#no one ever told me that when you use a mobility aid people part for you like Moses parted the Red Sea but that is a BIG plus

[secret-sageent]

I HAVE A CANE NOW :D

[cy-cyborg]

Tips for writing and drawing Wheelchair using characters: Your character's wheelchair can tell us a lot about them

When you first start learning character design, you'll often be told something to the effect of "use your character's outfit to tell us more about them" - and this same principles can be applied to a disabled character's mobility aids.

Mobility aids like wheelchairs, to many disabled people, are a part of us. They can be an extension to a person's body and chances are, if you're going to be using this piece of equipment every day for the foreseeable future (or at least for a good amount of time for the foreseeable future), it's going to start reflecting some aspects of your personality, your interests, your passions, especially when you remember, a lot of people get their wheelchairs custom built for them.

You can use your character's wheelchair to tell us a lot about them without ever needing to show/describe them directly.

Let me show you two examples:

Take a look at these two wheelchairs. they're similar in shape and build, but still pretty different to each other. Can you make some guesses about their users based only on what's shown here?

intended answers below:

Please note, the following points are all generalisations and the real world is rarely this simple. This is to demonstrate how to use disability aids to contribute to your character's design, not how to make assumptions about real people in real life.

So here are some similarities between the chairs:

Both wheelchairs have ridged frames, this means the wheelchair can't be folded in any way. These kinds of chairs can imply a few different things depending on the person. They are typically lighter, sturdier and more durable, and indicate the person probably will be using the wheelchair for a long time and/or has the money to get something built to last (or lives in a place where cost not an issue due to universal/subsidised access to healthcare). They are also typically better to travel with when flying, as they are less likely to be broken by airport security/staff.

Both wheelchairs also lack anti-tip wheels, which are a third set of wheels that extend from the back of the chair. Them not being present could indicate the person is likely pretty confident in their ability to use the chair without worrying about tipping out. It could also indicate they are in an environment where the anti-tips could be more of a hazard than a help, such as on rough terrain.

So lets look at some specifics for the green wheelchair:

Take a look at the wheels. The front wheels are pretty small and appear to be solid, while the back wheels appear to be quite narrow (compared to the orange chair anyway). This indicates the user likely lives somewhere with decent accessibility like a (well funded) city where they are unlikely to encounter unpaved/dirt roads/grass. Small front wheels and thin back wheels are good for manoeuvrability and a smooth ride over even terrain, but they will get stuck as soon as bumps appear, so this probably isn't an issue for this person.

While its a bit hard to tell unless you have seen other similar wheelchairs, this wheelchair is very long in the front, meaning the footplate and front wheels are further away from the seat than most. There could be a few reasons for this. One either indicates the person has very long legs, or a lack of motion in their knees, making it harder to bend their legs. This is moves the chair's centre of gravity forward by a decent amount, making it harder to tip back, which could indicate the person's legs are very light. You tend to see this most often in the wheelchairs of bilateral leg amputees, who are at a greater risk of tipping backwards due to a lack of weight at the front of the chair (even if they wear their prosthetics).

The colour of the chair is bright. This could simply be the character's favourite colour, or maybe this colour has some significance to them?

There are stickers on the side of the chair relating to the Paralympics. This could indicate the person is a fan, or perhaps had some involvement in the games?

The wheelchair has handles on the back, but they are able to be folded down. This is a popular feature for people who are independent enough to go out on their own, but still want to have the option for some help. folding down the handles also deters random strangers from grabbing at you (an unfortunately common experience for wheelchair users).

There is some mild paint scratching to the front of the wheelchair, but nothing too noticable. This is typical of older chairs and people who are a little rough on their chairs. Maybe they've had a few stacks and falls throughout the years, probably going a decent speed.

Ok, now let's look at the orange chair

This wheelchair has very large, inflatable front wheels, and very thick back wheels. This will make the chair slower and less manoeuvrable on flat/even surfaces, but much, much easier to push on rough terrain. This is supported by the amount of mud on the wheelchair.

The seat on this wheelchair tilts upwards slightly. This is called a bucket (or according to an old basketball teammate of mine, a dump-truck lol). This is a feature you typically see in wheelchairs made for people with spinal injuries who are unable to move their legs and engage their lower bodies or core to help keep them stable.

The back of this chair is very low, indicating that if this wheelchair user has a spinal injury, it's probably pretty low on their spine, likely fairly close to the hips, making the person a low-level paraplegic. Higher-level paraplegics and quadriplegics usually need a higher back to help support them and keep them from flopping over, since all the muscles below their place where their spine broke either doesn't work, or is significantly weaker. Higher backs though can get in the way of pushing and reduce mobility, so people who need less support will likely opt for a lower back rest.

This wheelchair has no handles, which indicates the user is probably very independent and doesn't need a lot of help getting around.

The paint on this wheelchair is very scratched up, showing the person is very tough on their wheelchair and doesn't care to get the paint touched up.

This wheelchair has no breaks. This is very common on chairs with larger tiers as they don't tend to be as effective, but also on many outdoor wheelchairs, for two reasons. One is because they are made for rough terrain, so chances are, you aren't going to go far without a big push to get you moving. The second reason is that to get over large bumps and obsticals in a wheelchair, it can be helpful to do very large pushes using the top and front of the wheel. When pushing a normal chair, most people will only use the top section of the wheel to push since it's closest, but these big pushes that use the front of the wheel make it easier to push, since you can benefit from downwards momentum. However, this is also where the breaks are located on most wheelchairs, which can create a hazard. I've lost entire fingernails by them getting snagged on the breaks when pushing this way. So if you live somewhere where the breaks are not going to be helpful to you often, it makes sense to not get them.

And here are the characters who own these wheelchairs

The owner of the green wheelchair is an amalgamation of a few people I knew from when I played wheelchair basketball. They're a bilateral leg amputee, and judging by their outfit (The Official National Wheelchair Basketball uniform for Australia), they're an elite athlete. This wheelchair is not the one they play sport in, but it still needs to be durable enough to withstand the rough treatment of airport staff when traveling, as well as heavy day-to-day use that comes with being an active person. While it needs to be rough, the person also seemed to want to prioritise speed and manoeuvrability, and likely doesn't need to worry about rough terrain too much, so they probably live in a major city.

The owner of the orange chair was inspired by a family friend of mine. They live on a farm, and need a chair that can handle life in those conditions, rough terrain and all. This comes at the cost of speed and manoeuvrability on smoother terrain, but honestly, anyone who's lived in the country knows you won't find many of those around there anyway, so that's not too big of a sacrifice. They are paraplegic, are very confident in their ability to use their wheelchair, and probably doesn't need help too often, but still benefit from some extra stability support from the raised seat on their chair.

Conclusion

Once again, these are generalisations, and in real life there are always exceptions, but I hope this helped demonstrate what I meant when I said you can use your character's wheelchair to tell us more info about them if you're smart about it.

I originally planned to do a whole series of these, showing a wider variety of wheelchairs and the people who they belong to, but I guess I kind of forgot because they've been sitting, abandoned on my hard drive for the last 2 years 😅. If that's something you folks would be interested in seeing though, let me know, I'd happily revive the series lol.

[tyrantisterror]

No Small Feat Art pt. 11 - Seige of the Tower of the Tomb

By request, I’m gonna show off some of the artwork for No Small Feat, a Midgaheim story my friends and I told through the TTRPG system Fabula Ultima. I drew a lot of characters and monsters for it, and my friends - in particular, @dragonzzilla, @scatha5, and @dinosaurana - helped line and color them so we’d have cute little sprites to use on our online battlemaps, which really helped sell the whole “we’re playing an oldschool turn based RPG” vibe that Fabula Ultima’s system is going for.

This is the final part, the end of No Small Feat! Obviously we're going to look at the final boss, but first, we have to talk about her flunkies.

Given that the Fabula Ultima game system is based primarily on JRPGs like Final Fantasy and Chrono Trigger, I felt that it was customary to make sure the heinous arch villain had at least one crew of goofy, lovable henchmen. A Sephiroth is not complete without the Turks, a Magus is not complete without Slash, Flea, and Ozzie, et cetera. So Maelys had a quartet of mercenaries in her employ, who very much were not in this for loyalty to her or her ideology, but rather because they needed the money and most people don't hire clowns in Midgaheim since they're a variety of cambion (half-demons). These ladies are The Jester's Jape, entertainers, carnies, thieves, and ne'er do wells. Their leader is Scarlette, the harlequin. their mage is Bianca, the Pierrot. Their muscle is Azurite, the Buffoon. And their wildcard is Obsidianne, the Mime. I introduced them a little later in the campaign than intended (both because I didn't have finished art of them and because it took a lot of revisions for me to be satisfied with their moveset as minibosses), but they made a lot with the screentime they were given, and hey, cambions don't have a built-in expiration date, so nothing's stopping me from using them again.

After befriending the clowns in their third and final encounter with them, our heroes mobilized to the top of the tomb tower where Maelys was waiting, having just graverobbed the last crown jewel and, with the aid of the seven princes of Hell itself, forged two false crown jewels to complete a crown of her own and become the new queen of the country.

Sadly for her, the forgeries didn't prove adequate.

As all the rivers of magic running through Engelsex convered inside her through the warped crown on her head, Maelys was overwhelmed by their power and twisted into a hideous shape that reflected her inner malice. Our heroes proceeded to beat the shit out of her, as you do when you've done all the sidequests in an RPG and got all the overpowered loot that comes with them.

But no good JRPG boss would only have ONE transformation, so of course Maelys crashed harder than a Resident Evil boos and turned into a nightmarish beast, one that was further warped to resemble two other monsters who had contact with the crown jewels - Kaboldt von Hubert's doppelganger, and the Ravening Beast. Our heroes summoned their closest allies - Leonie, George, and Jack - and also the Jester's Jape, why not, and destroyed the evil wannabe queen once and for all.

And so the day was saved, a new crown was forged, and a worthy successor was found for the throne. To know more than that, you'd have to watch the campaign, or, like, wait several years for me to transcribe it into a book if I ever get around to it. I might, honestly. I miss Leonie.

As a final treat, here are some loose sketches of character designs for the campaign, some of which never got the finished penncil treatment:

Figuring out Kaboldt's doppelganger look took a lot of experimentation.

Same goes for the Ravening Beast, who went through SO many designs before I settled on one that worked for me. One of his early designs got reused as Big Bubba Bugbear.

The jester's Jape went through a lot of concepts too.

I had loose ideas to give George, Jack, and Leonie costume changes for their cameos in the final boss fight, but didn't end up having enough time to finalize them. We get to see George in his non-dragonslayer armor, Jack looking a bit less frail, and Leonie sporting the dragon-themed armor the PCs gifted her at the end of the Menagerie arc.

Oh, and I didn't know where to put it, but at one point the PCs met, and later robbed, Leonie's dad, which meant I had to give him a character design. I tried to make sure his clothes were as tasteful as those that would be worn by a rich medieval merchant who had access to magic dyes.

There was also merchant character that was intended to be a one-off named Long Lankin that the players and I kind of fell in love with who I drew sketches of, but those got lost in my big computer hullabaloo this summer, so unfortunately I no longer have them to share. But I liked him enough that he'll probably show up in another Midgaheim story one of these days.

[faelynfawn]

Hi I just saw the circus au art and I'm here to ask about him.

Feel free to go on a ramble I need everything you got :3

Oh my gods thank you so much for asking I have so much to say. (Also, by the way, I love your art so so much. If you have ever noticed me spam reblog a bunch of your art, it was most likely because I was on a call with my friends and showing it to them.)

So, the first and most important thing to establish, is that all versions of Scar I rotate around in my brain are disabled. Specifically in regards to circus headcanon or AUs, he has all of my disabilities. As I am a disabled circus artist and I know exactly how it would work.

So, Scar had always loved the circus ever since he was a little kid. It was just so magical and wonderous to him. He always sort of wished he could join the circus.

Then one day, around about 15, he realised there was a circus studio really close-by to him. Three, in fact. It blew his mind. Previously he sort of regarded circus as this mystical, out of reach thing. He had no idea it was just something he could learn and do.

For me, this is sort of where it splits into two separate veins of timelines. A) One in a Minecraft-inspired fantasy setting that has a casual interdimensional travel aspect to it (the one LMLY is set in, essentially) and consists of things like codes. And B) a modern AU of a Minecraft-inspired fantasy setting with no interdimensional travel (so no Hermitcraft or Life Series). It is a more normal fantasy world and does not consist of codes or players, it is people within it if that makes sense. We will call this A and B.

In A, he was a builder already. That was what he loved doing. As a result, he decided it would be better for his career if did not show that he was disabled. If you have read LMLY, you will understand.

Anyway, because of being a builder, he was already incredibly strong. His favourite part of circus at the beginning was being a base in acrobalance. It took him a while to get the right kind of strength for aerials, but once he did he quickly started to train doubles work.

The thing is, he knew that all of the things he was initially drawn to in circus just were not realistic for him to do. His first love in circus was flying trapeze, but he knew any sort of flips would just make him pass out. But in order for flying trapeze to work, you need a catcher.

He worked his butt off to be a catcher.

Most of the circus he ever did was group work, with him fulling the role of the base/catcher. He did not have the ability to do much else, it would just trigger his symptoms.

When he got to Hermitcraft he found himself a lot more symptomatic than ever before, even after he learnt how to accommodate himself better. It meant that his ability to go back to his home world and do circus was quite limited, almost entirely stopping after season 6.

I am jumping ahead quite a bit as otherwise it would reflect the planned plot for LMLY a bit too much, but during season 9 when he built Scarland he also began doing a lot more circus again. He was using mobility aids by that point and finally had enough energy to do it.

Which brings us to timeline B.

In timeline B, Scar's career goals involved being an imagineer. As a result, he handled being disabled a lot differently.

He always considered himself unfit as a child. He hated sports with a burning passion. He was also the sick kid, always. He was rarely ever at school, he struggled to make friends because he was never able to hang out, and any extracurriculars he signed up for he almost always ended up flaking out on.

Him realising he was disabled went quite similarly to timeline A. During his mid-teens, he realised he was actually Experiencing Something and not just lazy/unmotivated/all the things he had been told his whole life. Unlike timeline A, his plans for his life were not exactly something he felt as though he could not do as a mobility aid user.

It radically changed his life when he became a wheelchair user. For the first time, he was actually able to function and exist and it was the best thing ever. He had the energy to truly dedicate himself to his plans of becoming an imagineer.

The thing about circus is it appears in all sorts of places. In particular, amusement parks. At least in Australia where I live, which is the country this setting is most like anyway. Like in timeline A, Scar had always loved it as a kid. Especially when amusement parks he visited had circus performers during special festivals and things like that, it was just the coolest.

Scar had a problem with living a very sedentary lifestyle. It was not great before he got a wheelchair, due to him being bedridden often (not that he realised that was what it was at the time), but even worse afterwards. So his physio encouraged him to pursue a physical hobby.

Which is where he discovered that he had three circus studios near-by.

As much as he loved the circus, but did not exactly consider it a possibility. It was in the same category to him as like being a Jedi or something, actually being a circus performer just was not really real to him.

Calling him was excited was an understatement, to say the least.

Unlike timeline A, it was not a smooth journey. He was not really all that strong. He loved it all the same, but for the first year and a half of him doing circus, his progress was pretty stagnant.

Until he got on testosterone.

Did I forget to mention he is transgender? He is always transgender to me. (In timeline A he got his player code altered for the record. But he is the sort of genderfuck man where he thought his tits made him hot (because they do) and preferred a t-dick over a penis. Just in case people wanted to know.)

