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liberaljane · 2 months

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Women's Not So Distant History

This #WomensHistoryMonth, let's not forget how many of our rights were only won in recent decades, and weren’t acquired by asking nicely and waiting. We need to fight for our rights. Here's are a few examples:

📍 Before 1974's Fair Credit Opportunity Act made it illegal for financial institutions to discriminate against applicants' gender, banks could refuse women a credit card. Women won the right to open a bank account in the 1960s, but many banks still refused without a husband’s signature. This allowed men to continue to have control over women’s bank accounts. Unmarried women were often refused service by financial institutions entirely.

📍 Before 1977, sexual harassment was not considered a legal offense. That changed when a woman brought her boss to court after she refused his sexual advances and was fired. The court stated that her termination violated the 1974 Civil Rights Act, which made employment discrimination illegal.⚖️

📍 In 1969, California became the first state to pass legislation to allow no-fault divorce. Before then, divorce could only be obtained if a woman could prove that her husband had committed serious faults such as adultery. 💍By 1977, nine states had adopted no-fault divorce laws, and by late 1983, every state had but two. The last, New York, adopted a law in 2010.

📍In 1967, Kathrine Switzer, entered the Boston Marathon under the name "K.V. Switzer." At the time, the Amateur Athletics Union didn't allow women. Once discovered, staff tried to remove Switzer from the race, but she finished. AAU did not formally accept women until fall 1971.

📍 In 1972, Lillian Garland, a receptionist at a California bank, went on unpaid leave to have a baby and when she returned, her position was filled. Her lawsuit led to 1978's Pregnancy Discrimination Act, which found that discriminating against pregnant people is unlawful

📍 It wasn’t until 2016 that gay marriage was legal in all 50 states. Previously, laws varied by state, and while many states allowed for civil unions for same-sex couples, it created a separate but equal standard. In 2008, California was the first state to achieve marriage equality, only to reverse that right following a ballot initiative later that year.

📍In 2018, Utah and Idaho were the last two states that lacked clear legislation protecting chest or breast feeding parents from obscenity laws. At the time, an Idaho congressman complained women would, "whip it out and do it anywhere,"

📍 In 1973, the Supreme Court affirmed the right to safe legal abortion in Roe v. Wade. At the time of the decision, nearly all states outlawed abortion with few exceptions. In 1965, illegal abortions made up one-sixth of all pregnancy- and childbirth-related deaths. Unfortunately after years of abortion restrictions and bans, the Supreme Court overturned Roe in 2022. Since then, 14 states have fully banned care, and another 7 severely restrict it – leaving most of the south and midwest without access.

📍 Before 1973, women were not able to serve on a jury in all 50 states. However, this varied by state: Utah was the first state to allow women to serve jury duty in 1898. Though, by 1927, only 19 states allowed women to serve jury duty. The Civil Rights Act of 1957 gave women the right to serve on federal juries, though it wasn't until 1973 that all 50 states passed similar legislation

📍 Before 1988, women were unable to get a business loan on their own. The Women's Business Ownership Act of 1988 allowed women to get loans without a male co-signer and removed other barriers to women in business. The number of women-owned businesses increased by 31 times in the last four decades.

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📍 Before 1965, married women had no right to birth control. In Griswold v. Connecticut (1965), the Supreme Court ruled that banning the use of contraceptives violated the right to marital privacy.

📍 Before 1967, interracial couples didn’t have the right to marry. In Loving v. Virginia, the Supreme Court found that anti-miscegenation laws were unconstitutional. In 2000, Alabama was the last State to remove its anti-miscegenation laws from the books.

📍 Before 1972, unmarried women didn’t have the right to birth control. While married couples gained the right in 1967, it wasn’t until Eisenstadt v. Baird seven years later, that the Supreme Court affirmed the right to contraception for unmarried people.

📍 In 1974, the last “Ugly Laws” were repealed in Chicago. “Ugly Laws” allowed the police to arrest and jail people with visible disabilities for being seen in public. People charged with ugly laws were either charged a fine or held in jail. ‘Ugly Laws’ were a part of the late 19th century Victorian Era poor laws.

📍 In 1976, Hawaii was the last state to lift requirements that a woman take her husband’s last name. If a woman didn’t take her husband’s last name, employers could refuse to issue her payroll and she could be barred from voting.

📍 It wasn’t until 1993 that marital assault became a crime in all 50 states. Historically, intercourse within marriage was regarded as a “right” of spouses. Before 1974, in all fifty U.S. states, men had legal immunity for assaults their wives. Oklahoma and North Carolina were the last to change the law in 1993.

📍 In 1990, the Americans with Disability Act (ADA) – most comprehensive disability rights legislation in U.S. history – was passed. The ADA protected disabled people from employment discrimination. Previously, an employer could refuse to hire someone just because of their disability.

📍 Before 1993, women weren’t allowed to wear pants on the Senate floor. That changed when Sen. Moseley Braun (D-IL), & Sen. Barbara Mikulski (D-MD) wore trousers - shocking the male-dominated Senate. Their fashion statement ultimately led to the dress code being clarified to allow women to wear pants.

📍 Emergency contraception (Plan B) wasn't approved by the FDA until 1998. While many can get emergency contraception at their local drugstore, back then it required a prescription. In 2013, the FDA removed age limits & allowed retailers to stock it directly on the shelf (although many don’t).

📍 In Lawrence v. Texas (2003), the Supreme Court ruled that anti-cohabitation laws were unconstitutional. Sometimes referred to as the ‘'Living in Sin' statute, anti-cohabitation laws criminalize living with a partner if the couple is unmarried. Today, Mississippi still has laws on its books against cohabitation.

#art #feminism #women's history #women's history month #iwd2024 #international women's day #herstory #educational #graphics #history #70s #80s #rights #women's rights #human rights

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celenawrites · 9 months

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You apologize to Simon.

AO3 Version

Three days.

Three days of silence since you and Simon had a fight over something insignificant enough for you to even forget about it after a night’s sleep. Three days of silence and avoidance due to an argument that could’ve ended in less than an hour had you been more amenable. You can make excuses all you want (and you’d like to, it’s easier than acknowledging you’re the one at fault for a change - easier to ignore the lump in your throat and your shortened breath, or how warm your ears are from shame) - talk about how shitty this week had been, how much of a right cunt your boss was, or how things just don’t seem to go your way no matter what you do; despite your best efforts, life seemed to be holding a mean grudge against you and punishing all your efforts for it lately.

Paired with all the shitty things in your life at the moment, and one of these days when Simon ends up saying something to you in a tone that you couldn’t seem to take kindly to (you try your best to understand people and what they say to you, you really do; yet your past has never been as kind to you, and sometimes your patience runs thin despite your best efforts) - which ultimately resulted in you screaming your head off at him. Simon has the patience of a saint on most days - years of war, trauma, and abuse had motivated him to be much kinder than his family ever was, urging him to do everything in his power to never end up as the man who sired him.

But you forget sometimes that he’s a Lieutenant and he has the tenacity and the rage needed to put the rowdy recruits at the base into place just fine. So when his anger snaps and it does when you decide that he doesn’t get a chance to defend himself (you’re judge, jury, and executioner and you have condemned him for a transgression not his own), he matches your cruel word for cruel word - dark eyes sizing you up as he raises his voice at you in a way that makes your lip quiver and your eyes burn with tears of shame and burning anger as you throw him a mean glance before locking yourself up in the bedroom.

Simon sleeps on the couch that night.

You feel guilty the moment you wake up and notice the cold, empty space beside you - the lack of his warm body lying beside you is a sight that will possibly haunt you for the rest of your days. You note the time and you go out of the room, hoping to find your boyfriend sitting on the sofa after his morning run as he wipes his damp forehead with a micro-fiber towel, his brown pupils tracking the time just as you hear the kettle on the gas give out a loud whistle, evident of the fact that Simon had made both of your tea to share in the morning before you both part ways. Instead, you find the empty apartment greets you. You expected as much.

