#JUST WRITE IT DOWN AND BE DONE WITH IT

[oh-no-its-bird]

Raise your hand if you want elaborate Hatake warring states drama set maybe 40-50 years before Konoha was founded to help explain/elaborate on the start of the Hatake's downfall + provide cultural context for why they value their children so much !!!

Just kidding !! You're getting it anyways !!

Ok, so.

The Hatake's used to be made up of several small packs, ranging in sizes from 20-40 people, with a couple especially large or small packs here and there, as well as a few individual wanderers. But there were a good number of packs all together, so their overall numbers were like, a good few hundred.

Each pack was nicknamed after a part of a wolf + a direction. "The western fang", "the southern tail" (not to be confused with the eastern tail) "the northern paw", etc. The joke there was that together, they all make one wolf

Packs also had individual heads— there was no one overall singular clan head of all the Hatake, and they mostly operated independently of each other, but (most) would try and keep in contact to sure they at least remained on the same general page (they did have a few outliers, and honestly a lot of packs were just kind of... bad at keeping in contact. Some packs were much closer than others, while others were much more distant)

Whenever they needed to do any sort of political maneuvering, they'd converge, and the individual pack heads would choose a spokesman to represent them for the specific matter.

But about 40 years ago, just around when Hatake Haruka was born, there was a very sharp decline in numbers. The problem? Well, there were a few of them, but one very big specific one: They were being targeted by bloodline hunters. Hard.

So basically, fun story, there was this group of bloodline hunters specifically invested in wild clans. They'd try to kill as many as they can (to drive up scarcity) and capture any they deemed as 'tamable' that they'd then lock up and try and beat into submission in a facility nicknamed by those trapped there as the dog pound.

( This also relates to my previous talk about like. The fetishization of shinobi, particularly wild clans, and how they're often viewed as a status symbol. The wilder/more dangerous of a reputation they/their clan has, the more impressive it is for someone to have control over them )

So anyways like. The Hatake were very much on the list of targeted shinobi clans.

Also on the list were the Orochi, actually, which is also part of why, by the time konoha came around, there were only 3 left willing to step out into the sun. (There may have been more somewhere out there, but they'd refused to leave their hiding places)

Other targeted clans included the Hoshigaki, Inuzuka, and a couple other unnamed more "animalistic" clans that would be virtually extinct by the time of modern Naruto (in large part because of this entire mess, actually)

The Hatake's were the hunters primary target though and made up the majority of those they'd captured / killed.

The Hatake's nature to wander was used against them, as packs were systematically picked off— the bloodline hunters already had several stolen shinobi among them, as well as very powerful backing from some political powers which helped to feed and arm them well.

The packs would only communicate with each other so often, with some packs being more isolated than others, so it actually took a little while for some of them to actually realize what was happening— which meant even that more of them were taken by surprise

By the time Haruka was around 10, her pack (the western fang) had been very thoroughly picked through, and were down most of their shinobi.

They ended up making the very dangerous treck across Iron, continuing to be picked at every step of the way, in an effort to unite with the southern fang, which had already picked up several other stragglers, and merge into one pack

(At the time, most of the remaining packs were doing something similar— scrambling to try and merge, to try and gain some sort of power in numbers. Very few managed to make it)

At some point in all this mess, young Haruka herself actually ended up falling victim to the bloodline hunters, getting tossed into the pound. She'd be stuck there for some years, and ultimately her position inside of it would help the Hatake's destroy the dog pound once and for all.

The battle that did it in for the pound was a big one. Lots of blood, lots of fire, lots of death and destruction, all that good stuff. Everyone involved in the attack (and the Hatake were not alone in the battle, there were multiple other clans invested in seeing these bastards put down for good) was out to turn the entire place into a crater of dust.

In the end, there were no survivors on the bloodline hunters side. The pound was absolutely demolished, and it's safe to say that any remaining bloodline hunters in the area got the message loud and clear: "Don't fucking steal blood from the Hatake."

—but it also killed... a lot of Hatake. A lot, a lot. The entire events of the past couple decades did.

Afterwords, a lot of effort was put into keeping quiet on exactly what had gone down within the pound and how bad things had become for multiple clans involved in the whole debacle. In general, unless the clan was directly involved in the matter, few people— shinobi or otherwise —knew all he details of their little war.

After all, no clan wanted to be perceived as weak or vulnerable

So then Haruka becomes head of her pack somewhere in her 20s. But by that point there's like. 2 actual "packs" left, and maybe a sparce handful of individual Hatake's. And their numbers are just really low and they're having a hard time with birthing in general, so their numbers continue to be whittled down with each passing year.

It's also very important to note that this whole mess is also part why the Hatake's are so violently private.

While it was a known fact that the clan had taken a hit, no one actually knows how great of a blow they'd taken, or how many Hatake are left.

And no Hatake is willing to give that game up, because the number? Well, it's lower than any of the estimates other clans have made. They are actively dying and terrified that anyone will find out and try to once again use their isolation and numbers against them

They're trying very, very hard to hide it, and the big show of strength they flexed in that big final battle totally helped to cover their asses

By the time Konoha is founded, there are only 2 Hatake packs left— Haruka's pack, which was left with only 21 Hatake; And another unnamed one, somewhere way out west, who they lost contact with years ago.

So then skipping forward some decades, to only some years before Konoha's founding.

In Here Before and After Me there's a moment where Hashirama says,

The rare few times a child had been taken, the Hatake's had kicked up such a fuss that they'd heard of the blood baths even in Fire Country. The stories reached as far as Wind country, if you asked in the right places.

^ This is actually directly referencing an event where, sometime recently (within the last 10 years of the fic, so within ~13ish years of Konoha being founded) some idiots tried to take a Hatake child.

And the Hatake, being VERY thoroughly traumatized as a collective by the events of. Everything I said above. Went absolutely scorched earth "tear their fucking hearts out and put their heads on a pike" batshit insane on them.

Just, pulling out all the stops, total slaughter. They honestly went more than a bit overboard (but also not really, all things considering)

They were NOT about to risk another dog pound situation. They did not want to risk anyone even THINKING it was safe to so much as LOOK at them wrong. They wanted to send a message to any bloodline thief who thought they were "weak" enough to pick off (again)

And, you know, I mean, it did work. So.

Anyways this entire event lasted like, a couple decades actually. Anywhere from 20 to 30 years, with a couple lulls here and there. (the hunting technically began a decade before Haruka was born, it just hit its height around her birth)

It was a very traumatic couple of decades, and left a strong lasting impact on the Hatke's as a whole, culturally.

It's a very big part of why the Hatake are so insanely protective of their young. A good few decades of being actively hunted and preyed upon, having their kids stolen, watching other clans also lose their own children— it instilled a very healthy dose of ✨ child shaped generational trauma ✨

(It also came with a few other lasting impacts and hang ups, especially within the few still living Hatake who escaped the dog pound. Of which there are (as of writing this) three)

Fun fact! The best way to get adopted by a Hatake (particularly the older ones) is to actually specifically have them rescue you from bloodline hunters, bc it activates a primal protective rage in them instilled by years of war against those bastards

The Hatake's biggest secret being their totally shitty position also makes for some fun scenes when they finally join Konoha and sort of have to expose themselves along the way. They are making the long journey across Iron and into Fire country, and because they're taking the whole clan + all of their things in proper caravan, they have to stop at every other territory to explain themselves and where they're going and why

They are getting SO many stares from just about everyone they run into

(This is the most Hatake's anyone has ever seen, but also... Doesn't it feel like there's barely any of them...? Didn't they say that they're moving the whole clan to the new ninja village? Where's the rest of them? Is there a second caravan coming soon, or...?)

Then they finally get to Konoha and its like, !!! Welcome !!! We're so excited you're here! Where... are the rest of you?

It also makes them choose to come to Konoha so much more of a Thing™ for them, because this is genuinely a hail mary "fuck it we ball" show of trust for them. They are being forced to show their full hand and reveal the secret that they've kept so carefully guarded for the past few decades— that they're dying.

(Meanwhile, Tobirama, who is one of like THE only people ever to visit the Hatake's while still being aligned to another clan is conspicuously avoiding eye contact w Hashirama, who is sending him a very alarmed ??????)

Anyways, few individual character notes:

Haruka would actually meet and become close to Hatake Maru and the Hoshigaki girl who'd one day be Tetsuo's mother in the pound. The three became friends and in the end, managed to escape only because of each other

Maru was from one of the smaller, individual 3/2 person packs, and had been training to become a samurai before captured. Being in the pound actually only strengthened his resolve to be a swordsman, and he'd often chant the core tenants of the samurai's way to try and calm/center himself

Haruka was also captured with her brother, but he would not survive the pound and died fairly early on into their residency there. Their sister, Tobirama and Hashirama's mother, was never captured and managed to escape relatively unscathed.

