proof to others as well, this is one secret that can not get out.

In the morning, life resumes as normal. You actually found it really wasn’t difficult at all to keep things professional with Wolffe in front of the others. It certainly helped that this morning’s training was in no way fun or sexy. Endurance training with double weighted packs to simulate having to carry out a civilian or fallen soldier. By lunch you were exhausted, sweaty, and grumpy about having to continue your day with desk work instead of taking the big nap your body wanted. No, instead you had piles and piles of paperwork sitting on your desk. A glamorous lifestyle to be sure. But all day long, your hip bones had a bit of an ache to them. That was all the proof you needed that last night happened.

You were worried that it would be more difficult to “act natural” around the men in the evening. Even though everyone is technically always on duty unless on shore leave, the evening does tend to be when your battalion has down time. Usually they all crowd together in the barracks to play sabacc or in the mess hall to eat together, you are almost always there with them unless the day’s paperwork forces you to work long into the night. But when you and Wolffe turn up to join the others for dinner, nothing is different. Maybe this could work out after all.

That evening when everyone goes back to the barracks you and Wolffe wander back to the officers quarters together. You wonder for a moment if you should try to sneak into someone's room together again? But when you reach the concourse that separates the two of you there are other officers milling about. You glance over at Wolffe, he glances back at you. Nope. Not tonight. Too risky.

“Goodnight Commander” you nod

“Captain” he responds, the two of you turn away from one another and walk to your respective rooms. It really was too easy to pull it off without any sort of difficulty or hiccup, but at least you both proved that you can keep it together in front of others. You go to bed that night, dreaming of the night before. His lips trailing down your neck, his hands squeezing your tits, the firmness of his abdomen and stars above his –

Suddenly you are torn from sleep by both a frantic knocking at your door and your com device blaring at you. You blink awake and stumble out of bed in your sleeping shorts and t-shirt, swiping your com device to answer it and wrench the door open at the same time. It’s Wolffe, hastily latching his armor over his black fatigues with a serious look on his face.

“What the hell is going on?” you growl, not even looking at him, trying to get your com device to shut up.

“You’re needed in command, right now” he says. You’re about to protest when you see the chain codes that have been blowing up your com device. Several members of the war counsel that govern this base are requesting your presence immediately.

“I’ll be right there” you tell him

“I’ll make a pot of caf and get the men up, I have a feeling we’re going back to Eris” he grumbles walking away from your door

You don’t really take stock of what he said, only that he was making a pot of caf. You pull on your uniform and get your hair up to regulation standards in record time and glance at the chronometer just before you leave. 2:56am is too god damn early to be having a crisis.

You make it to the command center and find it buzzing with military officials, not unlike the other day. All of them have cups of caf in hand, but none of them seem to be drinking any. Do these psychos just never sleep? Wolffe steps into the room behind you and closes the door, handing you a fresh cup of caf, just the way you like it.

You give him a sidelong glance. The I don’t want to fucking be here kind of eyes.

He raises an eyebrow, and you can see the barest hints of dark circles under his eyes. Yeah, neither kind of eyes.

The meeting is called to order. You and Wolffe are informed that the Separatists have returned to Eris and mounted a full scale invasion to gain control of the planet and its resources. Several attack battalions and full legion groups have already been deployed. The 104th is being deployed to the epicenter of the invasion, the region capital, to facilitate evacuation of civilians.

That wakes you right up. The people you met on Eris, while not representative of all the regions on the planet, were not fighters. The thought of those kind and welcoming people being subjected to the hostilities of an invasion, makes your stomach twist itself in knots. The two of you are dismissed from the meeting, and ordered to get your squadron ready to depart immediately.

By the time the two of you make it to the barracks all eight men are awake, armored up, and getting together the last of the gear bags. Slush tosses you your medical pack as the men file out of the barracks and start heading towards the hangar where General Plo is waiting to join you.

“Are you copiloting for me this morning Captain?” he asks, still chipper and bright despite the early wake up call

“Promise not to crash the ship” you ask, sipping your caf

“I did not crash the ship!” He says indignantly

“Alright alright, it’s too early to bicker” you relent. You finish your caf and ditch the disposable cup before boarding the ship. Once the doors close, and the engines are on, it’s all business. The flight back to Eris feels like it takes no time at all, because you barely have time to get anxious about what you’re about to fly into before the ship is dropping out of hyperspace into a battle.

Slush goes into evasive action, avoiding the Separatists battleship by speeding off towards the planet’s surface by using the Republic Cruiser as a screen. The coordinates you were provided with by the war counsel will take you down to the planet’s surface, just outside the capital city of Eris in a region far away from where the pack had landed before.

It is utter chaos down there. The ships firing on each other are visible in the daylight against the sky. Droids march on the capital and fire on the civilians with no regard for taking prisoners or minimizing damage. This is less of an invasion and more of a genocide. Sinker, Boost and Cinder spring into action, firing back on the droids on the ground. Comet climbs on top of the ship to get a vantage point and starts calling out what direction reinforcements are coming from, taking shots with a long range rifle when he can. Jag and Slush start directing civilians into the city gates, while Mav and Cricket do a perimeter sweep. General Plo stands out front with the men, using his lightsaber to defect in coming blaster bolts. Wolffe makes contact with the war counsel to update them on the situation on the ground, and you start setting up a triage sight to help the wounded inside the walls.