Anyway, one of the changes he was most looking forward to was the increase in strength. He was quite disappointed when after quite a few months he did not actually get that much stronger. He did get more muscles, but they did not really seem to work.

Then, suddenly, like 8 months in, well after he had given up hope, he suddenly was just a lot stronger.

It motivated him enough to really dedicate himself to his training.

In this timeline, he really did not like basing. He felt as though his body was just too unreliable to let himself trust others' wellbeing with it. He would, sometimes, just because he was a big boy (I maintain my headcanon that he is short, however. Vex hybrid.) but he never really liked it.

He really only did the things that he truly found passion in, as he had a limited amount of energy for his training.

I want to say that Scar still is an ambulatory wheelchair user after beginning to do circus. He uses his wheelchair so he has enough energy to do circus. For a while he felt really awkward about it, he did not want people from circus to know that he used a wheelchair and he did not want anyone who knew he used a wheelchair to know he did circus. But as he grew up a bit more, became an adult, he really stopped caring what others thought of him.

I suppose I should say my headcanons for what apparatuses he uses. I headcanon that he uses (static) trapeze, lyra mostly as his aerial apparatuses, although teardrop (also called hammock) has a special place in his heart. As for ground work, hula hooping and leviwand.

I am going to inform you of his journey in discovering these passions.

Right when he first began his training, he was really interested in drops. It drew him to silks, initially, but he just was not strong enough for it at the time.

He found himself then drawn to apparatuses like trapeze and lyra instead, as even with his limited strength at the time he still could do some tricks. He actually avoided verticals (silks and teardrop) for a long time, as they were just too strengthy for his tastes.

Especially with lyra, everything always looked so beautiful on lyra. It is the worst and most painful apparatus in the entire world (author bias, I hate lyra) but he was used to pain. Besides, everything in circus hurt. That was just how circus was. Even if lyra was a bit more painful than others. (It is the worst I hate it I hate it so much owie owie owie :[ <- does lyra for fun sometimes (Although I would never ever train it I am not crazy.))

Scar tried teardrop at one point and was beyond shocked at how little it hurt. He did not know an aerial apparatus could feel so gentle! (He thought this until he started trying wraps, and discovered the pinching was its own special kind of hell.)

He was excited, because with teardrop he could do drops like he had always wanted to. He trained up for it. Then, when his trainer deemed him strong enough, he tried his first ever drop. It was sort of like this, I am imagining, although I cannot find a video of what I actually mean. The point is he flipped over himself like that.

He discovered that his body just could not do it.

He was so dizzy after it it was a wonder he did not pass out while still up there.

He was absolutely crushed and heart broken, as that was the one thing he had always been so excited for. He figured he should have seen it coming, as he did not do tumbling for that exact reason, but he really had not.

Since he was not able to do the tricks he actually wanted to on verticals, he decided he was not going to do them. He did not for the longest time. (Although, eventually he began doing silks and teardrop every so often for the fun of it. He ended up really liking teardrop. While he never dedicated himself to training it enough that he felt he could perform it, he still just loved it.)

I will say that was a lot of what his initial bit into circus was. Discovering things he really wanted to do were just not things his body could handle. He really had to let go of a lot of things he wanted to do, and instead focus on what he could actually do. He found he really could not do all the dynamic tricks he really, really admired in others, but he found his own soft and gentle performing style that really worked for him.

It was difficult, but he grew to really like it in the end. It was very queer to him, being a man who performed in such elegant and graceful ways. So gender as well. It was not actually until he saw a man do a particularly beautiful straps performance (from which he wanted to do straps, but knew he never could) that he began to really appreciate his own circus style.

At least that is how it went with aerials.

Scar found he could do very little ground work. Hand balancing was what he was initially drawn to, but he quickly found that his wrists would dislocate every single time he tried. Same with acrobalance (In timeline A, he had enough muscles built up from being a builder he did not really run into that issue.) and tumbling. Tumbling also involved flipping and he just could not do it, his POTS would not allow him.

The groundwork he could do was primarily manipulation. He tried all sorts of different things. It actually took quite a while before he progressed in any of it, because he was splitting himself across too much.

Eventually, he picked hula hooping as his primary ground work. He loved it so much. It was just so much fun to him. He thought it was so cool to take this object most people were familiar with from their childhoods and do amazing tricks with it. Especially when he began performing it (which, I will get to in a minute) he felt as though it let the kids in the audience see something relatable amongst all the cool and crazy, and he hoped it inspired them to do some circus themselves.

Leviwand was his other favourite. (I actually just remembered I have one and I should probably train it more, as I can do that on my favourite ground work apparatus rolla bolla. Anyway.) He just thought it was the coolest thing. It looked like magic. It was just remarkable and so cool and literally just physics.

(Bonus: In versions of this where Scar did, in fact, have magic, he would absolutely do circus with it. I might talk about that another time.)

Now I wish to state a bit of his circus journey, in regards to it being a job. He did not ever intend for it to be, for a long time. He had about two months when he first started that he kind of wanted to turn it into one, but it was just a hobby really. It wasn't until he was in his early 20s (in university doing double architecture and engineering bachelors) he realised he could actually apply to do circus at an amusement park's seasonal event. He did. He got in. He got to perform and get paid for it.

He essentially stumbled his way into paid work. It was not long after that he was offered a position as a trainer at his circus studio (which, he had been living on the disability pension up until that point due to not being able to find a job that he could physically do).

Then he found himself putting his university course on pause for six months so he could tour with a big top circus.

I truly believe it was the most fun he ever had, but he realised he could not actually have that as a viable career option. He was not medically fit to drive, his body could not handle having to set up the tent and clean and all that maintenance stuff, and he really did not make that much money. Enough to survive, sure, if being disabled was not so expensive and if he did not already have student debt.

So he finished up his university course while working part-time as a circus trainer. Once he graduated, for a while he took up a more standard engineering job. Then he found his niche in applying his degrees to circus stuff, and actually ended up working for Cirque Du Soleil creating their insane sets.

While he was never a Cirque Du Soleil performer himself (Do you have any idea how insane their intake process is? He would not be qualified for it even if he somehow managed to pass the health checks. Not to mention, you audition for a chance to be contacted to be in a show. No way.) he was so, so excited that he got to make such amazing things happen.

He still was a casual performer, usually taking up gigs that just happened to come his way, or doing performances with circus studios he was with.

But it was remarkable to him how he got to combine his first love of being an imagineer with his second love of circus into such a beautiful thing. He could not get over it, he just loved what he did.

When it came to being a performer himself, he definitely used his architecture and engineering degrees for his own personal passion projects too. He always had some new idea for a new cool show, and found himself the head of many remarkable contemporary circus performances.

In particular, he had this whole superhero based play/musical/circus performance with drama and conflict and betrayal. It all began when started to consider how he could put his love for archery into a show and his friend misheard him saying, "Like Hawkeye," as "Like Hotguy." Then he joked about having his best friend (or lover, up to you) play the role of Hawkeye's rival-turned-lover Cuteguy, and the rest was history.

(I also have some circus Grian headcanons. As in, I think Scar dragged everyone he ever knew into circus. It did not stick for all of them, but Grian realised that since he was an Avian he could just do fun flying tricks and it was considered circus. He liked that. What made him love it was doing it with Scar, the way Scar would come up with a million crazy ideas and make brilliant performances. Scar's love for it really rubbed off on him, and he found himself doing the same.)

Anyway. The Hotguy play/musical/circus performance was Scar's baby. It was so fun and silly and camp, while also having these serious moments that really hurt you.

It actually got quite big, and he got to tour it.

Anyway.

I have run out of thoughts.

I just love circus and I love Scar.

[ro-botany]

The Apple Doesn’t Fall Far: What Heroes Tells us About Validar

I blame @the-priestess-of-dawn for this one. <3

One of Awakening’s worst dads has finally weaseled his way into the mobile game, and so, here we are. If I can make a serious analysis post about Groom!Robin of all units, then I suppose Validar deserves a post as well.

For the most part, Validar’s dialogue in Heroes is unsurprising. There’s a lot of gloating about his plans, a lot of mocking everyone else for being feeble. But there’s one very key place where that pattern falters, and when you really dig into that crack... what at first looks like a shallow villain turns instead into a hollow one.

---

I’ve talked before about how the sprites in Heroes can affect your read of a character’s tone and ultimately change the meaning of their words. Such is the case for Validar’s 5* level 40 conversation. It’s easy to read it in a snarkier tone with his sprite sneering at you, but I invite you to read it without the visuals and really take it for what it is:

Askr's future is none of my concern. I aid you only to gain power for myself. I care not for the people of Askr. The evils of this world are nothing to me. I am an agent of fate. Whatever pitiful bonds you share cannot stop the inevitable! But do go on... I will enjoy your struggling.

Notice anything?

What I immediately notice is that for 4/5 text boxes, a solid 80% of the conversation, all the condescension and insufferable confidence is gone. There’s not one linguistic flourish, not one jab at Kiran or anyone else, not even any punctuation beyond the humble period. The sentences are short and to the point. And you know what it sounds like to me?

Like he’s reassuring himself.

He’s calmly repeating things that he thinks ought to be fact, like mantras. Oh sure, he’s trying to convince Kiran that he’s an uncaring shithead who’s only here to further his nefarious plans, but it sure sounds like he’s trying to convince himself of it, too. He only switches back to his usual sneering and mockery with the very last text box, as though he suddenly remembered himself.

What’s also striking about that conversation is how similar it feels to dialogue from other Grima-adjacent characters, and hell, even Grima themselves.

If you told me those first four text boxes were dialogue from one of the fallen Morgans (Future Past edition OR Heroes edition), I would believe you. They’re in a very similar state of mind, with a lot of lines dedicated to calmly repeating they’re only tools of Grima’s will. That they help you only to further Grima’s plans.

And while the phrasing of it is different, the underlying feeling of those lines is eerily close to some of Risen King Chrom’s dialogue, too. “I am the king of corpses” vs “I am an agent of fate”; both of them characterizing themselves as little more than weapons for a god to wield or discard.

We only ever see Validar in a vacuum in Awakening, but we can’t forget that the cycles of abuse that are the story's core apply to him too. I’ve written a lot about how Grima’s agency is constantly stripped from him. I think that if we can acknowledge how much that fucked Grima up in his first life and again as Robin, and how much it fucks up Morgan and Chrom in the bad timelines... We would be hypocrites to deny that that fucked up Validar, too. It must have.

The Grimleal have been trying to resurrect Grima for a long, long time, and Validar is one of the last born of that fucked up lineage. Only unlike Robin, Validar didn’t have the luxury of being swept away from the cult at a young age. No, he grew up steeped in the knowledge that he was born for one singular purpose. The brand he bears is just barely too faint for him to be an empty shell to hold their god, and so like his parents before him, he becomes living weapon and breeding stock. Expected to lead the Grimleal, as the one with the purest fell blood. Expected to produce a warm body suitable for pouring their mad god into.

The course of his life was decided for him long before he was even conceived.

He doesn’t have a choice.

Everyone he cares about and everything he knows is relying on him.

He doesn’t have a choice.

The Exalt of Ylisse hacks and slashes and burns through their home in the name of his god, and the whole damned world must answer for this suffering.

He doesn’t have a choice.

He is an agent of fate.

Validar never got to be a person, not really. He has only ever been a tool of someone else’s will and I think that’s left him empty. He gloats and mocks and insults and laughs about how much he wants it all to burn, but the fact that it’s all he ever does doesn’t paint a very healthy picture. He has no sense of self outside of how he can be useful to the cult. By all accounts he doesn’t even really think of himself as a person.

Many of the parallels between Validar and Robin/Grima start to make a lot of sense this way. The way they both bluster and monologue at least half as a cover, the way they cling to the concept of unalterable destiny to soothe the injustice of having so many choices ripped from them, the way they view every relationship as a means of controlling or being controlled. “Agent of fate” vs “wings of despair”. And I would bet money that Validar’s father was similar, because he too would've been brought up similarly. Risen Kings, the lot of them.

[high-voltage-rat]

Okay so like. Obviously Karlach's most glaringly obvious theme is that of a woman who was betrayed, sold into slavery, and managed to escape. But her secondary theme, and the one that we actually confront and grapple with most during the course of her story, is that of her infernal engine. Spoilers below for all acts, including the ending of the game.

From the moment we meet her in Act 1, Karlach is dying. From the very earliest part of her character quest, she is told her engine cannot sustain her forever- she is living on borrowed time. Further, she is isolated from the world because of it- she can't hug her friends, can't take a lover, can't even interact with the world like the rest of her peers. She is constantly conscious of her body and the way that it is different- she has to be. She's told that if she returns to the state she was in before, even more isolated and fighting a constant war that she will never truly win, she can at least survive. When she refuses this option, when she expresses that it isn't an option at all, that she would rather have an enjoyable short time than a miserable long one, it is in many ways framed as her "giving up".

This, to me, speaks to the story of a terminal or chronic illness, or a disability. A life spent fighting your own body, restricted by your condition, desperately wanting to be like everyone else. Being unable to have physical contact or intimacy, whether because of the risk to your health, or simply because you can't even form the connections to get to that point in a relationship with someone because your experiences are so different or your condition takes up your time and mind. And if you decide to forego treatment, if you decide the benefits of it aren't worth the consequences, you're told you're giving up, pushed to keep fighting.

Now, in Act 2, with the help of Dammon, Karlach is able to upgrade her engine enough to be able to protect others from the consequences of her engine. She can hug people, she can have physical contact. She's full of joy, even as Dammon is reminding her that she's dying- because she's finally getting the chance to live again. She's finally done letting her condition dictate her life, and she throws herself into everything that means.

In Act 3, we see her experience ups and downs within that. We see the grief over her coming death suddenly hit her, we see her mourn herself, the life she could have had. We see her get angry, at the people who put her in this position, at the people around her who are living "normal" lives, even a little bit at herself. Even though she's accepted the path that will lead to her death, she's still grieving it.

At the culmination of her arc, we see her volunteer to become a mind flayer in order to save the world. She's dying anyway, she argues, may as well do it saving the world. It's not just a heroic offer of sacrifice- to her, it's the logical conclusion. It's pragmatic. It doesn't matter what form she dies in, it'll happen regardless.

Only... it doesn't. If she transforms, her engine stabilizes. More than that, she starts to feel even more like herself. She's hideous, in a form that is reveiled by society, her body permanently altered- people don't look at her and see Karlach. They see a mind flayer. Her friends offer her pity, her allies immediately take to referring to her as an illithid regardless of who she was before. And yet, she says, she feels more of herself than she ever has. She has a future, she has hope, she's happy.

I see this culmination as an allegory for the use of aids or the receipt of radical treatment. You can be the healthiest and happiest you've been in your whole life- but if you take medications, if you use mobility aids, if you have scars from a life-improving surgery, anything that makes it visible that you're embracing and working with your condition... that's when the sympathy starts pouring in. That's when you're viewed as a tragedy, or something gross and unfit for being seen in public. That's when people recoil and ask what happened to you, even when they never reacted at all when you were at your worst. People stop looking at you and seeing you, and start seeing your condition. Despite all of that, though, finding aids that fit your needs or getting the right procedure can revolutionize your life. It can set you free, and it can empower you to find joys you never knew were possible.

For Karlach's story, I honestly feel like becoming an Illithid is the best ending- because it does that for her. It's not a fuzzy warm perfect ending- but it sets her free. It gives her agency over her life again, and regardless of what anyone else sees when they look at her, she can be proud of what she's accomplished. Of the future ahead of her, of the person she's become, of all the parts of being Karlach she now gets to explore.

