#and i hate calling it ableism because i feel like my blindness doesn’t count as a disability

[stardust-sunset]

current mood

[mimzy-writing-online]

Hello. I had a question regarding your post about blind characters. I have a character in my WIP that must cover their eyes.. but it’s blind. He may need to tell people he is blind to explain why he covers his eyes though. I was wondering how I might write this character without offending. Thank you :)

I think I want to start by explaining the “covering blind eyes” trope and why it has become a harmful trope. I think understanding why it’s hurtful helps everyone learn how to handle it better.

I would guess that the “blind people wear sunglasses” trope comes from Hollywood for the specific reason of 1. wanting to signal to the audience that the character is obviously blind and 2. avoid breaking the suspension of disbelief by preventing the audience from catching the sighted actor look at visual stimuli (because disabled characters are almost always played by able actors).

But this changed the way the public expects to experience blindness. If watching a sighted actor wear sunglasses and say he’s blind is all the exposure to the blind community a person has had, that’s the only model of blindness they’ll recognize. If they meet a blind person in real life who doesn’t wear sunglasses, it’s going to break this built perception and cause an uncomfortable cognitive dissonance. 

And then there is the common “cloudy-white blank gaze” that pops up in media. It stems from the fact that cataracts is the most common cause of blindness and the appearance of severe cataracts is a cloudy film in the eyes obscuring the iris and pupil. It can also alter what color a person’s eyes appears to be, making them appear paler and grey in the beginning and then as the cataract advances it becomes more yellow/brown and alters a person’s vision to appear more yellow tinted.

There are lots of other eye conditions that makes the eyes look visibly different. Albinism for instance affects the color and structure of the iris. Eyes might be congenitally misshapen. The muscles might be weak or not work and one or both eyes point significantly outward. Someone who was born blind and experienced no visual stimuli might also have weak muscles around their eyes because they never had a reason to focus their eyes on anything.

And unfortunately humans have the habit of feeling uncomfortable when they meet someone who looks very obviously different from the norm, whether that’s a personal style choice (hair color and style, tattoos, clothing choices) or something they can’t help (a visible disability, skin color, scars). 

To the paragraph above, @gothhabiba replied with:  “it's very weird & ahistorical to claim that racism or ableism are some kind of natural "human" trait.. like frankly it's apologia”

You’re right, I wasn’t thinking beyond that generalization or assumption.

Perhaps a better way to put it is: I was raised in a society where I was taught from childhood to think that there was only one kind of human being to be. White, cis, straight, abled, conservative. That’s a very western thing and that’s a thing I’m going to constantly be unlearning.

Racism and ableism and homophobia aren’t innate, that’s a western thing that was forced onto the rest of the world by colonialism. And because western media created this idea that the world is white, abled, cis, straight, and Christian-value leaning, it taught people to think that was the norm so that seeing someone different from that archetype would cause a cognitive dissonance, which causes discomfort.

And instead of working past that cognitive dissonance to learn more and realize there’s so much more to life than media taught you, society encourages you to ignore that cognitive dissonance by sticking your head in the sand-- or TV screen.

So combine these two tropes or common beliefs together and you get something a little dangerous: the idea that blind people cover their eyes because they look obviously different and they’re ashamed (or should be ashamed) of that.

And if you’re someone who’s just gone blind or who was born blind and you have little to no contact with the blind community, then this societal belief that you should be ashamed of how your eyes look becomes detrimental to your self-esteem and further builds internalized ableism.

I’ve lost count of the times I’ve read or watched a blind character cover their eyes with sunglasses because they were ashamed of how their eyes looked. And I distinctly remember a few times where a sighted friend of the character was trying to convince them to stop wearing sunglasses because there’s nothing wrong with looking different--which is true, but it plays into this fantasy of being the perfect abled ally who saves the blind character from being miserable. 

In an ideal world, the character has no reason to believe looking different is a bad thing or diminishes their worth or makes people dislike them. And if they develop this belief, it’s more likely that someone more involved in the disabled community, most likely someone disabled themselves, will set them straight. Or that the character will learn to accept themselves on their own, looks included.

But there are some perfectly valid reasons for any blind person to wear sunglasses. They might have an interest in fashion and sunglasses complete the look they’re going for. They could want to protect their eyes from UV rays while they’re outside. They may experience light sensitivity and sunglasses reduces any discomfort or pain. Those are incredibly common reasons to wear sunglasses whether you’re sighted or blind.

But there are some more complicated situations.

In your words, your character must cover his eyes. You never specified why, so my primary guess is that he has some kind of power that is unpleasant or has devastating affects and the only way to prevent it is to keep his eyes covered. My primary guess stems from this post where an anon and I discussed a retelling of Medusa, a hypothetical blinding of oneself to avoid ever killing anyone ever again, and what I think I would do if I was in that scenario.

So how do you write a blind character who must cover their eyes and avoid some of the complications?

1. Your character must always have the ability to say “fuck off, it’s my business, I don’t have to tell you why I’m blind or why I cover my eyes.”

Most blind people really, really don’t want to get into the nitty-gritty of why they’re blind and how they feel about it and what it’s like being blind with a stranger they’ll never see again or a new acquaintance they don’t know well yet. You have exceptions to that rule where sure, educating the public about blindness is a thing you want to do and you’re committed to helping your community, but I still have days where I don’t want to talk about being blind or disclose my medical crap.

And if someone doesn’t respect their right to their privacy or pushes too much, the blind character is allowed to be angry, is allowed to tell them off and complain without anyone else in the situation vilifying them or saying they’re “overreacting” and “should have just disclosed private information because big deal or whatever.” If they are angry, that’s their right, and it’s not unreasonable, it doesn’t make them a bad person.

2. Your character should not be ashamed of being blind or of covering their eyes. It is a part of their life, they’re used to it by now, even if they weren’t in the beginning.

The shame and internalized ableism is something that should be written about, but that’s for an own-voices story with a blind author. I don’t think an abled person will ever be able to understand how much society expects you to hate yourself and your disability because “being disabled is a tragic thing that ruins your life” and how that does affect your mental health, self esteem, your relationships with others, your medical care, and what kind of accommodations you can get.