Wolffe joins you at the triage, where you are ordering able bodied civilians to help move the injured in doors. He yanks you aside,

“We’re about to get a massive influx of civilians into this city with clankers on their heels” he tells you

“This is about to be a bloodbath sir” you wipe the sweat off your brow

“The war counsel is sending in attack battalions to flank them from behind, but we need to buy them time and get as many people behind these walls” he grunts, glancing back towards the pack.

“We’ll do everything we can sir” you nod

People pour into the city through the gates. The sounds of blaster fire, people calling out for help or loved ones, others howling in pain as you and the few volunteer medics and nurses attempt to treat their wounds. It feels never ending.

Suddenly there is a massive and cacophonous sound that tears away your focus from the patient you’re attempting to get situated. You turn to look over your shoulder only to see the wall of droids that seem to materialize from the dark spaces between the trees. Your heart drops. If those droids breach the walls, all the civilians that fled here to be safe will be like fish in a barrel. You leave your patient in the hands of one of the more skilled healers that’s volunteered to help, and sprint for the front gate, drawing your own blaster to start returning fire with your squadron.

“Where’s our back up?” you holler

“Coms are down, we’re in the blind here” Wolffe shouts over the noise

“Commander” General Plo address Wolffe, “If we are to save the people that already made it this far, we need to close the gates and engage the city’s defensive measures”

“Yes sir” Wolffe barks “Round up the stragglers boys, we need to close those gates!”

Half of the men peel off and start ushering civilians inside, while the others close ranks and continue firing on the enemy. But it’s not enough, the droids just keep coming and the there are too many civilians to move to get the job done quickly.

“What we need is a gap. Just a couple minutes where we could have more of the men moving the civilians and to get the door closed” you observe

“I’m open to suggestions Captain” General Plo says

“Cinder!” You yell over the noise

“Captain?” he looks back towards you from where he just deposited an elderly woman within the city walls

“I need you to get me a bomb. Something we can laugh behind their line to create a gap in their waves” you tell him. He thinks your just a moment

“Uuhh… yeah… yeah I could do that” he nods.

You yank the blaster out of his hands, “Go!” you order him sternly

He nods and darts into the city walls to have a safe enough spot to take off his pack and start assembling a remote detonated explosive. He returns a few minutes later holding a terrifying looking contraption and a remote control.

“I’ll have Comet use the rocket launcher to get it behind their lines Captain” he says, heading over towards the ship to give the bomb to Comet. You hope this will work, but know that you have to coordinate with the rest of the pack if it stands a chance.

“Commander, tell the men to be ready to stop firing, move the last of civilians, and pull the doors closed from the inside. Comet is going to launch a bomb behind their lines to give us time” you explain quickly

“Will it work?” He asks

“It’s going to have to sir. We don’t have another option” you shake your head. He gives you a nod, if you say it will work, he trusts you. He turns his head to address the men.

“Sinker Boost, be ready to cease fire and get inside on my mark. Jag Slush get those civilians in those gates. Cinder Comet, the second you launch, get out of there and over the wall. Mav Cricket, be ready to pull the doors closed from the inside when everyone’s in. Captain, pull the General and get back to the triage sight” Wolffe orders.

“Yes sir” you respond, and leave the pack to advance forward to get General Plo’s attention and fill him in on the plan. He agrees that it does seem likely that this plan is the only thing that will save these people, and retreats with you behind the wall. Just as you make it beyond the wall, you hear Wolffe’s voice ring out over the others “Mark!” followed by a small pop, a whizzing sound and then a massive explosion.

Everyone flies into action. Comet and Cinder make a sprint for the city gates, Cinder scooping up a frightened child and tossing them over his shoulder. Sinker and Boost cease fire and move quickly to join Jag and Slush, getting the last few civilians inside. Wolffe darts in too, and orders Mav and Cricket to shut the gates. The two of them tug on the ropes that hold the doors. They move slowly, being that they have not been closed in what you guess is hundreds of years, given that they are never closed. The pack and some of the civilians too grab the ropes and help to pull the doors shut.

The droids in the next wave are coming fast, you didn’t buy as much time as you had hoped. The left side door seems to come free and swing closed on it’s hinges, slamming shut. But the right will not budge. General Plo extends an arm, attempting to use the force to move the door. But it won’t move, something is obstructing its path. The more the people pull, the more tension gets put on the rope. Suddenly the tension breaks and the rope snaps towards the highest point of it’s attachment, the door is stuck in the open position. You don’t even have time to panic, or think of another solution because out of nowhere, Mav lets go of the rope and takes off running out of the city gates.

“Get back here soldier!” Woffe barks, but Mav doesn’t even turn around. He skids to a stop and clearing away the debris that’s holding the door closed. He only has to move a few large stones before it starts to glide back a bit. But it isn’t enough without the rope to pull it closed from the inside. You watch in horror as Mav gets on the other side of the door and starts to push it closed from the outside.

The door breaks free as Mav pushes it closed. It snaps shut. With him on the other side.

“Mav!” the men scream “Mav!”

But all that can be heard from the other side of the wall is blaster fire. You stand there in shock. In less than a standard minute all of that had happened, and you could do nothing to stop it. You’re wrenched from your shock by the driving force in your gut. The job is not done. You turn on your heel and sprint back to the triage sight, just as reinforcements fly in and lay down a spray of blaster fire on the droid army.