She never gets to live a "normal" life. But she gets to be happy. And she saves the goddamn world.

[loverboy-cc]

I think the reason Halsin and Zevlor (and Jaheria but I don’t post about her often) appeal to me so much as characters is bc they’re old and queer. Halsins varied queerness is an inherent fact of his character, and I heavily hc Zev as a cis gay man and jaheria as a straight transfem.

I only recently realized why I like that so much, it’s because it’s incredibly likely I won’t get old.

Tw. Death, graphic descriptions of chronic illness, mention of genocide, violence fuelled by bigotry.

I’m kinda just rambling in hopes that maybe someone like me will get comfort from knowing that they’re not alone.

I’m mixed, visibly queer, physically disabled, chronically ill and poor in an extremely conservative area. One of my only clear memories before 2016 is being told I wouldn’t live to see 13 bc of all the things wrong with me. I could drop dead from any number of physical issues, I could be killed for being queer, I could be murdered as a “joke” (this whole thing was prompted by an article about a group of teenagers who pushed a wheelchair user to her death in front of a train a few months back bc they thought it was funny. I was at the exact station where it happened, in my wheelchair, waiting for the train.) because I’m supposed to use a mobility aid, which means murder is okay, apparently.

I don’t know any old queers either, I’m not fond of adult themed events but there was a time when I forced myself to go anyway. Just to see people who really and truly lived.

And there was no one.

I know why there wasn’t, but still.

The oldest queer person I’ve ever known was 37, and 39 when she was murdered.

I suppose I just want to hope that someone like me will be able to grow old, and be truly and completely happy.

A part of me is guilty about that, in a weird sort of way. Be the change you want to see in the world and what have you, but I quite literally can’t.

Protests rarely stay peaceful here bc of pigs (cops) and violence fueled by bigotry. I cannot move fast enough to get away.

I can’t afford to donate, I have to live with two people who are, frankly, incredibly bad for my mental health bc this province believes $500 a month covers rent (if I had to pay rent and not just utilities my third would be close to $600 with 3 people in a 2 bedroom, we could not find a cheaper place.)

I do my daily clicks for Palestine (one on each device + in incognito), I keep myself as up to date as I can handle without breaking down. (Particularly genocide is something that has been a constant in my life, Ukrainian/indigenous, somehow both the 2nd generation to be born in Canada and the 2nd generation to be born off the reserve. I physically cannot handle reading about it without making myself legitimately sick a lot of the time, I’m guilty about that too.)

My silly little pngs don’t have to worry about that. They’re only sad when I say they are, otherwise they are happy and they are loved. Loved in a way I can’t even understand, really. I don’t know what it’s like to sit on a counter and kiss my partner while I’m cooking, I don’t know what it’s like to be domestic. It feels weird and edgy to say but it’s true, I don’t know what life is like without pain and exhaustion and struggle. I have fought tooth and nail to make myself a safe space and still it does not exist outside myself. I have exactly 10.2 square meters that are truly safe, and even when I am safe I am in pain, my joints ache and dislocate and fight me when I try to move.

So I draw my silly little pngs, and hope that someone will eventually be happy like that. Because even when everyone is shitty hope is really fucking important. And I can do that, dear gods I can hope. As hard as I can I hope for change.

[jotun-philosopher]

Random Good Omens scenarios from my brain, part 3!

First part here, second part here

(Possibly) the last one for a while, depending on what my brain does... As ever, if you want to use one or more of these imaginings as fic/art prompt, that's more than ok -- just tag me in the end result, 'cos I'd love to see it!

Aziraphale contacting the pigeons of London to ask their opinion on the Second Coming/Armageddon etc. -- the pigeons' response is to gather in one place and simultaneously void their bowels all over the Metatron and his coterie of fanatics

Crowley discovering the 'baptise me in hot dog water' post and finding it amusing enough to be inspired to plot a gambit leading to the Metatron and co. being liberally doused in the most hellishly rancid hot dog water that he (Crowley) can get his demonic little hands on

Outside the bookshop, early morning: Metatron, Michael, Uriel and Sandalphon appear, with a beaten, bloodied Aziraphale on his knees between them, his hands chained behind his back. Metatron grabs Azzy's hair and yanks his head around to the right, contemptuously snarling, "Take a good look -- this is the last time you'll ever see sunlight, or your precious bookshop!" None of the angels particularly bother to notice that an unusual number of Whickber Street Traders seem to be helping Nina clean her front windows with a slightly suspicious number of buckets of *completely innocent* water. A portal to Hell opens in the road, accompanied by the appearance of a horde of demons led by Shax and Furfur, who're openly gleeful at getting to be part of the first Fall since The Big One (especially because it's Aziraphale on the chopping block) but just as openly chafing at being told what to do by the Metatron. Before Aziraphale can be handed over for torture and Falling, the WSTs (at some prearranged signal) throw the holy water in their buckets at the demons and the Hell portal, which proves sufficiently distracting that Crowley [something brave and clever and awesome which I haven't thought of yet], removes Azzy's chains and takes his hand to perform a joint miracle that not only banishes Metatron and co. back to Heaven ('Begone, foul fiends! Avaunt!') but binds them there permanently, so they can never come back to Earth. As an encore, the reunited Ineffable Husbands rework the wards on the shop with joint miracles so powerful that Saraquel sends them a note to the effect of, "Our miracle detector just exploded. Whatever you did, it must've been big. For goodness' sake, GET MARRIED ALREADY!!!"

The Whickber Street Traders taking Muriel under their collective (metaphorical) wing

The Shopkeepers' Association feeling a bit awkward around the bookshop for a little while after the Armageddon 2 gets averted, because of the rather scary way it was confirmed that they'd been entertaining angels unaware, until Mrs Sandwich breaks the silence by bringing the Ineffable Bookshop Crew some home-made tiramisu brownies

Aziraphale needing to use mobility aids after everything's sorted, either because of physical injuries sustained while saving the world or because of PTSD-related tremors and suchlike

Crowley recalling that Aziraphale risked not just discorporation but permanent death trying to rescue people from Sodom and Gomorrah (in the process receiving injuries that left scars on his arms and chest that're visible even in modern times), and was so distraught for weeks afterwards that he (Crowley) took some pretty major risks to stay with and comfort him

Aziraphale, when making the final rejection of Heaven, quoting or referencing things Crowley's said previously -- especially "Great pustulent mangled bollocks to the GREAT BLASTED PLAN!!!" Bonus points if he directly states he's quoting Crowley, and extra double bonus if our wily ol' snek gets to overhear the whole thing :D (I really want this to happen in S3!!!!! There're so many awesome bits of parallel-ing already, this'd fit right in!)

Aziraphale repeatedly scaring the crap out of Michael and Uriel with simple sleight-of-hand tricks, because they're so unimaginative that they cannot work out how to do that sort of thing without using miracles

Muriel reading Carpe Jugulum, seeing the bit where Granny Weatherwax talks about sin always fundamentally involving treating people as things, and becoming almost incoherent with terror upon realising how well that describes the Heavenly higher-ups

INEFFABLE HAND-KISSING

Aziraphale having a raging praise kink

[survey--s]

410.

do you ever do these surveys with your SO? No - nobody IRL even knows I take these.

have you ever totally lied or made up ridiculous answers for surveys? I don’t think so.

do animal furs upset you? If they’re for genuine reasons, they’re fine, but most people don’t need to wear fur anymore.

who picks the music when you’re riding in the car? Always me, hahah. I pick when I’m driving and when I’m the passenger.

do you have a waste basket in your car? No. All my rubbish just gets shoved in the doors lol.

what’s the Spanish name for your favourite food? Patatas.

do you know anyone who regularly uses a bike for transportation? Not for actual transport, but lots of people bike for fun around here.

do you consider audio books not really reading? I mean, they’re not reading, but that doesn’t mean it’s not a worthwhile thing to do.

strangest thing you’ve ever put in the trunk of a car? Uh, nothing too strange? Just normal stuff - at the moment, mine is full of riding stuff, spare clothes for work, dog leads and dog treats.

do you carry matches or a lighter? I don’t carry either, but we have lighters at home for candles and the fire, plus we have a gas oven that needs a lighter.

do you keep socks with a hole in them if they are your favorites? Ha, I REALLY need new socks. I don’t think any of the ones I own don’t have holes, actually. I might look on Amazon ha.

last time you wore clothes that were too small on you. I don’t remember.

have you ever frightened someone on purpose. Sure, just mucking around though.

have you ever had something taken away from you by airport security? Nope.

what’s the last wild animal you have seen? Uhh, probably a seagull or a rabbit.

something you were surprised to learn about your parent’s childhood? That my grandparents were physically abusive to my dad.

do you store any non food items in the fridge? I mean, do drinks count? lol.

have you ever told a friend you thought their parent was hot? Ew, no. I’ve never understood that kind of thing.

what was the last thing you bought from a gumball machine? Probably smarties or M&M’s or something, but that was probably 15+ years ago  now ha. They used to have them at the local bowling alley.

have you ever destroyed another person’s belongings out of anger? Nope.

plain band aids or fun ones? Plain ones.

which pain killer do you use? Ibuprofen.

have you ever used someone else’s Rx med? Yes, painkillers and sleeping pills.

have you ever borrowed underwear from a friend? Nope, I’d rather go commando lol.

would you like to be part of a wedding party? Nope.

last pair of shoes you threw out and why? A pair of wellies that had a hole in them.

have you ever thrown anything up to hang on the power/phone lines? Nope.

have you ever really stayed up all night to do homework? Yeah, as a student I regularly pulled all-nighters.

have you ever had anything stolen from you? Yes.

if you could make up one rule for all your friends, what would it be? ....

do you pay attention to people’s posture? I notice it but I don’t really think anything of it either way?

do you have a creepy uncle, or have a friend who has one? Ha no. All my uncles are pretty decent, normal people.

alarm clock, or do you use your phone? I use my phone.

have you ever backed into a cactus? Nope, sounds painful though.

do any of your relatives not have home internet? Yeah, my in-laws don’t have internet or a computer. My MIL doesn’t even have a mobile phone lol.

when you get the munchies, do you want sweet or salty? It depends. Mostly savoury stuff but sometimes a decent bar of chocolate is all that hits the spot.

something you taught yourself how to do? I started teaching myself Spanish on Duolingo, if that counts?

[venusluvrr]

The Psychological Horror Manhwa “Killing Stalking” is not a Romance, but an Emotional Series Depicting the Codependent Relationship Between Two Ill Individuals

Content Warning!!: contains mentions of sexual abuse (rape) and mental illness.

Killing Stalking is an immensely twisted webcomic series, mainly popular within the Yaoi community for its boy on boy focused plotline. The story follows characters Yoon Bum (Bum), a shy, scrawny young man with a haunting past filled with abuse, and Oh Sangwoo (Sangwoo), a younger man who also has a quite damaging upbringing but masks it perfectly with his vibrant, extroverted personality. After being saved from a rape attempt during his time serving in the military, Bum develops a crush on his saviour, Sangwoo, from which an unhealthy obsession starts to arise and he eventually finds himself locating and breaking into the man’s home one day when he’s out. When he does, he discovers a terribly injured woman being held captive in his basement, and with further evidence, soon comes to the realization that his crush is actually a serial killer -- hence the name “Killing Stalking,” as Sangwoo kills and Bum stalks. For a very specific reason though, Sangwoo decides not to kill the man that had been stalking him, and instead holds him hostage in his custody. From here, the story goes into exceeding depth of the abnormal, toxic, and manipulative relationship the two form during their time spent together. By just the mere description of it, it’s a bit concerning to know that a large portion of readers still support Sangwoo and Bum’s relationship. In other words, they believe they truly loved each other and that the story was not only horror fiction but a romance as well. One could easily come to this conclusion by basing their relationship on the few parts within the novel where they showed affection towards each other -- for example when Bum allows Sangwoo to hug him to sleep when he suffered through the night, or my personal favourite, when Sangwoo buys Bum a stuffed frog keychain after finding out that he had an affinity for such creatures. But we cannot simply dismiss the underlying factors of their relationship because of some cute things they did that made our heart melt -- Sangwoo still abused Bum at his leisure which makes those moments quite meaningless in the sense of it all. What Sangwoo and Yoonbum shared can’t be classified as “love,” because even with their peculiar bond and endearing moments, the psychological damage they both endured played a bigger part in the way they perceived each other.

Many toxic relationships start out lovely and glamorous until the couple have become comfortable enough to start revealing some bad habits, but in Sangwoo and Bum’s case, they were already off to a bad start, as the reason they remained with each other was solely for reasons pertaining to their poor mental health.

At the time Sangwoo saved Bum in the military, Bum still suffered from Borderline Personality Disorder (BPD) -- a disorder he inferrably developed due to the fact that he grew up being constantly physically and sexually abused by the people around him. People with this illness may easily develop an infatuation for a person who shows them even the least bit of care; It can reach the point where they begin to idolize them and see them almost as a perfect human being -- which is exactly how Bum viewed Sangwoo after he helped him to escape a rape attempt. The likely specific term for what Sangwoo was to Bum is a Favourite Person (FP). To an individual suffering from Borderline Personality Disorder, their FP is everything -- their self-worth, identity and emotional dependency all rely on this one person, making them the center of their lives. In contrast to this sincere fondness, the only reason Sangwoo kept Bum alive was because of the man’s resemblance to his late mother -- the one person in his life who he truly loved. While his father was abusive and negligent, his mother tried her best to care for her son even while her own mental stability wasn’t so great either. Even though it was implied that he was responsible for the murder of both his mother and father in high school -- getting away with it scotch-free because of how perfectly executed his plan was -- he still shared a special bond with the woman, allowing her existence follow and continue to torutue him mentally as he grew older. When he saw Yoonbum, he felt as if she had been somewhat resurrected, or at least he could pretend so by dressing him up in his mother’s clothes and making him cook and do the chores; He also played the husband role by abusing and assaulting Bum just as his father did to his mother -- mostly just out of his own nature. Sangwoo had his own issues, “mommy issues,” and he initially needed to keep Bum alive so he could fulfill his own longing desires. Knowing the man’s character though, things wouldn’t end there and instead headed down a very gruesome and frightful path.

The very reasons that the two were drawn to each other we’re even more evident the longer they lived under the same roof. While Yoonbum continued to recall the perfect image he had of Sangwoo in his head, Sangwoo continued to manipulate the man in order to satisfy his own needs. A healthy relationship cannot be based on deceit, because one person will end up victimized instead of loved.

Oh Sangwoo is a sadistic sociopath with a history of kidnapping, abusing, raping and torturing innocent people, and because of his illness, he shows feels and shows no remorse for his actions and even proceeds to kill off his victims as they pleaded in objection. What some people don’t understand is that when Sangwoo met Bum, the only reason he treated him differently was not because he thought of him as special, but because he had a personal agenda that included making Bum think that was the truth and that he was indeed the favoured victim among many. It’s no surprise with the man’s manipulative personality that he would enjoy planting a lie in Bum’s head to make him stay and continue to do as he says, and this is confirmed whenever he returned back to his old destructive habits even after showing the man acts of affection. Yes, Sangwoo spared Bum’s life, clothed him and fed him, but as their bond grew, his narcissistic attitude was still more apparent than ever.