While all Hatake's have the chance to earn their clan stripes via leading their first hunt when around 14/15, Haruka was trapped in the dog pound at 14/15. As such, that 'first hunt' she led as an adult ended up invertedly being the attack on the pound which she helped to lead. The stripes it earned her are known as 'mountain stripes,' and are meant to symbolize an unshakable, unstoppable iron will. Deeming her an immovable force of nature, all on her own

By the time of Konoha, Haruka is actually all that remains of what was once the western fang pack. The last other member from that pack (the twins' father, actually) died to sickness the winter before Konoha was founded. She's actually decently fucked up about it but hides it incredibly well.

Uhh final thoughts:

Hatake Haruka, age 18— she got a hundred problems and bloodline hunters are 90 of em

[listen-to-the-inner-walrus]

Cross-stitch really does make you reconsider whether or not you understand basic maths. Like yeah, I know the difference between 4 and 5, definitely. Ignore me as I undo several stitches.

[sugarskies]

see the thing that intrigues me about sentryagent is the concept that they're so wrong for each other they're right for each other but neither of them can see past the wrong. they're staring at each other with the same yearning look of "he deserves better than me" while wishing they were exactly who the other person already believes they are

[dreamsteddie]

See Me Through Rose Tinted Glasses

It's finally happening! The final part! A fic that was supposed to take two weeks and be 2,000 words long turned into a two and a half month 8,000 plus word project. @devondespresso thank you so much for bearing with me as I wrote this, I hope you enjoy it!

divider from @thecutestgrotto

Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Ao3

“Hey babe, sorry I’m late. We couldn’t decide what ice cream to get. We ended up just getting both. God knows between you and Dustin it’ll be gone by the week anyway.” He doesn’t look up as he’s coming through the door, too focused on juggling his five bags of groceries and toeing off his shoes at the door.

When no response comes, he stops. Eddie is never quiet, nor is Dustin.

“Eddie? Dustin?” He calls out, his mom coming through the door behind him.

“Oh honey, don’t be so anxious. They’re probably upstairs going over those books Dusty loves again. You know how they get absorbed in those things.” Steve does know. It’s one of the things he both loves and loathes about the little family unit they’ve got going on, not that Steve would ever refer to them as such in front of Eddie. It would be too much, just like he always is.

He’s getting ready to take his mom’s word for it, drop off the groceries and let himself ignore the strange feeling tickling up the back of his neck, when he sees the absolute mess of their kitchen table. Newspapers and glossy picture printouts that he knows he’s going to find charged to his own card because his brother is a little shit.

“Jesus fuck Steve, you didn’t tell me Eddie did track! I couldn’t even get close to him before he was gone.” Dustin says as he comes in from the back door, clearly a little winded. Steve doesn’t even tell him to watch his language because…well because what the fuck.

“Dustin, dude, what the hell is all of this?” He asks, completely ignoring his brother as he goes on. He picks up a particularly unflattering close-up of Eddie, only to be met with a sight he truly did not want to associate with his sibling. “Is this a fucking Playgirl? What the fuck Dustin?” The mention of illicit materials is enough to summon their mom in record time.

“Dustin Michael Henderson, your brother better not have said what I think he said,” she chimes in from the doorway.

“Mom, mom, no! It’s not like that, I swear, it’s research!” Dustin bellows way too loud for the small space of their dining room.

“Honey, it’s perfectly natural to be curious about women, but I would appreciate it if you kept your research in your room and off the dining room table.”

Steve tunes them out, too used to the ebbs and flows of their family dynamic to be concerned, not with the Beautiful Minds, 1920s detective shit taking up space in his third favorite room in the house. It takes him longer than it probably should to realise what he’s looking at, and almost no time after he does to get a sinking suspicion of what Dustin has been sneaking around about for the past few weeks while giving his boyfriend the cold shoulder.

Normally, he wouldn’t interrupt Dustin getting a lecture from their mom, it’s always so well deserved, but he needs answers. He reaches a hand back without looking, using what he likes to call his ‘brother sense’ to give Dustin a good couple of smacks in the shoulder to get his attention. Mom usually has something to say about bones and medical conditions when he gets the slightest but rough, but she’s a little preoccupied at the moment.

“Seriously Dustin, what the hell his going on here? What did you do?” Dustin sputters indignantly from behind him, as if he isn’t clearly guilty of something.

“I didn’t do anything Steve.” He says crossing around into his brother’s line of sight, crossing his arms in a clear mockery of Steve’s ‘this is serious’ pose. The kid really needs to get his attitude in check.

“I was just performing my brotherly duties of making sure Eddie knows to be careful! This was just research to make sure he knows that I know how to bury him, if need be. Me and the girls, of course,” he continues. “The guy’s got a wild life, I’ll tell you that.”

As he wraps up his defence, Dustin picks up a newspaper to wave around like evidence, and that’s when the final pieces slot into place.

Local Teen, Eddie Munson, Arrested in Connection to Murder of Chrissy Cunningham.

The picture makes his heart clench painfully. Black and white and yellowed with age but still so clear. It’s Eddie, fresh out of high school. Hair shorter, ears sticking out sweetly, dirt on his face, eyes past full of deep fear. His Eddie.

“Dustin where did you get that?” He asks, severe in a way he never is. It’s enough even to stop Dustin in his tracks. “Dustin!” He snaps when he doesn’t say anything. He can hear their mom gasp and start to chastise him, but he doesn’t listen.

“I went to the library! I just asked them to give me everything on Eddie Munson and they gave me a bunch of stuff. It’s not like I broke any laws of anything!” Dustin is getting man now, too, which is never a good combination. They’re both too stubborn for their own good.

Steve pinches his nose as hard as he can to stave off the impending blowup he can feel building under his skin. Their mom relies on him to be the more level-headed one. “It doesn’t matter where you got it, man, you shouldn’t have it in the first place,” he grits out.

“Why not?” Dustin asks like Steve is being dumb. “It’s like, public knowledge. It’s out there for anyone who wants to know. You should know. I know Eddie’s a great guy but this is a big deal and you should-”

“I already know about this crap, dipshit! I didn’t need you digging around in my boyfriend’s private life for me!” He’s officially lost his cool.

“Well, how the hell was I supposed to know that? I’m just trying to look out for you!” Dustin yells back. “Besides, why shouldn’t we know about it? It’s not like I hunted down his old classmates or something; it was in the newspaper! A bunch of newspapers!”

“Boys, this really isn’t-”

“BECAUSE IT’S NONE OF OUR BUSINESS DUSTIN! JESUS H CHRIST.” He’s breathing hard, like he just ran a marathon, as silence descends around them. Steve never screams, never raises his voice. Not like that, but he’s done.

Steve runs his hand through his hair. Twenty minutes ago, he was thinking about whether or not he would have enough time to style it before their reservation at Enzo’s. Was thinking about if his red sweater was clean and if the ice cream would survive the car ride and if he should have the pasta or the pork at dinner tonight and if Eddie would invite him back to his house at the end of the night.

He takes a deep breath. “I don’t give a shit if it’s public knowledge or not, Eddie deserved to tell us this kind of shit when he was ready. If he was ever ready.” Too late for that, an unhelpful part of his brain supplies.

Steve watches as the fight slowly drains out of his brother, and the weight of the skeleton he just dragged out of the closet registers. The thing about Dustin is that, no matter how badly he pushes your buttons or calls you stupid to your face, he’s a good kid. The best, really. He just gets ahead of himself, so far in front he can’t see the consequences.

He looks down at the paper still clutched in his hand, staring hard at the same picture Steve had, and frowns. “Shit,” he says, elequent as always.

“Yeah man, shit is right,” Steve responds.

No one seems to know where to go from there. Time is ticking past, and with every second, Steve feels a burning building in his feet, telling him to go looking for Eddie. Dustin said he ran out the back door, which doesn’t bode well. He hopes he went back to his apartment, but there’s no saying for sure.

It’s his mom who gives him direction. She’s always been the wisest of any of them, the strongest too, always able to handle any situation the world throws at them. Dustin isn’t ready for a full apology, and Steve sure as hell isn’t ready to offer any forgiveness, so there’s only really one thing to do.

She places a warm, soft hand on his arm and gives it a squeeze. “You go find Eddie, I’ll take care of things here,” she says, shooting a meaningful look at a visibly cowed but silent Dustin. He squeezes her into a hard hug, suddenly violently grateful for her presence in his life, and runs out the door.

He’s got a rock start to find.

Eddie is not wearing shoes for this kind of walking. In all honesty, he probably doesn’t even own a pair of shoes designed for support anymore. Everything he buys nowadays is for the vibe. 

God, he feels like a poser all of a sudden.

Two miles probably shouldn’t be that big a deal, but after the night he’s had, the pain building in his feet is draining every last bit of his energy to the point of debating just calling Steve tomorrow. The only thing stopping him is the knowledge that Steve probably, definitely, saw him run out the door and is probably worried sick. 

Despite the little demon in his brain telling him that after he takes a good look at all the skeletons in his closet he won’t care to look for him, Eddie knows that Steve is too good a guy to let even the lowest of low lives get lost in the Hawkins woods. 

The good thing about the walk is that he gets to rehearse every imaginable scenario for how his impending interaction with Steve will go.