—

When the smoke clears, and the doors are open again. Wolffe confirms what everyone already knows. Mav held the door closed and took an innumerable amount of blaster fire. He saved the pack. He saved the civilians. He bought the last three minutes of safety for the people until the reinforcements arrived. But he was gone.

There are many casualties amongst the civilian population too. They offer to include Mav in their funeral procession and honor him as one of their warriors of days long past. It is a kind and generous offer, one the pack is more than happy to accept. All of the fallen are placed on a pyre and cremated. Many of the civilians sing songs of mourning while the fire burns, or of celebration and liberation. It seems to vary between what region each family came from on Eris. But all of them wear a line of slate gray paint on their right cheek.

When a middle aged woman comes by the pack holding a little bowl of the paint to adorn your faces too you ask her what it means to her people.

She paints the line down your cheek with her finger with a sad smile on her face “Gray is the color for bravery in the face of the unknown, strength for yourself and others, thanks for the gifts you have been given, and mourning for what you have lost” she tells you. She goes down the line and gives each member of the pack a line on their right cheek as well, General Plo leans down to accept a gray streak as well.

After she leaves the team stands together in silence. You take in your squad. Exhausted, disheartened, dirty, bruised and battered. Mismatched armor and clashing colors. You’ve had rough days in this war, some of them have too, but others… this is their first true battle and true tragedy.

“Seems fitting” Wolffe clears his throat

“What does?” Sinker asks with a bit of a bite in his tone

“Gray paint” Wolffe says simply “We are still a squad. And we still need a unifying color. Gray seems fitting for this team”

“For remembrance” you echo his thoughts. You look around the circle and see them all nodding in agreement.

“Gray it is then” Wolffe says with a small nod

Unfortunately, you have to return back to Coruscant. No one is particularly talkative on the flight back. Or when you disembark back on the base.

“Get yourselves cleaned up boys” Wolffe tells them as they head back to the barracks

“Gentlemen” General Plo calls out before they can leave “Captain” he address you as well “This evening, I would like for all of you to join me in the training facility after you all have a chance to eat and rest”

The men are a bit confused, a little irritated, but ultimately no better than to protest. “Yes sir” they all acknowledge him. You also are wondering what the bloody maker the General is thinking. Does he actually expect them to go through training drills tonight? After all the shit that just happened? Regardless, you don’t verbally question it either.

You trudge back to your quarters and take a long shower. You let a few tears fall since there is no one to witness them. It feels good to let it out, but you would rather take a blaster bolt to the foot than let a squadmate or really any other military personnel see you cry.

Once you’re clean and you’ve got your hair situated, you change into your base fatigues and force yourself to go eat something. The only other person that seems to be on your wavelength is Slush who sits at a table alone in the mess hall with near dripping curls wetting the back of his shirt.

You take a seat across from him and attempt to eat some of the rations you were provided. You wait to see if Slush will start some kind of conversation. Opening with a joke. Asking about your love life. Blabbing out drama happening in other battalions. But he doesn’t. And neither do you. Soon, others from the team filter in, joining you at the table and picking at their food. No one speaks but the silence doesn’t feel uncomfortable.

Eventually the whole team is sitting at the table together. Squeaky clean with damp hair, tired eyes and somber expressions. Wolffe clears his throat after a time “I’m not sure what the General has planned for us tonight. But I told him we were not up to doing physical training today. He has assured me that is not his intention”

Some of the men at the table exchange looks with one another. Confusion in some. Curiosity in others. Disinterest in most. “Commander… can this wait until morning?” Sinker asks, Boost elbows him in the ribs.

“I don’t think so lads. General Plo assured me this wouldn’t take long. The sooner we get in there, the sooner we can go to bed” he says

The squad grumbles but stands up and files to the training room. General Plo has pushed back all of the equipment to the edges of the room, and laid down the sparring mats. Your heart drops. He wants the team to spar? At a time like this?

But no. That is not the General Plo Koon you know. And that is not what he has planned. He is sitting at the head of the room, and kindly asks everyone to take a seat wherever they feel comfortable. You do, crossing your legs and sitting up straight, looking around to see what everyone else does.

“We can all agree that today was both a victory and a tragedy. The people of Eris will live and prosper thanks to the ten of you. But the loss of Mav is not something we should take lightly” he begins “I invite all of you to take a moment of silence for yourselves. Feel all of the emotions you are feeling, and embrace them with open arms. Do not run away from your fear, your anger, your sadness”

You close your eyes and sit in your feelings for a moment. You’ve been told before that The Force the Jedi wield and worship is something that can be felt, experienced and is ingrained in all living things. And it’s not that you didn’t believe that in the past, but you didn’t really feel it and couldn’t be bothered to try to search for it. But now, as you focus on your breath and allow yourself to sink into the present moment. Maybe you do feel it.

You are not the only one. Others in the room fall into similar states of meditation, ruminating on their own inner thoughts and turmoils. It’s strangely comforting.

“Thank you all, for taking this time to meditate with me” General Plo says calmly after a few minutes “Many Jedi practice the art of meditation, but it is not limited to those who use the Force. I use it to process emotions and understand my feelings. I wanted each of you to have this tool to help you process your own feelings and emotions, and to know that I would be more than happy to speak with you about this heaviness we all carry, should mediation not bring you the peace you seek”

“Thank you General” Cricket says quietly. A chorus ‘thank you’s follow. To which General Plo bows his head in acknowledgment.