Upon meeting Bum for the first time, Sangwoo didn’t hesitate to aggressively break his ankles to prevent his mobility, he left the man within the dark confinement of his basement for a certain period of time before letting him out only after he had gained his trust. He made him sit in a chair to wash dishes and make dinner because he could no longer stand. Sangwoo also constantly dragged Bum down with derogatory words and statements every chance he could get, this included calling him a “retard,” and referring to him as a “disgusting” and “filthy” human being. As confirmed by the author, Sangwoo is also heterosexual, which is further proved by the homophobic remarks he made towards a significantly older man who was sexually attracted to him while murdering him with Bum’s aid. This fact alone is another one that should justify a strong point that demonstrates the true hostility of their relationship -- Yoonbum never gave his consent to have sex with Sangwoo, nor did he allow it to happen because “he wanted it.” He specifically used phrases such as, “No,” “Stop,” and “It hurts,” implying that sometimes there was no mutual agreement when they had sex and Sangwoo had actually raped him several times.

People with Borderline Personality Disorder have been reported to have difficulties seeing the faults in their partner -- this explains why Bum still held on to him. He chose to stay when he had the chance to escape, and with tears rolling down his face from excruciating pain he still told Sangwoo he loved him. In a scene where Bum is left alone with the police as they investigate the suspicions they have surrounding him, he questions them saying, “Could you kiss somebody like me? Could you love somebody like me?” As he believes nobody but Sangwoo could answer yes to those two questions, convinced that Sangwoo really does have feelings for him. It’s saddening to know that the poor man had successfully been lured into a trap, and because of his mental health it would be much harder for him to realize it.

To the readers that think, “Sangwoo and Yoonbum needed each other,” -- You’re not completely wrong. They did need each other in the way that they found somewhat of a saneness from each other’s presence, each using one another to each other’s benefit. But being together at the same time built on their insanity, as the presence of Sangwoo’s mother seemed to grow even more prevalent with Bum, who resembled her, also in the picture, and Yoonbum growing so unhealthily attached to Sangwoo that he constantly feared of abandonment and turned the sociopath into the only source of his happiness. They needed each other, but not for the right reasons. They were attached to each other, but there was no love, otherwise it would reflect throughout the story. One of the most debate-worthy scenes that challenge this fact is when Sangwoo is reported by an old lady in the hospital, the one that had ended his life, that he was calling out Bum’s name throughout the night as he lay in his deathbed. Those were his final words, and Yoonbum’s final word was also Sangwoo’s name before he was very well implied to have been hit by a car while he chased an illusion of the man he “loved.” Even I almost felt that this was solid proof that even through the tough and terrible of their relationship, deep inside, the two really were in love but could not express it in the right way due to their mental health issues -- after all, what someone makes of their final moments before death is much more meaningful than most of what they've done in their life entirely. But I came to realize that the only way I could support this relationship would be if they had met in an alternate universe where they did not suffer from such dreadful childhood trauma that made them into the hurting individual they had become before meeting each other. As difficult as it is for me to picture the two with different partners, it would be best if the two had not met at all as they only fed into the severity of their conditions.

[butts-bouncing-on-the-beltway]

This is valuable info, and I do think it's worth remarking on how often disabled people are convinced to care more about how we look and "burden" able bodied people with our mobility aids than how we are helped by them. But I also think it's important to emphasize that this over-valuation is put on us from the outside, perpetuated by our doctors, and reinforced by shame, stigma, and the expense of our devices. It's important that in unlearning our own self-hatred we don't start to look down on our peers for not having been able or willing to take those same steps. Making the choice to go up against an entire system designed to crush you is a choice that should always be made voluntarily, and never by force, even when it is a choice that can free you from that system.

As an example, when I needed a wheelchair, my doctor refused to prescribe one, saying that if she did, she believed I would continue to decline and might not walk again. I told her that didn't matter, I couldn't walk NOW, and I needed to be able to get around. This doctor, the only doctor who had ever listened to me and been supportive of my needs, demured and said "we'll revisit this if we really need to". We did not. I really needed to. I bought my own goddamn wheelchair.

And even then, being a fully autonomous choice on my part, the adjustment was rough. I had gone, in the span of a year, from being of limited but functioning mobility, to utterly unable to get around anywhere but my own home unaided, and even that was often a stretch. It felt humiliating. It felt like every ounce of my autonomy had been stripped away. And even in the chair, I couldn't push myself long distances, nor afford a motorized chair without insurance, so being pushed around by my loved ones, trusted though they were, meant never being able to do anything for myself. I had always been a person who did for me before ever asking for an assist, so to have that dynamic completely upended over night was tortorous to overcome, even though it was necessary and good for me. My loved ones were adjusting too. They made choices like I could still walk. If you've ever been in a hand push wheelchair and had your assistance person wander off in the store to get something and just.....leave you there in the aisle? You may know the feeling I'm talking about. I knew it wasn't meant to hurt me or put me at risk, but it did. Those early days in the chair were brutal. It got better, and soon we all learned how to make my chair a joyous experience. And then one day, a carer got frustrated trying to fit my chair in the trunk and broke it.

Friends I had a meltdown. I cried for hours. I felt helpless and small all over again.

What I'm saying is that having the right mobility aids is a beautiful thing. But learning to adjust to them, learning to see them as beautiful in a world that shows you over and over they are proof of your failure to be fully human, that's hard work that not everyone is ready for at the stage in their life that they need those aids. Part of destigmatizing the aids themselves needs to be not pitying or demonizing disabled people who still react the way society says they should to a mobility aid, but having enough grace to say, or at least think, that's their choice and this is mine, and I wish them the best with it.

I think it's easier sometimes for us to take our anger and hurt at the system that fails us out on each other, like this elderly man did to OP, than to see that the system is what's responsible for putting both of us in the position of making the least shitty choice we can tolerate rather than a genuinely good one.

Man in his 70s: sitting with his cane which is about 2 levels of mobility aid below what he needs “So my grandson is graduating but they’re holding the ceremony at a stadium and I’m not sure I can manage all the walking.”

Me: “Have you considered using a wheelchair? You could rent a power chair for the day. Or just buy a folding scooter - it’ll fit into your car.”

Mih7: “Unlike you, I’m trying to move away from that.”

(five minutes later)

Mih7: stands, nearly falls over, wavers there like a tree in the wind for a minute or two, then slowly makes his way back to his car, nearly falling twice on the way

[itsapapisongo]

STEPPING UP | Bang Chan

Starring: Bang Chan and Ok Taec-Yeon

Featuring: Ok Taecyeon | Seo Changbin | Hwang Hyunjin | Mark Lee

Genre: Action | Superhero

Concept & Tropes: Captain America!Chan | Non-Idol AU | Superhero AU

Word Count: 7.1K

Warnings: Language and sequences of action and violence.

Summary: When a team of S.H.I.E.L.D. agents are held for ransom by terrorists, the Captain—Bang Chan—is tasked with aiding in their rescue.

Context & Notes: This is very much influenced by the Lemurian Star sequence in Captain America: The Winter Soldier. This ties-in with Webbed Surveillance and Measure of a Hero in that these stories are set within the same fanverse. For the sake of simplicity, Chan is not the Captain America, but someone picking up the mantle and is referred to as the Captain since he’s Korean-Australian. He’s a super-soldier, been through some shit (i.e. fighting in the army, losing friends, being put on ice) and getting used to modern life after a couple of years of cryogenic sleep.

This one goes out to Lina ( @scriptura-delirus ) and Ivy ( @chogiwow​ ) for sharing my enthusiasm for idols as superheroes. We need heroes. Now more than ever.

THOUGH THE QUINJET had cloaking technology, it wasn’t needed as it lurked in the dead of night with ease. It flew undetected across the Pacific Ocean, slicing through the clouds and inching closer to the rendezvous point.

Aboard this state-of-the-art jet, a S.T.R.I.K.E. squad prepared for the mission. Among them, was a living legend. Not the one the rest of the world knew but one that nonetheless stood in high regard.

Bang Chan—otherwise known as the Captain, a name that had caught on but he quite hadn’t accepted yet—was clad in a stealth suit and carried a perfectly round shield on his back; it bore a star and muted tones of silver and blue. He adjusted his earpiece and turned to the squad, giving the team a cursory glance.

Some of his fellow agents checked their weapons while others began to huddle around the squad’s leader, Ok Taecyeon, as he began the briefing. A monitor displayed images of an aircraft carrier stranded at sea. Coordinates appeared on the lower portion of the screen, followed by the vessel’s manifest.

“Eyes on me,” said Taecyeon, clapping to get everyone’s attention. “The target’s a mobile satellite launch platform. This ol’ beaut is the Levanter. It has a skeleton crew aboard, no more than twenty people. They were about to send up their last payload when—” he tapped the monitor’s touch screen with his index finger, zooming in on a satellite image of the carrier. “—terrorists took her over. That was over ninety minutes ago.”

Chan frowned before he asked, “Any demands?”

Taecyeon grimaced. “Pretty hefty demands, if you ask me,” he replied, raising an eyebrow. “They want a billion and a half.”

Shocked was visible in the Captain’s eyes but it disappeared just as quickly as it had appeared. A billion and half? It seemed like an inconceivable figure. Back in the day, it would have been a number to scoff at. It was too high a price for a simple aircraft carrier, he thought, but the world had changed in the past century so what did he know? Even if he believed that by modern standards that was an exorbitant amount of money, he had to know.

“Why so steep?”

“It’s S.H.I.E.L.D.’s,” the team leader replied, as though it were a no-brainer. “Which means it’s worth more than the ransom itself. If they get paid, the info can be sold to the highest bidder. They’d be making bank for a while.”

Chan clenched his jaw, his hands unconsciously settling on his belt’s buckle. He titled his head to the side and scoffed, not wanting to entertain such a possibility. When he spoke, it was with a tone of disbelief—

“If they get paid?”

“They won’t.” Taecyeon shook his head, pursing his lower lip down as he swiped a finger across the screen. “Trust me on that, Cap.”

These days—an age of answers and curiosity—information was power. Those that were willing to obtain it would do so through whatever means necessary. Chan understood why someone would attack and capture the Levanter, but he couldn’t quite conceal his disbelief.

How had S.H.I.E.L.D. allowed for this to happen? Ships like these weren’t supposed to be vulnerable. If they were, it would be a major liability for the organization and the ransom proved such a point. Not because of the economical factor but because of a potential loss or corruption of whatever data was stored within these ships.

“So it’s not only a rescue mission, we’re recovering whatever data might be in there,” Chan deduced, crossing his arms across his chest. Even if the suit was padded and close to his skin, his muscle definition was nonetheless impressively visible.

“Apparently so.” Taecyeon nodded.

Chan glanced at the monitor and motioned with his chin at it. “What about our extremists friends?”

“They’re with R.A.I.D.”

“Who comes up with these names?” one of the agents.

“It stands for Radically Advanced Ideas in Destruction,” Taecyeon explained. Chan could tell he was doing his best not to roll his eyes. “In essence, they’re HYDRA lite.”

“Hmm,” Chan grumbled. “That’s not very comforting.”

Taecyeon gave in and rolled his eyes. “No shit.” He pushed the monitor forward so that everyone got a good look at the mug-shot of a tall and bearded middle-aged man with a hardened face and malicious brown eyes. “This is their leader: Vladimir Korda.

“Sokovian-Russian, born in Southern Russian but raised in Novi Grad. Sokovian Armed Forces, dishonorably discharged. Our friend here was part of a covert kill squad named EKO Scorpion. Nasty piece of work.” Taecyeon glared briefly at the man’s dossier. “It seems he got fed up and decided to go from military man to mercenary to—”

“Terrorist,” Chan finished for him. “And the kind without a cause.”

“Don’t know or care if he has a cause.” Taecyeon sniffed and motioned a gun with his right hand, pointing it at the monitor. “I just know I’d like to put a bullet between his eyes.”

Chan shook his head, meeting the team leader’s eyes. “We’re not neutralizing anyone. This is a standard CSAR mission,” he said in a stern tone.

Taecyeon tilted his head then gave a small nod of understanding. Chan could tell that he wasn’t happy about it but orders were orders and the man often did his best to do things by the book. CSAR—combat search and rescue—were in-and-out S.H.I.E.L.D. operations that required not only efficiency but the highest of discretion. Contact with hostiles was to be kept to a minimum thus “neutralizing” targets was an acceptable option unless completely necessary.

“Wanna hear about the hostages?”

Chan raised an eyebrow, taken aback by Taecyeon’s casual tone.

“Sure,” he answered, hesitation palpable in his voice.

Taecyeon pulled up the hostages’ photos. There were two civilians. The rest were S.H.I.E.L.D. agents as their dossiers showed they had been stationed in the Levanter for over six months. Chan recognized a handful of them and felt a knot tie itself around his throat; two or three of them he’d been with on different assignments. His hands fell from his belt and settled behind his back as he clenched his fists; under the gloves, the knuckles had turned white. As he studied the faces of innocent people caught in an undesirable and undoubtedly traumatic situation, Chan thought of how important it was to accomplish the mission properly.

“They’re being held in the galley.”

“How many?”

“Nineteen people. Mostly techies with the exception of a Level 4 agent.”

With an idle flick of his wrist, Taecyeon swiped the screen and the photo of a bespecalted young man with black hair and indigo highlights appeared. He wore a suit and sported an expression of confused exasperation.

“Seo Changbin,” he told them, grimacing at the agent’s photo. “Good at what he does but not made for field work.”

Chan raised an eyebrow, prompting Taecyeon to motion a hand over his chest, as if to say how-to-say-this-politely. “He’s good at being behind a desk,” he replied, albeit not unkindly. “Which begs the question of why he’s aboard the carrier.”

“Did Fury mention him at all?”

Taecyeon gave him a weary look and shook his head. Why would a Level 4 agent be aboard the Levanter? There was nothing there for someone who sat behind a desk. If he were part of the tech-team, Chan wouldn’t have questioned it. Yet there was a vital piece of information missing and it was beginning to bother him. They people upstairs always asked him to step in and save the day but besides telling him how, they seldom ever told him why.

I feel like a glorified janitor, Chan fretted as his brow furrowed and transformed his handsome features into a scowl. Someone handed him his helmet and he nodded his thanks, silently placing it on his head. Between the Quinjet’s dim-lighting and his helmet, it was hard to read his face.

“So, Cap, how are we going to do this?”

Chan blinked once, twice, then cleared his throat. “I’ll clear the deck, you find the hostages,” he affirmed, pointing a finger at the Levanter’s layout on the monitor. “Get them out and into the life pods.”

“I’ll find Korda as soon as I clear the deck.” Chan turned to Taecyeon. “We don’t want any casualties so we’re incapacitating anyone we come across.”

Taecyeon nodded firmly, saluting the Captain with a wink. “Aye, aye, Captain,” he acknowledged. “No neutralizing. Duly noted.”

The Quinjet went dark then lit up under a red light. An alert turned on. The jet’s back hangar doors opened and a strong wind whipped through the hull. The cool night air nipped at their exposed skin but each and everyone of them shrugged it off. No one had more experience with the cold than Chan. As the rest of the team prepared for the jump, the Captain and Taecyeon walked over the hangar doors’ edge. They looked down at the dark ocean below, felt the wind howling in their ears.

“Captain!” Taecyeon leaned in, yelling over the noise. He shielded his face against the wind with an open palm. “What do you say if I buy us chimaek after this is over?”

“Chimaek, huh?” Chan yelled back and titled his head, a hand unconsciously adjusting the shield on his back. “That sounds tempting.”

“Up to you, old man.” The team leader shrugged, smiling as he caught a glint of exasperation in Chan’s eyes. “I understand if you want to rest. Sit in, fall asleep, drool all over yourself in your rocking chair, y’know?”