“Hey babe, sorry about running off like that. Now let me explain about those murders.”

No.

“Wild about those Playgirls right? I don’t know how they even got those pictures!”

Also no.

“Please, please don’t leave me. I swear half this shit is made up anyway. Please.”

Well, maybe.

The last block of his walk passes in a blur, like his brain can’t process that the walking is almost over. Consequently, the sight of Steve sitting on his front porch feels like a mirage. Something distant and perfect that could slip right through his fingers if he’s not careful.

He stops, his fashionable but painful boots finding purchase in the dewy, patchy grass of his rented front lawn. 

Steve is always stupidly beautiful to Eddie. The guys say he has rose-tinted glasses on, but they don’t know what they’re talking about. They’ve only seen Steve through grainy photographs that don’t do him justice. They see him like the placid lake in a pleasant but static panorama that hangs in a high-class office, while Eddie sees the bubbling, splendid life hiding beneath.

Steve is good at presenting an unflappable, calm facade. He acts like he’s above it all, and Eddie, so far, has let him think that the people closest to him can’t see that his heart is perpetually stuck in the trenches.

All of that veneer is stripped from Steve in this moment.

He looks tired.

He looks scared.

Eddie feels like his heart is going to shrivel up in his chest. Wayne must have been wrong. All that time Eddie spent telling himself it would work out on his walk here was just him selling himself a fairytale. Steve is scared, but he’s being brave so he can let Eddie down and leave him behind for good.

Eddie takes a deep breath, tries to ignore the breath stalling in his throat and the burning behind his eyes. He can do this. Good things rarely last for him, he shouldn’t be surprised this is how it’s going to end.

He closes his eyes, letting himself have one more moment of peace before his heart splinters in his chest.

Which means he doesn’t see Steve make his way towards him, his vintage Nikes soft enough in the soles to muffle his soft footsteps. It’s not until he feels warm, slightly calloused hands cupping his cheeks, that he even realizes that Steve has come closer.

Eddie flinches on instinct, too wound up to expect the gentle, insistent kindness Steve reaches out with. He doesn’t let it deter him, just curls his fingers so his ring and middle fingers cup just behind the curve of his ear, teasing the baby hairs found there.

“Eddie,” He breaths out. And, oh, that’s not the voice of somebody who’s getting ready to break his heart, not at all. Eddie opens his eyes, and that’s not the face of someone who’s afraid of him, maybe the opposite. 

Maybe he didn’t see them, then, the skeletons in his closet. Maybe Eddie will still have to tell him and watch the fear bubble up and the care drip out. The thought makes his breath hitch, but he doesn’t look away.

“Eddie. I know, it’s ok.” Steve’s voice is rough and soft at the same time, a beautiful contradiction that obscures the meaning of his words for a moment. Eddie scrunches as the answer comes to him. That can’t be right. He must be talking about something else. Maybe the rehab, maybe the overdose that preceded it, because Steve wouldn’t be looking at him like that if he were talking about Chrissy.

“You don’t know, I-I” He needs to say it, but the atoms in his body are resisting. They want to stay in Steve’s orbit for as long as they can. Let his beautiful eyes and his beautiful hands and his beautiful voice cradle him into the long night, and they know that everything they touch goes ugly.

Steve deserves anything but the ugly of Eddie’s life.

“I know Eddie. I have known. The entire time. Since we met.” The words don’t register, not fully.

“Wha-”

And now Steve is the one who looks guilty, which is absurd.

“Fuck, this is so stupid.” Steve pinches his nose, a tell Eddie has learned to mean anything from Steve feeling mild exasperation to Steve pushing down tears. He hopes it’s not the latter, he doesn’t think he could handle seeing Steve cry on top of everything else. “Robin got really into those true crime radio shows for a while, like…three years ago?” Steve starts, not looking Eddie in the eye, but clinging tight to the back of his shirt, not letting go.

“She made me listen to them all the time, would just change the station whenever she got in my car like I wanted to listen to a bunch of washed up 30 something act like they know shit about fuck.” Which…Eddie is aware that people talk about what happened. They like to bring it up every anniversary, every album drop, every birthday, every time there isn’t a better headline to print, but radio shows?

“You knew?” It seems impossible that Steve could have known, really known, what happened before he agreed to let Eddie take him out. Not the full of it, anyway.

“I don’t really give a shit what Jim, or John, or Jerremy with a microphone or Jan and Josie on the morning news have to say about my boyfriend.” There’s that little bitchy furrow of his brow that Eddie is learning to love. He kind of wants to bite it, which is really not an appropriate thought to have during what feels like one of the most important conversations he’s had in the last five years.

“I ran, Steve.” Because that’s always been the sticking point, for him, for everyone. He ran. He got locked in a closet, listened to the nicest girl in his school get mangled to death through the other side, and ran before he even knew she was gone.

Ran and didn’t look back.

Ran until the soles of his feet bled and the sirens caught up.

Ran and didn’t even try to help. Didn’t even try to save her.

And then he ran again tonight. Nothing changed. Nothing new. The same Eddie he was on the worst night of his life.

The same Eddie that only an uncle could love.

But maybe, impossibly, he’s wrong again. Because they haven’t said the words, and it feels too fast to be something he can recognize on sight, but Steve is looking at him with eyes full of love and understanding.

“It sounded scary.” It was. By god, had he been scared.

“I’m sorry that happened to you. I’m sorry about Chrissy.” So is he, every day.

“I would have run, too,” Steve says.

It feels like a lie—or, no. It feels like Steve is telling him what he thinks is the truth, underestimating himself with full confidence. Eddie knows, somewhere deep in his bones beyond his rational thought, that Steve would stand his ground in the face of even the worst monsters—in the face of Henry Creel.

But it’s enough, somehow, to hear him say it. To hear Steve say that not only does he know, actually truly know, but that he understands.

I love you, the thinks. “Thank you,” he says.

Steve smiles, slow and charming and tilting up on one side. Eddie lets himself wrap his arms fully around him, still a little unsure of his welcome but willing to try just about anything to get a little bit closer to that smile. “Of course, baby. You know you’re not the only one with a couple of demons hanging around. I’m just sorry you didn’t get to tell me in your own time,” Steve says.

Steve is running a hand through his hair now, settling flyaway hairs from his mad dash like he has any hope of getting them to stay.

Maybe it’s better this way, Eddie thinks to himself. For all the drama, all the fear, Eddie doesn’t know if he would have ever been brave enough to say it himself. He might have gone months, years, with this secret eating him alive, wondering if Steve would leave him when he found out, taking their little burgeoning family with him when he left/

At least this way, Eddie knows. It should have been his choice, Steve is right, but at least he doesn’t have to live with the ‘what if?’ anymore.

Eddie takes a deep breath, and lets it go. The worst as passed, the storm has moved on, and Eddie would really, truly like to sleep for at least twelve hours straight and take these boots off before his feet bleed.

For now, though, he lets himself tuck into the safety of his boyfriend’s neck and close his eyes, just for a moment. Steve continues to pet his hair, carefully detangling the strants, and lets out a low humm of contentment, like he’s completely happy to stand with Eddie in the patchwork grass for as long as he’d like.

A beat passes where they just listen to the crickets sing and the cars rumble in the distance.

It’s Steve who speaks first.

“And hey, maybe when you’re feeling a little better, we can look through that Playgirl together.”

Eddie smiles.

How the hell did he get so lucky?

Tag List: @warlordess @shoujo-wizard @thewickedkat @phiauniverse @estrellami-1 @awcere

[special-agent-fiction]

The Cost of Silence

Full disclosure, I haven't written anything in literal years and I've never written for this fandom. And then this just...happened? I don't know what the plot is but I had to get it down.

The Cost of Silence - Thomas Shelby x Reader

For a man who bought silence with little thought to its cost, morally or financially, Thomas Shelby appeared increasingly concerned with how much it was going to cost him to hear your voice again.

Gifts had been arriving at Arrow House almost daily for a few weeks and each was met with the same disregard; a blank expression as you passed the newest Bentley parked on the drive, cold indifference to the clothes hanging in your wardrobe and an almost comical eyebrow quirk at an apparent sudden interest in art.

Today’s expensive gift was met with the same lack of interest as you closed the lid of the long red box that had become synonymous with a Shelby apology with a single finger and pushed it away from the pristine plate setting awaiting you in the dining room.

You cared little for the rows of diamonds that sat within the case. Cared less for the obvious displays of wealth that surrounded you. You were not born to be oblivious to the luxury that was your current life, years ago you would have ached for a mere glimpse inside the house you now resided in, but life in this increasingly gilded cage had numbed you.

You often longed to feel the soft notches of the table in Watery Lane as you ran your hand along the impressive mahogany piece you now ate at. Dreamt of the cobblestones under foot as you wandered the gravel driveway in twilight, longed for the ache of a day’s work in your bones.

Poverty was a strange thing to want, but with simplicity came an honesty that your life was currently lacking. You could not bring yourself to look him in the eye anymore, let alone share a smile.