“You are welcome” he says “Now, it is also my duty to inform all of you, that you have been granted shore leave for the next two days. You are free to leave the base if you choose. But I ask all of you to keep your health and safety in mind. I look forward to seeing you all again in a few days' time” And with that, General Plo stands, bids you all a good evening and exits the training room.

#Commander Wolffe #Commander Wolffe x reader #Hiding In Plain Sight

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usafphantom2 · 4 months

Text

Butch said he would fly over China and Russia, do you think he did?

The date was 24th July 1964. I arrived at Wing Headquarters and was ushered into a room with about seven other flying officers from the 43rd Bomb Wing B-58’s . Because I was sick and might be contagious, I sat in the back row all by myself. Colonel Doug Nelson addressed the group, and told us the program was indeed the SR-71. We had been selected from all Air Force officers as the best qualified because of (1) our age, (2) flying time in supersonic aircraft, (3) our good medical records and (4) our fine military records. He noted that most of us were wearing spot promotions and that we would not have to worry about losing them because we would get them back soon if selected for the program. We would be notified soon if selected, and then we had to take the astronaut physical at Brooks AFB in San Antonio, Texas. He said the risk in taking the physical was that if they found something wrong we could be permanently grounded. He and Lt. Col. Jack Beasley would then interview us individually to ask some additional questions.

They took me first because they could see that I was sick (sweat pouring off my forehead) and needed to get back to bed. We went into a small room (it was more like a closet). Nelson asked me if I had any problem flying over denied territory (China and Russia). I said, ‘No’. He then asked if I was a volunteer. I said, ‘Yes’. He thanked me and I went back home. The interview was over.

With that I became the first US Air Force line officer to be interviewed to fly the SR-71 and the first to accept the invitation to join the team. I was in the right place at the right time, was the right age with the right type of flying time, and had the right medical qualifications (despite my pneumonia). Many years later, then-Major General Nelson told me that when I said ‘yes’ he was very relieved. He didn’t know how air crew members would react to his request. He said we were being asked to give up a spot promotion, leave a very stable position in an organization where we were highly respected, and go into a program we knew very little about.

The Physical

A few weeks later, a message arrived saying they wanted me to take the astronaut physical at Brooks AFB. The physical was the most complete and thorough I have ever received. Each day for five days we were given every medical test known to man at the time and some that the doctors at Brooks had just thought up. The ‘shrinks’ even gave us the Ink Blot test; we told them all we could see was butterflies and dancing girls in flowers. I don’t know if the shrinks ever caught on, but we all passed the test.

The SR-71 candidates with whom I took the physical adopted an ‘us against them attitude’. We were trying to outsmart the doctors every day. We came up with ways of coping with the tests. In one test they placed our feet into buckets of ice water while we were wired up to EKG, blood pressure, and various other wires and things. We found out that if you pressed your feet against the bottom of the bucket it was warm compared to just dangling your feet in the bucket.

We didn’t lose our sense of humor during the tests. Someone kept putting appointment slips we had taken from the nurses’ station into the appointment box sending one of our cohort back for a retake of the rectal sigmoidoscopy test (the most dreaded test they could give). We would hide and see him pick up the slip, watch his face, and listen to his ‘oh shit’ as he walked off down the hall looking dejected. I don’t know for sure who was behind these tricks, but his name (I am told) was Tom (Schmittou)

This is a backstory, and will not see anywhere else. Written by my father Butch Sheffield..~ Linda Sheffield

@Habubrats71 via X

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moonflwer-gutz · 11 months

Note

I know nothing about outlast anyways I would like to know general information about the outlast girlies

i talked a lot about their general story and origins here!!

as for some other tidbit stuff uhhhh

Abby copes through humor to an unhealthy degree. The jokes are terrible too, like just ough god. The “it’s ok! you can laugh! it’s funny! [looks around and everyone has a face of pure horror on their face]” kinda bad. Sometimes Waylon gives her a pity laugh—sometimes it’s real—but it always ends the same. He pulls her aside and asks what specifically is eating at her. She vents to him. 3/5 times it probably ends in tears. She doesn’t want the others to see her fully break down, she doesn’t want them to see her like she was when they first found her. She doesn’t want to be seen as a victim, she’s a survivor and she knows this. But it’s in Miles and Jane’s—and sometimes even Lisa’s—nature to see her as some kind of hurt animal. Small, weak, and the like. Waylon understands. He felt the same way for a long while after the Mount Massive incident. But he also understands the others. He’s really gotta figure out how to make sure this kid doesn’t withdraw into herself and hide her feelings behind these jokes. But he’s also gotta make sure that she doesn’t feel weak. Yeah, he hasn’t actively parented in a bit, since both of his boys are off in college now. God help him, though, he’s not letting this kid suffer like he did, moving place to place, constantly looking over her shoulder. She’s gonna be safe. And she’s gonna be a fighter. She’s a survivor, like him.

