#a healthy dose of trauma

[eshtaresht]

- bro humanity is so fucked up all they do is sin

- source?

- ancient religious text

[lilacthebooklover]

redesigned my pure vanilla pen & i think it's really tormentcore, he's finally reached the stage of asking people for help <33

[fyrewalks]

meta: bob + broken glasses

one.

bob is ten the first time someone breaks his glasses. it happens two weeks after his bubbe returns home to new jersey; two weeks since his mom has been out of bed or off the couch longer than a few hours. nearly three months since his dad's latest deployment and six since his older sister, stevie, died.

it happens on the playground, easy to assume it's some childish skirmish over a swing set - bob's shy even then, made worse by his grief, and prefers to stick to the outskirts and swings during outdoor play at day-camp. (summer day-camp instead of montana, instead of his mom accepting the good natured teasing about her being a city girl or the not so quiet arguments between his grandma and dad about who will take the floyd ranch someday.) none of the counselors hear the taunts. bob doesn't repeat them. the kids accuse him of being different; he assumes they're saying it because of his dead sister. (he won't realize the kind of different they mean for a few years.)

he hides his broken glasses in the back of one of his drawers. his mom doesn't notice, his dad's calls home are too infrequent, gracie's six and easy to distract. it's not till a few weeks of meal trains and hushed discussions about his mom and doctor's appointments among the aunties who come over to watch them that anyone notices he's supposed to be wearing them at all.

two.

the second time it happens, bob is a few months shy of fifteen, all awkward limbs and little self-confidence. it's his second cross-country meet and he doesn't want to be there. the floyds are back in virginia - after three different middle schools, there's only a few vaguely familiar faces here and none of them are on the team. it leaves bob feeling more out of place.

he came out as summer ended on a friday night, a rare shabbat dinner that's just gracie and their parents instead of the eclectic mix of friends from their synagogue and whoever on base that wants, or needs, a place to be on a friday night. his mom cries, though she tries not too, while it's his dad whose the first to hug him and reassure bob he's loved no matter what. he knows his parents talk about it later, that they confide in each other their fears about his future, but they brave his confession with watery smiles and the promise everything will be okay.

he doesn't come out at school. it's less a definitive choice and more that he doesn't need to. other kids simply just know. bob isn't sure what gives him away - if it's his slouchy posture, his voice, or something else entirely. most leave it alone, but there are taunts and curses in between classes; he's shoved into a locker, once. bob doesn't like it, but considers it tame. he's bounced between montana, virginia, and florida his entire life, usually living in the shadows of navy bases. he isn't ignorant. (new jersey, at least, only carries the weight of his dead sister.)

it's tame until it's not. until his second cross-country meet. bob's in the middle stretch, pace decent enough to keep up with some of the older kids, and he's actually starting to enjoy himself. and then there's a hand on his back and he's crashing to the ground, literally tasting dirt. bile rises in his throat as he watches his glasses get stomped on deliberately, he can't unhear the accompanying slur.

he makes it to the finish line with a limp, mud on his face, and broken glasses. when his mom fusses over him later, bob blames it on being clumsy. no sense in making her worry; he doesn't like it when she cries.

three.

bob's sixteen with a long summer of open blue sky awaiting him. he skips dinner with his grandma up at the big house in favor of the bunk house with the ranch hands hired for the season. someone hands him a beer with a wink and a sly 'don't tell your grandma'; it doesn't taste great, but after a day of fixing fences, he likes that it's ice cold. he likes that he belongs, he likes that he can imagine his dad at this age too - it's the first time he feels like a man.

most of the ranch hands know him, they've seen him grow up in bits in pieces. they finish dinner and bob's content to listen to the way conversation flows and settles around him until they drag him into it too. does he like school, what's florida like, how are his folks and sister back home. then - you kissing any girls, yet?

bob answers honestly, he hasn't kissed anyone. at first, he doesn't mind the laughter, but it turns bitter in the mouth of one of the new ranch hands. there's something ugly in his eyes.

a chair scrapes back and adrenaline blurs it all together. there's shouting and fists and someone pulling him out of the way. trying to retreat, bob catches an elbow in the face and his glasses end up under someone's boot.

the unmistakable sound of his grandma's shotgun ends the skirmish. his grandma stays behind to deal with the mess while an older ranch hand gets him fixed up in the big house. later, when bob still can't sleep, his grandma sits on the edge of his bed with a sigh. it's too dark to read her expression. she tells him that his dad will take it better coming from him rather than her and that if he wants to drink in her house, he better never get drunk or stupid; he can't throw a punch worth a damn.

four.

he's eighteen, and his mom won't stop crying. there shouldn't be tears, not with bob's new diploma and a mit acceptance letter pinned proudly to the fridge. at least, there shouldn't be so many tears; it is a bittersweet occasion, an unavoidable reminder of the dead sister forever frozen at fourteen.

grief isn't the reason for the tears, though. no, the real reason is the neat stack of paperwork tucked safely in bob's desk committing him to the nrotc and eight years of navy service after. it's a choice he refuses to budge on and it leads to a few tense weeks in the floyd household.

he knows somethings wrong the minute he walks in the kitchen two weeks after graduation, both parents seated at the small table, clearly waiting for him. gracie isn't home; she's got regionals coming up, they should be with her at practice. (bob's long since taken the backseat to her gymnastic aspirations and he's mostly been okay with her hogging their parents attention; he just hates that it's their focus on him that causes alarm bells to go off.)