You couldn’t pinpoint the moment you decided to silence yourself; couldn’t remember what atrocity had been the final straw. If anything, it had happened gradually, your voice ignored in family meetings, opinions disregarded as plans were formed, and so you began to hold back, bite your tongue and fade into the background of the life he had carefully curated in this countryside pile.

You knew it was irritating him. The thought brought a rare smile to your lips as he huffed softly from the doorway behind you, watching as your fingers skimmed past the new first editions in the library and landed on a well-worn, market-stolen title that you had brought to Arrow House when it was still new to you.

Words were not something you were able to find solace in in your life before here, your days were too busy to have the time to curl up and appreciate a book. Recently though they were you only companion in this cold house. He had noticed of course, he always notices. A newer, softer chair appeared in the parlour, a glistening tea set waited for you, the fire was stoked more frequently, and yet you remained on the hard, deep-set windowsill that offered you a glimpse at the outside world when your eyes tired of the page. Obstinance felt almost exhilarating these days.

The gifts changed from generically expensive to a more tailored selection; a new saddle, your favourite flowers planted under the bedroom window. And still you denied him. You kept your voice a murmur when talking to the staff, only laughed when he was away and refused to elaborate when questioned by visiting family.

It was noticeable now to anyone who visited the house. Family quirked an eyebrow when you walked away from meetings, their eyes flitting between you and Thomas as you sat silently through dinner, a low chuckle at their leader’s frustration. Thomas was a man who always won a battle of wills, and he was losing spectacularly.

And then he piqued your curiosity.

The office door left ajar when he had an important telephone call. Papers for the foundation you’d long planned to set up. Ledgers left open on the coffee table.

As much as you knew about how to irritate him, he knew about you. The bastard.

You stopped yourself many times; forced your hand down when reaching for a pen to jot a note in the margins of a memo, stopped yourself from adjusting a purposefully wrong number. It took everything in you not to help with the business you’d helped birth.

And then came the storm.

Gunmetal clouds filled the sky, the birds quietened, and thunder rolled in the distance. The drizzle of morning rain had dampened the estate, the heaviness in the air muffling all sound of life. When the first crack of lightening hit just outside the stable block you were already inside trying to soothe the enormous stallion that was an expensive new addition to the block.

You’d anticipated his jitters, had spent most of the afternoon gently grooming him, humming softly as he calmed. You thought you’d pre-empted the worst of it but even you jumped at the proximity of the bolt. You barely had time to register the piercing whinny or notice the beginnings of a rear-up before one leather clad hand was on the bridle the other sweeping you behind Thomas before he reached out to calm the steed. Your breaths were laboured as the horse calmed, your eyes wide as you watched Thomas whisper softly to the animal, its chest rising and falling in time with your own as you calmed simultaneously, Thomas’ soothing voice washing over both of you. It wasn’t the first time a horse had reared on you and wouldn’t be the last, it wasn’t the animal that spooked you it was the speed at which Thomas appeared. How long had he been loitering in the shadows of the stable block? Had he watched you lavish love on the beast he had bought as part of his apology accumulation?

You reached out to rub gently at the neck of your almost-trampler, eyes avoiding Thomas as you mirrored his actions, managing a brief nod at his question on your wellbeing. But for the first time in a while it wasn’t defiance that silenced you.

Gifts and gestures gave way to peaceful companionship. Where he had previously watched from the shadows and tried to elicit a response with baiting, he now stepped forward and joined your silence.

You walked together never sharing a word, rode side-by-side without comment, sat opposite each other with only fireplace crackles filling your evenings. You watched his eyes crinkle slightly as his nieces and nephews ran circles around the ground, watched his tight breath as he fought to keep composure on the telephone, smiled behind your book as he endured another ticking off from Polly. The office door stayed open, the flowers under your window bloomed and you remembered what made you want to share this life in the first place.

Throughout your silence, your morning routine had gone unchanged. Breakfast was often the only meal you and Thomas shared; the plate settings always formal in this grand room, letters gently set on a silver tray next to you and a newspaper ironed and folded next to his. This room had seen many a silent war between you both as you rejected gift after gift, unsaid words hanging heavily between you both, the house always gloomy in anticipation of the clash.

Yet this morning there was sunshine washing the dark floors as you descended the staircase. You could see blue skies in every window and hear the gentle movements of the staff as they worked. You entered the dining room to a familiar sight; Thomas reclined slightly, newspaper in hand, breakfast untouched. Your eyes landed on your assigned seat, danced over the freshly cut bloom sat in a silver bud vase and the absence of any other bribe at your place.

The jolt of surprise would be worth it, you decided. You would allow him the win. Afterall, you needed to rectify those ledger mistakes.

You fingered the soft petals as his usual greeting reached you, eyed the smudge of dirt on his shoe-tip for confirmation and took a breath.

“Good morning.”

In the end, it cost him nothing to break your silence. And that was the point.

[s0fter-sin]

one of my favourite aspects of supernatural that you very rarely see in paranormal shows is that sam and dean are already versed in the world they live in. there’s no sudden discovery of ghosts and demons and now they have to learn about them along with the audience; they are born into it and already know all about it. it allows the audience to follow their personal story instead of also trying to figure out this new world and its rules

the first season is full of knowledge we never see them learn; “w*ndigoes are in the minnesota woods or- or northern michigan. i’ve never even heard of one this far west.” […] “great. well then this [his gun] is useless.” (1x02), “you don’t break a curse. you get the hell out of its way.” (1x08), d: “it’s a god. a pagan god, anyway.” […] “the annual cycle of its killings? and the fact that the victims are always a man and a woman. like some kind of fertility right.” […] s: “the last meal. given to sacrificial victims. d: “yeah, i’m thinking a ritual sacrifice to appease some pagan god.” (1x11)

almost every episode in the first season is a monster they’ve faced before that they then explain to the audience in a way that should feel patronising; like it’s the same speech given over and over again but instead, the audience almost feels included in the knowledge. it’s stated with such an innate confidence and comfort in said knowledge that it feels like we already knew it too; “spirits and demons don't have to unlock doors. if they want inside, they just go through the walls.” […] “the claws, the speed that it moves; could be a skinwalker, maybe a black dog.” (1x02), “it's biblical numerology. you know noah's ark, it rained for forty days. the number means death.” (1x04), “no no no, not the reaper, a reaper. there's reaper lore in pretty much every culture on earth, it goes by 100 different names.” […] “you said it yourself that the clock stopped, right? reapers stop time. and you can only see 'em when they're coming at you which is why i could see it and you couldn't.” (1x12)

they already know and, at least in the first season, already have what they need to kill whatever they’re hunting; already know to salt and burn bones for spirits, fire for a w*ndigo, exorcisms for demons, a silver bullet to the heart for shapeshifters. there’s only three times in the entire first season that they run into something new to them; 1x14 when sam gets his first vision that leads him to another psychic, 1x16 when dean calls caleb for help on the sigil he put together and he tells him about daevas, and 1x20 when they find out vampires are real- and they only don’t know that bc john thought they were hunted to extinction and not worth mentioning

(there’s also technically two half instances if you count one of them knowing something the other doesn’t - sam figuring out the tulpa in 1x17 and dean already knowing about the shtriga in 1x18 - but those still rely on sam and dean having prior knowledge)

even when they’re uncertain about facing something, it’s not bc they don’t know what it is; it’s precisely bc they know what it is and acknowledge that it’ll be a difficult hunt (“i don't know, man. this isn't our normal gig. i mean, demons, they don't want anything, just death and destruction for its own sake. this is big. and i wish dad was here.” 1x04)

so much of the tension in paranormal shows typically comes from the main character(s) not knowing what is happening to them/the people around them and having to find out how to resolve it. supernatural is unique in that it operates more like a police procedural. the tension comes from solving the clues and identifying patterns to figure out who (what) the killer is and intercepting before they can take another victim

it’s such a different tone to go for when compared to other shows that came both before, during, and after its run. it sets sam and dean on even footing with each other since they both have the same knowledge going in, and it puts them in a place of authority usually reserved for an outside character

the shows i compare spn to most is charmed, buffy and teen wolf; every main character in those shows are brought into the paranormal world knowing nothing, putting them on the same level as the audience, and they have their mc interact with others already knowledgeable about that world in order to overcome their problem/monster of the week. the audience organically learns about this new world as the characters learn about it. it’s a sound writing strategy that prevents “as we already know”-style exposition but something that complicates it is if your world building isn’t unique or intriguing enough, this slow introduction can become boring

we’ve seen shows like these before; sitting through the same tropes of characters learning to use their powers, struggling with no longer feeling normal/relating to the regular world around them, and not knowing how much they can trust the people already involved in this new world gets repetitive. all three shows eventually reach the same level of comfort with their new world that spn starts with but if the characters aren’t enough to draw you in, you can end up dropping it before they reach that point (and often, before the overarching plot can really kick in and evolve the show beyond the villain of the week format)

it’s the superhero origin movie in tv format; dragged out and overplayed. dropping the audience into an established world of course comes with its own problems but you also have the benefit of pre-existing established character dynamics that let the audience slot in like they’ve always been there instead of just getting to know all the characters while the characters also get to know each other

sam and dean already knowing about the supernatural lets the audience immediately get to the core of the story; the conflict between sam and dean, the search for their father, and the mystery of what killed their mother

[mediumgayitalian]

prev

———

Twenty minutes later, Solace hurries out of his cabin in cowboy boots.