3. It wouldn’t hurt to have a few sarcastic lines in response to uncomfortable conversations.

Stranger: so what’s with the...

Blind Character: what’s with what?

S: the... you know

BC: you’re gonna have to be a bit more specific

S: Your eyes?

BC: They’re... eyes

S: but you’re...

BC: Blind?

S: uh...

BC: yeah, I’m blind. *walks away*

Or this conversation:

S: *to some other character* so why are his eyes covered?

(author’s note: which, honestly, that’s fucking rude. At least have the guts to ask me yourself)

BC: If I look anyone in the eye they instantly perish.

*awkward silence*

BC: instantly.

Friend: It’s truly tragic

BC: *melancholic* that’s how I lost my sister. *chokes up* She was so young

Or this conversation:

S: Why are you wearing that?

BC: It’s called fashion Karen!

Or this conversation:

S: are you like... blind?

BC: yes?? why wouldn’t I be?? Wait, are you sighted? Are you one of those sighted people? You poor thing! What caused you to gain your sight? Do you have a car? A bike? Were you born sighted? What’s it like to see color? Do you miss not having to see 

God, I want a chance to try that last one. I haven’t interacted with a stranger in almost a year. One day...

4. Honestly, it’d also be cool if someone’s reaction to your character covering their eyes was like, “cool sunglasses,” or “cool *insert random character, even one you made up* cosplay,” (which is ten times funnier if this character is a notable figure in modern society like an actor who people might cosplay). 

5. You know, if he’s covering his eyes with some kind of blindfold, he should totally have custom blindfolds for his moods. Like, I have a mask that says “suck it up buttercup” and another that says “not today” because sometimes that’s the mood. And sometimes the mood is one of my floral masks, and sometimes the mood is my cat mask.

So, just some thoughts. I hope that helps.

Edit: a commenter said: “op, unless i'm mistaken this kind of reads like anon meant the character ISN'T blind but lies about being blind to explain covering their eyes? it seems like they made a typo on the word "isn't"”

So my original response to the question was based on the assumption that the character is blind. However,

If the character is not blind, then do not under any circumstances have them lie and say they’re blind to escape a mild inconvenience. 

It’s better to have the character actually explain the situation or straight up leave the conversation or invent a more ridiculous lie than to perpetuate the very real stereotype and misconception that there are people who fake being blind and therefore it’s okay to discriminate or harass them if you even suspect they’re faking.

Do not under any circumstances perpetuate that stereotype. Do not harass someone because you don’t think they’re blind enough.

[thenightling]

The Internet has forgotten what real ableism

The word Ableist is thrown around a lot where it doesn’t belong.

The way it is thrown around on the Internet it has been diminished an lost some meaning.   It's like the boy who cried wolf.

I’ve been called ableist on this Hell site twice.  Once for referring to the character Rumplestiltskin from Once Upon a Time as having a disability (The character walks with a cane because of a shattered ankle).  

Someone decided that acknowledging Rumplestiltskin has a disability is ableist because he “did it to himself.”   The character can’t walk without a cane.  But because they don’t like him and don’t sympathize with his backstory, he “doesn’t count” and if you say he has a disability “you are ableist” by default.   This... really happened...  

The other accusation was pretty recent.  It was someone angry at me for debunking Reality Shifting to F--king Hogwarts. Apparently explaining what Lucid Dreaming and maladaptive Daydreaming is now counts as Ableist.

The irony?  I am legally blind.  I’m not actually blind, it just means extremely poor eyesight.  

Hell, I saw Daredevil (the blind superhero) called ableist on this Hellsite because he called a serial killer “crazy.”  The character, in question, was The Punisher.  Yes, The Punisher was sympathetic.  But the blind Superhero, chained up by a known murderer, and being goaded to kill, is NOT “Ableist” for telling his own kidnapper that he’s crazy.  It’s not the most polite term but when you’re chained up by a killer you get a little slack, for God’s sake!  That doesn’t mean you forever call the blind character “Ableist”.

Neil Gaiman (the famous author) was called ableist right here on Tumblr and Facebook because he corrected the spelling of someone who sent him an antisemitic ask.  That’s right.  The Jewish author was called an ableist for... correcting a antisemite’s typo...   He was even sent an ask, asking him to defend himself, because someone had shown his reply to the antisemite to their Facebook group and the members said he was being ableist. The Jewish man was... being ableist... for correcting the typo... of someone sending him hate...  You can probably still find it on Neil’s blog.  You can’t make something like this up!   It’s just too profoundly stupid.  

Tumblr (and other sites) don’t know what ableism actually is and it’s infuriating.  You want to know what REAL ableism is?  

Ableism is being in kindergarten and for “safety” reasons they won’t let you play on the nice playground equipment all your friends are playing on because they’re afraid you’ll fall off with your poor eyesight but you can play on old, rusty, metal ones, making recess socializing really awkward and difficult.  THAT one is okay for some reason! Ableism is swinging around a toy animal with a long tail, accidentally hitting someone because you have no depth perception, the teacher KNOWING you have no depth perception, but still dedicating the afternoon to teaching the class why hitting is wrong, so it’s a humiliation fest because of an accident.

Ableism is being fifteen-years-old in high school and being the only kid who has to call home first to make sure “someone is there for you” to allow you to leave if school gets let out early.  Every... single... time... Ableism is knowing how to swim but the class fieldtrip to the public pool requires a permission slip and even with the permission slip you are only allowed in the wading pool.

Ableism is when Special Ed teachers treat you like you’re mentally disabled because it is the only disability they are used to. (This happens a LOT.)  It makes you feel like you’re stupid or that the world must see you as stupid so that when IQ tests arrive in the mail saying you have a superior intellect you break down crying.

Ableism is going to a school Speech therapy because you have a lisp (I lost my two front teeth when I was a two and they didn’t grow back in until I was almost thirteen).  And the speech teacher is used to neurological conditions where the student can’t shift topics in a conversation and decides you don’t need Speech therapy because you can hold a normal conversation.  Yes, but, I still couldn’t pronounce “Shh.”  I was there for a lisp!