SOMETHING MORE WHOLESOME FOR JANE- God she’s so attached to the old pieces of media Simon would bring home. I think I mentioned that Ghostbusters is her favorite movie in the original post. She absolutely loved goofy horror. She poured herself over tattered copies of Goosebumps books. She just treasures the things that Simon brings back. She’s not used to things being given to her, for her, so these things are incredibly important. She even tried to bring the vhs tapes, the cassettes, the books with her when Miles had come to get her from the cabin. He kind of rushed the two of them out, and somehow in spite of everything else going on, the thing she was most upset about was the fact that she couldn’t take Simon’s gifts with her. BUT LEMME TELL YOU WHEN SHE FOUND OUT THAT THE PARK’S HAD THESE THINGS CALLED DVDS AND DIGITAL COPIES- yall 80s movies do some cocomelon shit to this girl. Miles, Waylon and Lisa all had a moment of just “aw….omg” when they first put one of her comfort movies on for her. She just kinda…melted. She was stiff and blunt and grumpy in this new environment, but when she saw something she was familiar with, something Simon had familiarized her with? Suddenly she was beaming, smiling with her eyes and teeth. None of the adults had truly seen her smile since they met her. They didn’t imagine that a kid raised by Murkoff could smile. They couldn’t believe that Simon Fucking Peacock was able to bring the kid this much joy.

They needed to find him. Whatever it takes.

#my sillies #i love them so so much #its a lot of angst but they have moments of happiness #elder trauma holders helping baby trauma holders #i love the parental role i placed on yknow. everyone else.#they saw these kids for .02 seconds and said YE NO ID DIE FOR THEM #moonflwer jane #moonflwer abby #moonflwer ocs #moonflwer answers #moonflwer writes #outlast #outlast: whistleblower #outlast oc #outlast 2

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cult-of-dollbabies · 1 year

Text

Alright here's some thoughts on s2 ep5, spoiler warning

I had to rewatch/skim through it this morning bc the fight scene gave me such secondhand embarrassment that it literally fucked up my processing and the whole time I was like 😀 is this real.

Watching it again was fine but dear god the puppetry.. Anywho, the moments with Lexi and Nadine were my favorite by far, Nadine drawing a relation to assure Lexi she's safe to come to,, "you know how moms are, they do their best to make you happy, right?" And this is what made Lexi come out, she knows some things about neglectful mothers, and losing a parent, I think that in a way she wanted to be there for Nadine, too. They're there for each other despite hardly knowing one another, and yes Lexi seems to still have bully tendencies but I think Nadine will influence her development in being better, and especially her recovery. Nadine lightening the mood, helping her collect the pills and flush them was so tender and a huge step, if I'm being honest I shed a few tears, I love them sm (also Nadine autism real)

Love how hard it is to tell if Scout (or good chucky.. since thats rlly the name theyre settled on) is faking or not. Hes raised some red flags, he still has impeccable aim w/ blades, saying sum creepy shit in a suspiciously childlike manner, (i know this is the same as the last ep but this time it almost feels emphatic) Chucky is known for his manipulation and hiding in plain sight tactics, if it turns out it was all an act, can't say I'd be too surprised, "like I finally figured out what I'm for" was actually quite eery.

...that being said I am NOT immune to chucky manipulation this was fucking CUTE

Cant wait for Father Bryce to die, sister Catherine's the only one with sense clearly, that's all I have to say about that

I'm on Devon and lexis side but on the other hand I don't think Chucky could even pretend to be nice, let alone admit to finding god or something behind a closed door ( I fuckin lost it when he held the Bible up, ain't no way, and where'd he pull that from??) and also be willing to get baptized , personally i don't think hes faking but more like the brainwashing is wearing off.. like a ticking time bomb. I thought Jake baptizing him was strange at first but watching again it feels like he was only trying to help Scout feel better, like with a child, and we all know by now Jake is attached and using him to cope with losing his foster brother, (another scout-might-be-faking-and-manipulating-jake bit, the joker line) it's understandable, but dammit Jake please stop disregarding your boyfriends very real concerns! And Nadine definitely doesn't know what Chuckys capable of, yet, but I feel like she'll find out very soon.

the series feels more shocking than scary, and some of the humor between serious parts just feels too silly for me, I want to take it seriously but I can't

...now. About the end, boy oh boy, this is where I'm sour

Seen and had a couple ideas for who the hell Cornell was and its.. bald.. Russian chucky? Tf is that? I think they were trying to do a twist but it's .. so underwhelming. And as if he hasn't been through enough we come to find Andy's been.. getting tortured, for what we can assume to be a year, hes gotta be so broken, he doesn't know Kyle's alive, either. That is.. it's such a letdown, I'm so tired of seeing Andy be tormented, I'm not watching this to get sad, I prefer the theory that he was maiming those chuckys, at least that way he'd have some kind of payback and not another year worth of trauma. Im assuming Kyle, Glenda and Nica will try to find him and it cant happen soon enough. I actually lost sleep over this.. I'm serious, not in a fear or disturbed way either in a for the love of god just let him be happy for more than five seconds please kinda way :(

Hopefully it gets better, now I just want to see Andy be saved, not very ready to see the state he's in though..