“As long as you’re paying,” the Captain half-smiled, fist-bumping his partner.

Taecyeon chuckled, knowing he had won him over as he yelled, “Give the man some space!”

Chan put some distance between himself and the hangar doors. Without hesitation, the Captain cracked his neck, ran the length of the jet, then leaped out of the Quinjet. The S.T.R.I.K.E. team paused, awestruck. No one or spoke for a few seconds.

They all realized something at the exact same time.

“Was he—was he wearing a parachute, boss?” an agent asked, visibly concerned.

“No,” Taecyeon confirmed, half-smiling. “No, he wasn’t.”

LIKE MISSILE SLICING through the sky, moving faster than the eye could follow, Chan hurled headfirst toward the Levanter. Just as he was about to crash on the Pacific Ocean, he flipped then dived into the dark depths below. He was less than a hundred yards from the ship so swimming to the carrier was easier than expected.

The Levanter floated in the calm water, the moonlight reflecting on its deck. An armed man kept watch and heavily yawned. He was looking out to the sea when Chan was climbing the ship’s steep anchor. Feeling movement, the guard leaned in over the rail just in time to catch the Captain’s ascent and made a sound between a gulp and groan when he was grabbed by the collar of his bulletproof vest.

“What the—” he managed to mumble before he felt his forehead make contact with the railing and was subsequently thrown overboard.

Chan propped himself up and jumped the railing with ease. Gathering his bearing, he looked left and right then reached and took the shield off his back. He parkoured his way across the deck, dispatching another armed man with effortless speed and skill. Several more men patrolled the perimeter, armed to the teeth and blissfully unaware of what was to unfold.

He stood in the shadows and surveyed his surroundings. Out of the four, two were huddled together and carrying a hushed conversation. The other two were on opposite sides of the deck, looking out to the ocean. Chan counted to ten, his grip on the shield tighter, then sprung into action.

He whistled a tune that suspiciously sounded like Arirang and got their attention, emerging from the shadows when the quartet whipped round to look for the sound. The man farthest to Chan barely had a second to register something—was that a saucer?—flying right at him. With a resonating clunk, the shield smacked him right in the chest and knocked the air out of his lungs; he collapsed, instantly incapacitated.

Having practiced for years and learned how to find the proper angles for the perfect throw, Chan blindly outstretched his left hand and closed it around the shield as it ricocheted back to him. He sprinted towards the nearest threat—the chattering duo—and tackled them both without breaking a sweat. The three of them struggled on the ground for a second but were on their feet as quickly as they’d fallen down.

The Captain lifted the shield and, gripping one of the leather straps, punched it; the round vibranium shield slammed into one of the men’s forehead and his knees gave in; he collapsed with a huff and a pained moan. Chan whirled and avoided a kick to the chest; though he was fast, he wasn’t fast enough to completely avoid the attack because he felt the man’s leg grace his ribs. The guy wouldn’t quit, though, because he kept kicking. Even when he missed he managed to have minimal contact.

I’m wasting my time, the Captain mentally groaned.

This guy was fast but the Captain was faster. When the man threw yet another kick, Chan intercepted the attack by grabbing the man’s ankle and twisting the leg with a flick of his wrist. A loud snap-crack confirmed he had effectively fractured the entire limb. The man toppled over and was about to scream when Chan knelt, chopped at his throat, and broke his windpipe. He heard whimpering and glanced over his shoulder to see the other man was shaking from head to toe; the guard had spread his arms out to display his surrender.

Chan straightened and was about to continue clearing the deck when he remembered there was still a man left. In all the commotion, as quick as it had been, he’d been too hyper-focused on disabling any threats that he forgot to not underestimate the enemy. When he turned to search for the last man standing, he felt the barrel of a gun against the back of his neck.

There you are.

“Clear,” the Captain whispered on his comm.

The man cocked the gun but never fired. A low pfft-pfft echoed in the night and he collapsed; tranquilized but not dead. The sound of parachutes alerted Chan of his team’s arrival. Six skydivers slapped their chest releases, their chutes billowing above then behind them. The team landed quietly, already used to these types of operations, sidearms at ready in their capable hands.

“Thanks, Taecyeon-ssi,” said Chan, half-bowing..

Taecyeon waved a dismissed hand. “Don’t mention it,” he said with a devious smirk. “I know you’re helpless without me.”

Chan clicked his tongue, passing the shield from his left to his right hand. Now that they were huddled together, he gave the perimeter a cursory glance and nodded when he found the comms tower. “Have the feeling I’ll find Korda there.”

“Seems like a good place to be in,” said Bam, one of the agents.

Taecyeon followed the Captain’s gaze. “Sure does,” he mumbled, his voice stern and low. “Call it, Cap.”

“I’ll go for the comms tower. The three of you—” Chan pointed at Taecyeon and the two agents beside him. “—find the hostages. And you three—” he pointed to the remaining members of the team. “—secure the engine room.”

“You heard the man. Spread out.” Taecyeon unslung the rifle off his body, wrapping the strap around his wrist. As the Captain nodded and started to walk off, he whispered, “Watch your six.”

Chan winked. “Always.”

THE COMMS TOWER was taller up close as he used a large pipeline to aid his ascent. Chan balanced himself on the line and he removed a pocket-sized surveillance launcher from a pouch in his belt. He aimed high and fired it at the Levanter’s comms room. A cord arched through the air and a microscale microphone stuck to the comms tower’s window. Initially, there was nothing but white noise until—

He could make out a conversation: two men talking over each other as they argued about something Chan had no context for. A man spoke Russian in a soft voice that was laced with malice and contempt. The Captain raised an eyebrow, taken aback by the dissonance between Korda’s voice and his cutthroat appearance.

Closing his eyes and pressing a finger on his earpiece, he focused on what was happening in the comms room. He was glad Fury had convinced him to learn a thing or two after being thawed out besides martial arts and catching up on politics and the world’s current and complicated status quo. Though he wasn’t fluent in Russian, he knew enough to get by and what he was hearing didn’t bode well for the mission.

“They still haven’t responded to our demands. We’ve been here for—”

“It seems like you’re in a hurry, Anatoly,” said Vladimir Kora, sounding bored. “They know what we want and they know we’re not bluffing.”

“Sir, if I may—”

“Nyet.” Korda grumbled. “You may not.”

A phone rang and Anatoly immediately answered. He mumbled then passed the call to his superior, mentioning it was coming from the galley.

“As soon as we get the money, this boat moves.” There was a pause and a heavy, irritated sigh. When Korda spoke again, he barely raised his voice but the Captain could tell he didn’t know need to because his tone was laced with seething anger. “Move them to the engine room. They’re not gonna be much of use once the ransom is paid.”

Chan scowled. There was no way in hell that was going to happen.

THE GALLEY WOULD have been immaculate if not for the droplets of still-fresh blood on the floor. The tiles were white, the walls silver, and almost everything was made of metal. The room was cold and smelled of dinner—ramyun, cooked vegetables, stir-fried beef, rice, something spicy—and none of Korda’s men could really resist glancing at the pots and pans where the food had been left unserved.

The Levanter’s crew was silent. They had been ever since they had been hijacked. Tears had been shed and mumbled prayers had been uttered but no one really dared speak up. Their minimal training dictated that they were to disclose nothing and to keep an even temper.

But for Seo Changbin keeping an even temper was the bottom of his priorities. He was tie-strapped to a metal counter. His legs had been tied too so his movability was limited and painful. Changbing had no other choice but heave a sigh and endure the aches and bruises the hijackers had so generously given him. His back was bothering him but it was his shoulder that was really driving me off the wall. Out of instinct, he’d intercepted a blow meant for someone else and was beginning to regret not being more cautious.

Every little movement hurt and made him wince. Enduring someone thrusting a rifle’s stock in between his shoulder and collarbone was no easy feat and nothing he’d ever wish on someone—except, perhaps, on the asshole who did it—but he’d rather take the hit than have his fellow agents be hurt.

The galley’s door opened and a grey-haired man stepped in, clad in a maroon uniform. He didn’t carry an assault rifle or body armor and the only sign that he was a man of authority was the ivory Heckler & Koch P7 holstered in his left thigh. Changbin could make out a familiar insignia engraved in its grip: a macabre skull with six tentacles below its jaw.

Great, Changbin grimaced, these guys are back.

Grey Hair spoke in Russian to one of the three men watching over them, his voice hoarse like that of a smoker’s. He glanced at them, smirked, then kicked at the legs of the two women to Changbin’s far left. The women—Lina and Aibi—leaned into each other but didn’t show fear. To Changbin’s chagrin, they glared at Grey Hair and hissed in annoyance.

“Aish,” they whispered, eyeing Grey Hair up and down in disgust.

Grey Hair scowled and reached for his gun, the ivory losing its splendor in his calloused hand. He aimed it at Lina’s forehead. If she was scared, she didn’t show it. Instead, she stared him down and clenched her jaw, leaning forward so that her head was pressed against the barrel of the gun.

“Go ahead,” she whispered in Russian. “See how that ends for you.”

“You speak—” Grey Hair blinked. Confusion was apparent in his eyes and he hesitated, the gun being pulled away from his victim’s forehead then returning to it with strengthened resolve. “Then you know what’s going to happen. You’ll be dead now or in the next twenty minutes.”

Aibi snorted. “Yah!” she yelled, sounding fierce, outraged. When Grey Hair turned to her, she lowered her voice and spoke in Korean, enunciating every word with thin-veiled vitriol. “Don’t drink your kimchi soup first.”

Changbin scoffed and failed to suppress his chuckle. His father used to say that often and he could never take the proverb seriously. And yet it gave Grey Hair pause as he didn’t understand Aibi and hadn’t counted on their defiance.

“If you’re wondering, I can translate,” Changbing interjected in English, leaning forward so that Grey Hair could see him properly.

“Translate.”

“She said . . . don’t get ahead of yourself.”

“Bitch,” Grey Hair grumbled in English and motioned to hit Lina but relented when he saw Changbin struggling against the straps. “You want to be hero?”

“Not really, no,” the S.H.I.E.L.D. agent shook his head then shrugged. “But I’d preferred if you didn’t hurt anyone.”

“You want bullet in your head?”

The gun was aimed at Changbin. His eyes widened as he recognized the present danger. He kept calm and titled his head to the side. “Again, no,” he replied in an aloof tone, as though he was having a conversation about the weather. “I just want you to know, tovarishch, that S.H.I.E.L.D. doesn’t negotiate with terrorists.”

Grey Hair flinched. “We are not comrades.”

“Thank God for that.” Changbin lifted his eyebrows and relented from rolling his eyes. “We’re already your hostages. I don’t see the need to be smacking us around.”

“We’re in control.”

Lina lifted her chin, holding back a smirk. “Not for long, comrade.”

“HOW LONG WILL this take?” Anatoly fretted, leaning on a console with crossed arms.

“As long as it takes,” said Korda.

“We’ve been here—”

“If you have anything to say, just spit it out.”

Anatoly opened his mouth to respond but immediately closed it. Suddenly, he couldn’t form a coherent sentence. Questioning Korda’s leadership wasn’t encouraged but it wasn’t frowned upon; one simply needed to know how to do it. Unfortunately for Anatoly, he didn’t know how to explain the knot in his stomach.

Korda scoffed and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “It seems the cat caught your tongue,” he sneered as he leaned on the captain’s chair, giving his back to the bridge’s rectangular window. “We stick to the plan.”

“This was not part—this was not the plan.”

“Adapt or die, tovarishch.” Korda cracked his neck, unholstered his side-arm, then pointed at Anatoly’s chest. “You’re not afraid are you?”

Eyes on the gun, Anatoly trembled. “I’m not,” he answered, but his voice was shaky.

“In our line of work, fear is useless. Toughen up, son.”

Anatoly nodded. “I will—” he began but didn’t finish, his breath caught in his throat. He gestured a hand over his boss’ shoulder but before Korda could react something burst through the room’s window and hurled Anatoly backwards. The sound of something light and sharp cutting through concrete and reinforced steel echoed in their ears; it was followed up by the crunching of glass under heavy footsteps.

By the time Anatoly gathered his bearings, Korda was already on his feet. He caught his boss’ silhouette sprinting out of the control room. Anatoly blinked and saw a man clad in dark blue, his face concealed by a helmet bearing a white star on the forehead and stylized wings by his ears. The man glanced at Anatoly, grimaced, then disarmed him by tossing away his holstered side-arm.

“Sorry about that,” he apologized and sounded genuinely remorseful. “We’ll get you some medical attention once you’ve been taken into S.H.I.E.L.D. custody.”

“You’re Captain—”

“Yeah, that’s me.” The man nodded and placed a finger in his ear. “I got a man down in the control room.”

Anatoly reached out and gripped the man by his forearm. “Am I going to—am I going to die?”

The man—the Captain—knelt and helped him into a sitting position. “Not if I can help it,” he reassured Anatoly with a small nod. “Now, if you excuse me . . .”

The Captain stood to his full height and walked past Anatoly, wrenching something off the wall and clasping it on his back. Anatoly realized what had burst through the window: a shield. That had graced his left arm and knocked him off his feet so it was no wonder he felt like his arm from the elbow down had fallen off.

Before everything turned dark and the pain overwhelmed him, Anatoly couldn’t help but feel relieved that he wasn’t going to die.

“KODRA IS ON the move!” Chan alerted Taecyeon as he sprinted after the terrorist leader. “Have you secured the hostages?”

“We’re on it, as we speak,” Taecyeon answered, his voice a mere whisper in the Captain’s ear. “We’re thirty seconds from clearing the galley.”

“Clear it and secure it. No one comes in, no one comes out. Not until I’ve subdued Korda.”

“Aye, aye, Captain.”

“Taecyeon-ssi? That’s getting annoying.”

A muffled chuckle came through Chan’s comm. “More of a reason to do so,” said the squad’s leader. “And Captain? Go gentle on the guy. I want to roughen him up a bit.”

Chan clenched his jaw. “Yeah? Get in line.”

THE GALLEY’S DOOR burst open with a bang and the room exploded with violence.

Changbin recognized Ok Taecyeon leading the charge, his aim eerily accurate. In the blink of an eye, Grey Hair and the remaining hijackers were effortlessly disabled. Grey Hair had been shot four times, his chest decorated with tranq-darts. Aibi kicked him squarely in the jaw, groaning as the straps chafed her heels and impeded her movements.

“We told you, didn’t we?” Lina tilted her head and narrowed her eyes. “S.H.I.EL.D. doesn’t negotiate with terrorists.”

“Galley secured, sir,” said one of the agents, her voice that of a woman’s.

“We’re clear here,” Taecyeon relayed to the Captain and nodded when he heard the man’s response. “Bam, cuff these assholes. Yuna, help me untie our friends here.”

Bam removed his mask, tossed it aside, and pulled a handful of plastic tie-strips from a pouch in his belt. He went to work without wasting a second as Yuna unsheathed a tactical knife and began to cut tie-strips off hands and legs.

“Are you alright?” Taecyeon knelt in front of Lina, slashing the tie-strips in her legs.

Lina stretched her legs, leaned to the side so that her arms could be untied. “As best as I could be,” she retorted with a blank expression. “I think I speak for everyone when I say we’re glad to see you guys.”

“No shit,” said Aibi.

Taecyeon smirked, swiftly moving to free Aibi and the two technicians between her and Changbin. He patted backs and offered a comforting smile. “You’re a-okay now, folks. We got your back.”

“Now what?” Changbin heard himself ask and cringed when all eyes were on him.