Ableism is being bullied by other kids who pretend to miss their own mouth when eating to mock how poor your sight is. (Because you... see your mouth when eating?!?) Ableism is when a kid sings “O say can Amanda see” every single time we’re made to sing the Star Spangled banner so you come hate the National anthem  or “Three blind Pikes.”  (My name is Amanda Pike).   Three Blind Mice is already unpleasant enough.

Ableism is a teacher telling you she'll have your poetry published in an anthology but it must contain a short bio that says you're in the vision Impaired program.  As if that's the extent of who you are and the reason you'd be published and not because your writing is actually any good... Ableism is the head of the high school's "Vision impaired program" wanting to do "Vision awareness week" by pinning the names of everyone with visual disabilities all over the school.  Because that's not humiliating at all when there are kids already mocking you for your eyesight. Ableism is someone stealing your bookbag in Jr. High, and finding it later with the word “Cyclops” written across it in permanent marker.

Ableism is multiple reviews (including professional ones) whining that Neil Gaiman’s The Sandman audio drama adaptation should have been “updated” for modern audiences with certain parts taken out because it’s “problematic” even though this was literally the first version of the story accessible for the visually impaired or dyslexic. None of these reviews caring that anyone with a disability might want to know the story as it was originally written without having to have a friend read it out loud to them.  That’s ableism disguised as being “woke.”   “This thirty-four-year-old story doesn’t fit modern sensibilities. It should have been re-written.” while ignoring that for many this was their first time even having access to the story at all, warts and all, and sometimes you want to know how a thing was originally written- the good and the bad, not just the polished up and “updated” version.  Deliberately denying access to a story, as it was written, because you don’t like it, is ableist.     That’s ableism.

But...

When you’re called ableist for referring to a character who has a disability as having a disability simply because the person in question doesn’t like him...

When a blind character is called ableist for calling the man beating him up, chaining him up, and murdering people, crazy...

When a Jewish man is called ableist because he corrected the typo of an antisemite sending him hate...

When you’re called ableist for explaining what maladaptive daydreaming is and telling someone they aren’t magically gaining control of the universe where Harry Potter is real...

The word “Ableist” has lost all meaning.   And it’s infuriating.  As someone who has experienced genuine ableism since I was four-years-old, before the term was even coined, it is infuriating.  I knew some teachers, and students were treating me unfairly just because of my eyesight, but the term didn’t exist / wasn’t common yet.   And now the term is thrown around for stupid reasons so it’s diminished.

[ashintheairlikesnow]

I’m Here

CW: Negative stimming including stimming resulting in self-injury, pet whump, death of parents, grief, ableism, past noncon references, r*pe survivor having severe PTSD flashbacks, memory of shock collars, derogatory language, dehumanization, meltdown/panic attack, whump of a minor referenced repeatedly. 

This is Chris in a very dark place - stay safe.

Directly follows Found Out, Akio, and Chris Sees.

Come on, 223499-

I'm Tristan! My, my, my name is Tristan, Tristan H-Higgs and I l, I, I live at-... but, um, no, no, at my, my my aunt's ap, apartment now-

Tristan Higgs is a fucking corpse, kid. You don't have a name anymore.

No, I'm, my, my name is, is, is-is-

 Your name is for your prospective to choose. Now let me show you how we shut you up.

 The boy is screaming, twisting, writhing in pain on the floor, clawing at the black collar around his neck, desperate to somehow escape it, but there isn’t any way out. He digs his fingernails down his skin but it’s still there, the collar never leaves, you’re only safe with your collar on, no wait that hadn’t happened yet-

Oh, that’s nice. Time for the Drip for you. 

N-no, no-

Welcome home, 223499.

M-my name is, is, is Tristan-

Chris slams the door on his way into the bathroom, locks it behind him, sweeps everything off the counter with a crash, plastic bottles of soap bouncing, a toothpaste container clicking against the tile, the toothbrush holder shattering and sending shards of ceramic pale on one side and rainbow-painted on the other everywhere. He stares at them clicking over the floor before they stop, some of them skimming the tile all the way to the wall. 

Inside his head, there is a cry, bubbling up behind the wall that his life has been hidden behind, deep inside the cold pale light that all the worst things drown in. 

Beneath the Drip, the needle in his arm, beneath the pain, the fear, the hands that moved over him and the bodies that moved inside him and the voice in his ear whispering, pet, pet, pet until he was one, until he wasn’t anything else any longer, until he was ready to be overwritten.

My, my, my name is Tristan Higgs, my name is, is, is Tristan, my name is-

Didn’t I tell you Tristan Higgs is dead, trainee? All that’s left of you is my pretty little whore. You wanted it so bad you signed up for this. Now get on your knees and show your handler some respect.

No, pl-please, please I don’t-, I, I, I don’t want to, I-

What you want doesn’t matter anymore, 223499. 

Please-

What you want is irrelevant, trainee. Now let me show you what I want.

Inside his head there is a boy, screaming, his wrists forced down by larger hands, body rocked in a rhythm of terrible pain while a stranger who will be his entire world whispers in his ear, I paid extra for this and you did not disappoint, darlin’.

There’s a boy alone in a white room, painting with his own blood on pristine white walls, just to see color, just to see something, anything, that isn’t nothing at all. There’s a boy, alone, whispering apologies to the parents he is losing, their memories slip-sliding under the surface until they are gone.

There is a boy, screaming.

Chris screams with him, their voices in tandem, in echo, but it's the same voice, and the scream was always him, always Tristan Higgs inside him, buried beneath it all.

Chris screams until his throat is raw, bashes his hands into the mirror until it rattles under his fists, rocks forward to knock his head into it. Again, and again, and again, rattling it inside the frame, trying to force a break. The chaos inside him is too much, too strong, and at the center of the train tracks is her face, always her face, her hands, her lips moving and fighting to speak, her face. 

 I love you, baby, I l-love you, it's okay, it's okay-

 Mom, please, pl-... please, no, no no no, I’m, I’m s-sorry, I’m so so sorry, I’m, I’m sorry-

 Sssshhh, baby, it’s-... it’s okay, it’ll b-be okay, Tris, Mommy loves you, h-honey, Mommy-... loves you s-so much-... Her eyes shining like marbles, her blood on the wall, burbling from her chest as she fought and fought to breathe and then she stopped and her eyes, her eyes stayed open…

 He laid with her and she was so cold and no one came to help him and no one came and they were both so cold and he stayed with them all night, wailing into her shirt soaked in blood, into his side, laid down between them and tried to keep them warm with blankets but they were gone and it didn’t matter and it was-

 If it weren’t for you, she’d still be alive.

