Tag: ow

Ableism Within Overwatch Fandom

comingfromastatechampionasshole:

(Overwatch followers, please, please reblog this, and really consider it. This is a conversation that desperately needs to be had)

I’ve been noticing more and more, multiple fanart examples where McCree’s prosthetic arm, Tracer’s chronal accelerator, Genji’s prosthetics, and Symmetra’s prosthetic arm are being omitted for whatever aesthetic vision the artist has. (This may happen with others and I’m unaware–my point would stand with them as well)

This is out and out erasure and ableism, and we as a fandom need to stop treating it so casually.

The Overwatch Fandom has proven that it has the ability to engage on multiple issues involving racist or infantilizing depictions of characters, and yet I see this ableism go unchecked every day. I open the comments in pieces of art, hoping someone has said, “Removing a character’s disability is not acceptable.”

It’s disheartening to see that it is not often the case.

When you remove a character’s disability for aesthetic, you are saying that disabilities are negotiable if they are inconvenient, and that they “ruin” a look. I know that the Overwatch fandom is better than that.

I note that this happens very often specifically within casual outfits, and it’s important to note that these are not parts of the Overwatch uniform–these are medical devices these people need to live their lives happily and comfortably.

McCree, Symmetra, and Tracer (who Michael Chu has specifically referred to as disabled in this video ) deserve to have their disabilities left intact. Visible disability deserves to be represented .

And I’m not just saying this to artists–I think rebloggers need to be conscious of what they are putting their stamp on. To reblog it is to tacitly endorse it, and it’s frustrating to see people I think of as socially aware so casual on the issue of ableism. I think writers need to consider mentioning them in their work. I think we can all do better than we’re currently doing.

Sidebar re: Tracer, because I know it’s going to come up:

I know she can remove her CA in specific modified places, but this is one of the rare occasions where this is actually a good page to take from Blizz itself–in the Reflections comic, it was always visible, even in homes that had been specially converted for her. Particularly in this fandom environment where it’s being erased left and right, I think it’s important for creators to keep it in mind, to keep it visible and acknowledged, so that it’s normalized and fixed in people’s minds.

lunapocalypse:

Gotta Watch’em all!

Almighty mashup complete. I’ve never uploaded this many images in one post before so I’m not sure how this is gonna turn out. Fingers crossed!

Huge thanks to @ironknuckle9​ for helping come up with names for Soldier, Reaper, Junkrat, and Reinhardt!

farronheit:

also like guys please remember that Tracer is disabled. She might not need the accelerator on her 100% of the time but it’s essential for her to be in the close vicnity of it (or else she will literally cease to exist). If you don’t know how to implement that in an AU setting where she doesn’t fall out of time then substitute it with a heart transplant or something. It’s not hard. 

Also remember that Chu said that Tracer only takes it off in environments she feels 100% safe, and no, going for a coffee date with emily in London is not a safe environment for her since she still needs the accelerator around and she would have the harness on.

Just treat it like a Tony Stark situation, no one forgets about his glowing chest.

A Collection of Orphans and Sad Sacks

docholligay:

Anyway I wrote some gross self-indulgent OW, which isn’t even shippy so idk if anyone will enjoy it but my gay ass, BUT HERE WE ARE. 1172 words. Takes place after this and this 

One thing Winston had gained a particular skill for was the sound of the metal stairs that led to his lab. Each person’s echo was slightly different, their own fingerprint–Tracer’s were light and high and fast as she practically ran up the stairs, though with her it was hardly necessary to notice, since at least half the time she was already calling ‘Hey Win!” up to the lab. Mercy’s were sure and soft, 76’s were hard and unyielding, Dva’s…well she hadn’t yet made her way up here, though she could hardly be blamed, with all the excitement of Tracer nearly getting killed on her first Overwatch mission. Had anyone comforted her? Should they? Overwatch now was more a loose association, and sometimes it made structural questions difficult.

Keep reading

keyofjetwolf:

seananmcguire:

It was the damn party, of course.

Usagi wanted a party, and when Usagi wanted a party, of course Minako wanted a party, and when Mina wanted a party, of course Rei didn’t want a party, which meant it was easy to get Usagi and Rei fighting, and then go to Mako and Ami and point, and whisper, “I bet a party would make them feel better, ne?”