He’s angry - at you and at himself, and if he was here, you’d have told him you share the same sentiments. But he’s nowhere to be found in your shared apartment. So you whip up a quick English breakfast, put out all the things he’d need for him to brew his beloved Earl Grey when if he decides to come back and then you leave for work in a hurry. Your mind is preoccupied with worry - about work, about your mess of a life, about Simon and if he has eaten yet. The day passes you by in a blur, and you find yourself finally free from the dissociation you have been plagued with since morning, when you hear the sounds of your footsteps on the concrete sidewalk, taking the long route back home despite the setting sun painting the sky a blood orange, bleeding into the soft clouds and reflecting off of the shiny glass windows adorning the buildings around you. You prolong the commute for some reason - not in a rush to head back home just yet, afraid that this fight might have broken the camel’s back; that you’d return home and find him just gone.

Like a ghost.

Your fears are unfounded, luckily - you open the door to your house and find him sitting near the dining table with his arms neatly crossed up on the mahogany table, his face covered by a black surgical mask, and his eyes are unfocused as if he’s meditating deep in thought. You’re almost surprised that your entrance didn’t break him out of his thoughts, out of his own head. Your head feels heavy just by looking at him, and the way your throat constricts forces you to skip dinner altogether as you quickly grab a granola bar (or two) and decide to leave for the bedroom just as quickly, dumping your office attire in the wicker laundry basket near your bed. You leave the door to the bedroom unlocked.

Just in case, you tell yourself.

Your night mainly consists of tossing and turning haphazardly - you’re free to move due to the absence of those strong, scarred arms that hold you still and provide you the tether you need in order to actually fall asleep; but your restlessness eventually tires you out enough for you to catch at most a measly two-to-three hours of rest that leaves your eyes aching for more respite when the sunlight invades the softness of your room uninvited, blinding you for a solid minute as you try to gather your wits about you.

When you turn around in your bed, you’re surprised to find it all messy (as if someone had slept in it while you were knocked out) and it smells of him. Him and his pine body wash and the little smoke that clings to him whenever he decides to go out and hang out with his military friends in a seedy pub and drink cheap beer and half-assed whiskey (he wouldn’t dare touch their Bourbon unless it was Kentucky). He slept here.

It has been over a day since you last spoke to each other, but the idea of Simon still sleeping near you gives you a sense of comfort you weren’t aware you needed.

You spend the day in and out of the house since it’s the weekend - bringing in fresh groceries from the farmer’s market and laying down all the vibrant fruits in a glass bowl at the center of the dinner table. You find Simon standing near the kitchen with a brush as he oils the hinges of the creaky door. You both acknowledge each other with a soft nod of your heads as you go about your day tackling chores that the busy week has allowed you to neglect till now.

Then, you place the new succulents you couldn’t resist buying (couldn’t resist as they reminded you of Simon), and you adjust the window curtains so that they get ample sunlight. You turn around to see if Simon’s here; if he’d noticed the new plant pots and manure packets you had picked up - you wonder if he’d shake his head, almost amused as he joins you to tend to the little succulent pots. Instead, you hear the whirring of the lawn mower to indicate that your partner is outside, getting rid of the tall grass that invades the grounds surrounding your little home.

Then you notice that it is already noon, and decide to brew yourself some ginger tea and plate some oatmeal cookies on a saucer plate as you snuggle into the weary green couch with your current read (a book you had heard people rave about on social media, which made you buy it the moment the local bookstore had it in stock) and drape the cozy baby pink blanket over your shoulders. Simon is still outside, still working on the sparse vegetation of your lawn. You’d like him here right now, with you - drinking the tea from your cup and stealing one of your cookies as he pinches your cheek while you whine to him about it; his soft hands playing with the stray strands of your hair and pulling you into him till your head rests on his chest and his soft heartbeat lulls you to sleep with a lullaby of his worn heart.

Instead, you sit alone on the sofa, and you almost call out to him and your lead tongue weighs heavy in your jaw (makes it tick an awful lot) and you reason with yourself that the whirring of the loud mower would make it near impossible for him to hear you anyway, so there’s really no merit in screaming your head off as you try to call out to him over the noise.

You excuse your hesitation with technicalities - it has been a lifelong habit.

Reading with a warm cup of tea has made you drowsy (almost compliant) and you don’t remember when you had allowed yourself to close your eyes, your hands loosen their grip on the book as it fell onto the plush cushion beside you. You wake up an hour or so later, to the afternoon sun blinding your eyes momentarily, and you rub them lightly with your fingers as you try to rub the sleep away. You find the house awfully quiet, an anomaly from what it usually used to be - the background noise of the television playing a repeat of an old season of the baking show you and Simon would watch while holding each other close, the rhythmic ‘thump thump thump!’ of the hammer as Simon works on whatever passion project you have on your mind (you remember when he made you a dresser from scratch, and when you showed him the Pinterest post that inspired you to request his services, he squinted at the small device screen as he probably wondered how he had ended up being your personal handyman), or the sound of scrawling of ball-point pens as he tries to solve the daily sudoku puzzle in the newspaper. You can hear none of it.

And there is no whirring of the lawn mower in the backyard anymore.

You look into the bedroom, and kitchen en route to find it empty - the bed is still well made and there is no 6 '4 behemoth of a man hunched over the gas stove as he brews himself another cup of Earl Grey for the day. You decide to climb the stairs, hoping to find your boyfriend holed up in the spare bedroom that you both had renovated into a study room - something Simon can use whenever he’s forced to bring work to home, and when you need to hole yourself up as you try to finish an impromptu project the night before a very important meeting (that never worked out for you) or work on your work reports that truly embodies ‘brevity is the wit of the soul’ with how empty the Word document looks despite you staring at your laptop screen for hours on end, urging yourself to just write something.

You open the door lightly, cringing as the hinges squeak at the minute movement. Guess he only oiled the kitchen door today. You peer into the room, apprehensive of facing your partner head-on, stealing a glance into the usually empty room with your heels off the floor, ready to take flight at the slightest hint of confrontation. God knows your heart cannot take it.

Simon is hunched over the mahogany desk, his head is cushioned by his crossed arms (you can admire his tattoo sleeve with the black t-shirt he had decided to wear, despite the sweltering heat) and he seems to be fast asleep. Christ, he’s gorgeous.

The sunlight makes his hair light up, and his relaxed face along with scars and healing bruises remind you of the vibrancy and lightness that Monet’s paintings possess. You never thought a person could be like art. And then you met Simon Riley.

He’s snoring out loud, his blonde hair is a mess - strands of hair pointing in all directions (you still need to cut his hair right; his last haircut had ended up with him having uneven layers all over his head - you’d have much preferred that he should’ve just taken a trimmer and given himself a buzz so at least he can regrow his blonde hair right) and he’s sweating buckets while sleeping on the wooden table. And while you still hold some anger in your heart for how your last argument went, and yet all you can think about is how much you love him. You don’t blame him entirely for how you both are now - skittish and walking on eggshells, the wounds of your previous fight still fresh and stinging and oozing with crimson.

You know you're in the wrong as well, but it's hard to make amends with your dear boyfriend because whenever you try to speak to him you feel a lump in your throat that stops you from speaking your true feelings out loud to him. Shame creeps up on you like the weight of the world is on your shoulders alone (is this how Atlas felt?), and the humiliation chokes you off - your tongue heavy with unsaid things and your empty arms aching to forego all niceties and hold him where he truly belongs.

So you decide to break the silence between the both of you in the best way you know how, because you love Simon. Because you love him more than you love your bruised ego.

You make him his favorite tea (‘Was it his third or fourth cup of Earl Grey?’, you mused while pouring the hot beverage into a clean mug.) and cleanly cut open a clementine from the groceries you had brought in earlier (your hands are sticky with its juices as you try to separate each piece from its leathery peel), fanning out all the pieces over the flowered ceramic plate, something you had convinced Simon to buy for the house when you first decided to visit a flea market together to stock up on necessary things after your lover finally asked you to move in with him. That was over a year ago.

Words may be failing you right now, but you hope your actions can convey your remorse and love for him.

You walk back into the room to see Simon awake, his hands rubbing all over his face as he tries to get rid of the fatigue. You freeze, unsure of how to handle your current predicament. You have been hoping that he’d be still sleeping so that you could quietly place the tray near the table and leave without disturbing him. But he’s awake, and as he glances back at you, you wonder if you look like a deer caught in the headlights - your little detour interrupted by his alert as he takes all sensibilities away from your being.

“You brought me fruit”, he said dumbly.

“Yeah. And tea”, you reply back dumbly.