 His aunt looks at him with hate or stares through him and there’s no routine and there’s no therapy and Aki is gone and his phone is gone and he hurts himself desperately just to feel something other than the chaos and the noise and the cracking, shrieking angry pain inside him, the guilt the blame the hate and oh, how he hates himself for not staying still the one time it counted and no one is coming and no one loves him anymore because they’re gone and his aunt doesn’t love him because he should never have been born-

 If he weren’t born she’d still be alive-

 "It's not okay!" He screams again, tearing at his hair, clawing at his arms, dragging deep red welts down on each side, trying to dig the pain out from inside of him. “It’s not okay, it’s, it’s, it’s not, it’s, it’s not, not, not, not-not-not, not okay, not-”

 Please, pl-please, let, let, let me go-

 Told you to stop rocking, didn’t I? You did this to yourself. Be still, statue boy.

 Pl-please, I, I don’t know how-

 You’ll learn.

 His head snaps to the side with the imagined memory of a slap to the face, his breath catches with the pale shade of the shock collar lighting him up, nerves sparking shrieking agony, the needle in his arm, it's in his arm again this isn’t freedom he’s just gone crazy from drugs again and he’s on the Drip again and he was never not on the Drip he was, was never free no one saved him no one is coming-

 He rocks forward, again and again, banging his head into the mirror until there's blood, until it cracks, bad luck for seven years, Tris, sucks to be us, and they laughed, the two of them, carefully picking the shards up to put in the wastebin and Aki grinned at him, unbothered, because his mom would probably forgive them and it wasn’t a big deal-

 Let’s, let’s, let’s make up a, a routine, Aki, yeah?

 Yeah, sure, but can we like… be normal teenagers for a half-hour first?

 Um, how, how do we-

 I thought we might start by watching TV and not doing our homework. You know, get crazy with it. Maybe even go super crazy and eat leftover pizza.

 Chris's lips curl back from his teeth and he stares at himself in the mirror, his wide green eyes and pale eyebrows that darkened a little with age, blue hair that hangs around his face, frames the lines of his cheekbones. The gash along his forehead where he hit the mirror hard enough to open it, bright red blood welling up and slowly seeping out.

 He lifts one hand, pressing his fingertips to the crack in the mirror that matches the cut in his forehead. There’s a little bit of blood there, and it smears under his fingers. For a second, he’s fascinated by it, the liquid that slips along, ripples his reflection.

 It doesn’t feel like part of him. It’s just something he can control, when he can’t control anything else.

 Behind him, the doorknob rattles, but Chris barely notices. “Chris?” It’s Jake’s voice, and Chris swallows, ignores the push, the urge, to let him in. Instead he keeps looking at himself, tries to see the boy inside his head, the boy in the room, under the men, the boy screaming in his head while his mouth learned to say all the words they wanted.. 

 Come here, pretty-... oh, look at you, so full of tears for me, hm? 

 On your back, gorgeous boy.

 On your knees, pretty pet.

 What you want doesn’t matter anymore.

 No isn’t an option for you any longer.

 Don’t I always give you options, pretty thing? You can choose to be good, my good little slut, or…

 “You, you, you can choose pain,” Chris whispers, finishing the sentence that started in his handler’s voice, in his mind. “Too, too, too… pretty to, to be for anything else. Too pretty… too, too pretty for, for, for…”

 He nails the dismount for the first time on the the bars, his body does exactly what he wants, and he looks up to see his mom cheering for him, and he jumps up and down, hands moving, rocking with his happiness, and his team cheers for him, and his scores are really good so he can go to state and he’s so happy-

 He’s so happy-

 She’s so proud of him-

 There’s a hand in his hair, jerking his head back to look up at his Sir, who smiles down at him, and Tristan can barely see him through his tears. He’s tied down and he can’t escape and he doesn’t know it’s his Sir, yet, he was still Tristan then but his Sir’s hand is in his hair and he whispers, God, I love that you came already flexible for me, sweetheart…

 Please, n-no, please, I don’t want, want this, please, I-I-I don’t, I, I-... I need h-help, I didn’t… sign, yet, please call, call, call the the the-the cops-

 Sssshhh. Sir’s finger to his lips, and he didn’t dare bite, even then. Hands on his wrists, forcing them down against the table. His back arches, trying to get away, and his Sir laughs at him, low soft chuckle, and boy weeps, turning his head to the side. You’re going to be perfect, sweet boy, I can already tell.

 No, no, no no no, no, pl-please don’t, please, please, no, no, g-god, oh oh oh god, oh god, no-

 I paid extra for this, and you did not disappoint.

 The pain, when it comes, is blinding and never-ending and Tristan Higgs is screaming. 

No one cares.

No one will come to save him.

 Chris groans, pulling at his hair, trying to rip it out by the roots to settle his jangling shrieking nerves, scratching his fingernails down his cheeks as deep sa he can, smacking his hands again and again into the broken mirror, shrieking at the pretty face split apart by the cracks. A piece of the mirror falls out into the sink, and Jake is still talking, trying to open the door, but Chris isn’t listening.

 He can’t hear Jake over the sound of his own mind turning against him, spitting memories he’d thought were gone, but no, dead things don’t always decay, sometimes they just wait to come back and tear out your throat and show you how it’s all your fault.

 What about you, Tris? Mrs. Nakamura’s voice is gently teasing, soft and unassuming. She’s sitting with a book in a soft cozy chair somewhere with nice warm lights, and everyone watches Tristan’s hands move to tap on himself without judgement, without shame. We all know Aki can’t take his eyes off of that pretty Nicole girl-

 Mom. No. Please, please do not talk about this. Oh my god. She’s just my teammate!

 I’m just being silly, Aki. 

 It’s, um, it’s okay, Mrs. Na, na, Nakamura. I’m just-... nobody for, for, for me, right now. Tristan’s face is red, he’s blushing, and he hasn’t really thought about it much, beyond just thinking everyone is pretty, but he hasn’t told his mom yet, and-

 Oh, well, maybe later. You two are so busy getting ready for state, anyway. 