Boom.  Party, and she didn’t have to do a thing except for show up and look fabulous, two things she did with absolute and total ease.

Only Mako had made this amazing cake, all gilded and glittery, and of course Usagi had asked how it was so shiny, and Mako had produced this edible glitter dust that was supposed to be used to make food shine, and it was fine, it was fine, it was fine on the fondant, on the frosting, on the fruit, it was fine…

But then Usagi had opened the jar and looked inside, and sneezed, and the air had been full of glitter, so light that it didn’t fall, just hung there and slowly gilded everything, stuck to everything, and Mina had frozen, not quite breathing anymore.  She’d met Setsuna’s eyes across the room, and seen her own sudden, heart-stopping panic mirrored in sorrow and in graceful resignation.

You know, she’d thought, and Setsuna had inclined her head, ever so slightly, like agreement.  Like understanding.

“IiiiiiIiiiIIiii think we need more fruit punch,” Mina had suddenly warbled, bright as a songbird, careless as the dawn, before she’d turned, and fled, out into the night, away from the (moondust) glitter that drifted, shining, in the air.

It wasn’t as easy to run in her civilian form as it was in her senshi identity, but she’d had plenty of practice.  She’d managed.  Now she was sitting on a rooftop, compacted as small as she could be, her knees drawn to her chest, and the sky was a blanket spangled with stars, and she couldn’t–

(freeze burn explode)
(die she couldn’t die she couldn’t)

–breathe, she couldn’t breathe.  She wasn’t sure she’d ever been able to.  Maybe she’d been suffocating her whole life, and she’d only noticed now.  Maybe she was going to suffocate forever.

Maybe she deserved it.

There was a footstep on the roof behind her.  Setsuna sat, her own longer legs stretched out, feet braced against the gutter.  Mina knew without looking that Setsuna was watching her with concern, and so she didn’t look.

“She was kind sometimes, you know.”

“So I hear.”

“But not often.  Not to you.”

Now Mina did look, surprised.  An unkind word from Pluto about Serenity was rare enough to make this a condemnation.

Setsuna shook her head.  “She…blamed you, I think, because it was easier than blaming herself.  Blaming herself would have meant admitting fallibility, and if she had done that, she would have forced herself to question so many, many things.  So she blamed you.  There was no kindness in her, not where you were concerned.”

For the love of Serenity, remember, Mina thought, and the words were worse than a wound; they were a scar, unhealing and unchangeable.  “I never asked for any of this.”

“I know,” said Setsuna, and put her hand against Mina’s back, lending her strength without comment.

They sat together, the only two people in a human city to remember a time when there were palaces on the moon, and watched the stars go ceaselessly by.

WHAT THE FUCK SEANAN

OUT OF NOWHERE THERE’S THIS

DAMMIT WOMAN IS THERE NO END TO YOUR EVIL

the worst things you could see

keyofjetwolf:

seananmcguire:

keyofjetwolf:

airyairyquitecontrary:

a shattered palmtop computer

a red shoe with a broken high heel

a snapped ponytail elastic, one green plastic ball hanging loose

a torn red ribbon

JESUS WEPT AIRY CAN YOU FUCKING NOT

And over it all, a thin sheen of glitter, like diamond dust, like the specks falling from a birthday card, like the sticky, beautiful remnants of a bag of rock candy jewels.  How it shimmers in the light.  How it sparkles.

How it shines.

Mamoru picks his way through the detritus of the fight, noting every piece they left behind–the ribbon, the shoe, the bits of a plastic and chrome machine that was never made on this Earth, that would confuse scientists forever if it were not destined for the landfill–and all he can see is glitter, glitter everywhere, shining.  Still shining.

He should have realized that they would leave no bodies behind if they died like this, if they died here.  Once, yes, when they were more of Earth and less of moondust, less of Mercury, of Mars, of the hot winds of Venus, the gaseous seas of Jupiter.  They have transformed a thousand times, burning Earth away with every increase in power, and now there is nothing for them to offer him, nothing for him to bury.

Even his Usako, who loved the Earth so much she would have eaten it whole if she could have, couldn’t stay behind.  She is in the sky now, shining, and the  Ginzuishō is on the ground now, in the air now, shining, and everything is glitter, and nothing will ever be forgiven.

SEANAN WAS THIS REALLY NECESSARY