You stare for a beat too long and then abruptly cross the room, quietly placing the plastic tray with the fruits and his tea mug on the study table. You notice the manila folders scattered around, some pages strewn around his working space but you avert your eyes to avoid reading anything written on them - you’d rather not read all that he has to deal with on almost a daily basis as a man of the military. In such moments, you truly do not envy Simon.

“Uh, I’ll leave you to it then”, you whisper to him, all soft as you swallow the words you truly wish to say. I love you so much. I’m so sorry. I wish I could hold you. I cannot lose you. Please be angry, be mad at me, yell as much as you want. Hold me, I miss you.

You wish you could at least choke on them to save face.

You leave the room instead.

You clean up the living room - you fold the blanket and fluff the pillows and you ignore how your back burned with his gaze on you as you left the study room. You put the flowery bookmark where you had last stopped reading and you go to the kitchen to prepare something light and easy for lunch (pasta in white sauce and toasted garlic bread) and you ignore the urge to drop everything and rush upstairs and spill all the apologies you have wished to communicate but have failed to since the day of the fight.

Your ego has always reared its ugly head in moments like these. What was borne as a means to protect yourself with the wounds your loved ones had inflicted on you has now made it impossible for you to make amends with the only man that matters to you on God’s green Earth. But ego is nothing compared to the love you have for Simon. So when you’re done with the cooking, you take your sweet time cleaning up the island of the kitchen and you go upstairs to invite him for lunch - you hope the food will soften him up enough to accept the apology you will offer him as a white flag later on.

You peek inside the room, standing behind the half-closed room and you see him sitting in the black ergonomic office chair (you had bought it after you couldn’t listen to his back crack every time he got up from bed, or from the plastic chair that he used to sit in while staying at his desk for hours on end, only agonizing his fucked-up back further). He’s leaning back on the chair and it creaks under his weight slightly, and he stays motionless, eyes closed and shoulders tense. It’s even better since you won’t have to be weighed down by his intense eyes.

You walk on your toes, socked feet muted and nimble as they walk across the hardwood floor and you note that he had finished up all the clementine pieces you had laid out for him on the floral plate, and the orange mug is mostly empty - save for remains of sugar residue sticking at the very bottom of the utensil. (You had been surprised to know that the scary, big man you call your boyfriend had a sweet tooth. Luckily, it gave you the perfect excuse to visit the bakery two blocks down on your way back home from work with a paper box of dessert or two.)

You know how hard it really is for him to be at ease, and his tensed shoulders serve as the testimony to that harsh truth. You know sneaking up on him like this will only make him lash out - all in the name of pure self-preservation. And you won’t ever blame him for it. He hasn’t told you all of it, but between shared silences and a post-coital cigarette on his behalf, he’d open up - the endorphins would make him talk sometimes, and he’d talk of his Ma. Of Tommy. Never his dad. He hasn’t laid down the entirety of his scarred soul bare for you, but you know enough to not hurt him like that ever again. So you gently allow yourself to take note of his uneven hair and say, “I keep forgetting to cut your hair”.

Your hand creeps up on his neck, eager palm gently running through the golden tufts as they coil around the tips of your fingers. Your attention is on the way his shoulder tenses when you announce your presence in the room. (You’re certain he knew you had come here before, and he knew you were here before you even came this close. He’d never leave himself this vulnerable if he knew there was a threat abound.)

His shoulders stay the same, but you can hear the audible exhale he lets out, and you slowly use your other hand to gently massage the area where his neck meets his shoulder - aware of the stiffness that has been ailing him there for a while now. He groans in relief, and he blinks his eyes open to greet you with brown pupils and a solemn look you fail to decipher.

He looks at you with his head tilted back against the chair, and you focus on the lightning-like scars that cover half of his face, traveling from his temple all the way to the left corner of his chapped lips. “Thank you for the snacks”, he mutters, his eyes trailing all over your face.

You hum a little, not providing him with a response.

“Would’ve been nicer if you were here to eat them with me…”, he trails off, hoping you’d catch the bait.

“Yeah. Would’ve been even better if we talked too, no?” You smile down at him, and you gently scratch his scalp as you kiss his temple, murmuring your apology against his skin like a forgotten prayer to an old deity. I’m sorry. Sorry. Sorry.

“I’m so sorry for being a cunt. You know that right, Simon?” you ask him, and you can already feel your chest cave in on itself and your eyes burn with tears of remorse.

“Wasn’t like I was any better, lovie”, he mumbles, and you feel his shoulders sag in relief under your touch. You tell yourself that’s a good sign.

“Still…”, your fingers gently mess with his hair, “Should’ve swallowed my damn ego, and apologized to you soon”. It’s a learning process. For both of you.

“Would’ve been easier if you didn’t scamper about whenever you saw me”, there’s amusement in his eyes, and you chuckle at him fondly as you invite him to join you for lunch. He turns the chair around until he’s facing you, and then he pulls your wrist in his hand as he reverently lays down a gentle peck against your knuckles. (You know your skin carries the taste of dish soap on it, and you hope it doesn’t taste too bitter when Simon kisses your hands as if they were God.)

“Missed you”, he speaks against your skin, mimicking your prayer as he looks up at you, and your breath hitches - just a little as you stare down at Simon. Your dear Simon.

The silence was maddening.

“I missed you too, Simon”.

Note -

I got my first apology from a now-close friend of mine when I was 18 years old, and God did it change how I looked at love and people completely. So I guess this piece is dedicated to that friend. Thank you, Voltie. <3

Also, I mainly show my love for people through gift-giving and acts of service and I think Simon is a big 'acts of service' guy…..so here it is - Simon dealing with a girlie who is just as emotionally constipated and can only show her love by doing things for him

totally not inspired by my Asian/Desi upbringing lol

Divider by @/firefly-graphics

#call of duty #cod #cod:mw2 #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley x you #call of duty angst #simon ghost riley angst #simon riley #ghost x you #ghost x reader #cod ghost angst #char.simon ghost riley

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dreamescapeswriting · 4 months

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The Dragster League ~ BC

WORD COUNT:4.4K

GENRE: Motorsport AU, established relationships, angst, moody chan taking his anger out on everyone around him, yn being there for him no matter what, cute, fluffy ending, arguments. @preciouslilmonster

PAIRING: Chan x Fem!Reader

⤜Copyright: © DreamEscapesWriting - January 2024

⤜MASTERLIST

They say one second can change your life forever and it was Chan who knew that saying better than anybody lately. One second had completely derailed his life and his career and none of it was even his fault.

All year long Chan's life had been put on hold for this moment and it was going to be a life changer either way. The clock on the wall seemed to tick by slower as Chan swallowed the lump in his throat awaiting the verdict that could potentially ruin him.

Chan lay there in the hospital bed staring down at his wrist in silence, everyone in the room was drowned out as he just stared down at the cast that now covered his right hand and wrist. It was a black colour - fitting since he felt as though a part of him was dying, ever since that damn accident he couldn't shake the feeling that nothing was ever going to be the same again.

"He'll more than likely never be able to drive again," "We don't see it being a possibility for him to get complete function in that hand again"

He'd been pretending to be asleep while the doctors spoke to his parents about his condition, although it was 26 years old it didn't change the fact that his parents were always going to be there supporting him and be his emergency contact in cases like these.

"We can recommend some physiotherapy but it might not be able to get back to 100%" The doctor explained making Chan's stomach sink to the floor, if his hand wasn't back to 100% he was never going to be able to race properly again. The judges who determined whether or not he could race would disqualify him, and replace him with someone new and someone who wasn't broken.

"I came as quickly as I could-" Your voice broke Chan out of his daze as he stared over in your direction, your outfit was dishevelled and you looked like you were sweating. You'd been running, running for him? Your keys jangled in your hand and he smiled a little, he knew those keys well. They belonged to the car the two of you had built together four summers ago when you first started dating one another and it still ran like a dream.

Mostly because you and Chan would fix anything that went wrong with it, not wanting to lose something the two of you held so close to you. But now that he thought about it, it made him feel sick he was never going to be able to make a car with you again, not with the same strength he did before. His life was over and he knew it.

"What happened?" You whispered rushing over to Chan and looking down at him, his heart picked up a little as you smoothed your hand over his cheek and placed a warm kiss on his forehead. You'd been working when you got a text telling you Chan had a small accident and you put everything down and ran out of the shop without a word to your employees. You must have broken about 16 traffic laws trying to get to the hospital but you didn't care, all you wanted to know was if Chan was alright.