 He can hear Jake back on the stairs, now, thumping down them and away, and Chris’s hands move rapidly over the sink and counter, avoiding the bits of shattered mirror. He’s standing in ceramic but he doesn’t notice, he doesn’t care. His body doesn’t belong to him, anyway, his body belongs to his handler his owner his rescuer his anyone but him it’s not his it’s not his body, they took his body and he doesn’t get it back…

 He wants his body back.

 He yanks open the drawer, shoving through the disposable shaving razors that Jake buys, the nail-clipping kit he keeps in here, a stupid little comb that he can’t see any use for, rolls of gauze and bandages, tossing them to the floor, until he finds what he’s looking for. 

 A pair of scissors, used mostly for gauze and bandages, big shining metal scissors that weigh heavy in his hands.

 Chris stares up at himself in the remaining mirror, pulls a hank of his hair out straight with one hand, and clips right through it with the scissors. He lets out an exhale, and grabs another bit of hair, and does it again.

 Blue drifts down to gather with the broken glass in the sink and on the floor, piling higher and higher as Chris keeps cutting, staring into his eyes and not looking at how even the cut is. He looks at the bloody mess on his forehead-

 Mom, please, I’m sorry, I’m sorry I, I, I moved, I’m so so sorry, I’m sorry…

 It’s okay, baby-

 Blood on the wall, he stayed there all night and no one came. She was cold, he couldn’t keep her warm all by himself.

 “It’s, it’s not okay,” Chris whispers, and Sir’s hand is heavy on his neck, look at how you ruined yourself since you left me, darlin’, but his Sir can’t stop him because his Sir is dead, too. Everyone who cares for him dies but Jake and Antoni and Laken and maybe they’ll die, too, because of him, because he’s too pretty to be for anything else-

 There’s blood on the featureless white wall and he pulls it through his fingers and it’s something that’s not white, he barely recognizes it as his blood, it’s just bright red and feels good under his fingers, the blood cools and dries so he hits his head and makes more, and more, and more-

 He keeps cutting, until what’s left is a shaggy, unkempt mess, different lengths all over, and all his hard-won long hair is gone. He has wisps that hang over his forehead, little bits that tickle the tops of his ears. He cuts until it’s just little scruffs, barely blue at all. 

 He drops the scissors into the sink on top of the pile of blue hair, runs his hands back through his hair, watches more loose bits drift slowly downward.

 He lifts his hands and takes out his piercings, one by one, dropping them into the sink with the hair, until his ears are bare, too, and his eyebrow. Nothing but a thin narrow face, nothing but freckles that stand out too much, nothing but big eyes and chin. 

 He pulls his shirt off over his head, and then his compression shirt. Takes off his pants and his boxers and then straightens to stare at himself naked in the bit of mirror still left.

 “I, I’m good for you,” He whispers, tilts his head just right, looks up at himself through his eyelashes. His look is warm and liquid and well-trained, a show of desire he’s never once felt. He bites down on his lower lip, just so, hand moving as if to brush a bit of hair back - but the hair he might have touched is gone, it’s in the pile in the sink. 

 The look is ruined by what he’s done.

 Good.

Wide green eyes, yeah, let’s see those eyes nice and empty for me, trainee, but they’re red-rimmed and shadowed, full of pain. His eyelashes - inhuman, unearthly, pretty boy - are barely visible. Freckles that stand out too much, I’m going to kiss every single one until you understand how beautiful you are, Chris, okay? scattered over his nose and the angled cheekbones. Narrow chin, perfect for gripping and moving his head around, smeared with drying blood. Bleeding from the slash across his forehead, running slowly down to stain his pale eyebrow darker, to run into his left eye, what the fuck did you do to yourself, trainee?

 “Not, not a trainee,” Chris whispers. “Not a, a pet. Not Tristan. Not, not, not. I’m, I’m Chris, I made myself, I’m, I’m, I’m, I’m, I’m... I’m I’m Chris, I’m, I’m Christopher fucking Stanton, I’m-... I’m Chris.”

 Big scratches down his cheeks, his neck, bright red welts that might turn to bruises, that he could open into bleeding, he could make himself so ugly no one ever wants him again. “Not, not, not so pretty anymore,” He whispers, and his throat closes up against the words, but it feels good, it feels important. “Not, not, not pretty, now.”

 Not worth dying over, not worth breaking, not worth noticing, not worth taking, not worth buying, not worth rescuing, not worth being arrested for, not worth saving, not pretty enough to hurt, not pretty enough to love. 

 You fucking freak, I don’t know how Ronnie managed to think you were so great, you can barely brush your own teeth.

 How the hell did she love you? You ruined her life.

 If it weren’t for you...

 The door suddenly jolts open, and Chris doesn’t flinch - he doesn’t look back - only stares at himself, rocking slowly forward and back on his toes and heels until his head bumps the cracks in the glass like the cracks inside of him, his hands twisting at the ends of his wrists to smack rhythmically into his sides, his hips, harder and harder, fighting to find the same soothing rush that motions like this normally bring. 

 It’s too loud, inside of him. It’s too much. He can’t stop the trains roaring up out of the light, bringing everything into the darkness where he only wants to hide.

 “Holy shit, Chris,” Jake whispers, standing behind him, eyes wide with shock. “Wh-... why did you… Oh, Chris, no. Oh, no, oh fuck, Chris, you hurt yourself, you haven’t done that since-”

 Chris turns, ceramic crackling underfoot, sharp little spikes of pain in his feet, and looks up into Jake’s eyes. “Tris, Tristan Higgs was pretty,” He says, weakly. “I don’t want to, to, to be pretty anymore.”

 Oh, darlin’, aren’t you just pretty as a picture.

 Open up, 499.

 He’s such a sweet, handsome boy, Ronnie, you’d never know he had, you know...

 You can just say it, you know. It’s not a dirty word. 

 You’re too pretty for anything else, 499, you were always going to be somebody’s slut.

 You want it-

 I, I don’t want to-

 No one gives a fuck what you want.

I don’t, don’t, don’t want to, please-, pl-please, please stop, please please stop touching me-

What do you say, trainee?