it starts off simple enough - reminders of his parents sacrifices. his dad doing his best to ensure his children wouldn't be forced to choose between the life sentence of a ranch or the navy. his mom, happy with the life she chose, but still always wondering about the life she might have had if she hadn't dropped out of college to marry and raise children. it's the reason they both pushed so hard for academics and sports and extracurriculars. then, it's the pricey flight lessons touted as more of a financial burden then it really is for the floyds. if he wants to fly, isn't that enough for him?

bob might not get the whole picture, but his maternal grandparents paid for his truck. all cash. between all three grandparents, he knows his parents haven't hurt for much (so long as their pride hasn't stood in the way).

but god dammit, what about his own sacrifices? what about bob, ten and anxious and terrified, begging his mom to get out of bed? what about bob, stuck in the routine of waking up gracie and making sure she has breakfast and lunch even after his mom escapes the fog of depression? or his childhood? one marked by four elementary schools, three middle schools, and two high schools. no one should be surprised that he chose the navy when his dad's service defined his early life.

why is his choice to join the navy and fly any different than gracie's devotion to gymnastics? it's the same risk. gracie could break her neck too.

or, what about plain want? clear blue sky - bob saw so much of it on the ground, he wanted the 30,000 ft views too.

but these thoughts are kinder than the words actually said. bob drags up every awful detail of his mom's depression, how his dad's grief and ill timed deployment felt like neglect. it doesn't matter if his points about chores and helping with gracie were valid after that. the damage is done on his side.

there's more yelling and tears and then the final blow - his dad shouting that bob's gay and it makes him weak, the navy will chew him up and spit it him out. but his dad's temper runs fast and quick, it ends with a too quiet 'fine, if the navy's your choice, you got a day to get out of the house.' they won't burry another child.

bob, the ever dutiful son, listens. on the flight to montana, cramped in a back row, he looks at his glasses held loosely in his fist and thinks it might hurt less if they were broken.

four, five, or six?

three months after his parents kick him out, he goes from montana to boston. he starts at mit and he finds, surprisingly, with some encouragement from new friends that beer and whiskey and cigarettes make him braver than he's ever been.

and the thing is, he's got his dad's same quick temper; it's just he's never had much use for it, always too quiet and too shy to find anywhere to put it. but a crowded bar? a guy being a jerk and not listening? sure, that's as good a place as any.

turns out, his grandma is right - bob still doesn't know how to throw a punch. sometimes, he remembers how he got the bruises, crooked frames, and scratched lenses. sometimes, he doesn't. either way, bob tells himself he's got it under control. except - he misses classes, he can't wait tables hung over, and no one is exactly impressed with him at the nrotc.

in the end, it's a combination of things that get bob to quit drinking his second year of college. (although, he still occasionally sneaks cigarettes when stressed.) gracie crying, a few letters from his parents. more than a few genuine apologies. a concerned commanding officer, citing his dad's respectful career record and how bob won't measure up like this. a patient rabbi and a better group friends than his first roommate, the one who dragged bob out partying his first night in boston. trading bars and beers for the library, more classes to average out his abysmal gpa.

it changes somethings, a relationship with his parents that sometimes feels like walking on ice, deciding to focus on weapon systems than outright piloting, but not everything. bob recommits to his faith, goes back to pretending things don't bother him, and decides life's a lot easier when people think he's just some nerdy stick in the mud than someone who can't handle his liquor.

[innocentartery]

halcarol dynamic peaked here i'm afraid

[xxinkys-ocsxx]

I was doodling and ended up accidentally making a hole new oc

Her name is lucinda and she's a sl-

Anyway, shes just for fun for now, I traumatise her later🥰🥰

[themthistles]

this is gonna be my barbenheimer

[iolypse]

unbased critrole fans when taliesin jaffe presents another highly complex and realistically flawed morally gray character who on the surface is an asshole but deep down is actually plagued by their traumatic past (or lack of a past as a whole) and has some pretty fuckin solid reasons for acting the way they do, and even if they don't these are still FLAWED, TRAUMATIZED CHARACTERS and THEY ARE NOT PERFECT SAINTS and THEY WILL FUCK UP SOMETIMES. A LOT OF THE TIMES, ACTUALLY. AND THATS OKAY!!!

[graciehart]

top 5 favorite hod episodes

oooo, i'll need to hear yours too. and i'll need to revisit when i finish my rewatch (I'm at the end of season one - trying not to get too far ahead of gifsets but we'll see how long that lasts lmao)

1x17 "Heart to Hart"

1x11 "Hell's Belles"

2x01 "I Fall to Pieces"

2x18 "Why Don't We Get Drunk"

4x07 "The Butterstick Tab"

honorable mention to 4x04 "Red Dye No. 40" simply because I grew up with that allergy and it was always stupidly exciting when it was acknowledged 😂

ask me my top 5 anything!

[thethingswedotomorrow]

Every time I see any type of Good Omens fan content, I am shocked at just how varied, creative, and TALENTED the community is.