And jeans.

Nico gapes at him.

“Go go go go go, questions later,” Will hisses, herding him behind the Apollo cabin. “We are on a time limit, we gotta —”

“You’re wearing close-toed shoes.”

“Yes, yes, sometimes I wear the clothes that I own. Wild. Let’s go.” Will tugs, uselessly, on his arm, but Nico’s half-certain his jaw has taken root in the ground, cementing him in place, because what the actual shit.

“Solace, you wore flip-flops to the snow-smothered bus stop in January. I thought you had, like, a condition!”

“I do have a condition. It’s called You Are Not Hurrying, Death Breath, let’s go —”

This time when he pulls, Nico stumbles after him, ducking under windowsills and inching around flower gardens. Every time someone so much as looks in their direction, Will plants both hands on his chest and shoves them into a corner somewhere, craning his neck to watch until they move on. Every time he does, another piece of Nico’s soul breaks away from his body and descends into hell. There is an actual trail of bones and tilled earth and dead grass behind him. Will doesn’t need to worry about being stealthy — the death aura of Nico’s dignity is large enough to scare off anything within a four mile radius.

“In here!”

Undeterred by the death aura, for some reason, Will seizes his bicep and shoves him in a crack between the Hypnos and Dionysus cabins. He slips in a millisecond later, crowding him against the warm bricks, forearm pressed awkwardly next to Nico’s head.

“Hnggh,” Nico gasps, mournfully wishing his last sliver of self-respect goodbye. Rest in fucking peace. “Do you have to be so — close, Will, gods —”

“Shhh!”

“If you shush me again I am going to rip your throat out —”

“Go, go, go!”

Yanked forward again, Nico doesn’t have the time to finish his threat. This time, at least, they sprint the final stretch to the shed without any more hiding and shoving.

Thank all the fucking gods. One more second of Will’s stupid torso — since fucking when does he wear polo shirts, huh, what the shit fuck is up with that — pressed against his and Nico’s bronchitis was going to come back. And this time he’s going to succumb to it.

“Okay,” Will says. He stands in front of a tarp-covered lump, gripping one side and jutting his chin out at the other. “On three, we tear this off and start pushing. We need past Thalia’s tree in under thirty seconds. Got it?”

“No,” Nico says stubbornly, “you still haven’t explained what the rush is —”

“One two three go!”

Will, unfortunately, has been tricking ADHD teenagers into doing things they don’t want to do for years, so Nico’s ripping off the tarp and shoving the chariot out of its stall faster than he can register what he’s doing. He practically sprints to keep up with Will, chariot wheels creaking happily as they rush over stones and sticks and forgotten weapons.

“We’re leaving now, Chiron! Bye!” Will hollers, moving too fast to give him a second to respond. Luckily, Chiron is similarly busy, galloping after a speeding Harley without more than a backwards wave and a sharp don’t die, please!

“That dynamite I gave Harley’ll only keep everyone distracted another thirty seconds,” Will mutters, ignoring Nico’s alarmed the fucking what you gave Harley, “so we need to move, let’s go.”

“Will — slow down a half fucking second, Christ, not everyone is seventy percent leg — we don’t even have pegasi!”

“Will you keep it down.” Will looks back and forth, eyes wide, like he’s worried someone is going to pop up with a pack of the winged animals. “Just — stop asking questions! We’re almost home free!”

“You’ve gone insane. It’s finally, actually happened, after all these years, who woulda thought, fully bonkers at age sixteen —”

“Oh, shut up.”

Muttering his complaints, Nico helps him push the infernal chariot down Half-Blood Hill. Among his grievances, he makes it abundantly clear that 1) this is stupid, 2) he did not agree to physical labour, 3) he would not have agreed to come if he had known about the physical labour, and 4) this is stupid.

“Just a few more yards, then we can —”

“Okay, no, that’s it.” Nico lets go of the chariot, letting the wheel dig into the soft ground and send the whole thing halting. He meets Will’s pout head-on; arms crossed, jaw set, foot tapping, refusing to give into those big blue eyes.

“C��mon, Neeks.” A faint explosion sounds off in the distance. Will’s eyes get more pleading, more hopeful. “We won’t have much time after the diversion wears off…”

“You have three seconds before I turn the hell around, Solace.”

“Please?”

“One.”

He pushes uselessly at the chariot. It spins a sad little circle without someone pushing the other side. “Neeks!”

“Two.”

“Alright, fine! Help me push again and I’ll explain on the way down.”

“Much easier when you just do as I say,” Nico grumbles, starting to push the stupid (horseless and therefore useless) chariot again. “Isn’t it?”

Will, predictably, rolls his eyes, although he can’t quite help the smile that pulls at his lips. Nico tells the butterflies that go buck fucking wild in his stomach to go to hell. This does nothing.

“How much do you know about the chariot?” Will asks eventually, after a couple minutes of shoving the stupid thing past a deep trench in the soil, leftover from the war. (Nico is going to set the fucking thing on fire. It’s a flying chariot — shouldn’t it be lightweight? Why is he suffering?) They’re nearly three quarters down the hill, and it takes everything Nico has not to risk it all and shadow travel the last couple dozen feet. Yeah, it might kill him, but then his problem would immediately go away. Tempting does not begin to cover it.

“Uh, big source of drama, right? Apollo and Ares worked together to seize it, argued over who got to keep it?”

He cuts a careful glance over to Will, well aware it’s a sensitive topic. He knows the question isn’t a trap — Will would never do that to him — but it’s probably best to tread lightly. As far as he’s concerned, this is a sore point that’ll take more than a couple years to heal.

Luckily, there’s no tension to Will’s face. “Mhm. I wasn’t there for much of the planning, ‘cause I was busy in the infirmary and also, like, twelve, but it took a lot of time on both sides. When Michael and everyone seized it, though, it glowed gold.”

“…Ah.”

Will snorts at his awkwardness, nudging his shoulder. “Yeah. Sure made it hard for the Ares cabin to claim, as dicey as it may be. Here, help me park it on the side of the road.”

There’s a thatch of weeds and undergrowth separating the road from the base of the hill, so dragging the chariot over is a struggle and a half. Nico can’t help but think that this task would be very easy if the chariot was harnessed to a couple pegasi and flying over the fucking thatch, as it is meant to do. When he voices this very valid thought, Will does not respond.

He does walk into a thistle, though, so Nico feels considerably better about the whole ordeal.

“The thing about the blessing —” Will grunts, yanking the chariot onto the gravel shoulder with one final tug — “is that it’s not that big of a deal. My dad blesses shit all the time. Our cabin is blessed. The infirmary is blessed. Hell, half my scalpels are blessed, and I throw those things out all the time ‘cause they’re dangerous when they get dull. Just because my dad blessed it doesn’t mean we actually have to keep it.”

“Okay…” Nico says slowly, “then why was it such a big deal?”

“The blessing on its own wasn’t.” Will’s voice gets fainter as he lowers himself onto the pavement, dragging himself under the belly of the chariot. Nico is confused for a full three seconds before a particularly rough patch of asphalt snags Will’s shirt and drags, and wow, are those jeans low rise. His throat is suddenly very dry. “Blessing a chariot on the other hand…”

Will makes a dorky little noise of success, crawling back from under the chariot. When he resurfaces, he’s grinning, carved piece of wood the same material as the chariot clenched in his hand. There’s soot smeared across his left cheek, his curls have tangled themselves into more of a mess than usual, and there are three separate scuff marks on his nice jeans.

Nico ducks his head, hiding a smile. What a dorky loser. Even dressed up as he is (boy, has Nico fallen low, if he’s calling jeans and cowboy boots dressed up), he still manages to look like…Will.

A really, really hot version of Will, but. Whatever. Details.

“The hell is that?”

“This,” Will says grandly, feeling around the wall of the chariot until he finds a specific spot, “is the reason my brother gave a fuck about a dumbass chariot.” He sticks the edge of the wooden tool in a tiny groove, wedging it open to reveal a hidden panel and a small, golden button. Nico meets Will’s grin with raised eyebrows, impressed.

“What do you know about Michael?”

“Uh, not too much.”

“You think he, in any reality, would have had that much interest in a hunk of wood?”

Nico had scarcely met him more than a couple times, but Michael Yew made an impression, that was for sure. For someone who was shorter than Nico when he was ten years old, he sure took up a lot of space. In the few times Nico remembers seeing him, he’d been concerned with his bow, his camera, or showing any given person who so much as blinked at him wrong just how quickly he could turn their ass concave. If Nico is correct, actually, the one time he and a pegasus had been in the same vicinity, they’d hissed at each other. Nico didn’t even know pegasi could hiss.