“We wait. It won’t take long. We got a man upstairs getting things done.”

Changbin knew they were safe. The Captain was a force to be reckoned with and one would have to be out of their mind to not yield in his presence.

FOR A MAN in his mid-seventies, Bang Chan moved with athletic grace and a keen awareness of his surroundings. But as he turned to check a corner, he was unprepared for the steel-booted kick to his lower back. The brunt of the attack was absorbed by the shield, which echoed with a distinctive high-pitched ring. 

Chan stumbled forward, a low grunt escaping through gritted teeth. Out of instinct, he reached for the shield. He gained his balance and whirled so fast that he caught a look of mild surprise in Vladimir Korda’s face. The man was emerging from the shadows and took slow steps forward, scrutinizing the Captain.

“I should count myself lucky,” exclaimed Korda in English, laughing derisively. “The Captain, as I live and breathe!”

Chan sensed he was being measured both in size and skill. He narrowed his eyes and focused on controlling his breathing before giving in to his anger. He narrowed his eyes and winced at how stiff his right hand—from his forearm to his palm—felt as his grip on the shield tightened. It was light in his hands—light enough to be thrown with impeccable aim and malicious intent—but he lowered it. Using it would have to be his last resort.

“The Symbol of a Nation, they call you!” Korda chuckled and pacing back and forth, stretching. He paused, bowed, then took a fighting stance. “It’s going to be an honor tearing you apart.”

“You certainly can try.” Chan glared.

“I’ve heard you can’t live without your oversized frisbee.”

“Uh-huh.” The Captain nodded dismissively. “Who do you work for?”

Korda shrugged. “Why does that matter?”

“Not anyone would hire an man like you for something as risky as—”

“Hijacking S.H.I.E.L.D. property? Please, Captain, I don’t know whether to blush or be insulted.” The Russian placed a hand on his chest and lowered his head, feigning embarrassment. His face darkened when he straightened and glared. “Who hired me doesn’t matter. You’re not asking the right question.”

“Not who but why?”

Korda clicked his tongue as if to say bingo. “You’re perceptive, kapitan. And here I was thinking you were just a shield.”

“Just a shield?” Chan pursed his lips and removed his helmet. He was a young man—handsome, dirty blond, brown-eyed, with a fine jaw, and a fair complexion—and the anger that glistened in his eyes made him look older, jaded. His next words were spoken in Russian: “We’ll see.”

Korda growled, unleashing a fury of punches—jabs, hooks, uppercuts—with deadly precision yet Chan was too agile for him. The Captain was dancing around him, moving out of the way of each attack so swiftly that Korda was beginning to give into anger.

Whack! A high kick to his collarbone, drove Chan back with a groan. He could hear Korda cackling.

“Is that all, old man?”

Old man? Chan reloaded his biceps and assumed a fighting stance, ready to bring this entire ordeal to an end. Yeah, I’m not gonna let that slide.

Korda made a guttural sound akin to a roar and threw a kick above the Captain’s head only to find himself losing balance. Chan held and pulled his opponent’s leg higher, kicked him in the stomach once, twice, then punched upward on the man’s groin. Kodra collapsed on the ground, groaning and mumbling expletives and swearing he’d kill the Captain.

Chan picked up his helmet and said, “I can do this all day.”

“Fuc—”

“Nope.” He lightly tapped Korda on the nose, knocking him out. “That’s enough out of you.”

Breathing hard, Chan sat on the ground. He hugged his knees against his chest and looked up to a starry night sky and the moonlight enveloping him in its glow. The cool breeze nipped at his skin, a reminder that he was still wet from diving in the Pacific Ocean.

The night was beautiful. When had been the last time he’d done this? He couldn’t tell but he wasn’t going to let this moment pass. Unfortunately, despite wanting to be in the moment, he was stirred from his reverie when Taecyeon’s voice came through his comm.

“Cap?”

Chan sniffed and stood up, stretching. “We’re clear,” he answered, lifting then tossing Korda over his shoulder. “Is everyone accounted for?”

“Bad guys have been subdued. Our folk are safe.”

“Glad to hear that.”

“Meet us on the life pods.”

“Are we in a hurry?”

Taecyeon made a sound between a scoff and a snort. “The quicker we’re out here, the quicker we can get our chimaek on.”

“Roger that.”

FOUR HOURS LATER, they were debriefed and back in Seoul. Upon their arrival, Deputy Director Bae had made the necessary arrangements for the Levanter’s crew to be treated for any medical injury or emotional trauma.

Bam, Yuna, and the rest of the S.T.R.I.K.E. squad were stationed in a safe-house near Itaewon. They were given orders to rest and report twelve hours later to Seoul HQ. As an elite S.H.I.E.L.D. counter-terrorist special unit, they were trained to be the best in a world where the unexpected happened every day. Their work never stopped. Rest was a luxury and it was indulged whenever the opportunity arose.

During the war, sleep was sacred. Just because the day turned into night that didn’t mean getting some shut-eye was guaranteed. Anything and everything could happen. Then again, anything and everything did happen. So Chan knew what it was to be sleep-deprived, going from one mission to another to another to another. When Taecyeon told his team to call it a night, they obeyed without protest.

Yet Taecyeon rarely ever slept. Chan had seen him napping but never sleeping and he seemed like the type who was a light sleeper—a butterfly flapping its wings might wake him up. But as they clinked their soju glasses and celebrated yet another accomplished mission, Chan could see Taecyeon was concealing his exhaustion.

They were in Chan’s dimly-lit studio apartment—the type that was considered spartan with a bathroom, kitchenette, and living room that doubled as a bedroom—and sat on the floor. There was a single rectangular window with a modest view to a modest street outside; it was open and allowed a soft, rain scented breeze in. Empty bottles of soju and beer were strewn in the ground-level coffee table Mark and Hyunjin had gifted Chan when he moved in.

“Got any plans for tomorrow?”

Chan smiled. “Not really,” he replied, lifting the shot glass up to his lips. “What about you?”

“Geonbae.” Taecyeon downed his shot, clicked his tongue, then chuckled. “I got someone waiting for me. I’m thinking I’ll take the weekend off.”

“Oh?”

“Or, y’know, a least a day off. Vacations in our line of work are . . . complicated.”

Chan chuckled and rubbed his neck. To say that working for S.H.I.E.L.D. was complicated was the understatement of the millennium. One thing was being a soldier, the other being a member of an organization so vastly secretive that Chan wasn’t sure how much power they wielded or how many resources they had across the globe.

Complicated, Chan thought, as if that doesn’t sum up my life. “I assume Eddie’s missing you,” he added, smiling ruefully.

Chan knew with certainty three things about Ok Taecyeon: he was a S.H.I.E.L.D. legacy, he and his sister were the grandchildren of a highly decorated agent; he had a fondness for chimaek; and he was absolutely “soft” for his dog. So it was no wonder that a fond smile spread across Taecyeon’s face as he refilled their glasses then dropped them on their beers. He was beaming and it was contagious because Chan couldn’t suppress the half-smile that tugged on his lips. It was strange yet pleasant to see such a change in his usually snarky demeanor.

“I bet he is,” Taecyeon agreed. “I’ve been missing the shit outta him for over a month now.”

“I say take the weekend off.”

“So should you.”

Chan frowned. “And do what?”

Taecyeon scoffed. “Take a walk. Hang-out with friends. Go on a date. I don’t know but just—aish—just step out and smell the roses.”

“I’ll think about it.”

“Aish.”

Chan shrugged, taking a sip from his drink—somaek, as it was referred to—and found himself uncertain about how it tasted. It was an odd mix that somehow worked. Taecyeon drank his own calmly, already used to the beer cocktail’s unique flavor. To Chan’s surprise, it went well with chicken since they had devoured not one but two family-sized boxes of hot wings and fried chicken.

“You do anything Saturday?” Taecyeon queried, his tone casual yet coaxing.

“Do sit-ups count?” Chan scrunched up his nose. He didn’t like people interfering in his personal life so he played dumb. “‘Cause if they do . . . that’s how I spent my Saturday.”

Taecyeon clicked his tongue. “Good Lord, you’re boring,” he blew a raspberry and leaned forward, propping his elbows on the table’s edge. “Look I get it—work’s important and we can’t always enjoy time for ourselves—but you’re more than just a soldier.”

“It’s not that.” The Captain looked away, eyes drifting to his half-consumed drink. “Schedule’s just a little tight these days.”

“Hyung-nim . . .”

Chan blinked, mouth agape at the honorific. He opened his mouth to reply but was too shocked to form a coherent thought.

“S.H.I.E.L.D. needs you, hyung-nim. You’re the Captain, for fuck’s sake, but—” Taecyeon bowed his head and passed a hand through his hair. He straightened and met Chan’s eyes, smiling a weary half-smile. “The world’s complex and uncertain but the least you could do is find the good within it and enjoy it. You can’t live solely for work—you must live for something.”

“I don’t know.” Chan rubbed his forehead. “Family, stability? The guy who wanted all that was on ice for far too long. I think someone else came out.”

“And what do they want?”

Chan grimaced. “I don’t know.”

“Then, Cap, take tomorrow to figure that out.”

AFTER BOWING PROFUSELY and apologizing for being drunk and speaking informally, Taecyeon left an hour later. Chan called him a cab and was surprised when received a text from Bam, relaying his commander’s arrival to the Bunkbed—the Itaewon safe-house—and giving the man shit for not holding his own against the Captain. 

After all this time, Chan found it funny that others used honorifics around him. It felt strange being treated like a senior because he still felt like that twenty-something kid that joined the army to fight the good fight. He could be their grandfather but he didn’t look like it.

Despite feeling accomplished, he didn’t sleep that night. Taecyeon’s words echoed in his head—you’re more than a soldier . . . live for something . . . figure it out—and it felt like being hitting with a brick wall. It hadn’t been that long since he’d been pulled from the cold and into this bold new world. Yet he hadn’t taken time to fully immerse himself in it.

Work had impeded that from happening and he was oddly thankful for that. Adapting wasn’t always easy and the times, for better or worse, demanded change. Chan sensed he wasn’t ready for change. Given enough time, he would be . . . but not yet.

The weight of the conversation stuck with him and it was beginning to bother him. still Taecyeon was right. Chan couldn’t keep himself isolated . . . waiting for the next mission . . . letting time pass right by him when he had just returned to the world of the living.

He sighed and reached for a flip phone Jackson had gifted him on his birthday. His contacts were limited since he rarely communicated with anyone outside of work. The selected few that had his number were people he trusted unconditionally. In the off-chance of losing the device—and because he still didn’t trust technology enough—Chan had memorized every number saved on the phone.

He dialed a number and waited. The contact ID read: THUNDER 현진.

With bated breath and closed eyes, he listened to the phone ringing, ringing, ringing, ringing, until—

“Hey there, grandpa!”

Chan couldn’t help but rub his temple. “How are you, Hyunjin?”

“I’m doing as good as I can—M, web him up!—yah! Webs. Use them, like, now!”

“Are you busy—”

There was a loud boom followed by Hyunjin grunting and cussing through gritted teeth. The sound of thunder and crackling lighting echoed in Chan’s ear, as though it were happening right besides him. After a second of silence, he heard Hyunjin chuckle in between breaths.

“Say, ajeossi, what do you say to lending us a hand?”

“With what?” Chan frowned.

“Oh, y’know, the usual . . .” Hyunjin said as matter-of-factly. “Super-villains.”

Chan paused, looked at his flip-phone, and blinked as if to consider what was happening. He heard a familiar and unmistakable voice, calling after Hyunjin with a tone of disbelief and disapproval.

“Are you on the phone right now?” Mark sounded livid. “Dude, are you serious?”

“I’m getting reinforcements!”

“YAH—”

“Don’t get your webs in a bunch, M!”

“Hyunjin—” Mark began but was cut off.

Chan wondered what was going on but before he could ask, his friend interjected. “Ajeossi,” said Hyunjin, not bothering to listen to Mark or Chan. “On your left!”

He heard it before he saw it. Behind him, something began to glow: it started as a just a small, twirling sparkler until it grew into a wide circle that encompassed much of the kitchenette. Chan couldn’t see the rest of his apartment because this burning circle—a portal, no doubt made with magic—opened to a busy intersection in what looked like Enn City. Cars had been crushed or exploded; the streets were cracked or burning; and standing a few feet away was Hyunjin himself.

“Where’s the shield?” he asked, hanging up the phone.

“It’s—uh—there,” said Chan, pointing to a corner of his apartment. The shield laid untouched but ready for battle.

Hyunjin rolled his eyes, his right hand extended as if waiting for something. “Well . . . are you gonna grab it or are we gonna stand here all night?”

Chan smiled. He snatched the shield, ran the length of his apartment, and leaped into the portal. He quickly realized he wasn’t wearing any tactical gear when he felt the hot asphalt under his bare feet. The portal closed behind him with a soft hiss. Great, he thought, I’m underdressed.

“Looking good, ajeossi,” said Hyunjin, smirking.

“Please,” Chan mumbled, ears burning with embarrassment. “Stop calling me that.”

A dull whistle resonated faintly in the air until it crescendoed to a loud boom. That’s when Chan saw it: a war-hammer so splendorous and beautifully crafted that he had to remind himself it wasn’t the real thing. He now understood why Hyunjin had his hand over his head as Pokpung met home in its owner’s hand.

“What are you two doing?”

Chan turned to his left and saw Mark Lee—the Brotastic Spider-Man—glaring at them as he hung from lamppost. His suit was black and neon-green. It fit him like a second skin and was coated with debris dust.

“Are we gonna fight or are we gonna pose like idiots?”

“Call it, Cap.” Hyunjin passed Pokpung from his left to his right hand.

The Captain—Bang Chan—smiled, bursting with purpose.

He didn’t know what he’d do tomorrow. He just knew it was worth fighting for.

[supernaturallyobsessedchic]

Emergency! Part 1

Part 1 – Plane Crash

Summary: Dean and Cas are partners at Fire Station 51’s paramedic squad and are responding to their first of many. A plane crashes into an apartment complex, multiple fire stations respond to put out the fire and rescue any victims trapped. But RN, Y/N Y/L/N, happens to live in the very complex involved in the plane crash. Though unharmed, she commits her time to aid and assist in the victims coming out of the building and the plane. The rescue turns sideways on Dean when a beam drops onto Dean, damaging his oxygen tank, he quickly turns into a victim as he quickly succumbs to smoke inhalation and becomes Y/N’s patient.

Warnings: Mild angst (relationship), slight language, fluff?

Square: Firefighter!AU ( @supernatural-jackles​ Tell me a story Bingo)

Word Count: 1,784

Mobile Masterlist

Series Masterlist

A/N: DOA = Dead on Arrival. Y/L/N = Your last name. But I hope you guys enjoy!

~

She got up at her usual time of 5am to be at the hospital by 6:30am.

Not much of a coffee drinker, she just got her a mug filling up with soda, the soda being her caffeine for the day.

She got into her scrubs, grabbing her nametag, pens and her personal notepad.

Ready to hit the road before traffic begins to pick up on the freeway in Los Angeles, she grabs her wallet, phone and keys she locks up to leave for her day at work as a Registered Nurse at Rampart emergency hospital.

Just as she got to the street to her car, there was a loud noise growing louder. She looked in the direction of the noise to see a plane, crash landing into her own apartment complex.

Ducking beside her car at the impact of the plane she was also thankful for her timing.

Quickly she dials 9-1-1.

Dean got up at his usual time of 4 in the morning to begin his 24-hour shift at the station.