I want this. I want you.

Good boy.

 A shudder ripples through him, a memory of pain, long gone but still written over every inch of his body. Broken, and dirty, and used until he forgot how to be anything else. He feels suddenly exhausted, weighed down, too heavy to move. There’s a weight on his chest and every breath takes an effort, takes determination, and he is losing the battle. 

His lip wobbles, and he feels infinitely young, like all the years didn’t happen, and he’s still just Tristan Higgs in the end, ready to be broken, bent, and twisted. 

He looks at Jake, and his brother blurs with tears. “He was, was, was too pretty for an, anything else, I d-don’t want to, to-to-to be pr-pretty like him anymore-... s-so I made, made, made myself uh-ugly-”

 Jake sweeps him up and Chris lets himself be swept. The cry is bubbling up again and he wails into Jake’s shirt, gripping into the fabric and twisting his hands, tears rolling down his cheeks and stinging into the places he scratched himself. He’s pulling, tapping, rocking his bloodied head into Jake’s shoulder, fighting the trains in his mind that aren’t thoughts but memories, each one fighting to be the first to hurt him by coming back to the surface. 

 They crash into each other, into the wall of cold white light. They break through.

 Inside him the boy in the black collar is screaming, the boy in the collar is crying, the boy is laid back on silk sheets and cries tears he has to keep inside his head while his face is smiling and his voice makes all the right sounds, the boy has his wrists and ankles locked down to keep him still, the boy is curled up between his parents waiting for someone to come and nobody is coming, the boy wears a suit in court that itches and he can’t stop shaking his hands and the judge doesn’t like him and the social worker doesn’t like him and the boy is curled up on a bed in a windowless room missing his friends, the boy hits his head and hits himself and the words are gone and the boy is screaming the boy is screaming the boy is screaming-

 Mom, can Tris sleep over tonight?

 Again, Aki? Well, I guess I don’t see any harm. You’ve got half your closet in Aki’s room by now, anyway. Call you mom and ask her, Tris, okay?

 You fucking freak, I wish you had died with your bastard father instead of her.

 I hate you, I, I hate you so, so, so-so much-

 You should hate your fucking self, Tristan.

 I love you, kiddo. It’s you and me, right?

Right, Mom. You, you, you and, and me.

Til your dad comes home, anyway. Can’t wait ‘til he’s working days and we’re not alone at night, huh?

Your prospective will choose your name.

I, I’m a… number. My name is… 223499, Romantic designation, Facility 001. I am a pet and… and… a toy. I am an active par, participant in fulfilling m-my, my, my owner’s desires-

I paid extra and you did not disappoint.

On your knees, gorgeous boy.

I think we’ll play a game, sweetheart.

Show some respect, 223499.

Come here, darlin’.

Good boy

I love you, Tris

Good pet

It’s, it’s okay, it’s-... okay, I l-love you, it’ll be okay-

Good boy

The boy is screaming for help and nobody is coming to save him-

“I’ve got you,” Jake whispers, holding him tightly, and Chris buries himself into the warmth, the familiar scent, the feeling of Jake’s arms is branded deeper than anything else in the world. I will rescue you, I’ll come back to you, Chris, I promise, I’m here.

I want you I love you I’m here.  

“You made Chris, and you’re still Chris. This is just all the shit they took from you, that’s all. It’s okay, you can cry, Chris, go ahead and cry. It’s okay, it’s hard when it comes back, and Kauri and Ant and Laken and I, we’re all here with you.”

Chris sobs in Jake’s arms, bleeding all over his shirt, but Jake doesn’t care. He holds him anyway. There’s a throbbing pain inside his head, but it’s not stronger than the memories, and the cold white light isn’t holding them back like it used to, anymore.

Her face, her hands, the blood coming out of her, the silent house around them. 

Her face.

Her eyes.

She loved him.

Oh, no, did you fall down? Oh, it’s okay, honey, I’m right here, I’ve got you - it’s hard the first time, but we get back up and try again. Here, let Mommy give it a kiss - there, all better, right?

Therapy is rough sometimes, sweetie, but listen - we can do this, together, Tris. We can do the hard stuff if we do it together. D’you want a hug? Yeah, hugs can help make it better, right? That’s what moms do.

I heard the thunder, baby. Go ahead, climb in, I’ve got you, c’mere, I’ll hold you.

I want you I love you I’m here.

I l-love you, it’s okay, it’s okay, I love you, Tris...

“I, I, I don’t want to, to be Tristan Higgs,” Chris cries against Jake’s neck, shoulders shaking, rocking, rocking, rocking in his arms. Jake’s hands are up in what’s left of his hair, feeling the short, chopped strands, rubbing over the nape of his neck, soothing the twisting hurt and fear inside him. “I don’t, I don’t, he, he, he, it was his fault, for, for, for for for moving when he had to, to be still, and I wasn’t, I didn’t do it right, and they, they d-died because of me… I l-loved, I was, they, they, they shot them and-and left me and, and, and no one came, nobody came to help, no, no, no, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry-”

“I know,” Jake murmurs. “I know. It wasn’t your fault, you were just a kid. It wasn’t your fault, Chris, whatever happened, it-... it wasn’t your fault. It was never your fault. You’re whoever you want to be, Chris, but Tristan is still a part of you, okay? We have to work on making everything integrate, work together, or it’s going to keep hurting. You have to get past the conditioning to forget, or it’s going to… get worse.”

Chris whimpers at the idea that he could feel any worse than this. “I don’t, don’t… don’t want to, to, to to to lose her again,” Chris whispers, shaking his head. “Don’t want to, to lose y-you-”

“Never. You can’t ever lose me, you’re stuck with me. I’m not going anywhere. Let’s clean up this mess, Laken is probably dying to talk to you-”

“No,” Chris whispers, begs without a voice. “No, not, not them, not… not yet.”

The scream is bubbling up again, the boy in the cold white room is rocking, rocking, rocking with his hands tied behind his back, can’t touch can’t hurt can’t feel can’t think someone help me but nobody is coming except the handler with his smile and his pain and his hands-

“Okay. No problem. Cleaning first. I’m going to bandage you up, and I’ll clean up the mess while you sit and maybe drink some water. But… can we… can we do one thing? Will you let me do one thing?”