"His car was faulty, he crashed-" The doctor explained calmly as if it was the most normal thing in the world but you cut him off.

"Crashed?! And I just got a text?! How?! H-How did it- How fast was he going?!" You'd been at work when you got a text letting you know your boyfriend had an accident and was in the hospital. You'd expected that he'd fallen over or something not a crash.

"I wasn't going fast, I was doing a test run on the track. I went around the corner and my brakes-" Chan tried to explain but someone cut him off,

"His brakes were fine." A man's voice cut off from the door, you glanced up to see the manager of the race track - Ryan- staring in his direction, Chan physically tensed from beside you.

You knew he didn't like him and with good reason, not only was he the manager of the race track where most of Chan's races took place he was also the father of one of the racers Chan beat every single race. Ryan was a sleazeball and an unnerving feeling made you think he might have had something to do with it, especially with the way he was trying to gaslight Chan.

"We checked the car, nothing was wrong with it. You must have hit the wrong pedal." Ryan said as if it was the easiest thing in the world for someone to do, but when you'd been driving as long as Chan had it was damn near impossible for that to happen.

"I've been driving for 10 years, I didn't hit the wrong pedal!" He growled out, your hand squeezed his shoulder a little as you stared at Ryan something didn't feel right about any of it.

"My brakes were cut," Chan mumbled and you looked down at him, taking in the tear-stained cheeks and blood-shot eyes he was sporting. It wasn't like Chan to cry over something so you knew he must have been telling the truth about the car brakes, Chan knew when something was wrong with a car and you KNEW he wasn't one to push the wrong pedal.

"I'll have my men look at the car-" Ryan tried to say but you weren't going to let some creep take the car and ruin any chance of finding out the truth.

"I'll do it," You shot out quickly, not wanting anyone to tamper with the evidence if what Chan was saying was true.

"Excuse me? I'd rather have a fully qualified team look into it, luckily I have those on hand." Ryan snapped out, and Chan's mother let out a low chuckle at the thought of Ryan calling you unqualified to do your job. Something you'd been doing for almost 10 years of your life now, you'd been raised to do this job.

"All due respect, Ryan. I am a fully qualified mechanic, I will look at the car with MY team." You shot him down and the man narrowed his eyes at you,

"You're a woman." You blinked at him, as did Chan's parents who seemed to wonder what significance it had to the subject. Meanwhile, Chan was smirking to himself on the bed, this was going to be the best entertainment he was going to get for a while and he was going to soak up every second of it.

"Yes, and you're a man...I'm so glad we could establish this," You scoffed sarcastically at him, reaching for your phone and already calling your Autoshop,

"But-" The phone rang as Ryan tried to come up with something he could say while you - along with everyone else inside of the room - stared him down,

"Are you trying to tell me women can't be mechanics?" You arched a brow at him and one of your workers on the other end of the phone answered but you stayed silent,

"No...But-"

"Are you trying to avoid me looking into my boyfriend's car because you have something to hide?" The other line of the phone "Ohh'd" and "Ahh'd" listening to you and you did your best to hide the smirk,

"No..."

"Then I suggest you stay out of my way and I will stay out of yours," You turned away from Ryan and began talking to your team on the other end of the phone while Chan watched you with a proud smile on his face.

After a few days of being in the hospital, Chan was finally released and let home, you were doing everything to make it accommodating for him but that didn't mean he was doing the same for you.

Since the accident Chan had turned into a mean old man, snapping at everyone whenever they'd bring up the accident or even mention his wrist being broken. You'd managed to stay out of his line of fire...until tonight that was.

"Have you managed to look into the car yet? My brakes weren't working," He told you as you bought him some hot chicken noodle soup. He wasn't sick but you still liked to make him this meal whenever he was upset, sometimes it felt like a warm hug to you so you wanted to do everything for him.

"Not yet, Vinny and JJ are going to help me look tomorrow,"

"You should have been looking at it before now!" Chan yelled a little and your whole body went numb. In the last five years, Chan had never once raised his voice at you, not even to yell for you to bring something down from upstairs and it made your stomach churn.

"Chan-" You tried to speak but he cut you off, yelling once again,

"You've done nothing but sit around and play fucking nurse and I'm sick of it! You should be figuring out what was wrong with the damn car!" Sighing to yourself you placed the bowl of soup down onto the bedside cabinet and tried your best to stay calm with him.

You knew he was only taking his frustration out on everyone else but that didn't mean he got to do it to you.

"I've been trying to make sure my boyfriend is okay!" You argued with him, losing your cool a little but not yelling half as loud as he was.

"Try doing your fucking job first," He hissed out bitterly in your direction, staring over at the TV that was at the end of the bed where it had been since he came home playing the same reruns of his races again and again while he laid there. The doctors had been offering him physiotherapy for his wrist once the break was fixed but he was refusing everyone's help. He chooses to feel sorry for himself instead of actively trying to fix the problem or even accepting that he might need a little help with it.

"You're lucky it's only a break Chan, we can get it sorted." As soon as you said it you knew it was the wrong choice of words,

"Lucky?! You think this is fucking lucky?!" He screamed out, losing his temper as he held up the cast that was on his wrist,

"I'll never be able to race again! I'll never be able to build a car again! This isn't fucking lucky!" You flinched at the way he yelled, you knew deep down that Chan would never hurt you but you hated when people screamed. It made you feel like you were 1 inch tall and you felt sick to have your own boyfriend doing this to you.

"You could! If you just accepted that you needed help from someone for once in your goddamn life!" It was wrong to yell at him but his screaming at you had been the straw that broke the camel's back. You'd put up with a lot from him, watching him push everyone around him away or refuse to help himself when the doctors offered him it.

"Get out!" He barked out and you felt your whole body drain itself of its blood, you felt cold at the thought of him kicking you out of your shared home.

"Chan-" You pleaded, you knew you shouldn't have yelled back at him. It was never going to stop him from yelling it would only make him double down,

"Get. Out." He bit out, staring at you as he turned red in the face.

"Please...I-I just want to help you," Your voice cracked as tears welled up in your eyes threatening to spill out,

"Help me but figuring out what's wrong with the car." He grumbled as you stared at him and over at the clock at the wall. It was the middle of the night you had nowhere else to go but the shop.

"Call me when you decide to apologise, Christopher." You mumbled grabbing a coat from the back of the bedroom door and going to the wardrobe to fish some spare clothes out and shove them into an overnight bag.

Part of Chan wanted to beg you to stop packing but it was dulled down by the stubborn part of him that just wanted to push everyone away from him. He didn't want help, he didn't want to feel like a burden to you or to anyone else he wanted to be the one to fix this all on his own.

As much as he loved you and the caring side of you it only made him feel worse for you to sit there and wait on him hand and foot, to be there whenever you thought he needed you. It was the last thing he wanted and he knew he was going to have to do a lot of making up to you to make up for the way he had yelled.

It had been a week of constant calls and texts from Chan asking you to come back home, he'd even had Changbin drive him down to the shop so that he could come and see you but you refused to come out of the office when he was around. You were doing what he told you to do, trying to figure out what went wrong with the car, and you'd been strictly instructed to have no contact with him or anyone else from the race track.

"Anything new?" You glanced up at Chan who was standing in the doorway to your auto shop, you were hanging over the bonnet of the car. In his hand was a bouquet of your favourite flower and your favourite take-out in a bag. Anxiety bubbled inside of your throat as your head shot around to look for anyone suspicious that could be looking this way.

"You can't be here," You whispered moving away from the car and ushering him out of the shop. It wasn't because you wanted him to feel bad anymore if anyone saw him here and reported it everything would be thrown out of court,

"If investigators see you're here they could try and say I was swayed into taking your side, I can't discuss the case with you," The police officer that had been around that morning told you the rules pretty clearly and you weren't going to give them any reason to throw his case out.

"Case? What case?" The look of pure confusion on his face made your stomach drop and you pulled him into the storage shed you kept on site and you blew out a breath.

"You don't know?" You assumed his lawyer would have been in contact with him long before now.

"About what Yn, you're confusing me."

"That slimey little fucking weasly." You hissed out losing your cool more and more with every passing second.