He tries to find a delicate way to say this.

“He seemed more interested in other endeavours,” he says politely.

Will laughs loudly. “He would rather shove an arrow in his eye than race a chariot!” His bright smile is impossible not to match, and Nico is relieved to find him totally comfortable, relaxed; hell, even excited. Usually, any talk of his siblings, even fond, makes him quiet. He’s glad for this change, however unusual. “Man, I loved my brother more than anything, but he was the most ornery motherfucker I’ve ever met in my life. He taught me every swear in every language by the time I was nine, just because he knew it would drive Lee batty. He didn’t care about some spoil of war.”

He smirks, wide and devilish, and Nico’s knees go weak. Dimples like that should be illegal.

“He was smart, though. And he figured, if dad’s blessing made this chariot anything like his own…”

He reaches out and presses the golden button with his thumb, letting go and standing back once he registers a faint click. After a couple seconds, the chariot begins to glow, soft at first, then brighter, then Nico has to squeeze his eyes shut to avoid the stinging burn, and then when he opens them, it —

He gapes. Will grins.

Where the chariot used to be, is now a shiny, brand-new, black and yellow motorbike, two helmets gleaming on the sparkling leather seat.

“…Then it might be a little more than some lousy chariot.”

Without waiting for Nico to pick his jaw off the floor, Will rushes forward. He tosses one of the helmets to Nico — which he barely manages to catch, still working on processing what the fuck just happened — and tucks the other under his arm. Nico happens to notice how his biceps flex with the action, and then vows to have his father bankrupt the entire polo shirt industry, because he can never be caught lacking like this by any mortal soul. It’s humiliating.

There’s a click as Will unlatches the seat, lifting it up to access the compartment under it. He pulls out a bundle mass of black fabric, and with a flick of his shoulders reveals it to be a fucking leather jacket and oh, gods, Nico takes back the polo shirt complaints, he can live with the polo shirt. This is too much. This is —

“Any time you’re done ogling at me, you can climb on,” Will calls out. He doesn’t even have the good grace to look in Nico’s direction, instead sliding on the seat facing resolutely forward, amused smirk on his face. And because he wants Nico to die, actually, he straightens his jacket, making sure it fits his shoulders right (by the gods does it ever) brushes his hair backwards (there is no genuine reason for someone’s hair to actually shine in the sunlight) and slides his helmet on. When he finally does look back in Nico’s direction, through his raised visor, the combined sight of his sparkling blue eyes and the cut of his face under the angular helmet actually gives him tachycardia.

“I hate you,” Nico croaks. “Not joking.”

Will throws his head back and laughs, baring his long, tanned throat. Nico follows the bob of his adam’s apple like Tantalus does the forbidden fruit. It’s horrible, and what’s worse is that Will is visibly preening like the fuckin’ peacock he is. Someone should remind him he’s basically a dressed up turkey. Or something. Nico’s brain is operating at twenty percent capacity, his ability to metaphor properly is a secondary concern.

“Just get over here, you goober. We’re on a time limit, remember?”

Shoving his helmet on to hide his flaming face, Nico does, sliding on with a healthy four inches of space between them.

“Mm, not gonna work, ParaNorman. This thing’s enchanted, we’ll be going well over a hundred. Hold on properly.”

Praying to seven different gods for strength, at once, Nico scooches the agonizing few inches closer.

“Hands around waist, Death Boy.”

“I’m fucking — I’m getting there, you asshole, gimme a goddamn second.”

“Do you need help?”

“I need you to shut the fuck up so I can focus.”

Maybe it’s the healer in him, or maybe there actually is a god looking out for Nico and they decide to have mercy. Maybe it’s a third option. Either way, Will reaches back and wraps his callused hands around Nico’s wrist, tugging them gently forward and resting them on the narrow curve of his hips. Nico holds them there, along with his breath, until some of the panicky tension starts to loosen in his chest, and he relaxes forward, resting his chest against Will’s back.

“There,” he says quietly, humming with approval when Nico’s arms link properly around his waist. He squeezes his clasped wrists once — a silent you good? — and waits for Nico’s minute nod, face buried in the back of Will’s neck, before starting up the engine, revving it twice before leaning forward, body flush to the bike. Nico can practically feel his grin, it’s so clear in his mind’s eye, in the delight thrumming through Will’s entire body, that he can’t help his own smile, too, can’t help but feel the thrum of the machine, the sharp smell in the air. He tightens his hold and Will lets out a loud, whooping laugh.

“Let’s ride, baby!”

With a push off the ground and a twist of a thrusters, they’re off, leaving behind only the echo of the roaring engine and the joyful, startled sound of Nico’s shriek.

———

next

[jay72664]

Pillow talk

TW: implied sex.

“You’re feeling alright? Not too sore?” Chuuya asked as he held his husband, one hand trancing alone his spine, the other threading through his hair.

“A little,” Dazai admitted, nuzzling into the ginger’s neck. “But I’m fine.”

A fond smile comes to Chuuya face at the show of affection, and he lets a hum.

A comfortable silence falls over the two, and if they weren’t both akin to the others stared at all time, they would have assumed the other asleep.

“I wish we could stay here forever,” Dazai whisper softly against the smaller man’s skin.

“Yeah?” Chuuya can’t but find his husband adorable.

“Yeah, I just feel so… happy, like this,” he quietly admits, tightening his hold around Chuuya’s waist, if only slightly.

The ginger’s throat feels suddenly tight, so he presses a kiss to Dazai’s head in reply.

They fall back into silence again, the brunette’s head tucked under Chuuya’s chin.

“I love you,” Chuuya murmurs.

“I love you too.”

[wildstar25]

MiqoMarch Day 11 - Loss

[milkywayes]

what's your preferred choice for garrus' loyalty mission? i love that mission a lot...on one hand i want shepard to trust garrus' judgement the way he trusts hers, and when you push him about killing sidonis he points out the people sidonis got killed, and the unfairness of him getting to walk away. on the other hand he is so upset and acts so aggressively during the mission. even tho i do watch him beat up harkin everytime without interfering LOL. harkin had it coming (and it's hot shhh) it's more that garrus is obviously devastated and probably not thinking straight. i do love how shepard and he can argue it out and how much pain he's in for his percieved failure on omega, and his need to find justice. and how much it pains him that there may be a grey area where justice is not clear

My Shepard doesn’t go into the mission expecting to interfere. 

She has her concerns, but ultimately if Garrus asks for her help, her number one goal is to give it. On this suicide mission, he is more than her lieutenant. They both experienced recent, traumatic upheaval, and he is the only thing left that she can derive comfort from, even when he’s not quite the man that she knew. He’s volunteered for her mission, her suicide run, and the least she can do is return the favor and help tie up his one loose end. There might even be a little voice in her head that says, this is the source of his pain and everything about him that’s off and unfamiliar to her, and once it’s excised, she’ll have her crew-mate back how he was.

But then they’re on the mission, and he is less himself than she’s ever seen him. They’re on the mission and he is breaking apart. And she learns exactly how much his team meant to him, and there is no way to forget for even a moment that Sidonis was one of them too.

If he had kept his cool throughout, not let anyone see the emotional state he was in, she would have let him put a bullet in that turian’s head. 

She’s a commander; she understands the position he was in and what he owes his team. She doesn’t give a shit about Sidonis. They’ve all killed people for less. But when Garrus asks her, what would you do if someone betrayed you? Sold out her squad; her friends, for personal gain—betrayed their common goal—left them there to die—

She’d want that vengeance too. But she is far enough removed from that scenario to know that she’d wish someone would take that responsibility from her hands. That dealing with that particular loose end is not something that should be her task. That vigilante justice is well and good until it gets personal, and that as commander, the traitor would have been her subordinate too.

Killing a subordinate and worse, a friend, in cold blood is not something that you can come back from. It’ll stay with you for the rest of your days. Justice served—and you’re the one who pays for it to happen. Every time you close your damn eyes. The exploding head of a person you once swore to look out for.

The price is steep. She doesn’t want to see Garrus pay it. That death, and the deaths of his squad—of his idealism, his dreams—that trail behind it like offal would be an open wound forever. If she interferes, he can be angry at her for breaching his trust and crossing that boundary, but at least he would be hating someone other than himself. 

It’s not really her place. There are turian social mores and particularities at play here that she can’t even pretend to understand beyond simple keywords like loyalty and accountability. It might destroy their relationship and leave her all alone on that facsimile of a ship again. But on this suicide mission, Garrus is more than her lieutenant, and he’s more than just a comforting presence too. 

He’d have to be a hell of a lot more for her to willingly place her skull between the muzzle of his prized sniper rifle and the target that gives him tunnel vision and a twitchy trigger finger.

And he must be, because that’s exactly what she does.

[percabeth4life]

do u dislike thaila?

This made me really talk in the discord and no I DONT hate Thalia. I assume this is about how I tend to write her but that's not out of dislike.

I think Thalia is a character designed for conflict, she's a character who hit the peak and died and did everything a hero should but then she came back. But her story was over, she *did it*. She did the heroes journey, she was finished.