But also they're determined to make Crowley suffer as much as possible, in every variation and it's slightly hilarious to me

Not only does this poor demon suffer tremendously in canon, but every single fic I see is one or more of

Crowley is frozen

Crowley is burnt

Crowley drowns

Crowley is tortured physically

Crowley is tortured EMOTIONALLY

Crowley is discorporated

Crowley is VIOLENTLY discorporated

Crowley loses his memories

Crowley is trapped in a time loop and REMEMBERS YEARS WORTH OF THE SAME DAYS

Crowley is traumatized

Crowley is Traumatized 2.0 Electric Boogaloo

Crowley is alone and abandoned

Crowley is finally happy with Aziraphale, and THEN abandoned

Crowley is divorced

Crowley is kidnapped

Crowley is stuck as a snake

Crowley is kidnapped AS A SNAKE BY HUMANS

If there's a piece of Good Omens content, chances are something WILD happens to Crowley, including AU's

And Aziraphale has a healthy dose of anxiety, religious trauma, and neurodivergence sprinkled in there in between all of that. I just really appreciate the creativity of this fandom.

[palepersonacoffee]

💜for the ask game?

💜 What is your favourite fantasy involving detrans/misgen?

My doctor decides I'd be be better off as a girl. Of course, if I knew that that's what they thought, I would switch doctors, so they don't tell me. Instead, they trick me into detransitioning- They tell me that my T levels are abnormally high, so I need to take a lower dose to get me back on track. After all, extra testosterone in the body turns into estradiol or something right? We don't want that. So they halve my dose indefinitely, and send me to a therapist that's in on the game. I think the therapist is kind of weird, but I don't want my mental health to take a turn because I'm sad about my lower dose.

The next appointment I go in to see the doctor, they tell me to take my shirt off. I ask why, and they gaslight me into thinking it's so they can check my health somehow- but they don't do it right away. I sit there on the table covering my chest up while they talk about the new drugs they're prescribing me. I don't think about anything but how humiliated I am- Whats Flibanserin? What's domperidone? What's Metoclopramide? What's topamax and why is the dose on that so high? I don't know and I'm not paying attention. I'm just desperately wishing I could put my shirt back on. When theyre finished listing off all the new medications I need to take, the brush my hands put of the way where I was covering up like it's the most normal thing in the world. They start squeezing my tits, massaging them, pinching and pulling and jiggling. I'm squeezing my eyes shut wishing it was over.

My next appointment, I'm really confused for some reason. Dizzy and stupid and dim. The therapist has been having me undress to talk about my trauma because somehow that's going to help me, so it's not weird that the doctor is having me undress now. They finger my sloppy cunt while they tell me that I need to stop taking testosterone entirely, it's very dangerous for me. I try to ask why but I'm so out of it, they just brush right over me. They put me on estrogen and I don't even notice. They tell me that to keep myself healthy, I need to start pumping my breasts. There's yucky stuff in there and I need to get it all out every night before I can start taking T again. They up my dose on everything. They tell me I can go ahead and leave my boxers and jeans and binder with them, I don't need them, they need to make sure I'm not using them to hurt myself. Oh, here's the breast pump I need btw. Start immediately.

My next appointment, I'm basically brainless. The therapist had to drop me off. Why was the therapist driving me around places again? What happened to all my boy clothes? Why are my tits so big? I can't remember. I don't have the brainpower to think about it for very long. The doctor doesn't even bother talking to me other than to tell me to strip. They press something big into my wet vagina, so big it's uncomfortable and I can't close my legs around it. Somehow, maybe using a medical glue, they make sure it stays inside me. Then they start fingerings my ass open, and do the same there. They tell me it's unsafe for me to be alone, but luckily there's a clinic near here that can help me. I need to be admitted ASAP. I look ridiculous when they finally let me stand up from where I was bent over the examination table, I can't even walk right. I waddle around, crab walking because I can't close my legs around the things inside me. They don't say anything when they pry my mouth open to stuff something inside there, either- I don't realize it, but it's my old boxers. They expect me to just stupidly take it without any explanation, and I do. They tell me to step into the closet over there and they shut the door behind me, locking me in until the end of their shift. I can hear them starting the same thing with another confused girl, but I cant make any noise to warn them. I wouldn't know what was even happening anyways. I can barely articulate my own name. When their shift is finally over, they take me to the clinic- It's just their house.

[positivelybeastly]

Love reading through your analyses and I was wondering if you had insight on something I noticed with Hank/Beast and Kurt/Nightcrawler: writers often use both of them in the visible mutation metaphor and emotional cores, but Kurt's approach is more from faith and Hank's is more from curiosity. Often when one or either are gone/dead/changed, things seem to get worse for the Team overall.

Do you think those two would benefit each other's characters? Even just to have spirited philosophical discussion?

So, this actually touches on a funny thing that I've noticed with Beast and Nightcrawler over time - which is that they're almost never on the same team together, probably precisely because they serve an extremely similar function in a team composition, for the reasons you've kind of touched on here.

They are, after all, both heavily visibly mutated individuals who were, or are, considered figures of great integrity and morality, with a strong code of ethics and a depth of feeling that expresses itself in a deeply vivacious personality - romantic, friendly, charming, and erudite.

Therefore, having them both on a team is, unfortunately, somewhat redundant.

That being said! They do still interact, and they're shown to be sources of great comfort and friendship for one another. Their first meetings were - somewhat inauspicious . . .

See, this is the funny thing about old comics - storylines just flow and flow and flow. Comics didn't stop after ten issues and get restarted with a new #1 every few months, they just ran and ran and ran, and the pacing reflected that.

There aren't usually month long gaps where you can assume nothing happened and people just got to hang out, they're working hard! Hank has been working with the Avengers so much that he literally hasn't even had time to meet the new X-Men properly! Wild.