“Wh, what?”

“Will you let me fix your hair?”

Chris pulls back a little to look up at Jake, and he smiles faintly back down, sympathetic and loving, and it’s not okay, but Jake is here, so it’s… it’s better than it would be if he were alone. “Um… y, yes, you, you you you, you can fix it.” 

“Okay. I love you, little man. You weren’t supposed to see it so soon, we were going to get you ready, and it’s going to hurt coming back, but I promise… I promise it’s good for you to have it. Okay? Do you trust me, when I say that?”

Chris meets the sincere love in those blue eyes. “I, I trust you.”

He does. But he doesn’t believe him.

It’s okay, baby, it’s, it’s okay…

It’s not, and it never was, but… he remembers her face, at least. He remembers her voice.

He remembers her.

I love you, Tris, I’m so proud of you for doing the hard things, and I’m right here with you. I’ve got you, sweetheart. You and me, right? We can do all the hard shit as long as we do it together.

His fingers twitch, and he buries himself against Jake and sees her eyes full of tears and dying and her chest covered in blood and the blood on the wall and she tells him she loves him and then she doesn’t tell him anything anymore and her body is cold and Tristan curls up between them, blood drying on the wall and no one comes until the sun is shining and the blood is dry but Tristan is still crying-

Chris begins, again, to scream, but this time Jake is holding him, this time someone’s here, this time there’s someone who isn’t leaving, this time he can wail with arms around him and this time he’s not alone.

The boy is Christopher Stanton and he is Tristan Higgs and the boy is screaming and his brother came to help him and his brother is holding him tight.

I love you, Tris. I’m so proud of you.

I’m here, Chris. I’m not going anywhere.

I want you 

I love you 

I’ve got you 

I’m here.

---

Tagging: @burtlederp  , @finder-of-rings  , @endless-whump , @whumpfigure, @slaintetowhump, @astrobly  @newandfiguringitout  , @doveotions  , @pretty-face-breaker  , @boxboysandotherwhump  , @oops-its-whump  @moose-teeth  , @cubeswhump  , @cupcakes-and-pain  @whump-tr0pes  @whumpiary  @orchidscript

[thechildoflightning]

The Kübler-Ross Model Ch2- Anger

Title: The Kübler-Ross Model [Masterpost]

Fandom: Sanders Sides

Pairings: background LAMP, Elliot/Mitchell

~~~

Chapter Title: Anger- Chapter Two

Summary: 

Stage Two: Anger- Characterized by high energy and coped up frustrations that begin to pour out by lashing out at others or yourself.

In which Remy is angry about everything.

Warnings: Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Verbal Fights, Toxic Relationships (hinted at), Transphobia (mentioned), Exclusionary Rhetoric (mentioned), Ableism

[ao3 link]

~~~

Anger- Chapter Two

“Selected: Voicemail. One item. Tab one of one,” Remy’s phone says, sounding almost bitter. Remy sighs, at this point already knowing who it’s from. He puts his finger to the screen, sliding it around as he searches for the desired section.

“Voicemail.”

One finger down.

“Daniel Zurko. M-”

Double tap.

“Remy. This is childish and has gone on way too long. I canceled the credit card. I expect you to call me so we can get you home. I get that you’re upset, but this is not the way to deal with it. You think I’m the bad guy but I am doing what’s best for you Remy, I always have. You need to grow up. You’re an adult now, act like one. Call me. Come home. Now.”

-

Moving into the dorms is a surprisingly low-key event. Remy gets to move in early, as does Kai, so they're not trying to get things done in the time most of the freshman are piling in. It’s a lot nicer that way. They don’t have people on top of them- actually they have pretty much no one on top of them- and that lowers Remy’s stress by a lot.

Except, this definitely wasn’t something he’s stressing about.

Okay, maybe he's been stressing about it a little bit.

It’s well- it’s just this an entire new place and the campus is huge. He’s visited a few times now to start getting a layout, but he knows it’s going to take weeks before he can find his way around with ease. It’s nice to start on that when no one else is here yet. It gives Remy space and he feels a little bit less self-conscious.

(It’s stupid that he feels self-conscious at all, he shouldn’t, but he does, so there’s that).

Kai and him get their dorm set up and decorated as well.

Or well- it’s mostly Remy setting things up while Kai comments snarkily from the corner that the bed doesn’t line up perfectly. (They had to move everything a bit to make space for Cha-Cha). Remy doesn’t really mind because it’s nice to see Kai relaxing. He seemed uncomfortable and unsure when he admitted that he couldn’t do any of the heavy lifting, so Remy takes the return to teasing as a good sign.

They decorate the dorm next and it’s fun and it’s easy and Remy’s really thinking he’s found a friend in Kai. 

Then Kai falls silent.

“Kai?” Remy asks when he stops making comments every two seconds.

“Yeah?”

“You good?”

Kai hesitates and Remy frowns. Remy’s about to ask a follow up question, but Kai beats him to speaking.

“Hey so, I brought two pride flags. I was hoping I could put them up in our room.”

Oh.

“Of course,” Remy says easily.

“I- yeah?”

“Yeah. Kai we’re literally in gender-inclusive dorming right now. But I mean, even if we weren't, yeah of course you can,” Remy insists, voice firm and even.

“Okay,” Kai says. He relaxes. “Okay.”

The tension in the room evaporates and Remy breathes out.

“Which flags?” he asks, curiosity peaking.

“Trans and demiboy,” Kai tells him.

Remy didn’t know you could be both trans and a demiboy. But that's probably better to google than to bug Kai with right now.

“I didn’t know there was a demiboy flag,” he admits.

The comment seems to perk Kai up and he explains to him the dark grey-grey-blue-white-and reverse of the demiboy flag. The two of them hang the flags up together. 

Kai gives him a hard time about hanging one up the wrong way and it takes Remy a solid minute to remember that both flags are reversible. He flips Kai off and scowls. Kai just laughs. The conversation turns casual once more.

“Oh!” Kai says at one point, moving quickly to sift through a bag on the other side of the room, “I got a thing and you can tell me if you hate the thing and if so I can return it, but you said that you have some light perception so…” he trails off.

