Dean can't imagine that there are many worse scenarios for a Dragon Hunter than being seperated from their own dragon, stranded in the Forbidden Zone, bleeding and lost. It fucking sucks.
His shoulder burns as he makes his way through thick undergrowth, pushing aside vines and brambles with his good arm. His shirt is sticking wetly to his shoulder and he knows that he must have damaged it in the fall, he just doesn't know how bad the damage is. Any blood is bad news though, because it'll attract any feral dragons in the area, or even worse - the huge red one that attacked Baby could come back.
Dean curses as he nearly stumbles out of a thick shrub, emerging into a small clearing inside the dense forest. A large black and silver dragon is lying down in the center of the clearing, one wing folded up neatly, and the other outstretched on the ground at an unnatural angle.
"Baby!" Dean rushes forwards and places his hands on her scaly cheek.
Baby rumbles in recognition.
She's been in Dean's family for years - being his mother's dragon before him - and seeing her lying helplessly on the ground twists Dean's stomach with dread and guilt. She's a huge dragon, though she's sleek and smooth and clearly built for speed despite her bulk. There aren't many ferals who are even close to her size, so they've never had a problem hunting them, until now. That red dragon was even bigger than Baby, and way more vicious.
Dean mumbles comforting words to her as he walks around her to examine her injured wing. Shit. Clearly broken.
He makes his way back to her head and pets her snout gently. "It's okay, Baby. I'll think of something," Dean says, trying to sound more confident than he feels.
Sam knows he went hunting over the forest today, but Dean didn't admit that he would be heading into the Forbidden Zone, so he's unlikely to find them. He's got a flare in his pack, along with all of his dragon hunting gear, but everything he had saddled to Baby has clearly fallen off and landed somewhere else. It's not attached to her saddle anymore anyway.
It can't really get much worse.
As if that thought summoned it, Dean notices a flash in the shadows under the trees. He knows from experience that it's the unmistakable eyeshine of a dragon, catching the light dappling through the leaves. Dean immediately pulls out the tiny knife that he keeps sheathed in his boot. It won't do much against a dragon, but fuck it, he'll go down fighting.
The flash comes again, closer, and now Dean can see narrowed blue eyes, with a thin black pupil in the center. It emerges slowly from the shadows to reveal a slim pointed head, pure black scales, and a dragon not much larger than a horse. The wings on its back are folded, but they look large in proportion to its body size, and a long thin tail trails behind it as it slinks further into the clearing.
It's pure black, Dean notes with surprise.
Single coloured dragons are so rare they're practically considered extinct, and he's managed to see two in one day. He'd consider himself lucky if it wasn't for all the other shit going on.
Dean remains in a guarded stance, but none of the dragon's body language suggests violence yet. There's almost something like curiosity in the dragon's gaze as it stares at Dean. It takes another step and a twig snaps beneath its claws.
Baby snarls and curls her good wing over Dean like a huge silver canopy.
The black dragon shrinks back a little and then returns to the shadows.
Dean knows Baby can be intimidating, both to people and smaller dragons, so he's not surprised. "Thanks, Baby," he says, scratching her scaly nose. She rumbles appreciatively. "It's gonna take a miracle, but I'll find us a way out of here."
Some commotion in the shrubs nearby has Dean raise his knife again. Did the black dragon come back?
Instead of a dragon though, a man comes walking out of the shadows. He's wearing black pants and a plain white shirt, with the top few buttons undone, showing a peek of a broad tanned chest. His dark hair is messy, and there's even a leaf sticking out of it.
Dean is so focused on the small details that he completely misses the object being held by the stranger's side, until he holds it up.
"I believe this must be yours," the stranger says, in a deep rumbling voice, as he gestures forwards with Dean's pack.
Dean keeps his knife raised and eyes him warily. What's this guy doing in the Forbidden Zone wearing such casual clothes, and without any gear? He found his pack too? And what about the black dragon? What happened to that?
"It might be," Dean says.
The stranger rolls his eyes as he takes another step forwards and places the pack on the ground. He's so close that Baby makes another warning growl. His eyes narrow and he huffs. "I'm not looking for a fight."
"Then what are you looking for? A reward? Even if you steal it that pack's got a curse on it, so you won't be getting inside," Dean snaps. He knows for a fact that pack can't be opened by anyone but him. He watched Sam cast the spell himself.
"I can help you," the stranger says, speaking slowly and gently like he's trying not to spook him. "My name is Castiel. I can help your dragon."