But, eventually, things did slow down, and they got a chance to properly socialise, and, as expected, they got along like a house on fire.

Like, these two are just born to be friends. They have so much in common. Where Hank leans more to the obscure, the erudite, and the scientific, Kurt leans more to the dashing, the swashbuckling, and, of course, the religious, but they're still both fundamentally cut from the same cloth - acrobatic, charming, philosophical, heroic, fun.

But, that same alike quality means you don't get a ton of interaction between them, so I cling to what they do have. One of my favourite interactions between them is in Nightcrawler's 2004 solo series.

First off, absolutely adore Hank in this art style. The fact that the artist decided to include the detail of his fur poking out of the shirt like that is just. It transfixes me. I really want to go over and just. Run my fingers through his side fur. But mostly, I just like their chemistry? Hank's a great supporting character because he's so emotionally intelligent and reflective, and he's great at giving people perspective, usually with a healthy dose of sarcasm and teasing.

That being said, this scene is always the one I point to whenever I say that the X-Men really have no idea what's going on in Hank's head a lot of the time, because this took place after Hank had been psychically brutalised, nearly beaten to death, and one of his best friends had just been murdered - and he's doing a really very good job of hiding that trauma.

So much so that Kurt thinks he's just fine. He's just fine. There's nothing to worry about. But it's not Kurt's fault, and it's nowhere near unique to him, either. He had no way to know, he had his own stuff going on (the subject matter of this solo series, as it happens), and Hank is doing well enough that it isn't interfering with things, so, let him deal with it in peace, I suppose.

At least on this occasion.

Kurt is, after all, an emotionally intelligent and caring individual. You can't stop Nightcrawler from trying to help where he can. And I think that even just the reaching out, just the show of support, can be enough for a character like Hank.

Moments like these matter, in my opinion. It's important to show that teammates and friends care about each other, in the moment to moment stories, otherwise it can all feel very impersonal and like no-one cares about one another. This is how you establish dynamics over years, even between characters who have, technically speaking, never really been on a team together before.

The next big milestone I can think of comes after the X-Men's move to Utopia, where, again, Hank and Kurt don't share a ton of panel time together, but . . .

This is one of the few times you'll ever hear anyone say that Hank was right. And it's not really a surprise that it comes from Kurt, because, again, these men are cut from the same cloth. They come at it from different angles, but they believe in much the same things.

And . . . that's why it hits so hard when Kurt dies.

I don't necessarily agree with the decision to have Hank break from the literal funeral procession to call Scott out for Kurt's death. Some fans of Nightcrawler really appreciate that moment, because it shows how much Kurt's death affected Hank, but I personally just. Don't think it tracks, for Hank to be quite that disrespectful.

After the funeral, or even before, but during it? Nah. Matt Fraction made a good few Hank characterisation choices I don't agree with, and this was one of them.

This felt a bit more apropos.

Remember what I said about how little moments build to dynamics between characters who have never been on teams together? I buy this moment so much more with the context of that moment from Endangered Species, where Kurt is literally positioned as the light trying to pull Hank out of the dark path he's following with obsessive fervour. The fact that he was trying went a long way. Hank felt it, even if he didn't take him up on it at the time. That moment mattered.

And that's why I absolutely buy Hank's reaction when Kurt came back to life.

Hank believes in Kurt. He believes the very best of him. On teams where Hank can often feel alone or isolated, someone like Kurt will reach out, and make him feel connected, and welcome, and pull him back. Temper his scientific pessimism and realism with optimism and belief. Restore his fervour, and remind him of simpler, happier times.

A lot of the best scientists, who have contributed the most to scientific inquiry, were religious, because for a lot of them, there's no real conflict between science and religion, they're both two sides of the same coin, in a way - a belief in a higher power. It's just how they react to that higher power that changes.

And while Hank was explicitly religious for a while, I always interpreted him as losing that faith over the years, becoming bogged down in the real over the sublime as what he went through wore him down. Someone like Kurt was able to spark that in him again. Maybe not his faith, per se, but at the very least belief in the human spirit.

It's important. As you say, massive benefit to each other's characters. Underrated dynamic, these two. Absolutely love 'em.

[caedmonfaith]

I have, once again, failed to promote my current project here. Let me rectify that.

Whickber Street is a human AU, enemies to lovers (but only one of them is an enemy), grumpy x sunshine (and Crowley is the sunshine), in which many of the side characters we all love are getting a little more attention than usual. I’ve tried very hard to balance a lot of emotional topics, including grief, bias, and parental trauma, with a healthy dose of comedy. It is also a love story (bc it’s me), but not solely a love story for our Ineffable Husbands! There are multiple other couples who will find love! Features Tracy as a sex shop owner, Shadwell as an aging rock star, Fergus as the bartender, and Jim as…Jim!

Summary:

Anthony J. Crowley doesn’t think he’s ever been so happy. He’s finally quit his old job and is opening his childhood dream: a comic book shop. All of the neighbors are great, but the bookseller seems to hate him…

Aziraphale Eastgate grew up in his great grandfather’s shop. Now he runs it and lives above it. He loves everything about his life on Whickber Street…. but the new proprietor down the street has him terribly, terribly vexed.

Sparks fly when these two meet, and Aziraphale vows to hate him forever. Fergus, meanwhile, sets a timer.

Looks like Cupid has come to Soho.