#ill make other posts but writing this took me all. day.#chucky series #chucky spoilers #as always id love to hear you guys thoughts

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jekyllnahyena · 1 year

Text

Haunted by thoughts because I somehow need to put together that I think Soap is extremely fucking smart and perspective while also getting blindsided by Reg and Ghost confessing because all three are stubborn af and weird weird weird and I pretty much need to write out the whole story in short form for that to work and uuuuuurggghhhh. Fuck it, here goes (I’ll jumo a bit between from who’s point of view this thing goes, so be warned by 3 pages of confusing rambling):

Ok, so, Reg and Soap have strung up a friendship pretty fast, mostly because Soap is just. Fucking great and she quietly followed him like a lost puppy (from her perspective. For others it felt more like he suddenly had a bear prowling behind him) when she first joined the team and he showed her around and his jokes got her to crack and he now makes it a point of trying to get her to open up. And he does! She talks more because she’s comfortable, shows more of her humor and emotions and he delights in having done that and she delights in having a friend that makes her feel so comfortable with herself. He doesn't get the full picture, not yet, but he comes pretty fucking close to it. He learns of the loss of her parents, of her rarely used apartment and how often she actually just hides from people because it’s too much and usually the small smile she puts on in social gatherings is a facade.

But despite Soap’s usual modi operandi of flirting with pretty much anything in walking distance (not even going into the fact that he thinks that Reg is cute but also hot because she’ll bury her face in his shoulders when she’s embarrassed but can also bench press 120 kg thx), it becomes a very rare occurrence with her. Mostly because when he does, she'll stare at him and turn quiet and for the longest time he thought it was because he made her uncomfortable. But no, Reg's brain simply stopped working, and when she doesn't know how to react/respond, she'll go quiet and fucking stare. It's why people think she's so serious and slightly terrifying. She can be, yes, but a good 50 percent of the time she's just unsure on what to do so she doesn't do anything and somehow that translated to her being known as someone not to fuck with. In truth, she’s just awkward af.

But you go and decipher that from the 1,94 cm stone faced behemoth of a woman.

So Soap stops and though he gets very good at reading her and she gets more comfortable with expressing her emotions around him, their attraction isn't something either of them is willing to act on, at least not with each other. Soap because he thinks she's not interested and has come to value their friendship too much to ever think about asking her out, Reg because Soap is one of her first real friends that she feels comfortable and safe with in ages and she can only imagine something stable and long term with him but has no fucking clue on how to broach that because her way of communicating is either not to, or just blurt out what’s on her mind.

(The whole thing is kinda funny because both are very much sexually active, though they’re on the side of hook ups and Reg herself usually makes it a point of not being emotionally attached to the person she's sleeping with. She's lost her ex partner before and the experience still haunts her. So nowadays she'll try and flirt a bit, yes, but mostly simply ask if someone’s down for a one night stand.)

Enter Ghost. Reg and Ghost, from the moment they laid eyes on each other, had a weird same wavelength thing. Both have lost everyone, both have been on the field for about the same amount of years, both are heavily scarred by it and have found weird coping mechanisms that keep them working but create issues with living outside of it. At least at that point in life. (shit got dark for them and their mental states) And both have earned a reputation of being terrifying. Regard, the solo operator, the eyes, the stare that sees in and through you (sometimes because people don't realize that's just what she does), Ghost being the most terrifying mofo u can encounter and when u do, it's already too late.

Which is why Reg was so furious when Ghost told her to pull back from that mission, she thought they had this understanding and he completely disrespected her there (in her opinion). She may not be prideful of who she is outside her work, but her reputation holds true. She is terrifying, she does see it all, she is an absolute behemoth and force on the field and it's the one thing you cannot take away from her (she's the one that clings the most to her 'purpose' in the military. Not necessarily because she believes in the cause, but because it’s what makes her nowadays. She has no family to return to, she has no simple life outside of things. Her work is her life and yes, that is exactly as terrible as it sounds.) It’s why she really, really doesn't want to fuck shit up with Soap. Because despite having found their friendship within their work, she thinks of him as one of her, if not the, closest friend.

And Ghost? He himself has kept himself so much in check when it comes to his feelings. Whatever anyone says, Ghost is the one with a massive crush, but he believes himself to be too hard to be loved, at least by someone like Johnny that has so much to give. A big part of him simply fears he’d bind him down and inevitably hurt him. (which isn’t true, you’re being a fucking dumbass, go to therapy)

But with Regard it’s easier. They’re both honest from the start. It’s much more in line with what she usually does too. They don’t really beat around the bush after the first confrontation because the fight gave Regard the biggest revelation: Ghost cares. A lot more than he wants to show.

And exactly that makes her so comfortable with going with him, what manages to catch her attention and endear him so much to her. It’s why she asks him to join her going to the med bay. Whereas he realized how much more she’s already worked him out and that he really cannot hide from her eyes and stare. (unlike Johnny she’d never question if Ghost would try and get her. She sees his patterns because they’re hers too) And because Regard will simply say whatever comes to mind because why bother hide from a person that had her clocked from the start, she just straight up asks if this will be something regular for them to do. And Ghost says yes because where the hell would be the harm? It’s nice, having someone there that understands, that knows what the silences and weird behavior mean, that you can find solace in because neither of them really have anywhere else to return to.

So (returning back to Reg’s point of view here).

Whereas Soap feels fuzzy and like the sun, Ghost simply. Clicks. Like a place you never had but somehow still know. There's very little blushing involved here, but a coming together of two people that quickly saw the other person for who they are and found comfort in just that. And because they do, they don't shy away from the ugly side of the other. Reg doesn't hide her panic attacks and dissociative episodes from him, because he understands why she has them and how to act. Ghost lets Reg stay with him after his night terrors because she's there, she has them too, he'll do the same for her. Something something, people of misty mornings and cigarettes and all that. And though it starts as simple understanding and comfort and silent support, they end up offering their whole being because neither of them thinks it's much anyway, so let’s give it to the person that understands that.