"Ryan took your case to court. I assumed you knew. You need to get a lawyer and you need to get one quick." You told him as you glanced over at the crack in the door to make sure no one was listening in.,

"He what?!" Chan's heart began to pound as he thought about it. Second guessing what happened that day on the track like he'd been doing since it happened, did he hit the wrong pedal? Did he push it hard enough if it was the right pedal?

Those questions had been swimming around in his brain for days now and it was something he could never answer unless there was footage of the inside of the car.

"He's trying to prove he had nothing to do with the accident, which only makes him look more guilty. I have four days left with the car before I hand it over to the police who then do their own tests."

"Did you find anything?" He looked down at you and you swallowed the lump in your throat.

"Chan, I can't discuss it with you, they'll throw it out."

"Okay. But there's a camera inside, it usually records everything. Footwork, my face and the speedometer." You frowned a little, you'd been all over that car with a fine-toothed comb about six different times and hadn't found a single camera inside the vehicle.

"I haven't found any cameras in the car..."

"Someone tampered with it before you got it." He whispered, he knew someone had fucked with the car but it was going to be hard to tell who with the cameras being gone.

"There's a little box under the hood. It's like a plane's black box, it records everything. Every pedal pushed, every speed, it tracks everything. Records everything. It won't have footage but it'll tell you if I hit my brakes or if they failed." You'd worked on many cars in your life but motorsport cars were something completely foreign to you which was why you hadn't figured it out yet.

"Chan-" You were going to tell him it was against the rules for him to tell you any of this but he shook his head at you.

"I was never here, you got this information from someone else." He whispered to you as he put the flowers and food down on the table inside of the shed.

"I love you...Okay? They're not letting me go near you until the invitation is through," You whispered as you reached your hand over and gently touched his cheek. The court had put you up inside a nice hotel until the investigation was over, and you'd promised to stay impartial to anything you found inside the car.

"I love you too, I'm sorry I yelled." He whispered before leaning closer and kissing your lips softly, god he'd missed getting to touch you like this.

"I'm sorry about everything." You whispered but Chan stepped back and shook his head at you.

"No. Don't, YOU have nothing to apologise for. It was me, you're right. I need to stop feeling sorry for myself and accept help," You nodded a little and glanced over at Vinny who was coming toward the shed.

"Vinny will take you home, keep your head down in the back of the car until you're in a safe spot." You whispered to him before quickly kissing him and darting over to Vinny explaining the situation.

Throughout the entire trial, the defendant's team had been trying to get your statements and professional opinion thrown out of the case. First, they'd tried to claim your relationship with Chan was going to make you biased but once the prosecution relayed that your findings matched with theirs that was thrown out. Then they'd tried to play the "woman" card because you couldn't possibly be able to do your job since you were only a girl.

"How long have you been working at Vinny's, Miss yln?" Chan looked at you but you'd been instructed not to look at him throughout the whole trial which was hard since you missed him. It had almost been four months with no communication with one another besides small glances during meetings or the occasional letter that Vinny passed along for you which had been meticulously read through by officers to make sure you weren't passing information about the case to each other.

"Could you please repeat the question?" You leaned forward and stared at Ryan's lawyer who appeared to be smirking to himself.

"How long have you been working at Vinny's Autoshop?" Chan bit back a smirk as he hid his mouth in his hand and looked down at the paper in front of him.

"I think the correct question to that would be, how long has Vinny been working for me? Sir," You stared at him as he appeared taken back. You weren't about to sit here and let someone else take credit for your own auto shop, something you'd been working from the ground up since you were nineteen years old.

"I own Vinny's Autoshop. Vinny's sounded better than "Yns" Autoshop." You told them plainly making a few of the jurors laugh at the fact that the defendant team got something very wrong.

"How is it, that a woman of your nature could run an auto repair shop?" Mr Can was starting to rub you the wrong way but you weren't about to let him get to you.

"Objection," Chan's lawyer yelled out, staring at the judge who seemed to be tired of this case, after all, it had been going on for almost two weeks now.

"Mr Cane, relevancy to the case?" The judge questioned, staring at the lawyer who shrugged his shoulders,

"Trying to determine how she could run a place and look too good. I mean, her hair and nails are done up, she doesn't appear as though she could work in such a tense environment dominated by men."

"Proceed." The judge watched as you looked at Mr Cane and smiled sweetly, if you had it your way you'd have ended him harshly days ago when he tried to dismiss you.

"Mr Cane. If you believe a girl can't look good while working in a "tense" environment then how do you explain women who are lawyers?" You countered his statement but he didn't appear taken back by it,

"What do you do? Make them coffee while they do all the work in the shop?" He chuckled making your blood boil. You were told to appear calm on the stand but that didn't mean that you were going to be able to.

"No, but I could tell you how to do a tune-up, oil change, brake relining, engine rebuilds and I could even instruct you how to make a car with scrap parts." You stared at him as he stared at you in silence, blinking a little.

"But is it true you aren't an expert on motorsport cars?" The air turned thick and you stared at him. After Chan's visit to you, you'd done every single bit of research that the world had to offer on the cars.

"Yes, that's true." You glanced over at Chan's lawyer who smirked and nodded at you. You had them right where you wanted them now and you were able to bring out the hidden gem you'd been storing away,

"But I am fully qualified enough to be able to find the black box that has all of the recorded data on it from the car in question." Instantly the court began to gasp out and murmur to one another as Mr Cane wandered back over to Ryan who appeared to be looking more nervous as time went by.

"Order!" The judge boomed out as he stared around the room, glancing at you and back over to Mr Cane who was shaking his head.

"The court will take a quick recess. Mr Cane, I suggest you figure out another line of questioning." He grumbled before leaving the courtroom.

"We the jury find the defendant...." The whole of the room seemed to drown out around him as Chan focused on the jurors, some looked guilty while others smirked at one another and nodded their heads as if they were proud of their answers. You looked over at Chan and smiled weakly, you knew he was putting everything he had into this being a guilty verdict and you'd prayed for the best outcome for him.

"Guilty. Guilty on one account of tampering with the brakes. Guilty on one account of removing the cameras from the vehicle and guilty of inflicting grievous bodily harm because of tampered vehicle." The court screamed out and you ran over to Chan throwing your arms around him,

"You did it, baby!" You screamed, kissing him all over his face and he let out a small chuckle.

"We did it," He whispered before kissing you deeply, your arms wrapping around the back of his neck as you pulled him closer to you. Moulding together perfectly as you made out heavily in the court room and Ryan was taken away in cuffs.

It had been a constant battle inside of Chan when he was in physiotherapy, everything inside of him told him to quit but if he had he wouldn't be here right now and on top of the winning podium accepting a trophy.

"I wanted to do a quick speech, to my friends, my family and just everyone who supported me throughout the whole trial." He spoke into the microphone as you watched him from the sidelines.

"None of this would have been possible if it wasn't for my future wife pushing me," You stared at him, your whole body burning as he called you his future wife when the two of you weren't engaged...yet.

"If it wasn't for Yn pushing for me to go past what I thought I was capable of I never would have gone through therapy for my hand and I never would have won this race." He breathed out heavily as he opened his arms for you to come onto the stage and you slowly walked over you him and into his waiting arms. Whining a little as you realised just how many people were watching from the race course and at home,

"I love you and without you, I wouldn't be here," He told you - and the rest of the world that was watching live on TV.

"I wanna spend the rest of my life with you and with racing but with a twist." He told you before turning back to the cameras,

"As of today this is my last race and I'm retiring."

"But your hand is back to 100%" You reminded him but he turned and smirked at you, it was true his hand was better than ever but it didn't mean he was going to race forever.

"I want to pass the racing torch to someone else while I focus on my future with Yn. But I'll still be here, we...will be," He smirked before a curtain dropped behind the stage and people began screaming and cheering wildly.

The track - previously known as Delmar Racing - was changed to "The Dragster League" making you giggle a little. The dragster was what you and Chan had named your car.

"Channie," You whined out before he kissed you deeply, erupting cheers around you, all of it fading into the background as you continued to kiss the love of your life.

#skz #skz x reader #skz imagine #skz imagines #stray kids #stray kids x reader #stray kids imagine #stray kids imagines #bang chan #bang chan x reader #bang chan imagine #bang chan imagines #chan #chan x reader #chan imagine #chan imagines #dreamescapeswriting

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solarmorrigan · 26 days

Note

💜surprise kiss / impulsive kiss? (Also hallo!)