Dean is a paramedic and squad member at station 51.

He pulled his truck into the parking lot, still trying to wake up.

His partner was already there.

“Cas, do you ever sleep man?” Dean asked.

“Slept on the couch again.”

“Are you and Hannah okay?”

“No, we had a big fight again last night. I don’t know what I can do for her anymore.” Cas says, defeated.

“Just end things man, you need sleep, and you need some peace of mind. I got room at my house for a roommate if you need a place.”

“Thanks Dean, but I already had plans of ending things with Hannah, last night was just the nail in the coffin of yet another failed relationship.”

“She failed it man, you did nothing wrong.” Dean encouraged.

“Thanks man.”

Dean offered a kind smile and a pat on Cas’s shoulder.

“Ready for another long shift?” Cas asks.

“As ready as I’ll ever be, my dad here yet?”

“Yeah, he’s in the office why?”

“Wonder if he got the invite to Sam and Jess’s wedding.”

“Bought damn time that kid popped the question honestly.”

“I know, he and Jess dated for what seemed like forever.”

“You really think they’re still sore at each other, I mean John of all people should know he can’t control what his kids want to do.”

“Yeah, I don’t know, that’s why I was gonna ask if he got it.”

Cas nods.

“I saw you put in for a three-day weekend, what’s going on?”

“Just wanting to take a trip out to the campgrounds outside of town to the family cabin, Dad says the deck could use some work and I was gonna kill two birds with one stone. Camp out and help dad fix up the deck.”

“That sounds cool.”

The fire stations alarm sounded.

“Truck 27, squad 27, engine 47, squad 47, Engine 51, squad 51, structure fire at Purgatory Apartments 1366 south Millard Ave.”

“Lots of trucks and engines responding, must be big.” Cas states. Jumping into action.

“Must be.” Dean says running to the squad truck, jumping into the driver seat, Cas jumping into the passenger.

Dean turned the keys in the ignition, roaring the Ford Truck to life, and turning on the lights and siren. Heading out onto the road, with the firetruck, Engine 51 following behind.

 “This is RN Y/N Y/L/N, I have multiple victims at 1366 Millard Ave. A plane crashed. 3 already DOA, I need help right away.” She says into the phone.

“We’re working on it; we already have multiple firestations responding to your location. Just keep aiding in the victims as best as you can Ms. Y/L/N.” dispatch for 9-1-1 says.

She continued chest compressions on a victim and did 2 rescue breaths. And checked his pulse, still no change.

She sat her phone off of her shoulder and on the ground, so she could focus on reviving the victim.

One more attempt at cpr, she checks his pulse, still no change. Placing his hands over his chest, she says a silent prayer.

“I’m sorry.” She tells the people watching over her as she worked.

“Where is your help?” a lady asked furiously.

“They’re on the way, LA Is a large ass city, and you know how traffic is in this town.” She says.

She was already frustrated with the losses she didn’t need an attitude from anyone.

The sound of wailing sirens in the distance brought relieve to the nurse as she worked tirelessly on the victims.

Engine and squad 27 and 47 being the first on the scene.

“There are people trapped in the buildings, and there were about 45 passengers on this flight. 4 are DOA so far.” Y/N stated to the captain of the two fire stations as they approached her.

“Alright, I’ll send my guys in.” Captain of station 27 stated.

“I’ll let the other stations as they come in to assist.” Captain of station 47 stated.

Another fire engine’s siren wailed as it approached.

The men jumping into action.

“Winchester!” the captain of station 47 shouts as he approached engine 51.

“What do we got?”

“Unknown number of victims trapped in the complex, 45 passengers or so from the plane. 4 of them were DOA. Oh, and she’s a nurse, thought I’d mention that she could help us out.”

“Right,” John Winchester, captain of station 51 agreed.

“Alright guys, we got to work fast, there are people trapped in these two buildings, we need to clear them out. Tran, get the engine ready so we can use the hose. Gabe, and Michael, work on the fire with the other stations, Benny, Raph, and Charlie, aide the paramedics, either from 27, 47 or Dean and Cas, we need to save as many as we can, alright?”

“Yes sir.”

“Get to it.”

Everyone went to where they were instructed to. Dean and Cas got their equipment from their truck and went into one of the buildings, full fire fighter gear.

“Dean!” John called out.

Dean stops, giving John his attention.

“Be safe in there son.”

“I will dad. Don’t worry.” He says, running in.

There were a good handful of people able to move and get to safety on their own, and another handful Dean and Cas had to carry out of the building.

One woman, sprained ankle from trying to escape hastily, as Cas carried her out she nearly flew out of the man’s arms.

“My daughter, she’s in her room!” she cries out.

“I’ll get her, Cas, get her out of here.”

Cas nods, doing as told.

Dean inspected the rooms, finding a seven-year-old girl, hiding beside her bed covered in a wet blanket.

“Hey, I’m Dean, I’m gonna get you out of here.”

The girls nods.

Dean kept a protective arm around her as they exited her room.

A beam creaked, and gave way above Dean, hitting his back.

He heard a loud pop, like a large pop can exploding.

He found it hard to breathe through his oxygen mask.

Taking off his mask and tank he saw rupture in his tank.

“Shit.” He hissed.

His lungs were quickly taken over by the smoke, he started coughing immediately.

He noticed the girl was already gone.

He tried to get up to hurry and save himself but he felt a sharp pain in the back of his leg.

He looked behind him, he saw the beam pinning him down by his leg.

Overcome by the coughing, his world began to turn black.

 Y/N finished placing a splint on the womans ankle when a child ran up to her and the group of firemen.

“Jamie! Baby!” her mother cried out, holding her arms out to her daughter.

“Mommy!” she cried.

“Where’s Dean?” Cas asked.

“A beam fell down and knocked him down. He’s stuck.” She says.

Without another word exchanged Cas took off to the apartment they rescued the woman.

The fire was slowly getting under control and it was easier to see inside the apartments. Cas was able to spot Dean out in the apartment easily.

He laid on his stomach, still and unmoving. Cas can see the beam pinning against Dean’s thigh.

He saw the beam was not supporting much of anything. He ran out, seeing Michael carrying an axe.

“Mikey, I need that!” Cas shouted.

“What’s up?”

“Dean’s stuck.”

Michael ran towards Cas and he saw Dean, inspected the beam. Saw the same as Cas, the beam not being much of importance to the structure, he begins working on breaking the beam in half.

The wood was badly damaged by the fire, he was able to break it in three strong hits.

Once he was free, Cas picked Dean up and carried him out over his shoulder fireman carry style.

Once he reached the nurse, she prepared an area she could work on Dean.

“Is he breathing?”

“He didn’t have his mask on, the tank was damaged.” Cas answered.

“More than likely smoke inhalation, lay him here and I’ll start working on him.

He did as told, laying him flat on his back.

She checked his pulse, and breathing, matching up to the fireman’s statements. And began chest compressions.

After 35 chest compressions she gave 2 rescue breaths. And checked his breathing, he’s breathing but it was shallow.

She placed on an oxygen mask over his mouth.

After ten minutes or so of the mask being on him, he began having a coughing fit as the air returned back to his lungs.

“He’s gonna be okay but we need to get him to the hospital, need to check out that leg.” Y/N said.

The men and women of station 51 nodded, agreeing with the nurse.

 Later that night as she made her rounds, she walked into Dean’s room.

“Good evening Mr. Winchester, how are you feeling today?”

“Sore.”

“That’s expected having a beam pin your leg down, and the smoke inhalation.”

“You saved my life, thank you, Miss….”

“Y/N, Y/N Y/L/N. And it’s no big deal, all part of the job.”

“Right, saving people.”

“The family business.”

“You’re family work here?”

“Yeah, my mom was head nurse at this very hospital, and my dad was a neurologist here. I was basically born and raised here.”

“Nice, my dad’s captain of station 51.”

“Awesome. But other than that, no pain at the moment, you don’t need anything?”

“No, just a number.”

She smirked, with a nod.

Writing on her notepad, her number. She ripped the paper out, handing it to him.

“Call me sometime, Winchester.”

He held the paper, unable to hide the wide grin.

“Definitely will.” He says as she walks out, continuing her shift.

~

Are you excited yet? I’m posting as I write this, probably a bad idea, but story of my life. Like what I got so far? Let me know, ask, reblog. Feedback is fuel. :3

~

Dean girls:

@pandazombie69​, @luci-in-trenchcoats​, @supernatural-jackles​, @becs-bunker​, @jayankles​, @mlovesstories​, @winchesters-favorite-girl​, @jeaniespiehs20​, @akshi8278​, @lyarr24​

~

Copying and reposting someone else’s content is plagiarism and illegal. This work is property of supernaturallyobsessedchic. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. These works contain material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited. No part of these works may be reproduced in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without express written permission from the author / publisher. An electronic reference link to the original posted work may be provided for purposes of promotion or assistance of publication by the readers discretion, if proper credits are given to the author in the re-post. 3/18/2021

[tact-and-impulse]

Shinkane Week 2021 Day 5

For the “arranged marriage” prompt, I went for the Sengoku era.

In Place

Akane hoped that at the very least, he would be kind.

She set her mirror down, unable to look at her reflection any longer. The heavy embroidered robes, the cosmetics on her face, her hair hidden away under white silk. The guilt in her eyes.

Yuki had been the charming one, the one who was supposed to marry a general aligned with their closest neighbor. She had cheerfully shown her wedding garments to Akane during her last visit, that she had only met her betrothed once but liked him immensely and he had been pleased with her in turn. It seemed a fitting fate for Yuki, who wanted nothing more than to have a happy marriage.

Then, Sasayama Mitsuru had died on the battlefield.

The news had been delivered, along with the fact that the engagement would now be with a different general instead. Yuki had fainted and then grew feverish. It was believed that she had been weakened by the sudden upheaval of events, it was too much for her frail spirit to bear. But whatever the truth was, it would forever remain a mystery. Her dear cousin was gone too quickly, in the span of a night that left Akane numb and paralyzed.

At the funeral, she learned that the wedding would be occurring anyway. With her, in place of Yuki. She barely registered anything after that. The sewing alterations, the packing of her belongings, the trousseau moved to her room, that would only remain so for another two weeks.

Most of the ceremony passed in a blur. She kept her eyes downcast, sensing that her new husband was taller than she was and catching the aroma of kizami when he moved. He must have smoked the shredded tobacco, and she racked her mind for what else she knew about him. He was a little younger than Sasayama had been, but he had already cultivated a favorable reputation. Had he ever met with Yuki?

She glanced up at him, and though she didn’t recognize his handsome features, she couldn’t complain. His expression was stoic, serious. Then, his gaze slid to her, and she immediately turned back to the proceedings. She was much more aware of her surroundings, than she had been since Yuki’s death.

She actually tasted her food at the celebratory dinner, though her appetite hadn’t fully returned yet. Her husband wasn’t faring any better, and in her periphery, he was frowning. As the guests descended into merrymaking and she sipped her sake, he spoke for the first time.

“Do you want to leave?”

Oh. Well, there was that part to a wedding, and she hurriedly downed the rest of her drink. Swallowing the burn, she agreed. “Y-yes.”

His hand was larger than hers, callused and strong, but he touched her gently and she appreciated that. Her face flamed at the cheering and his grip tightened. The hallway was quieter, the party’s sounds muffled, and she felt like she could breathe.

“I hope everyone will behave.” She said aloud, as he presumably led the way to the chamber. Their chamber.

“They’re only pleased about the alliance. It would have been the same, whether it was us or your cousin and my friend. We’re a couple of shogi pieces, that’s all.” His voice was dark with resentment, but it wasn’t bad to listen to.

“I’m sorry about your friend. General Sasayama was kind enough, from what I remember. He and Yuki could have been happy together. Not that it matters now…” The grief opened up again, the cloudiness returning.

“No, it doesn’t. He was too reckless, he got himself killed because he wasn’t satisfied, and his death took your cousin with him.” Outwardly, he sounded angry, and he slammed the door a little too hard. Inside the room, a lantern illuminated the sparse interior. One futon, with two pillows. He pulled her inside, before taking hold of the sliding door again. She wasn’t sure where to look, what to do. Of course, the basic instructions had been provided, but she was too nervous to start anything. She flinched as his sleeve brushed hers, and he must have noticed.

He walked around her, taking one of the pillows and tucking it under his arm. “Are you tired?”

“A little. It’s been a long day.” She let out a shaky laugh.

“Then, get some rest.” He blew out the lantern, the room plunging into darkness. She clutched her embroidered outer kimono, trying to still her trembling fingers. But he never approached, his footsteps drifting away. “That’s your side. This is mine.” A pause. “Good night.”

“…Good night?”

The silence crept up, and when she realized nothing would happen tonight, she smiled.

***

They still hadn’t consummated the marriage, when she traveled with him. He explained that until winter, they would be residing with his lord’s family and she would be assisting the lady, while he was on campaign.

“Do you know how to use a naginata?”

“I have some training.”

“Rely on it. We get attacked on a regular basis.”

“Eh?” She hadn’t heard of that before. “What about the castle’s defenses?”

“They’re adequate, but you should be prepared, in case there’s a spy. Don’t trust anyone easily.”

“Not even you?”

“If I act dishonorably, you shouldn’t hesitate.”

“I don’t think you will.”

His gaze might have softened, but he never responded.

Within the castle town, she was introduced to a variety of people. The lord, who seemed rather easygoing, and his demure, proper wife accompanied by her ladies-in-waiting. The metsuke, Ginoza. The seasoned general, Masaoka, and the recently promoted Kagari. There was even a warrior woman, Kunizuka. They all seemed pleasant, addressing her as the wife of General Kougami. It was strange at first, but she did her best to be just as kind.

Meanwhile, she and her husband slept apart from each other, as much as they could with one bed. He hadn’t made a move yet. She considered that he had a mistress, but from what Kagari told her, he only trained in his spare time. And although it was commonplace, she didn’t like the idea that there was another woman. He always came back to her anyway.

He had seen the books she brought with her and skimmed through each one. He genuinely seemed interested in her tastes and didn’t belittle her opinions. His questions were direct, calculating, and purposeful. He shared his books too, marked with his notes. Her husband had neat handwriting, she thought. In the evenings, he smoked his pipe as he read his own papers, and she found the sight comforting.

Not long after her arrival, an enemy clan drew too close. The entire household mobilized, and she saw him off. Along with his armor, he had a mask to resemble a wolf’s open mouth, but she didn’t feel any terror. It was only her husband, who was resolute and intelligent. She had faith in him.

“Be careful. I hope you’ll win.”

“Ah.” His hand lifted and for a moment, she thought he was going to touch her face. Instead, he ruffled her hair. “I’ll return soon.”

She watched him leave, feeling oddly empty.

It was a harder fight than expected, and the news came that they had been breached. The lady was newly pregnant, and after ensuring her safety, Akane took up her naginata and headed for the battlements. She could barely see past the drizzling rain, and the clamor was deafening. An arrow whizzed past her hair, and she felt pain and a warm trickle past her temple. But she kept going, searching for any unfamiliar faces.

At one corner, there were two figures, one readying to finish off his prone opponent. It was hard to discern who they were, but the man who was down seemed to have a mask. In the dim torchlight, she spotted the painted fangs on porcelain. She lunged forward and drove her naginata into the stranger, who tumbled over the wall.

“Akane!” Her husband was surprised to see her, and he struggled to rise. With her aid, he was able to stand. He’d suffered a few minor wounds, but he was still speaking and breathing. “You’re here.”

“Yes, I couldn’t stand by and wait.”