And then the wildest shit happens.

Because they’re both so willing to go all in with each other, they end up being warm. and safe. and fuzzy. Reg only realized exactly how deep her feelings run when Ghost woke her up one morning with a cup of coffee, already dressed and asking her what she wants for breakfast cause he's going to the baker. That's the moment she knows that this isn’t just finding comfort and understanding, but that she’s in goddamn love. And it's mutual because one day Regard asks if he wants help with cutting his hair back to regular, she can do that no problem and he says yes and he watches her in the mirror while she sings along to Earth Wind n Fire and something in him goes very still that moment.

They somehow managed to create a soft, little domestic thing that neither absolutely ever thought possible, not with them, not with the lives they lead and what that had done to them. But here it is and now? Now Ghost helps Reg with wash day and she gets him new nail polish and they realize they're in love with each other and holy shit. Holy shit, they just proved they can do that and not fuck it up. Yes, it's difficult and they're relearning a lot of stuff about communication and letting others care for you and how to not be terrified of having someone this fucking close again, but they did it. They don’t even get to do the whole ‘noooooo, I’ll push u away because ur close’ because they’re too amazed that they somehow managed to have a healthy and loving relationship that makes both of them happy without either of them noticing. And it's because they realize that they can do it that the idea pops up of having Johnny too.

They both know that the other is in love with Johnny. It was fairly simple tbh. Ghost asked her why she lets Johnny carry her around bridal style for shits and giggles whereas she responds with at least ‘I’m not trying to woo him with bad puns’. (“You love my puns.””Doesn’t mean they’re good.”) and they both stare at each other for about three seconds and go, ahhhhh fuck. We’re pretty hopeless. Damn :/

But then they see that they can in fact make shit work and fuck fuck fuck, Johnny. Queue to these two idiots trying to do a terrible sort of investigation whether Johnny likes one or maybe even the both of them, which basically means you get two absolutely unhinged weirdos trying to flirt with their crush. They can flirt with others (at least Ghost can, I see you ‘I love kentucky’), but there’s stakes now goddamnit. It mostly means that they stare weirdly from across the room and check for him obsessively and offer a spar every single chance they can. They’re bad at this, please don’t judge them (actually yeah, do. it’s hilarious)

Anyway, Soap during this whole ordeal has noticed the moment Ghost and Reg started their. Something. and decided to pull back. Because he thinks it’s the right thing to do. Because he watches Ghost look at Reg a bit more softly, pressing his foot against hers when she stares at the poor lad across from her during a meeting because she doesn’t know how to handle other’s right now and he grounds her with the simple move. And he sees Reg nudge Ghost’s shoulder, not saying anything as she checks up on him because an old wound twinged and he closes his eyes before giving an almost non existent nod. And both feel more grounded in a way that Johnny didn’t manage and it fucking hurts, ngl, but he’s happy for them, because he loves both of them and he wants them to have that. Tears at his skin that it’s not him, but what can he do? (Talk, Johnny. That’s what you do) And because he’s one stubborn motherfucker, the idea burns itself into his skull. ‘They’re happy, leave them alone, they’re happy, leave them alone, they’re happy, leave them alone-’

So now you have Johnny, absolutely refusing to see any signs that he normally would pick up in an instant because he attributes most of their weird behavior to the fact that they now have each other and are changing a bit apparently. Which, true, but not in the way you’re thinking my dude. And the other two, one that usually just fucking shuts off when too many emotions are involved and has the emotional delicacy of an elephant, and one that has so many emotions that he tends to simply ignore them in favour of creating almost another persona in favour of caring for himself and neither of them knows how to handle an honest to god crush that they actively wanna try and make into a relationship (they’re so weird. so, so weird. love that for them)

Which is how they end up with the whole bar confession, because they’re both done, have tried their ‘subtle’ ways of showing affection and gauging what Soap’s feelings on them are and after coming to the very logical conclusion, well, he thinks we’re hot and he likes us both and that is something right? They just go and confront him. (liquid courage is a hell of a booster btw)

and all that is to say, I think Johnny is very, very smart and perspective. But he’s also hurt and stubborn and refuses to see any signs because he doesn’t wanna get his hopes up because he thinks it’s delusional and they just managed to find someone that makes them happy, right? While the other two only now realize that they can in fact have working relationships and be loved and safe but how do we communicate that we also want that with you and maybe therapy isn’t such a bad idea, huh?

All three are very smart. But they’re also very dumb, weird and have terrible ideas of wooing another person because all three are a good bit unhinged and they’re weird, weird weird weird but it all turns out well.

#simon ghost riley #commander ghost #john soap mactavish #commander soap #juliette regard dione #commander regard #holy shit this turned long fuck me #but yeah #ghostsoap #ghoag #yes #that is in fact the official name thx #but i finally wrote stuff out about my lads #isnt that great?????#ayayayayayyay #ajekyllsramble

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mmollymercury · 2 years

Note

For the character ask game, Camilo ☺️

YAYY I GET TO DO THIS AGAIN!!

seriously ppl I love talking abt my hcs, don't be shy to ask me abt them😭💕💕

Camilo

⚧ - Pronoun hc: he/they. This is basically canon lol. If u didn't know, before the movie came out and press was asking questions abt it. Ppl used 'they/them' pronouns to refer to Camilo in interviews 💕 also... the fact that so many nb ppl adopted him... I mean, it shows guys. Birds of feather, innit.