Hallo! I'm sorry it took me a bit to get to this one, but I hope this little smudge of fluff is is okay <3

💜 surprise kiss / impulsive kiss

Prompt from this post

Eddie cannot be blamed for his actions.

No jury in the world would convict him; this is one hundred percent not his fault.

What the hell is he supposed to do, that’s what he’d like to know. What’s he supposed to do, waking up the morning after Steve has stayed the night to find him moving around Eddie’s tiny, sunlit kitchen like he belongs there, making breakfast and humming to himself?

And he greets Eddie with all the warmth and cheer of the abominable fucking morning person he is, and he tells him to go ahead and sit down, and puts a plate of bacon and eggs and toast in front of him, and then he offers Eddie a cup of coffee, already fixed with cream and sugar, smiling easily, like it’s nothing, because Steve just does things like this. Does things like making breakfast when he gets up early, like remembering how people like their coffee, because it makes him feel useful and it makes him happy, and he’s just standing there, practically fucking glowing in the morning light, and–

Eddie is only human, alright? What else is he supposed to do but get up from the table and kiss Steve, pouring into it all the overflowing affection and awe that he can’t quite figure out how to put into words?

If there’s another course of action, Eddie doesn’t want to hear it – mostly because, after a moment of surprise, Steve kisses him right back, meeting him with equal, eager warmth that Eddie knows immediately that he’ll never get enough of, but he’ll be damned if he isn’t going to try to drink his fill while he can get it.

(And it looks like he’ll be able to get it for a long, long while. Breakfast goes cold, but neither of them mind one bit.)

#finntheehumaneater #steddie #eddie munson #steve harrington #stranger things #eddiesteve #solar wrote #answers from solar

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drawnfamiliarfaces · 1 month

Note

Okay, I'll continue talking! So as we all know, RC9GN frequently involves characters being turned into rampaging monsters through no real fault of their own. And then there's Evil Julian, who was a whole thing. What I'm saying is, the Ninja cast are not strangers to the idea of people being forced into evil the way Chase was... but I don't think Chase goes around telling people about his tragic backstory unless he's trying to make a point. So, like, do any of them know Chase is technically under the influence of a mind-altering substance? That he didn't want to be like this, he just didn't want his best friend to leave him behind? Under what circumstances might the First Ninja find out? Under what circumstances might Randy find out?

Of course, what happened to Chase is definitely not the same thing as what happens to people under the Sorcerer's influence. For one, it's a lot more permanent. It's pretty clear in Xiaolin Showdown that Chase is too far gone and can't be cured at this point, if he ever could have been. The only way to stop him from ending a haughty, self-centered dragon would be to stop him from drinking the soup to begin with. And he's still himself on some level. As you said, he still has honor, he can still care, he's still capable of independent rational thought. It seems less like possession and more like very targeted (evil) brain damage. At the same time, this does mean it's technically possible for Chase to turn his back on what he's become. He may never be who he was again, but he can still change, as Omi believes he can. Though jury's out if he believes he can change. Anyway, there's a lot of drama to be wrung out of this, especially if the First Ninja realizes he probably would have liked the man Chase used to be.

Also, I'm just saying, the First Ninja denying that he chained up his evil husband to stop Chase from hurting people while he searches for a cure to the curse that makes Chase evil would be very funny.

OKAY OW HANG ON LISTEN The idea of First deciding to chain up Chase not just because he is an evil menace, but also in order to find a cure for his transformation, hit me so unexpectedly hard in the feels, like FR DUDE???? OW???

(Even if it is a bit of funny mental image AND the wording 'targeted evil brain damage' made me snort so hard, oh my god im so sorry.)

There is an argument/theory about how technically Chase doesn't need to constantly drink the Soup (based on how in alternative future, captured by Jack, Chase didn't drink it in captivity, and as soon as he was released he was kinda bordering on 'feral' lizard mode - Soup helps him keep in control AND keep ahold of his human form, rather that he is absolutely dependant on it), but he does it because he is, well, basically addicted to it.

SO it would be more of First chaining his Evil Brain Damaged Addict of (totally not a) Husband in order for to find a most likely nonexisting cure to his cursed (????) transformation. The ANGST POTENTIAL of it.

And your first points are so interesting and absolutely valid! Chase's situation can be compared to Stank-ification, but you know what would make an even more interesting comparison? The Sorcerer himself.

I think we often forget that technically, Sorcerer situation is him being separated from his humanity and twisted into an immortal monster by Chaos Pearls, because he - as the Peddler - made one decision, one mistake, after being seduced by power greater than him. Sounds familiar doesn't it?

Of course there are a few key differences here:

Sorcerer is literally separated with his human self (soul perhaps??) that is trapped in Land of Shadows, while Chase's humanity seems to have been surpressed and/or muted by his Draconic Self. (or perhaps stolen with his soul by Hannibal, which is a popular theory about how exactly Roy Bean/Soup turned Chase.)

Chase's change is permanent. While Sorcerer situation is possible to fix - it literally happens in the finale.

BUT!!! no one actually knew it was possible to fix before. At least no one gave any indication that it was a known fact about Sorcerer's humanity still existing somewhere in Chaos Realm/Land of Shadows.

I'm pretty sure First/Norisu Clan believed that the Sorcerer was a human changed and twisted into an immortal by chaos. Impossible to kill and impossible to return to normal - that's why he was imprisoned. To keep him contained.

I mean, couldn't First Ninja, after capturing The Sorcerer, try to get his human self from the Land of Shadows himself, if he knew? After all he had access to a Chaos Ball! But he didn't know there was anything to be recovered, that the Sorcerer could be actually unmade just by reuniting him with his human half.

(At least thats my personal HC, but im pretty sure the canon show just retconned/fumbled a bit the whole Sorcerer resolution lol.)

SO just imagine. First learns about Chase's past. And he is freaking aghast. Here is another twisted by evil, but while he and his brothers failed to save those changed that they first encountered (the 'killed first stanked monsters' theory tie in!), they managed to save those that came after. And if First could, he would have tried to save The Sorcerer, no matter how much he hates him. But... Chase is different. There is still something of humanity left in him. Perhaps he can save Chase.

And from Chase's pov? He sees how Ninja saved Stanked people, and he doesn't even consider those situations as similar to his. Sure, people are turned into monsters, but he was turned into a monster by his own choice, there is nothing to save him from. (Isn't there?)

But he watches as First releases those people from the clutches of chaos, watches as he tries so hard to save them... And maybe it makes him yearn, that someone tried just a little bit harder to save the 'him' before he made that choice.

And if First cages Chase and says: "I want to help you. To Cure you." It will certainly enrage Chase - because who does this man think he is, tryin to contain and cure THE Heylin Prince of Darkness, like he is some halpless trapped commoner??? He came to be long before this man's Clan existed and he will be there long after this man will become dust.

But also... maybe deep deep deep inside, Chase is... confused? and pleased? - that someone like Fist Ninja grew to care enough for him to try and save him, even if there is nothing to be saved.

So they would be at this standstill, where First is trying to help a cause that isnt quite possible to fix, and Chase is... well, being Chase.

But, yeah, certainly another amazing thought process from you Anon <3, I've been trying to answer this ask for so long, because every time i start to write i get overcome with emotions about those scenarios like...damn. It's funny, but also the possible drama of all of this... hnnnfgggg

#que?#ninja showdown #chase young #first ninja #my immortal soul #this is one of the asks that pushed me to try and write for NS/MIS because DAMN i want some of those ideas in actual fanfiction...#making notes for my Hidden Chapter AU... maybe i will write an one-shot xD

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hom3landr · 7 months

Note

bonfire night! sounds so cozy 🥹🥹

Gonna warn right out of the gate that I teared up writing this one. Jury is out on whether or not it counts as cozy

I Bet On Losing Dogs

CW references to animal abuse

I bet on losing dogs

I know they're losing and I'll pay for my place

By the ring

Where I'll be looking in their eyes when they're down

I'll be there on their side

I'm losing by their side

- Mitski

He shouldn’t have done that. He really shouldn’t have done that.