Thalia peaked at 12 years old, she hit the peak of any hero, she died at her peak, she died a hero, she raised her blade and made a final stand and was immortalized for her act, she crafted a barrier with her death. She Died. She hit the glory, she honored her father, she protected her friends, she built a hearth with her soul, she Died and was a hero and hit her peak and she was at rest and she did it. She is the epitome of hero. She died saving her family she died making a sanctuary she is Everything a modern hero should be, right down to the tragedy...

But then she was brought back.

How can she fit in this new world? She *was* the hero, she *did it*, she's *done*, but the world isn't done with her.

She's the odd one out, she finished her story, she's still here, the world isn't for her anymore. She shouldn't be playing a role but she is and it grates. She has to be shoved aside in the end because she doesn't fit.

She finished the journey, she died a hero, she died the epitome of a hero. But she's back and the world isn't for her anymore.

[minzart]

Beggars can't be choosers (6)

Ao3 - Prev - Next

Decepticons & Reader(GN), Receptor & Reader(GN), Lazerbeak & Reader(GN)

You find an "automatic" tank busted in the middle of the night, and as the good millitar Mechanic that you are, you fix it.

Or, the Decepticons don't have a trained doctor(yet), and you just volunteered as a substitute by their leaders' logic and standards

When Rumble nor Frenzy could play "human-keeper", as they called it, it was given to you strange green and purple pieces of a machine, you couldn't recognize what it could transfom into, but you knew it was made of three pieces only, and one of those was a lense

It had been four days since your promotion, and today would be your first attempt at redirecting shipment, you were trembling in anxiety, hoping whoever of the seekers they sent to retrieve the parts knew how to behave, not betting on Thundercracker to play delivery mech as well as personal driver

"Pacing around won't help your charade human" you hear the soft static voice call out from your pocket, you jump in attention anyways, as he rarely speaks

"Maybe, but it does help me vent my anxiety"

"It really doesn't"

"Well, let me pretend it does"

"Relax, everything is going to be fine, we made sure of it"

You stop in your tracks when noticing a black truck coming into view, the shipment is here "alright, now deliver"

Getting closer and closer, the driver stops by your side, pulling down his window and giving you a toothy smile "oi chief! Where we unloading?"

"Hangar 11 is good, the warehouse is being used today" it wasn't a lie, when the warehouse was too fool or being organized, hangar 11 was usually the go to area for temporary storage, the lie was that the warehouse was not in fact in use, but it was full enough that you could play that card if someone asked

"Gotcha" and he drives off

To sell the appearance, you continue your routine without even looking at hangar 11s' direction, helping around repairs, meetings, writting new guides and requests for upgrades on test models, making sure everyone was justified when there was a day missing in their attendance, negotiating with officers, breaking a fight over hangar 4, and finally lunch

You drop in the quiet kitchen, at this hour no-one was present, which is a blessing, you needed to breathe a little without too many eyes on you

"You know" you hear Reflector speaking again as you take one of the few leftover sandwiches "no wonder you adapted quickly to our chain of comand, your job seems very similar to our rank sistem"

You hum

"But you seem dense in some aspects of it"

You roll your eyes, munching down your food and decides to entertain the bot "how so?"

"Perhaps I am just too good at my job, as usual" you hear the pride in him "there are people wanting to take you down"

You sigh "no shit, that's normal"

"But I mean, really want to, as in, actively planing sabotage and rumor spreading"

"..." You stop, picking a small screw from hou pocket as well as him "what did you see?"

"Careful with that thing human, don't shoot the messager" you feel him jump a bit in your hand "one of them is marking your superior constantly on lunch break, the other one is reporting every single mistake you left untouched, I'm still working on the third ones' problem"

You sigh, masaging your temples, you would have to make sure to don't piss off any of your crew then, they can't do anything if you are competent to the majority present "I'll deal with it, thank you"

"Oh?" You hear him laugh "an aknowladgement is rare when not coming from lord Megatron, but apreciated, human"

You finish your lunch and decide to finally go organize the spare parts "You work for the spy section of the Decepticons then?"

"Hm... I don't have this information" you walk with him down the corridors, still pretending to fix him

"What do you mean?"

"That I don't remember that information, it's probably with one of the other two parts of me"

"Other... parts? As in, you split your conscience?"

"Pretty much yeah, into three, each one knowing parts of a whole that then join togheter once requested by lord Megatron"

"Is that... no wait, they didn't tell anyone how their powers work, never mind..." You hum "were you born with this hability?"

"I guess?"

"Got it" you puff, expected, but still sad, you pocket him again when seeing people approaching

.................................

After every part was counted and revised by the staff, you could finally separate some of the things you deem more needed, many were tubes, some wires, many metal plates, a motor for jets and tanks just in case, and wheels

All of that in two big boxes, not bad, you could work with that, passing chains around the cargo you make sure to tie them togheter, this should be enough to hold on the weight in the flight, since the Decepticons don't have members that can transform into comum human grounders... unless Soundwave can and just doesn't want to... no, wait, he is a boom box that plays caccettes, that's right, so you are pretty sure it's gonna be one of the seekers

Picking up your phone you find in the last page a decepticon icon, tapping it your keyboard appears, you write your mensage

[Cargo secured, waiting pick up: Hangar 11]

Upon hitting send, a mensage appears

<searching permitted connection....>

<Megatron - online - operational>

<No more permitted conections>

You tap Megatrons name

<conection access granted>

<menssage sent>

<Make this default conection? Y/N>

You tap back in your phone, ignoring the mensage, now you just have to wait and pay attention to the sky...

Deciding it was too dangerous to stay around longer than half an hour, you go back to your duties, the day pass by smoothly than you expect, and soon enough, you start to worry your menssage never went trough, when a ping calls your attention

[Thundercracker is on his way- 17:25:12 - °°/°°/°°/M.R - D.C: Megatron ]

Oh... well, you'll be damned, maybe the rest of the seekers just despise you... or they just like combat more. You lost counts already of how many times you had to hear Starscream chastise Skywarp about his recklessness in battle, you even joined in once, after you had to bend his wings back in place... for the fifth time in two days

Really, how many times were they to be beaten to learn and try to take over with discretion, it's getting ridiculous how the hell didn't they get beaten once and for all already, you start to wonder how Megatron got to be a dictator in the first place, because apparently who reined Cybertron before they got stuck here was the Decepticons, so what gives, does he have all competent people there and got stuck with the worst of his generals?

Is he even a tyrant anymore? Who is ruling Cybertron if both faction leaders are on earth, surely they got more people fighting up there... is there even a war going on anymore, four million years is a long time, maybe they got in an agreement and once he discovers, the silver tank will short circuit and die

Although... this doesn't mean much for your planet does it? You can feel that, even if for now, they are raiding energy companies for necessity, it would soon become the main purpose of earth for the tyrant, a young planet full of energy... he would suck it dry, but humanity is already doing that, if he wants every single charge of it, he should take down the greedy upper-class main companies first... then again, he probably would just do the political move of "you keep an eye on yours and I'll give you money and let you keep your life"

... eh, nothing you already don't expect from humans between ourselves anyways, in this world it all depends on how useful you are to someone else, and for now, you are very useful for them, so you are safe...

Safer than most anywas, and that was the most comforting thought you had this week

The sky roars, and you know Thundercracker is near, people jump in attention then check to see if it's raining, the day is foogy enough to pretend it will soon, so you run along for Hangar 11

The blue jets await your arrival in good shape, you look for sighs of fatigue or malfunction, he is static, and his turbins stop working slowly, letting them cool down naturally from use, his lights are working in perfect condition, and he stops at perfect distance of the wall of boxes, everything indicating attention and awareness, you smile noting that he is alright

There are some workers around catching a break, you greet them and smoothly goes to the lifting cart, driving it into the chained boxes and dragging them bellow Thundercracker

With a ladders help you fix the cargo in two of his loops, usualy a F-15 isn't supposed to carry this much weight, but a seeker is not a F-15, they are faster, and they are more resistant, the damage you saw in Thundercracker and Skywarp is something you bet would have broken any human jet no problem, but they survive it, probably a property of the flexibility of living metal

So you hope that means they are far stronger too, you give a gentle tap on his wheels, and with start wayving your hands at the cockpit, playing along as if you were silognaling to the pilot the green light for take off

When the engines start you are sure he got the mensage, you hear someone behind you murmur "not even a hello, who even is this guy..."

You shrugged a lie coming naturally to you "capitals' lieutenant"

You hear the loud smack of your coworkers jaw as he gulps, and do your best to keep yourself from smirking smuggly

..........................