Writing this has been a personal journey for me, and it’s been very healing. I would be deeply honored if you would give it a look. Updates regularly on Mondays and Thursdays (and I have only missed one scheduled posting day since early 2017! You can trust me!)

Thank you for your time! 🥂

[wilcze-kudly]

While mostly find Kuvira a relatively straightforward character, I do love how the theme of rejection is just so ingrained into her character.

Of course we have Kuvira herself experiencing what many would call the cruellest rejection possible, being literally given away by her own biological parents.

Kuvira: [She angrily turns her head toward Korra as the shot cuts to a wide view.] Don't pretend you know what it felt like! [Wildly, waving her free arm.] The Avatar is adored by millions! I was cast aside by my own parents like I meant nothing to them.

We also see that, while Kuvira is invited with a lot of love by Su, who clearly is open to taking Kuvira into her family, Kuvira clearly didn't feel like part of the family. It isn't exactly concrete why this is the case. We can be certain that Opal, who was most likely working through her own issues surrounding not being a bender and feeling that Suyin is replacing her.

I know it's very easy to theorise that Kuvira was somehow isolated and ostracised from the Beifongs and while I can see this being the case, I haven't seen many people talk about just how avoidant Kuvira herself is.

I mean, Kuvira was horrifically rejected by the people she was meant to unconditionally trust and rely on. As a child who doesn't exactly understand why this is happening to her and that it wouldn't happen again, what better way to defend yourself if you reject them before they can reject you.

I think Bolin hit the nail on the head here. (When will we get a Bolin Kuvira argument i need it in my life)

Kuvira fears rejection. She struggles to form proper relationships, even her one intimate relationship with Baatar Jr had a certain amount of.... padding? If you know what I mean.

I don't doubt that Kuvira had a lot of affection for Baatar. I just think that she still kept a healthy dose of diatance in her relationship with him.

Her relationship with Baatar Jr is actually really fun. It sort of mirrors Kuvira's own childhood disillusionment with relationships.

Baatar also suffers a brutal rejection from someone. Kuvira, the woman he loved, and to some extent, for whom he abandoned all previous relationships tries to kill him. Directly after he pours his heart out to her and and restates his love for her. And now it's him isolating himself, particularly from Kuvira, even when she does try to reach out. (I do giggle at how much Kuvira gets consistently swerved in the comics)

The parasocial relationship Kuvira fosters with her Empire is also worth taking into consideration. Kuvira obviously is projecting her own childhood trauma onto the entire damn country which is my fave part of her character because who does that lol.

I've mentioned this in my comparison of the Earth Empire and Russia in the throes of Stalinism but I wouldn't be surprised if Kuvira cultivating a cult of personality to bolster her leadership is also her attempting to build connections that she deems "safe".

She holds the power in these relationships, she's basically a celebrity and if someone does step out of line, they are betraying not Kuvira, but the Nation. Postulating herself as an untouchable emperess also, once again, allows her a certain level of distance from others.

I'm not sure if Kuvira is aware she's perpetuating her own loneliness. I wanna say yes, because when she is alone, she acknowledges to herself that Suyin indeed was there for her and that she can rely on her. But she's so good at manipulating and gaslighting that she may have tricked herself fully into believing she's the victim, like she had with her warcrimes at the beginning of RotE.

All in all, I think Kuvira is a very interesting character if not one that is simply putting an slightly new spin on tried and true tropes. I will say I find it quite odd how many people take what she says without a second thought when she clearly has a vested interest in lying, but she is very charismatic and fun to analyse lol.

[writing-until-i-drop]

Wildflowers For A Hangman Ch. 4

Summary:

Daisy, a career novelist, moves in with her college best friend Phoenix who has been permanently assigned to Top Gun with Dagger Squad. She finds herself instantly connected with a cocky pilot who's soft only for her and Jake can't help but want to know everything about her. When the past comes knocking at both of their doors, will they stand together or fall apart?

Or: The Dagger Squad can't cook and Jake falls in love with a woman who makes a mean lasagna while they work their personal trauma.

Jake "Hangman" Seresin x writer!femOC | 18+ (eventually) minors dni. Fluff, smut (eventual), idiots in love, past trauma.

A/N: Cassandra isn't speaking to Daisy and her work suffers but a call from her brother should make everything better, right?

AO3 Link

Previous Chapter

Cassandra wasn’t cooperating today and I knew better than to try and force it. Instead, I tried my hand at writing something overtly and didn’t make it a full page before scrapping the entire project. I’d had a few boyfriends before but none of them had given me the foot-popping, sparks-flying, kind of romance people wrote about. 

In a desperate attempt to get something done, I wrote a few paragraphs more of an abandoned project about a kid detective trying to solve the theft of a neighbor’s lawn gnome. It wasn’t my most inspired piece of work, one of the many reasons Jason had told me to drop it, but it felt good to write something. 

After completely throwing in the towel, I cleaned the apartment and made a double batch of M&M cookies, snacking on the chocolate candies as I went. Once the kitchen was cleaned again, I realized that I had made enough cookies to feed an army without an army to feed. 

Daisy: Movie night at our place with the daggers? 

Daisy: I may have stress baked

After an hour, Natasha responded affirmatively and I decided to run to the store for more snacks. While debating between Dorito flavors, my phone rang, Harvey’s picture flashing on the screen.

“Hey, Harv,” I greeted him, adding both bags of chips to my cart. “How are my girls?” 