Fuck

Despite the fact that the thud of the slamming door had long faded, it felt like he could still hear it thundering in his ears. So he’d lost his temper? So what? You were just being so fucking chipper about the whole thing. Trying to involve him in the “spirit of the season.” It made him want to choke with suppressed rage. All his fucking life he’d dreamed of having a domestic life to come home to. He’d dreamed of the white picket fence and building jack o’ lanterns with his kids, even before he knew he could have them. But even in his most self indulgent fantasies, he was still him. He had the suit and the strength. He was Homelander.

Now he had chance at domesticity but he definitely didn’t feel like it was worth the trade. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. He should have been able to mindlessly split the wood for the fire with nothing but his bare hands. But no, he had to bear the shame of you watching him struggle with the ax for ages before he managed one uneven split. He had to swallow down the bile when you offered to chop the wood instead. He should have been able to bring you any supplies you needed in the blink of an eye. Instead, he watched you pull out of the driveway in the blinding rain, to pick up the marshmallows you’d accidentally left off of your shopping list. You never complained because for you it was normal. He was supposed to give you better than normal.

So yeah, when you’d practically forced all this indignity on him, he was going to snap. He wasn’t going to be magically fixed because he tried a fucking s’more for the first time. He wasn’t going to wake up a new man because he mangled a pumpkin. All this insistence on providing this life he hadn’t been able to live felt more like a slap in the face than a kindness. He was never going to be good enough like this. None of this fucking mattered when he was forced to realize that the most isolated he’d ever felt from humanity, was when he got the chance to truly be part of it.

He hadn’t laid a hand on you, but the ruthlessly cruel things he said likely hurt just as much. If he was forced to feel inadequate every day, it had seemed more than fair to make you feel lesser as well. He wanted you to bleed so his own dripping wounds would no longer be the focus. It wasn’t until the tears came and the door slammed that he realized what he’d done. He used to have his powers to ensure that people couldn’t just get away with leaving him. But you could abandon him in the cold and he’d be forced to stay behind knowing that he did it to himself. He couldn’t hide anymore.

His attention was tugged away from his thoughts by the soft sound of pawsteps in dirt. He might not have super hearing any more but that didn’t mean he wasn’t still attentive to noise. Sometimes he almost fooled you into thinking he kept his hearing simply from how much he was still able to pick up.

His eyes stung from the smoke as he watched the grumpy dog slowly make itself a place to rest by his boot. The dog looked like he’d spent his entire life in hell and from what you’d mentioned about his past, it sounded like he actually had. He’d been locked in a cage since puppyhood. Homelander could relate.

It was a Shiba Inu, lifted from a raid on a nearby puppy mill and quickly deemed unadoptable due to aggression. He’d never be fit for a home and it wasn’t even his fault. How was the feral thing supposed to go from near complete isolation to getting bombarded with human attention without getting a little bitey? Goodness knows Homelander hadn’t. He supposed that he wasn’t exactly adoptable either.

Homelander took a closer look at the grizzled pup curled up beside him. The dog's ear was still tagged from the puppy mill. He was nippy and rude and you’d had to fight to save him when the pound wanted to put him down. According to the vet, the dog had an unprecedented number of bite reports from shelter staff. Homelander wondered how many “bite reports” had been in his file. After what he just said to you, he mentally added another one to the tally.

The dog seemed to sense the attention and fixed Homelander with a glare. He scoffed but his heart went out to the mangy thing. He reached out to give him a pat and was rewarded with a low warning growl. He removed his hand, respecting a boundary he’d never had the chance to have.

“Guess we’re both a couple of bad dogs. They were gonna put me down too”

His chest ached as he remembered.

They’d put him back in the bad room. After all those years he hadn’t escaped it.

All he could hear were voices in his past ringing around in his head.

“The thing about cross-breeding dogs, you get the right genes, you can get a perfect creation. But it doesn’t matter how perfect they are. It’s not enough.”

“You cannot be bad”

“Just bad product”

“You’re my greatest failure”

“Gaping pit of insecurity”

“From the start, I hated you”

“You’re a fucking disappointment.”

He laughed mirthlessly, which caused the dog to lift his head in surprise. Damn thing didn’t even have a name yet. He knew he was losing it if he was getting worked up over a fucking dog.

Homelander reached out again, letting the dog sniff his fingers first. It was a handsome dog underneath all the wear and tear. Your tender attention had some some of its fur growing in again. You risked your life every time you applied the medicine for its mange but you never hesitated. Just like you’d never hesitated to take care of him.

The dog didn’t growl and Homelander pushed his luck and carefully stroked the dog’s forehead. Miraculously, the dog stayed calm. The only response was a half-hearted wag of its tail. So he tried again and got the same response. Homelander didn’t know if it was because the dog was too drowsy from the fire to care or if it somehow sensed a kindred spirit. He avoided the tender patches that were still in the process of healing.

“I don’t think you’re a bad dog.” Homelander whispered, words tight in his throat. Unwanted tears pricked at the corners of his eyes as he continued petting. “You’re just scared.”

The old Shiba closed its eyes.

The sound of the door had his head whipping around towards the cabin. Your head was held high as you marched down towards the fire with a plate loaded high with goodies. Your jaw was set and you had that firm look in your eye that you always got when he was being difficult. You were still angry, that much was very clear. But you hadn’t left him.

You sat on the log beside him, body drawn tight, back ramrod straight. The plate balanced in your lap was piled with chocolate, marshmallows, and graham crackers. It was the s’mores that you’d been so excited to share with him before he’d lashed out. You’d just wanted to help him feel better.

He knew he should apologize but the words caught in his throat. Can’t teach an old dog new tricks, even if the old dog no longer existed.

“I love you,” is what he said instead.

You sighed heavily, fingers clenching and unclenching as you gripped the rim of the plate.

A tense silence filled the air as he waited for your response.

“If something I’m doing is causing you any kind of distress, you have to tell me. I thought you’d like it. I wouldn’t have suggested making them otherwise.” You didn’t look at him as you talked, wanting to make sure you said your peace before emotions took over. You knew you’d crumble if you saw his sad eyes now. “I know things are hard right now. I don’t want to diminish that. But I’m not the enemy here.”

He stayed quiet, focused on petting the dog to calm the urge to get defensive. He wanted you to hurry up and get to the part where you said you loved him back. You must still love him if you hadn’t left.

When he didn't respond, you finally turned to look at him but your eyes grew wide with shock when you saw the dog. It had shifted to rest its head on Homelander’s knee for better petting access and if you hadn’t seen what the dog was capable of, you’d have mistaken it for a normal house pet. Homelander swallowed thickly as you stared.

“He’s not a bad dog.” He stated, finally breaking the silence. Your gaze flitted between back and forth between the two of them as though you couldn’t make yourself believe what you were seeing.

“I know he isn’t” You replied, voice heavy with surprise and confusion. You reached out to lay your hand over Homelander’s free one. You didn’t know what his point was but you could always tell when he needed help saying something.

“He gets overwhelmed and lashes out but he doesn’t mean it.” Homelander’s voice cracked. “He’s very sorry.”

Your eyes glistened wetly in the firelight as understanding dawned on you.

“I know.” you whispered shakily. You squeezed his hand tighter.

“He appreciates everything you do for him. Please don’t take him back.” A tear escaped the corner of his eye only to end up caught in the rough scraggle of scruff that he hadn’t had the energy to shave. He tried to turn his head so you wouldn’t see but his voice would have given it away regardless.

Something in you shattered and you pulled him into a hug as tight as you could manage, carefully placing the plate to the side. You could count on one hand the number of times that you’d seen Homelander cry but he was sobbing into your chest the moment he felt your arms around him. His shoulders heaved and it was all you could do to keep your composure so you could comfort him.

The Shiba whimpered as though in sympathy and rested a paw on Homelander’s thigh.

“Don’t worry, he’s found his forever home with us. He’s not going anywhere. I’ll fight for him every time.” You pressed fervent kisses to his temple as he shook in your arms. You both knew you weren’t talking about the dog anymore.

Homelander didn’t know how long he clung to you but his tears gradually began to ease and his head throbbed from the force of his sorrow. He thought he would hate it but there was something cathartic about having his hurt mirrored physically. It made it feel real. It made it feel valid. You held him firmly but tenderly, strong in a way he could never be, strong in a way that Vogelbaum would have never been able to understand.