He blinked, the rain in his eyes. “Where’s the lady?”

“She’s in hiding. I’m glad you’re alright.”

“So are you.” He gripped her shoulder, and he gave a strained smile. “Stay safe!” Before she could reply, he was running off. She sincerely prayed he wouldn’t die, and she lifted her spear with renewed determination.

By dawn, the enemy had been subjugated. She had returned to their room, examining her head wound. Thankfully, the bleeding had stopped and it wasn’t very deep. She had finished bandaging it again, when the door opened.

“Shinya-san!” She rushed to him. He looked tired, but the dried blood had been cleaned off, and strips of white cloth covered his chest. She pulled him to the futon, urging him to sit and rest. “Are you hungry? Thirsty?”

“No.” He seemed distracted, not quite meeting her eyes.

“If you need to sleep, I’ll leave you alone.” She was about to leave, but he grabbed her wrist. He stared at his own grasp, his thumb slowly bending. She ignored the heat overcoming her, lowering her voice. “Please, tell me what you need. I’m your wife, I want to help you.”

“Anything?”

“Anything.”

“Don’t regret saying that.” And he kissed her, with unrestrained ferocity. She was too stunned to react, and when he parted from her, his eyes were completely dark. “Did you not like it?”

“I don’t know. One more time?”

He leaned towards her again, and she tried to meet him. Gentler than before, but his fingers twining through hers demonstrated that the passion hadn’t subsided. Breaking for air, he asked. “So? Should we stop?”

“No. Never.” And she initiated, claiming his mouth. He pulled her down and for a while, there was no need for words.

Neither of them were intended to be in this marriage at first, but they were now and the life that stretched ahead wasn’t terrible at all.

[leidensygdom]

My Dungeons and Dragons campaign is turning one year old today, 8 of September. I made a thread on twitter explaining bits and pieces of it, and figured out I could also show it here- Since well, it’s been such a huge thing for me! We're now in the 48th session and it's still going strong- In fact, they finished the first of three acts a week ago.

In order, the first picture is the map -and the second one is the logo-. They have been part of the campaign’s identity! Then, just below, there’s the 3 player characters and the patron, who’s served as a NPC:

First one is Hákarl, a dwarf-goliath artificer Second one is Glar, a human Astral Self monk  Third one is Laestis, a kalashtar rogue/hexblade warlock And last guy is her watcher patron, Vest!

They first started in an inn called the Nest, run by the Aarakocra lady and her adopted kenku grandkid, Kavla. There, they also met the first NPC that would kinda bring them in to big time chaos: Dalshen.

He was a knight in training of the Dharka, who found out something suspicious nearby the inn, and needed some help with it. From there, they followed the tracks until they landed in an old ruined city, and found a temple to the Five Ghardan gods (since it was before Uragan, the fifth god, was murdered), and a cult that was following said dead god, led by Novra.

They kicked her ass, and she was put in trial, but she died after something strange destroyed her from within. It’d be the start of a long investigation to find out what caused her death. It’d lead the players to travel to Jalia, in an old temple she lead before her assumed death.

Here’s few maps from the corrupted temple: It was attacked by some extremists of The Chain (a faction that is against the caste system of Gharda) with crystal grenades, and closed down, as they’re known to cause crystal corruption. There, they fought Nilodus, the first watcher they actually met: an undead crystal creature, result of said corruption. They had the first rough boss fight and then left, after a NPC that travelled with them (Kandris) got infected by the crystal corruption. 

Outside they saw some fight ongoing between The Chain and some of the Ghardan templars. They met Iratha, their leader, -and threw her a crystal grenade to her- and were aided by The Chain, which was for the most part against the use of violence. Then, they realized these grenades had been smuggled in by someone who wanted to stir chaos between Gharda and The Chain (and Remyra), in hopes to stir a war.

Said person was Uth’gaeel (the fancy drow warlock from up there). They followed him to an underground workshop, where they found out the crystal grenades are made out of crystallized people. They fought their second watcher down there, and followed Uth’gaeel to a crystallized tower (that last gif). They managed to down him relatively easily, but then, he promptly turned into a watcher himself.

And boy, that was a hard fight! They managed to beat him, but ended up realizing this whole conflict had way more to it than they expected. Watchers have been roaming around for over a thousand years, and they have been pulling the strings to make Gharda and Remyra get into another civil war since forever. Still, they had some free time to, uh...

Have a well deserved beach episode. Nothing important here. Nope, not at all. Other than meeting a friendly watcher running a mobile library and finding an old shrine to the five gods, with a strange warforged that may have been a god in disguise. But, anyways! After that break...

They travelled together with The Chain to their base, the fallen dwarven city of Dhum Urnam. They met a plethora of NPCs there and had some time to meet them, and recover Hákarl’s lab, as he was born in this city before it was attacked. But a few strange happenings made them realize there was something weird ongoing in this city. And when I say weird, I mean “there’s something making fake copies of people and fleshy lumps all around”.

They travelled to the inner part of the city, where they had to fight copies of themselves. They found these were controlled by the four big baddies- And realized there’s some big watchers behind all of this. 

After defeating them, down they went, and found out what was creating all these copies: a fleshy watcher heart down there, beating and full of eyes. They kicked it’s ass, and it seemed like Dhum Urnam was finally free of danger! Or not, because they can’t catch a rest-

After fighting a statue possesed by a watcher, they found out one of the NPCs - Myca- was a victim to the crystal corruption. They decided they wanted to try and heal her up, by going to her mindscape and cutting the corruption in it. That didn’t work out well. They found out they had been cornered by one of the big watchers -Solaralith-, who is inmensely more powerful within a mind than she is physically. That last gif is the battlemap of the fight, and she was pretty much as big as the whole thing. They were entangled in a battle they couldn’t win, until Vest helped them out... By killing Myca outside of the mindscape, thus severing their connection with Solaralith.

With no time to recover, they were told Iratha (yeah, that Iratha from ages ago) was planning to siege the city. After some quick preparations, the day arrived, and they advanced through the territory to find her out and finish her, to ruin her plan.

They first defended a point with cannons from attacking dragons, used by the Ghardan troops...

Then travelled to an old ruined temple in the middle of a big lake. There, they fought her dragon, Jimmathael, and Iratha herself.

A rather straightforward fight against a golden dragon and a paladin, which seemed like it was coming to an end. But then, the final boss of the act made an appareance. Iratha, who had been crystal corrupted ever since they threw a crystal grenade to her, severed her own’s dragon head and took it’s place, in a gruesome transformation that led to Amalgam:

This terrible creature gave them hell, as it transformed the battlefield and summoned five flowers to assist it. These flowers gave her few buffs and made her resistant, and each of them symbolized one of the five big watchers... Who seemingly, seek to replace the Ghardan gods.

But they managed to conquer it! With it, came the end of the first act. 

It’s been a big big ride. I didn’t expect my first campaign to work out for so long, and after almost 200 hours of playing, I have to say I’m just incredibly proud of all the work I’ve done for it. It’s a long post, but I hope you enjoyed the read if you made it down here!

[rantingwriter]

Accidentally in Love (Hawks x Civilian Reader) pt. 4

Trigger Warning: strong language, long hospital stay, and angst if you squint.

“No, I’m serious,” You are laughing so hard you nearly drop the little brush you were using to paint your nails. You were listening to your fellow patient and quickly rising to new friend status, Hime, tell you and another patient you were starting to befriend named Ayame, about the time a patient went up to every female therapist and asked them out. “I watched this guy go up to Yumi and ask if he could have her number. When she said no, because he is her patient, without missing a beat he asked her.” She takes on the pose the guy pulled during the exchange and mimics the voice as closely as possible, “so when I leave on Friday I can come back and ask again? And at that same moment, her husband walks in and says-”

“You’ll have to buy dinner for three then.” Yumi had been listening and helped to finish the story. 

Hime fake gasps in shock, “you stole the best part!” 

The whole table laughs and the nice recreation therapist takes a look at your progress. “Very nice, I like the colors you chose.” You had gone with your favorite color and added a neat little sticker to both middle fingers. 

“Thanks, I wanted to flip people off with style,” you half joke as you blow at the polish to speed up the drying process. 

She chuckles, “I’ll have to keep that one in mind next time I get mine done. How about you two?” She looks between Ayame and Hime to check their progress. 

“I kept it simple with a dark blue, [y/n] promised to help with my hand.” Hime was missing an arm and had gauze around half of her face. The doctors still don’t know if her eye will be fully functioning or if she will need to be fitted for a glass one once they remove the gauze. “It’s been a royal pain trying to paint my toenail instead of my whole toe.” 

“It’ll take time to adjust, but you did really well.” Yumi praises.

“I went with teal and tried that crackle stuff,” Ayame holds her hand up as high as she can. She had a spinal injury that affected her upper body. She was working to regain mobility, but it was still unclear if she would ever regain all of it or just part of it. She still has a molded jacket on so she can only focus on her arms for now anyways.  

Yumi leans forward to get a closer look, “Very nice, much better than last time,” you can hear how excited she is to see the progress. “Maybe next time we can try those stamps.” 

“We’ll see,” she rests her hands fully on the table and hefts a sigh. “It’s still hard to hold my arms up for longer than a few seconds.” 

“Remember when you started? You couldn’t hold up your wrist, you are doing great and don’t you forget it. Same goes for you two, I’ve heard you started standing without the parallel bars [y/n].” 

You nod in confirmation, “they still need to adjust my prosthetic, or I’ll be pulling a Captain Morgan every time I stand up.” This gets a chuckle from the people who drank rum or at least seen the commercials. “Once the adjustment is made, Mayu told me we would try walking.” 

“I wish you luck, I’ll be rooting for you.” She holds her arms up like she is going to start a cheer. 

“Miss? Can you show me how this works again?” A man at another table waves to catch Yumi’s attention. 

“Be right there! Keep up the good work,” with that the young woman hurries over to help the other patients. 

“Alright, I think my nails are dry enough now.” You pick up the bottle Hime had been using and gesture for her to hold her hand out. 

She does so and Ayame takes the chance to ask, “so, what’s the deal with you and that Hawks guy?” 

You shrug, “he just likes to visit, why do you ask?” Your gaze never leaves your task as you speak.

“Rumor has been going around that you two are dating,” your hand jerks up and you end up painting part of Hime’s pinky. 

“What? That’s ridiculous,” you quickly grab a cloth to wipe away the excess. Unaware that your cheeks are burning hot with a blush. “Why would I be dating a pro hero?” 

“He is easy on the eyes, could probably get you anywhere you want to go for free, and on the top ten leaderboard. Sounds like a good deal to me,” Hime comments, earning a slight deadpanned look from you.

“He barely has enough free time to make visits, I highly doubt he has the time to date. Besides, he is the guy who crashed into me and gave me a concussion, not exactly the best first impression.” You try to wave it off, but deep down a small bud of feelings was starting to grow for the winged hero. “If anything, I appreciate him for his help and would be happy to have him as a friend...for free trips.” You add on the last part quickly earning a snicker from the two girls. The group wraps up shortly after you finish Hime’s hand, the three of you go your separate ways to rest up before the afternoon groups. You weren’t expecting to make friends while you were hospitalized, but the three of you ended up bonding rather quickly. Both girls were like you, they were here because of that villain attack. Their injuries were different, but they understood the frustration and the struggle better than anyone. It has really helped you, especially on the days where you feel like you can’t get out of bed. As you roll into your room, a faint tap on your window alerts you to a visitor. You sigh a chuckle as you open up the window for Hawks to come in. “You know, they have this magical entrance known as a door.” 

He rolls his eyes, holding in a smile as he sets a bag of food down on the little table. “Where’s the fun in that?” He tugs his gloves off and shucks off his jacket. “It’s getting warmer and warmer out there,” he is visibly sweating and his messy, windswept hair is clinging to his forehead. He fans himself with a wing as he flops into the chair near your bed, “what have you been up to?” 

“Just finished up a group,” you show off your nails, he nods idly as he looks at them. 

“That’s considered therapy?” 

“Well, I only went because two of my new friends were going and they needed it more than me.” You hefted yourself into your bed, “remember the girls I told you about last time you were here?” 

“Hime and Ayame?” You nod in confirmation. 

“Yumi said it’s good practice for them to work on smaller, more precision based tasks.”

“I guess it makes sense when you spin it that way.” 

You nod again and peek into the bag he brought. “Did you buy one of everything off the menu?” 

He laughs and shakes his head, “no, I thought about it, but no.” He grabs the container taking up most of the bag. “I figured we could share.” He opens it up to show it holds fried chicken. 

“Is that all you eat? I feel like you bring fried chicken every time.” 

“No, it’s my favorite, but I eat other stuff too.” His feathers ruffle up and his cheeks puff out, you can’t help the bubble of laughter at the sight. “If you don’t like it, I’ll jus-” You snatch a piece before he can pull it out of reach.

“I didn’t say that,” he snickers as you take a huge bite. “Anything is better than hospital food.” 

“It can’t be that bad,” he uses his feathers to move the table so you both can reach comfortably. 

“I guess the jello is okay, but the rest of it is barely palatable.” He shakes his head, “I swear, it’s like they took goo and shaped it into food.” 

The two of you continue to talk while you eat, you give him an update on your progress, he talks about his daily patrols. You have grown to love his visits, even if they weren’t as frequent as you would like them to be. “So, I’ve been curious,” he wipes his hands and face clean after finishing the last of the chicken. “What is your quirk?” 

“I can make cloth,” you hold up a hand to show tiny holes in your fingers, “I run thread through my fingers and it weaves together.” His brows lift in amazement, “I’ve earned the nickname of human sewing machine at my old workplace.” 

His brows knit together in confusion, “don’t looms make cloth?” 

You could hear the loading sounds in your head as you think about it, “oh shit, I’ve been living a lie!” 

Laughter fills the room, one of the nurses in the hall checking in on you, “everything all right in here?” 

“Yes, sorry if we are being loud,” you wipe a tear from your eye, still giggling softly. The nurse acknowledges both your statement and the hero in the room before leaving to continue their original task. “Man, I don’t know why that never occurred to me until now.” 

“If it makes you feel any better, when I started flying I would run into windows constantly.” 

“No way,” you look skeptical as he continues.

“I’m serious, I thought the buildings just had openings and I would smack into the window.” 

“Do you still do that?” He gets really quiet, his feathers give him away as you fall back on the bed laughing. 

“Only when I’m tired!” He tries to back pedal, but to no avail. “Anyways…” he shifts the conversation back towards you. “The reason I was asking was to see if it was anything like this guy I know; Best Jeanist.” 

You tap your chin, he has been helping you learn some of the more prominent heroes, at least when the two of you are talking about his work stuff. “He’s...the guy with a super long neck right?” 

“Long collar, but close enough, he can manipulate people’s clothing.” 

You shake your head, “I can’t really manipulate the cloth, I can manipulate threads, but it’s limited.” You look around the room for something to showcase your ability. “If I had some spools I could show you. I don’t want to mess with the hospital stuff.” 

“I’ll bring some next time I visit!” He looks excited, his wings fluttering lightly. His phone suddenly rings, he quickly answers and frowns, “Damn, I gotta go, they need back up to catch a villain robbing jewelry stores.” He pulls his jacket on, a thump from something in his pocket reminds him of something else. “Shit, I forgot,” he pulls out a can of WAX coffee and hands it to you. “Hope it’s not too hot.” 

You take the can and smile, “Thank you.” He gives you a two fingered salute as he falls out the window backwards. You watch him fly off to aid whoever called him, you hate to admit it, but you miss him already.