“Driving me crazy as usual,” Harvey laughed and I felt a bit lighter inside. There had been a point in our childhoods where I felt resentful that Harvey could be so happy but my therapist and a healthy dose of prescriptions had helped me past that. “How’s life in California?” 

“Hot,” I joked. “The sun’s insufferable but it’s good to be living with Tasha again. She’s got some great friends that I bribed with cookies into accepting me as one of them.” 

“Of course you did, your cookies could broker world peace.” I chuckled, waiting for Harvey to cut to the chase as I continued to throw all the snack foods I could find into the cart including frozen pizzas and chicken wings. “August is coming to an end.” There it was. I sighed but stayed silent, “How are you doing, DeeDee?” 

“I’ve already scheduled the flowers to be sent to their graves and-” 

“That’s not what I meant and you know it.” 

“I’m fine, Harv. I’m keeping busy, trying not to think about it.” Something fell behind me and I nearly jumped out of my skin, white-knuckling the cart. It was like a switch flipped, all of my nerves lighting on fire, the acute paranoia I’d worked so hard to rid myself of sprinting to the forefront of my mind. The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end as Harvey’s voice faded into a soft buzzing. Was someone watching me? No, no one was watching me. I tried to shake off the feeling, moving at a snail’s pace through the aisle. I looked down at my feet and I could have sworn I saw red despite the canvas being black. 

“Daisy?” I heard my name through the fog, “Daisy Louise? DeeDee, you’re okay. You’re okay, everything’s okay, DeeDee.” Harvey. Harvey was calling for me. Where was he? I had to get to him. “I’m okay, DeeDee. I’m safe.” The fog pulled away and I was on the floor of the frozen aisle, my phone beside me. 

“Harvey?” 

“I’m here, I’m alright, DeeDee.” He soothed, “Are you okay?” I grabbed the phone, tucking my head between my knees.

“I’m okay, Harv. I just…”

“I know, it’s okay. It’s normal but you should call Natasha and have her pick you up.” That was completely off of the table. I could handle this by myself, all I needed to do was get to my feet and everything would be okay. “I love you, DeeDee.”

“I love you too, Harvey.” I sat on the floor with my head in my hands for a few seconds after hanging up, evening out my breathing until I didn’t think I was going to pass out anymore. I struggled my way through checkout, my mind drifting and then snapping back to reality with everyone off-kilter sound I heard or thought I heard. But when my hands were shaking too hard to put the keys in the ignition, I put my pride inside and called Tasha. 

“Phoenix’s phone,” Coyote picked up and I nearly ended the call, “Daisy?” 

“Is Tasha there?” Fuck, I sounded like I had been crying. My voice wavered, full of emotion.

“She’s in the air, what’s wrong, Daisy?” Coyote was all business and I appreciated him for it.

“It’s fine, nevermind,” I even failed at convincing myself that things were fine. Coyote sighed then replied in a soft, quiet voice.

“Daisy, Nat told me that sometimes you have anxiety attacks. Is that what happened?” Damn it. Natasha had helped me through more than her fair share of them in college, it only made sense that she would tell someone important to her like Coyote.

“You can’t tell anyone,” I sighed, “I just, I’m at the grocery store and I don’t know if I should be driving home like this.” I heard Jake’s voice in the background and tensed, “Don’t tell Hangman.” Coyote chuckled,

“Yes, ma’am. Alright, there’s two ways this can go. I can ask Mav for permission to come get you or I can call Penny.” Neither option sounded preferable. “Penny’s going to ask a lot of questions because she’s a mom and then she’s going to tell Mav anyways. I will ask no questions because I’ve already got an idea of what’s going on.” 

“As long as Mav’s the only extra person in the loop,” I relented. “And Javy? Thanks.” 

Javy showed up in his flight suit not long after and I was distracted for a second by just how handsome he was. Natasha’s taste in men had gotten a lot better since college.

“Do you want to stop for food on the way back? Sugar will make you feel better after an adrenaline dump like that.” I nodded, thanking him again for showing up. “You’re part of the squad now, Daisy, no thanks necessary.” The sentiment warmed my heart, a soft smile appearing despite the embarrassing situation. 

“Can we get Wendy’s? It’s my favorite.” A spicy chicken nugget and a Dr. Pepper sounded amazing right now. Javy messed my hair like a big brother,

“Whatever you want.” After a few minutes of listening to the radio in silence, Javy glanced over at me. “So, what do you think of Hangman?” 

“What do you think of Tasha?” I shot back, not expecting him to answer but he took me by surprise.

“She’s one hell of a woman and a fantastic pilot.” Javy grinned like a lovesick idiot and I found myself smiling too, “I’m lucky she gives me the time of day if I’m being honest.” He glanced over at me again, still smiling and I rolled my eyes. “Your turn.” 

“Hangman’s a flirtatious ass,” Javy barked with laughter, pulling into the Wendy’s. “But Jake’s nice and he listens to me when I go on my rants about random shit. Like, I swear he probably listened to me talk about Sherlock Holmes for an hour the other night.” 

“Hour and a half,” Javy snickered, “We timed it.” I couldn’t even be mad, laughing with him.

“Not even Tasha would let me go on like that! So yeah, I think Jake’s pretty great.” I brushed my hair into my eyes to hide my blush, “Anyways, I’ll take a spicy number ten with a Dr. Pepper, please.” 

“Do you want a frosty too?” Yep. Natasha’s taste in men had definitely improved.