"Yeah? And I'm supposed to believe some weirdo that just materialised out of the shadows in feral dragon country with no gear and no protective armour?"
Castiel looks down at himself and back to Dean. "I don't need it. I'm, hm, very good with dragons." He smiles a little like he's said something amusing, but his smile fades as he locks eyes with Dean.
(His eyes are so blue.)
Castiel continues, "You can be stubborn and stay here, and bleed out beside your wounded dragon, who will never heal from her broken wing without intervention. Or, you can believe that sometimes good things do happen, and come with me."
on the topic of disabled characters, though, i think a LOT of artists give characters mobility aids that their character wouldn't actually benefit from using.
i'm sort of having a mild brain fog moment rn so i can't fully articulate what i'm on about, but i think a lot of able-bodied artists view things like canes and crutches as interchangeable. and they often don't know enough about the wide range of mobility aids to make an informed decision about what their character might actually use based on their disability
i also think that aids like walkers and rollators are sort of viewed as "cringe" on some level, and many people view them to be "just for old people," so many artists will opt for giving a character who has full-body pain and fatigue a cane (which, in many cases, can potentially WORSEN full-body pain) instead. and a lot of people don't realize that most wheelchair users are able to walk, so they don't consider it an option for characters with chronic pain
idk it's kind of frustrating. i've genuinely never, ever seen a character that uses a rollator before. not once. i cannot name a single one. i know of multiple ocs who are described to have full-body pain, dizziness, and fatigue that are drawn as cane users and are never shown with wheelchairs or walkers, though
it's also sort of sad? i've been diagnosed since i was twelve years old, and i only heard of rollators LAST YEAR. and that was only because i saw one irl and immediately asked what it was. i wonder how many disabled people out there don't even know it's an option solely because they're completely underrepresented online and in media
if you're a creative with a disabled oc, PLEASEEE check out this link. it's a very nice and detailed guide for telling which mobility aids suit someone's needs best. it's incredibly important to make the right choice for your character! mobility aids tell you a LOT about someone's lived experience. picking the right one will communicate to your audience #1 what your character goes through #2 that you UNDERSTAND what your character goes through!
I saw a very old Mithan AU where Mia was RE8's protagonist and Ethan was a lycan! I wanted to draw it, but it turns out lycans are impossible to draw, so I gave up halfway and decided to throw the rest into the wild. Genuinely a face only Mia could love 🥀
(guys I swear I am reading the asks for fanarts. Every fic is more amazing than the other, just don't mind if I take 2 months to answer and post the arts, lol. Im lazy and currently obssessed with Sterek)
So one day the group manages to go a mini vacation together after finishing a VERY rough mission. They decided to rent out a cabin by the lake, desperately needing the isolation and quiet atmosphere after the bullshit they just went through for a few days.
Of course they all decide to go relax by the water and Leon, after mulling it over a bit, decides to go swimming as a Dragon. The thought of the pendent slipping off his neck and getting lost in the murky depths forever made his anxiety spike just thinking about it, so he takes it off first and tucks it into Sherry's bag for safe keeping before diving into the lake.
He's honestly quite surprised at how well he can swim like this, his long body cutting through the water with little resistance. He even finds out that he can hold his breath for over 90 minutes and spends some of his time diving to the bottom of the lake, scavenging through the junk that had been collecting there for decades.
It quickly becomes a fun game and most of the group is huddled together by the shore, trying to guess and place bets on what Leon might find next. They watch as Leon manages to drag out a bike, an owl stature, some pretty shells/rocks, parts of an old boat, 3 handguns, and the creepiest find, a box filled with headless barbies dolls.
Needless to say, they actually end up having A LOT of fun.
Okay so! I promised Legend of Zelda and this is a snippet of a large Tears of the Kingdom fic I've been scheming with help from my friend @juruna-yudja for... awhile. Considering it's (a) disability pride month and (b) I need to talk at people about this, I decided to post this snippet!
This is affectionally referred to as my "totk arm fic" and the entire premise is Link going through Tears of the Kingdom but Rauru's arm is as ghostly as the rest of him (plus worldbuilding and other things...) Anyway, tada!
...
Link jerked upright, heart hammering against the inside of his ribs. He scrabbled frantically for purchase, for something, anything to slow his fall but—he wasn’t falling. No… he was on his back, lying on something hard and cold. Strange. Why was that strange? Link stared into the darkness, knowing he was missing something. Then, between one breath and the next, realization set in.
Zelda.