Lazerbeak had a different mission today, one not directly given by his boss, but he suspects it was approved anyway since he wasn't sent to the autobots base this cycle anyways, but given by his coworker, it was given as an official mission, it was demanded as one, but he knew it wasn't one

After all, what would they even do with a rusthy human scrap of a two wheel model like this one

Unless the plan was to give it to the little human disassemble, wich was very unlikely, Ravage had been very adamant that he kept the junk intact, perhaps it is a gift, a not so unusual ocurance to the feline minicon when it comes to her favorites, the human did save her life, short off, Lazebeak is still sure anyone would have been able to do that human or not, but the precise surgery that was not a surgery has been reported to be easier to handle than being open and vulnerable in the light of a wrentch

The avian minicon wouldn't know, he was more of a intelligence gathering and last nano-second backup than the others, rarely in need of maintainance himself, so he didn't knew the human as much as he should personally at this point

Even if he was keeping surveillance in them every once in a while, his main job was to keep an eye on autobots, but he was sent to make a quick scan of the military base they frequent

When arriving at the decepticon base, Lazerbeak made sure to put the two wheel model by the medical wing, just as requested

What he didn't expect was the little human to enter right as he was ready to take flight, he freezes, turning his head in their direction, their eyes shone in recognition, a big smile stretching their fleshy face "My bike!"

They run past the minicon immediately, inspecting the item "scratches eveywere, some dents but nothing too damaging, I gotta clean you up of all this sand, oh my baby, how I have missed you!"

Lazerbeak tilts his head a bit in confusion, by Rumble's memory data, a baby should be just a tinny human... perhaps it is also an affectionate term for other things, that would explain it "You got this to me?"

The human looks at him, weary and curious, Lazerbeak lowers his stance, eyes shining once, the human servos twitch tentatively, the avian minicon waits for their reaction, a mischievous glint in his optics

They reach their hand, and Lazerbeak makes a bite in their direction, startling the little thing and making the avian cackle in daylight, the human yelps then remains their composure "alright fine no touching.... thanks anyways"

The little human moves the "bike" over to their own little corner, Ravage has sworn that no matter how far or how fast human contraptions were, Cybertronians were faster, you wouldn't be able to escape even with one hour of advantage in the open desert

And with that, the air spy goes back to his commander, to Megatrons' office he flies, were Soundwave is found discussing matters with their leader

"Any luck with our preparations Soundwave?" The warlord asks, focusing on datasets instead of his spy comander

"Humans EM fields: unstable" the blue mech says, opening his chest for Lazerbeak to doc "Long distance reading: poor quality, intentions vaguely acknowledged at best, Short distance reading: better intention percieved, no cohesive thoughts detected, Phisical conected: still to be tested"

"Good, see to it that you find a way to read a humans mind, the autobots aquired another fleshbag to their ranks, from last reports he seems to be a scientist prodigy, his knowledge on the new energy source they are working on might be useful to us"

"Decoy base: evaluated?"

"Skywarp is working on it, dismissed"

The comander nods, giving a brief tap to his Chamber and leaves, walking back to his shared, but only he uses anyways, office with the air comander, analyzing Lazerbeaks recordings as he does

The spy commander feels Ravage indignation of her gift being given credit to the avian, caccette growling inside him despite her recharge mode, the minicon doesn't seem to care, still pleased at being praised and the change of scenery, Soundwave notes your care with the motorbike, filing the information in case of second hand punishment being needed

Usualy he would now make surveillance as Ravage and Frenzy recharge, the base being almost done, perhaps by the end of seven cycles they could get to work in a transmission tower and finally contact Cybertron

However, if he could finish his human EM field analysis this cycle still, he could move on to more pressing matters, like a plan of kidnapping the human they needed, he is still in need of locating his charging quarters in the autobot base or outside it

As he thinks the blue mech notices his peds driving him to the medical wing, of course, they already do have a human...

Your EM field was always on high alert around him, and most mechs that were far bigger than you, if he noticed correctly, fear surrounding that little head of yours when anyone walks in, not unusual to those who knows about the second form of the disguised mechs, but you were the recent stuborn decision his lord has had

Too valuable to accidentally get rid off, hence he avoided using you directly as a case study first, only as a hipotesis confirmation, humans do not feel his information scans, and that was that, but now... would he risk Lord Megatrons' wrath if his reading in direct contact to a humans mind might potentially fry whatever you have as a processor?

Then again, it would just be a more in deep scan, and it was already proven it didn't hurt from afar...

Slowly he approaches, registering the faint tune you hum, a deep part of him want to tap to the beat, it is quite simple, but he wouldn't be a spy master if he succumbed to these types of urges. He is as close as he can without letting his shadow give him away, in a split second the decision is made, the second you turn around as you noticed the massive mech, with one single digit he pokes your head "wh-?!"

The small creature freezes, gripping the small cloth like their life depends on it, he hold backs a small chuckle, they were amusing to mess with, this, he agreed with his cassettes. Going back to his task, he pats your head more firmly now, concentrating in the waves of energy in one single point, then spreading it to your whole body, the experiment a sucess,he hears your voice

"W..... appening..."

Then he adds his other hands' finger, your voice grows clearer

"Is ...... this..... ?"

Then he vents in frustration and decides to just concentrate all fingers in two spots by your heads' side

"Oh yeah, I definitively passed out on the pile, this is too much for this late of the night... or is it morning already?"

Good, he could work on humans as well, now for a test run in interrogation

"Query: do you know my designation?" Lets start simple

Your eyes shot open "designation-name name of course, name name name his name- fuck, names-"

An image, a memory, a hand inside a lavender piston, a voice, Frenzys voice "are you stupid?! He doesn't know we are here! Do you want to blow our cover?!"

"If he did he would have come and killed the human after yesterdays warning", "a name a name a name a name Frenzys and Rumbles boss-", his own voice "Patient designation: Ravage", then Rumbles' "Bah stop being such a weenie... did-"

"Soundwave..." "SIR DONT FORGET THE SIR YOU DUMBASS" "sir"

More voice than image, but upon called an especific memory it will apear, even if a bit turved, he can work with that, he stops his pats, and can't hold back the chuckle, your fur is sticking out "Assistance: apreciated"

Without any delay, he gets up, and starts walking out of the room, but halts in his way, Megatron is watching from the door, the spy master feels his optics widen and his visor brighten, his posture goes rigid "Lord Megatron"

The silver tyrant hasn't caught his third in command this flustered since the start of this war, it all becomes more comical by the absolute confusion that is scrunched up in the humans face, it is becoming harder and harder not burst laughing "Soundwave"

"This is the weirdest fantasy I have ever had" that does it, the warlord wheeze out a deep hawling laugh, he can't contain it, the allegations of a pet human are going to sky rocket after this but frag it, it was all worth for seeing this scene alone

You and Soundwave look at each other in an empaty-driven concern for the well-being of your own lives, and it only gets worse when you hear a scratchy voice from somewhere in the base screaming "WHAT THE PIT IS THAT SOUND?!"

In a blink of an eye, Soundwave is not by your side anymore, the traitor has abandoned you, Megatron claps his knees, and you hear his vents struggle to keep a consistent intake "I needed this, oh, I forgot I could do that, frag- my vents- scrap... what were you two doing?"

"Honestly, boss?" You decide to just... lay on the ground for a little while, things couldn't get weirder "I have no idea"

And the laugh starts again, but he at least leaves the med bay, and you start to suspect that this is all an elaborated TV prank

[sashketter]

Andor has done more for female empowerment than the whole of SW canon bc between Mon Mothma and her husband, Leida and her new husband, and Dedra and Syril, the ladies are either shown or said to be the leader of the couple and let’s of course not forget the mothers, Maarva who sparked a riot at her own funeral and Eedy who’s headstrong in her own way, and the space lesbians Vel and Cinta who can successfully operate independently of each other and men, and even Talia who harbored Brasso and Bix who herself survived torture and was half of the first implied sex scene in SW history, and they all actively exercise agency in their own stories and none of them are without faults like thank you Tony Gilroy for a wide spectrum of women!

[sableeira]

please humor my self-indulgent artwork for the historical AU I mentioned like half a year ago and finally started writing. Detective Dazai and swordsman-for-hire Chuuya teaming up to solve crime cases during the Meiji period ✨

close-up because after a decade on this website I still haven’t figured out how to get images to look sharp

[stump-not-found]

.

what's happened to me that a 10k word chapter now feels short

[burningcheese-merchant]

i luved ur burning cheese fic on ao3 especially bc no one posts ab them..im somewhat inspired to post my own burning cheese content

Which one? I've written a bunch of them haha. Whichever one it is, thank you! It always makes my day when people come tell me they enjoy my work ❤️

And I understand your pain... Not enough BurningCheese content of any kind, at least on the Western side. Asian side of the fandom is filled to bursting with fanart and stuff. I think the problem is that most people on our side of the fence are terrified to ship it publicly because there's a risk of harassment and ostracization from the others, because boo hoo toxic boo hoo abuser x abused (and then they'll turn around and ship Hollyt4ya and ShadowSp1ce like the cowardly hypocrites they are lol). I'm tempted to assume most of my asks are anonymous for that reason. It's a shame, really. It's all a shame. Shame that BurningCheese doesn't get the love and attention it deserves and shame that anyone who tries to give it is burned at the stake for it

But I really do encourage you to post content! Pretty please! The world always needs more BurningCheese stuff. I'm only one person, I can't do it all alone haha