After cooing over me like a mother hen and calling Harvey to let him know I was okay, Natasha took Harvey to get his car. After taking a shower and finishing the large frosty Javy bought me even when I told him not to, I felt a lot better. Well enough to respond to the texts Jake had been sending me. 

Jake: Everything okay? 

Jake: Coyote told me to mind my business and that you were fine but I want to hear it from you

Jake: Phoenix also told to mind my business

Jake: Honey I need to hear it from you

Jake: If you don’t text me in ten minutes I’m coming over

I rolled my eyes but the butterflies in my stomach took flight, swirling in delight that Jake was concerned for me. 

Daisy: Listen to Javy, pretty boy. I’m fine

Jake: Too late

“If this boy isn’t careful, I’m going to fall in love with him,” I whispered to the empty kitchen, ripping open a packet of M&Ms. 

X

“Hey,” Daisy greeted me with a lazy smile, throwing back a palmful of M&Ms. Something was off about her but I couldn’t put my finger on it just yet. I was going to figure it out though, you could bet on that. 

“Hey, Wildflower. How are you feeling?” She rolled her eyes like she didn’t have a care in the world but her shoulders tensed. Coyote had been tight lipped over why he had left work early but with how both he and Phoenix were acting, I knew it had to be Daisy and that had spun me up into a twister of anxiety that eased a little seeing her.

“I told you I was fine, see?” She gestured down her body. Daisy was in cartoon pajama shorts that showed off her pale thighs and a tank top, her endless curves on display from top to bottom. I swallowed hard, my mind filled with thoughts of running my hands over her hips, spreading her knees, and eating Daisy for dessert on Phoenix’s counter. “I’m perfectly fine.” 

“You look fine as hell, sweetheart,” Daisy blushed hard, her chest and cheeks burning red. “But you know it’s not your body I’m asking about.” I crossed the room, needing to put my hands on her even if I shouldn’t.

“Okay, Hangman,” She grumbled, using my callsign like she always did when I said something flirty. My hands landed softly on her hip and her cheek, forcing her to stay close and look at me. Daisy relaxed, eyes fluttering shut. “I’ll be fine, Jake,” She whispered and I felt myself melt. This girl had no idea that I was putty in her hands.

“Of course you will be,” I promised, “Because I’m going to be right here by your side.” Daisy smiled, eyes still closed, nuzzling her cheek like a cat into my hand.

“You’re laying it on pretty thick again, Hangman.” God this girl. She didn’t believe a word that came out of my mouth if it veered even the slightest bit away from platonic. I had my work cut out for me but when she opened her dark eyes and smiled at me like I hung the stars and the moon, I knew I was up to the task. “Do you want a cookie?” What I wanted was to kiss her forehead but a cookie would work for now. 

The rest of the daggers showed up a little bit later and while Daisy played the role of the perfect hostess, I pulled Coyote off to the side. 

“Should I be worried?” Coyote glanced over my shoulder to where Daisy was and then shrugged.

“I don’t think so, at least, not at the moment anyways.” My heart clenched, needing to know more but he shook his head before I could ask. “Nothing about this situation is my business to share, man. When she’s ready to tell, she’ll tell.” 

“We should watch a horror movie,” Bradley suggested, the loud agreement of the squad interrupting our conversation. Coyote patted me on the shoulder, heading for the kitchen. When she was ready to tell, she would tell me. I had to trust that that would be the case. Right? 

“Hangman, get some food before Bob eats it all!” Rooster shouted for my attention. Bob was blushing with a plate piled high with food, praising Daisy’s homemade mac and cheese so that’s what I scooped up first. I didn’t miss how Phoenix was hovering behind Daisy, watching her like a hawk. I said a little prayer, hoping that Daisy would find the right moment to tell me what was going on sooner rather than later.

With a plate full of snacks, we all scattered around the living room. Daisy came right to me with a blanket, a blush on her cheeks, not looking me in the eyes as she took a seat beside me. She was the one person without a plate of food and turned me down when I offered her some of my chips,

“I’m not hungry,” She whispered, bringing the blanket up to her chin. “Javy got me Wendy’s.” He was Javy to her now? I glanced over at my best friend, who was not so subtly making eyes at Phoenix while she and Rooster argued over what horror movie we were going to watch. Rooster won when he threatened to tell a story that had Phoenix slapping a hand over his mouth.

It ended up being about some demon who was influencing people to murder others but the special effects weren’t all that believable. I much preferred a 90s action flick or, when alone, a Hallmark movie on occasion. With every passing minute, Daisy inched closer to my side, the blanket moving higher up her face. Seizing the opportunity, I dropped my plate on the table and wrapped an arm around her shoulders, bringing her close. 

“Not a fan of horror?” I whisper, she shook her head, eyes locked on the screen as the possessed man picked up a hunting knife. 

“Murder,” She whispered back, her hand tentatively resting on my thigh.

“Aren’t you a crime novelist, sweetheart?” I teased, trying to ignore how good it felt to have her hands on me.

“That’s different,” Daisy insisted, jumping at something on screen but I wasn’t watching the movie anymore, my focus was solely on her. Daisy looked terrified. I shifted sideways and pulled her face into my chest, forcing her attention off of the movie and whatever it was that was scaring her so much. Her hand moved from my thigh to my chest, fingers digging into my shirt. 