Link jumped to his feet, or tried to. His limbs twisted together and he fell, head colliding against hard stone. Ow, he thought, a quiet groan escaping his lips. Once his ears stopped ringing, Link tried again, slowly pushing himself upright. But oddly, his right arm refused to support his weight. With a frustrated grunt, Link glanced down, prepared to shake some feeling back into the limb. He stopped short.
His arm wasn’t there.
That wasn’t right… Why wasn’t his arm there?
He stared, uncomprehending, at the empty space that shouldn’t be empty. Link blinked, then blinked again, squinting in the dim light. Did he hit his head? That had to be it. His arm was there, he could feel it! But he must have been more concussed then he realized, because his arm refused to appear.
On reflex, Link moved to grab his right hand in hopes of convincing his eyes that his brain was correct. Except, his hand closed on air. No matter how he patted around, there was nothing. In desperation, Link tried to work down from his shoulder, but the flesh simply stopped. His hand closed on empty air and the end of his arm.
For a second Link’s fingers simply felt the end that shouldn’t be. Then a bolt of agony shot through every nerve in his body, and with it, memories. A corpse, stirring to life. Gloom, thick and writhing. The Master Sword, shattering.
Zelda.
Falling.
Gone.
Just like my arm, Link thought, a mite hysterically. At the reminder, a fresh wave of pain blistered where the acrid touch of malice had eaten his arm away. Away. Because it was gone.
“Ah Link, finally you awake!” Link startled, his panicked spiral interrupted by a voice echoing inside his head. The sensation was vaguely familiar, similar to the omnipresent voices of the Champions’ ghosts he’d met all those years ago. “I’ve heard a great deal about you from Zelda,” the Voice said, immediately gaining all of Link’s attention.
“Your wounds were quite severe, I am relieved to see you escape death,” the Voice continued. It paused, tone turning apologetic. “The damage to your arm however, was far too extensive. It had to be removed, lest it corrupt you further.”
At the mention of his arm, Link glanced at it, or more correctly, the lack of it. He quickly averted his gaze in favor of searching for the owner of the voice. “Zelda?” he croaked, his voice rough from disuse. Goddess, how long had he been out? “Where is she?”
Link waited expectantly, but the Voice said nothing more. Seriously? Quietly cursing ghosts for their riddles and inability to speak sense, Link took a deep breath to quell his frustration. Right, he had to focus. Zelda. He had to find Zelda. Ruthlessly stamping out any panic and any thoughts relating to his arm, Link looked around, taking stock of his situation.
He was in an enclosed room, Link noted, sitting atop a circular stone pedestal surrounded by jagged plates. (Unsettlingly akin to a toothed maw ready to snap shut and swallow him whole.) Carved into the stone beneath him, a network of lines and sigils glowed an eerie white-green, trailing from the pedestal onto a narrow stone path that led to the edge of the room. And where the path met the wall… a doorway.
An exit. An escape.
A lead.
To Zelda.
Cautiously, Link got to his feet, only to stagger as soon as he tried to take a step. Hissing, he made an aborted grab for his empty shoulder. Right. So, balance was now an issue. Hyperaware of the lack of weight on one side of him, Link moved slowly and deliberately, every step intentional.
His footfalls echoed as he stepped from the pedestal, bare feet slapping against stone. (And, that was another thing missing: his clothes.) Link slipped through the exit and into a hallway, his hand immediately going to the wall for balance. Like the prior room, this hallway wasn’t completely dark. Beneath his fingers, a spiderweb of the same eerie green lines lit the smooth white walls of the tunnel.
Link shivered.
With one hand braced against the wall for support, Link walked, swaying on his feet. It seemed like an eternity later when the tunnel opened up into another cavern lit by odd pinecone-shaped lanterns. Under their light, Link’s gaze immediately caught on a familiar hilt, sticking upright within a circular prison of jagged stone teeth. He stumbled forward, barely able to keep from falling as he reached for—
“Dindammit,” Link muttered.
He reached out his left hand, grasping the hilt of the Master Sword and giving it a hesitant tug. It came free easily from the stone and Link was left to stare at the blade. At the empty space that shouldn’t be empty. Just like his arm, the sacred blade came to an abrupt stop, its metal pitted and decayed. The Master Sword, once glowing with divine light, now looked more like a corroded rusty broadsword than something out of legend.
“… I’m sorry,” Link whispered, pressing his forehead to the pommel. The sword was cold and still. He remained that way for a minute and an eternity, something heavy resting in the pit of his stomach.
[Lemme know if you want to be @'d for any further snippets or stuff on this... again, this might just be something to write for myself and like two other people but having more people to scream about this with would do wonders.]
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