🏳️‍⚧️- Gender hc: non binary💕💞

🏳️‍🌈- Orientation hc: idk abt this one, I've never really thought abt it before. 🤷‍♀️🤷‍♀️🤷‍♀️

🌌- zodiac sign hc: Camilo is a December baby, I'm pretty sure.... Sooo that'd make them a capricorn??? I think😶

🧠- MBTI/Enneagram hc: based on my researchhhhh (but as I've said before I'm very new to this stuff lol) he'd be a ESTP

Some things that helped me come to this conclusion:

Camilo is very extroverted. He does have moments were, if you look carefully, he kinda shrinks in on himself and resumes the 'dinosaur posetm', also known as Bruno's constant state- but despite this, he thrives on attention, I mean look at this pose:

You can practically hear him saying 'look at meee'. Next, I believe they'd make decisions based on the reality of the situation and speak very literally about things, example:

"Err, not if we don't have a house."

He does not entertain the option of that changing right away. He's focused in the now and is trying to get that dealt with first.

He's very confident but he also hides behind other people's faces, literally. I do imagine him to be quite popular in his own right but still, he's very closed off with his emotions and only thinks about catering others, that's literally his gift. So he neglects himself emotionally and pretends he's okay behind his happy demeanour. He's a devil and is the epitome of a little shit. But it's tough love sometimes, they do truly care💞

Now, this section, I like to call: no (with one exception)

❤- OTP hc: 🚫

🧡- Everyone I ship with this character: 🚫

💛- Brotp: Probably him and Mirabel, they're the best of friends💕💕. BUT DONT GET IT TWISTED, THIS ISNT ROMANTIC U FREAKSS😤😤😤🚫🚫🚫

💚- Notp: everything lol (not hating on oc x canon btw, u guys do your thing, I'm just talking abt canon x)

💙- Crossover ship: 🚫

💜- Crossover non-ship relationship I like: mhhhh never really thought abt it. I think Camilo would absolutely roast any person from my other hyperfixations lol

📖- AU I'd like to see them in: modern AU,,, again... Let's face it, he'd be a youtuber who'd make insane, chaotic vlogs with thumbnails on par with drew phillips:

❤🩹- Angsty hc: He lies about how he feels for the sake of others, just like the rest of the family; also uses humor as a coping mechanism. He often worries that people only see him as the people he can be and don't really care about him. Also, I think they'd definitely get paranoid about their appearance and question if this is them or just another shape shifted creation. I think he'd have moments of losing himself and shifting as other people to cope with stuff. He isn't really in touch with who he is because of this. He's got trauma, poor thing🥺🥺🥺

💖- Happy hc: He played with dolls as a kid, due to getting them as hand-me-downs. When abuela gifted him a stereotypical 'boy's toy' he used it to play with said dolls. Like: if it was a football, he'd turn it into 'circle world' and the dolls would play on it lol. Before he forgot him, he used to fall asleep to Bruno rocking him in his arms🥺🥺

😋- Funny/stupid hc: When he hiccups, it sometimes can trigger his shapeshifting. Sometimes, he'll transform into someone and try and keep the clothes that come along with them. It never works.

🪞- Appearance hc: I'm not sure what to put here lol, let's just say: I think he'd eventually ask to get his ears pierced. He was always jealous of how the girls got them done when they were little.

🥖- Food hc: THIS SHIT EATS LIKE IT'S HIS LAST DAY ON EARTH, ALL DAY, EVERYDAY. he's got one of those 'food critic' palletes, there's basically nothing he hates, he loves all flavours AND LIVES for the experience of all of them. He eats everyone's left overs, without leaving a crumb; first thing he does when he and Mira come back from school is complain about being hungry, Mira then says: you literally ate on the walk home bro-

I agree with the headcanon that shapeshifting into all these ppl, wears him out and that's why he's so hungry, however, I also think it's more than that: he just has a naturally fast metabolism and looooves food🥰, cos I like to think he still acts like this when the magic is gone. The family call him a human trashcan lol.

🛌- Sleep hc: he sleeps like he's been hit by a car, snores like an engine and drools all over his pillow.

🏡- Domestic hc: he has the best relationship with Pepa 💕💕😭 he's a momma's boy 💕, Julieta gets annoyed of his eating habits but she's grown to make extra of everything, just for him💞 I think she'd also let him eat the parts of a meal no one else really wants, before she serves the whole thing, for example: like the legs on a chicken, my mam used to do this for my sister lol x

He likes having a jokey, bickering relationship with Félix. They don't actually fight or anything but he'll make play insults like: "old man" and "grey hairs" just to have that playful back and forth banter. They'll both be laughing, knowing there's no malice behind the words🥰

🗡- Badass hc- He'll shapeshift into a bully's mam to get them to back off. Also he just hates on bullies in general, often crossing a line and being a bit of one himself, when trying to defend ppl.

❓- Anything else you want: this boy would watch dragrace, come on now-

#encanto #camilo madrigal #encanto headcanons #encanto camilo #camilo madrigal headcanons #mbti personality types #ask game #ask meme #ask me stuff #💞💞

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