“It’s okay, I’ve got you, baby,” I whispered into her hair, kissing her head. “It’s just a movie.” Daisy went limp in my hold and I pulled her sideways onto my lap, Bob looked and quickly looked away but it didn’t seem like anyone else noticed. Not that I would care if they did, if this was what Daisy needed, then it’s what I was going to do. I squeezed her thigh gently and began stroking my thumb back and forth, “I’ve got you.” 

“I know,” Daisy whispered into my shoulder. After a moment she added, “If I’m too heavy-” She stopped when I squeezed her thigh,

“You can sit on my lap whenever you want, Wildflower.” 

“My gentleman,” She sighed and I felt a glimmer of hope. She didn’t call me Hangman.

Next Chapter

[mangoshorthand]

Five Hargreeves oneshot masterlist

Fic requests are closed When requests are open, I would love to hear your Five requests via the 'ask me anything' button on my blog. Still working out my boundaries and trends in what does and doesn't appeal to me. See end of post for these.

Not Smut (G-M rated)

Tickle War | Five Hargreeves / GN Reader (Fluff)- Words: 1.5k

Dickhead Sugar Daddy | Five Hargreeves / GN Reader (Angst/Fluff)- Words 2.8k

Two Old Men | Five Hargreeves / GN Reader (Fluff)- Words 3.3k

No Blinking! | Five Hargreeves & 3 y/o daughter (Fluff) Words: 3k

Twelve Feet Away From the Mistletoe Part 1, Part 2 | Five Hargreeves / F Reader (Fluff, angst) Total words: 5.8k

Senseless | Five Hargreeves/ GN Reader 1.3k words, Rated T/M (Angst + steamy)

Smut (E rated/18+)

NSFW Alphabet | Five Hargreeves/ F Reader - Words: 2.4k

Two Items of Business | Five Hargreeves/ F Reader/ FReader- Words: 2.1k (kind of a crackfic. Not my best.)

Goddamn Darling | Five Hargreeves/ F Reader- Words: 2.1k

If Tonight Were our Last | Five Hargreeves/ F Reader- Words: 2.4k (mild smut, probably between M+E ratings)

Boy Wonder | Five Hargreeves/ F Reader- Words: 2.7k

Lucky Fucking Pillow | Five Hargreeves/ F Reader- Words: 3k

In Your Hands | Five Hargreeves / GN Reader - Words: 3.1k

The Birthday Boy | Five Hargreeves/ F Reader- Words: 3.8k

Your Desperate Man | Five Hargreeves/ GN Reader- Words 2.8k

Venus and Cupid | Five Hargreeves/ F Reader- Words 4k (inc. fluff, romance, hurt/comfort)

The Birthday Girl | Five Hargreeves/ F Reader- Words 2.8k

The Pandas and the Conservationist | Five Hargreeves/ F Reader - Words 5k.

My Kind of Deli | Five Hargreeves/ F Reader - Words 8k.

My Main Series (E rated/18+)

Hard Feelings | Five Hargreeves/ f Reader

A 6 part series posted weekly on Tumblr. We're talking PWP, Daddy!Five, mysteries to solve and a healthy dose of trauma. It can get heavy at times but there are plenty of laughs too

Headcanons (SFW + NSFW)

Five Headcanon masterlist

Request info - Status: closed

I'm fairly versatile in what I write (fluff, smut, angst, psychological character study- I'll try it all) but I will consider them on a case by case basis so please don't be offended if I don't respond- sometimes ideas don't work for me or are outside my scope but that doesn't mean it's a bad idea!

Boundaries (hard lines):

I exclusively write physically aged-up content for Five. Think 6+ years after the end of season 3.

I don't want to write about Five having sex with very young or inexperienced people. He's 58 and it feels messy. (No issue with age gap in general, I just feel like the younger partner should be old and experienced enough to consent to a 58y/o understanding the implications.

Ageplay - anything with 'littles'.

Trends (what I've noticed about myself so far):

Prompts that need Five to be very OOC tend not to appeal to me.

I am likely to reject prompts intended to be sexy where the boundaries of consent are too blurry. Yandere is an example of what I tend to not enjoy. (I will still consider prompts but may change them up a bit).

I can struggle if something is out of the scope of my experience. It's like, your prompt may appeal to me but, I don't know how to fulfil it. To give one example for smut, I may need more info in terms of what exactly you find hot about a kink you have but I don't.

[hannigramislife]

Jiang Cheng is such an icon.

No, 'cuz like– what is everybody else's reaction to fucked up shit happening in their lives?

Lan Xichen and Lan Wangji after their most important person dies? Hide the fuck away from society. Wei Wuxian? Also hide away from society but with a healthy dose of denial. Or, you know, dying. Jin Guangyao? Sweep everything under a rug and hide behind a smile until the rug becomes a mountain. Other characters? They simply Die. Quite tragically might I add *side eyes Yi city*

What does Jiang Cheng do instead? He puts his big boy pants on and rebuilds his sect while half-raising another sect's heir, and basically successfully giving the biggest fuck you to the cultivation world (and his dad let's be real). Does he move on? No. Does that stop him? Fuck no.

He's one of the most dramatic people there, and yet he has absolutely no time for anybody's bullshit. Jiang Cheng would tell Lan Xichen "boo fucking hoo, your dear murderer got what was coming to him, now stop moping and go lead your damn sect so I don't have to see Hanguang-jun's face in every meeting" and think he was helping.

Jiang Cheng's method of dealing with trauma is simply saying "it happened, i'm alive and got shit to do" and I feel that.