“I’m going to take care of you both but I need you to trust me.” You made him look you in the eyes. He nodded, sniffling just a bit. He did trust you. It was himself that he didn’t trust.

You reached out to give the dog a pet too but quickly drew your hand back at the flash of teeth.

Homelander winced sheepishly.

“C’mon Champ, you’re embarrassing me.” He chastised the dog as it cocked its head. “After all those nice things I just said about you. Did you even look at your talking points?”

You couldn’t help but let out a shaky laugh as he gave the dog his signature point, something the Shiba was thoroughly unimpressed by. For a split second he sounded like himself again. Something about this angry dog reached him in a way you couldn’t and you would forever be grateful to your past self for taking it in.

The two of you never ate the s’mores but Homelander had no problem sacrificing the marshmallows into the ravenous jaws of his new buddy.

“We should put some names in a hat and have him pick one” He grinned as another marshmallow disappeared. “He deserves to choose his own name.”

For the first time, he sounded excited for the future.

#homelander #x reader #homelander x reader #in other words #Homelander gets an emotional support animal that’s as unstable as he is

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chaifootsteps · 2 months

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One of the main reasons why Sir Pentious getting to Heaven felt so underwhelming and unwarranted to me is that HH paints it as Charlie's redemption theory being valid and true and her methods actually working

When she barely did anything to help Sir Pentious as the show barely showed us what Charlie's methods are beyond that trust fall bit you can see in summer camps

It doesn't help that redemption is about correcting the wrongs of the past after fully admitting you were at fault when you did them and feeling legitimately regretful that you committed those wrong acts

... We still don't know what Sir Pentious did in his past to end up in Hell. We as an audience know JACK about his backstory and I don't think the cast knows anything about it either

By all means, SP might have gotten to Heaven for doing things that had nothing to do with his mistakes back when he was alive. If that's the case, then not only is Charlie's redemption theory false as what happened with SP has nothing to do with redemption, her methods to reach Heaven are pretty basic and already standardized which brings the potential for the show down to zero. The premise got shot with this finale twist as it's pretty clear Charlie's methods at her Hotel are formulaic and don't depend on the sinners' past wrongs

You know what could have been a good concept ? Have Charlie show SP's progress to the Council of Angels through the globe instead of Angel Dust's only for them to ponder about it and see rather positive on the matter, Sera included, before saying: "As final trial, we will bring them here and have them be his judges."

The doors open and a dozen angels walk in having seemingly been summoned

The Council motions to the globe: "You have been called today to make an important decision. We would like you to first observe this fully then answer a simple question."

The angels do that, they watch the entire reel of everything SP did while under Charlie's care, with Charlie nervously anticipating their answer

The Council: "Now for the question: From all that you've seen,

Would you consider this man worthy of redemption and as such ready to join this side of the Afterlife?"

Many of the angels are just dumbfounded at hearing this, a bunch just storm off and others look scared at the thought.

What remained decide between each other before whispering the answer to Sera

Sera then declares simply: "The Jury have made their decision :

Sir Pentious hasn't done what it takes for his soul to be redeemed and accepted into Heaven."

Charlie: "What? Why not? Not that I have anything against your Jury but what power do they have to decide that you lack for this decision?"

Sera: "The Jury overseeing your Sir Pentious is made up of every soul he has wronged in his past. You have to understand: They have fairly earned their Afterlife regardless of what awful and unjust things he has done to them. To have us decide ourselves if he can join them up here after all the wrongs he has done to them in the living would be unfair; as such the final decision is theirs. If they see his new ways as a true change on his part and choose to forgive him, he would have indeed earned his place in Heaven.

This wasn't the case today."

I want this so much. I want Hazbin to be in the hands of someone mature enough to actually write this.

#Anonymous #Hazbin Hotel critical #viv stuff #actual blog post

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platonicreaderinsertfanfic · 2 months

Text

Etho: Vampire Hunter AU (Reader-Insert)

Female reader.

Word count: 932

“You’re up late.” A low voice broke the silence of the night.

You looked up from your work maintaining the chapel’s pews. “Etho!” He looked tired, green and black clothes splattered with dark stains, cloak hanging off his body in ripped shreds, and reddish brown smeared all over his bare hand and forearm.

Adjusting the mask covering the lower half of his face, he smiled with his eyes. “Sister.” Like all your friends, he called you by your title rather than your name—just as you preferred. As far as you were concerned, Sister was your name, not the pretentious mouthful assigned to you by the Church when you came here years ago. Hiding your identity was a drag, although preferable to being claimed by the powerful vampire queen who had marked you as a child.

“I take from the bloodstains all over your clothes, your hunt was successful?” Tossing your screwdriver onto the wooden pew beside where you were crouched, you leaned back to get a better look at your friend; it seemed none of the blood was his this time. Good.

He laughed, almost sounding embarrassed. “It doesn’t feel successful.”

“Rough kill?” You threw your long hair back over your shoulder, keeping it out of the way as you returned to work.

Running a blood smeared hand through his white hair, Etho’s mood darkened. “Even when I know my target has lived for over sixty years, and killed seventeen innocents, it’s not easy to drive a stake through the heart of a creature who looks like a ten year old girl…”

“The abbess always says you’re too kind for this work.” Picking up the screwdriver, you gave it a little flip in the air, catching it neatly. Gently running your left hand over the pile of screws, you grouped them as you counted in your head.

Etho walked towards you. “Uh huhh. It’s hard to tell when she sends me out every week to kill monsters.” Sighing, he squeezed past your kneeling body to tiredly sink down onto the pew. “I shouldn’t have specialized in vampires.”

“Etho, don’t sit—!”

Splintering wood and the crash of ancient planks smacking beautiful tilework flooring interrupted your warning, as the pew gave way beneath him. “Ohhhhh.” He sounded pathetic as he lay on his back on the floor, gazing up at the decorative ceiling and gripping the pocket watch hanging from his belt. While you knew Etho must be a fierce and capable warrior, you found such an image hard to combine with the slightly hapless, and very nice guy, you had befriended over the years.

You groaned. “I had removed most of the screws attaching the seat to the end of the pew, so I could replace them with slightly wider screws, ‘cause the whole thing’s been getting loose, and had already been jury rigged before I ever came here…”

“Sorey.” His accent always came through when he apologized. “I’ll explain to the abbess it was my fault.”

“Thanks.” Leaning back against the chapel wall, you mulled over how long it would take you to fix the pew, assuming you had the skill to properly fix something so old, delicate, and ornate—which you doubted.

“And speaking of the abbess, I got permission to take you with me on my next assignment.”

“Really?” At his words, all exasperation fled your body. Usually you were forbidden from leaving the abbey, on account of the mark on the back of your left hand. “Why?”

“You’re good at clerical work, right, Sister?”

You nodded eagerly as he continued.

“My target tonight had quite a library, and chests of saved correspondence. I needed someone to help me catalog all of it tomorrow, and since they made the mistake of letting me choose my own assistant…I chose you.” Propping himself up on his elbows, his eyes crinkled in a smile. “You do want to see more of the world, right? I don’t know why the abbess always keeps you cooped up in the church compound, but I figure I ought to show my friend a bit of the outside world if I can.”

Without thinking, you gripped the back of your left hand, imagining the green symbol on the other side of your half finger glove. “I’d love that.”

Rising from the rather destroyed pew, which now littered the floor, Etho stretched. “I need to wash up. Wouldn’t want to talk to the abbess looking like this.” He pointed at you. “Now go get some sleep, we have a long day tomorrow.”

“You’re going to talk to the abbess now?”

“Some of us aren’t night owls by choice, Sister.” Etho chuckled. “If I have to work this late, she can wake up to talk to me in the middle of the night from time to time.”

Grateful for his friendship, and this opportunity to leave the abbey, you wanted to hug the lanky man before you, but decorum held you back. The last thing you had ever wanted was rumors of being romantically involved with anyone, and years of practicing such thinking left little room for nebulous gestures like hugs—no matter how platonically you intended them. “Hm, you’ve always had fun being a bit of a pain.”

“Just doing my job.” His smile shone through in his voice as you packed up your toolbox.

“See you tomorrow, Etho.”

With a jaunty little wave, he strode off, leaving you to wonder what the next day held.

#Ethoslab #My content #Platonic reader insert #Ethoslab x Reader #Hermitcraft x Reader #Vampire Hunter AU #Reader insert

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