There was a pause for a moment where neither of them said anything.

“Thoughts?” Kai eventually asks again.

“On?” 

“Ah man- you can’t see it?”

“Don’t know if we’ve talked about this yet but I’m blind actually,” Remy snarks back.

Kai groans.

“No just- okay catch.”

“Please tell me you’re not about to chuck something at a blind person Kai.”

The object lands softly next to him on the bed. Remy doesn’t know if that was intentional, or if Kai just failed to hit him. Either way Remy sighs and picks it up. The object is a box and has a thin circular button at one corner, but he still has no clue what it is.

“They’re fairy lights,” Kai explains, “Sorry. You said that you liked light and I thought you’d be able to see it because you said that you could see light.”

“Some light,” Remy says. He holds it up to his eyes and now he can barely see little tiny specs of light. “And I can kinda see it now. Is the box completely clear?”

“Yeah. Sorry.”

“Why are you apologizing?”

“Uh…”

“I told you I liked light. You went out of your way to get fairy lights for our dorm. It’s an awesome idea, not your fault my eyes don’t work.”

“Yeah but the gift kind of failed.”

“Well if you like them we can still keep them. And if not- well you said you can return them? Depending on where they’re from we can see if we can find fairy lights I can actually see,” Remy suggests.

“Oh my gosh we could- there was a ton of options.”

Remy nods and stands up.

“Okay, where too?”

“Right now?” Kai asks.

“I mean it depends on where you got these, but yeah? I mean we have the time.”

That they do, now that they’ve mostly finished.

“Target. So there’s gotta be one locally.”

They spend a few minutes online, figure out the address, and then Remy’s getting up to go. He gets Cha-Cha in her harness and grabs his things before opening the door for a swing and waiting for Kai. Kai joins him at the door, hesitates for a second, and then grabs something right next to the door. At first Remy thinks it’s the bag, but Kai’s already holding that. Remy exits after him.

“I have a cane,” Kai says quietly. Which okay- that was the object by the door.

“Okay,” Remy says. “Do you want to take the bus?”

“No.”

Remy listens. He knows if it were him, he would just want somebody to listen.

“Okay. Where’s the Target?” 

Kai takes the lead and they’re off.

The Target is massive. But also Remy’s depth perception is shit so maybe it’s that but he’s pretty sure this is the largest Target he’s ever seen. By a lot.

“Holy shit this place is huge,” Kai remarks.

Remy murmurs his agreement. He hadn’t really known what living in a college town would mean. He’s starting to think he understands.

They make a beeline for the fairy lights which take up almost an entire aisle. They mess around, pressing all the buttons to light them up and see what their options are.

“I can’t see any of these,” Remy admits after a while, “The lights in here are too bright. But brighter and bigger is better, so if you find something that-”

“Remy there’s rainbow ones. Come here, come here, they’re shaped like rainbows.”

“We’re getting those.”

“They’re not that bright.”

“I literally do not care.”

They get the rainbow-shaped ones.

They head back- both a bit too excited about the rainbow-shaped lights to be considered socially acceptable. But also fuck socially acceptable so whatever. They’re adults and they can enjoy fairy lights. Step off.

Kai and him are talking when he suddenly stops and leaves Remy’s side.

“Hi,” Kai says, “Are you moving in today too?”

“I- uh- yeah- hi,” a person stutters.

“Oh cool! I’m Kai. He/they pronouns but he right now.” The jingling noise that follows is indication that Kai holds up his pronouns necklace. “And this is my roommate.”

It takes a second to long for Remy to realize he’s supposed to introduce himself. 

“I’m Remy,” he says, turning to face the stranger. “He/him.” 

Something inside of him clenches hard when he says those words. Clenches hards, grips his heart, and burns. It burns so much, choking Remy that he almost misses the strangers next words.

“I’m Elliot,” the now not-stranger says, “They/them.”

“Nice to meet you Elliot,” Kai says.

They don’t get must further in conversation because another person speaks up.

“El, hon? Who’s this?”

“I’m Kai, he/they, he right now. This is Remy, he/him. We just moved in here across the hall.”

“Oh you get to do that whole move in early stuff too? You’re blind, right?”

The second question is obviously directed at Remy, so he answers both.

“Yeah and yeah.”

“Huh. Well I’m Mitchell, I’m his boyfriend.”

A boyfriend who just misgendered their partner apparently. But Elliot doesn't say anything and Remy just met them so he doesn’t say anything either.

“Uh, nice to meet you,” Remy offers. Kai offers the same pleasantries.

“Okay. Well Elliot, we should get to finish moving you in. You still have a lot of stuff and if you’re going to make me help you I don’t want to be here all day.”

“If you need to go you can,” Elliot says.

“What, you trying to get rid of me already? Plus come on, you’re not going to be able to do it all yourself. And you’re wasting time. Let’s go.”

“Okay,” Elliot says, “Yeah.”

“He’ll talk to you later,” Mitchell tells the two of them.

“I- Right,” Kai says, “Well, Elliot I- we’re just down the hall. 204. So, anytime, pop by, yeah?”

“Yeah alright I-”

“Yeah he might, bye.”

“Elliot seems nice. But Mitchell doesn’t seem like the nicest guy,” Kai comments when the other two have presumably exited earshot. Remy gives a shrug and a slight nod in response. He pulls out his key and finds the lock on their door before pushing it open with a swing.

“Fairy lights?” he asks.

“Fairy lights,” Kai agrees.

Remy still ends up not being able to see them all that well- though they were certainly better than the first set. But rainbows, so he counts it as a win.

When they’ve finished decorating their room, Remy relaxes on his bed and pulls out his phone. He plugs in his headphones and opens google. Kai had both the trans and demiboy flags. Remy wants to know what that means.

He researches a lot about being non-binary and trans and he reads a lot about the exclusionist who demand you have to be identify as binary and experience crippling gender dysphoria to be considered trans. Everyone else is just faking or special or being dramatic. He thinks of Kai and he frowns. He ignores the exclusionists.

He finds celebrations of being trans and non-binary and being happy that way. He finds non-binary people who consider themselves trans and others who don’t. He finds the range of non-binary from androgynous presentation to falling to the extreme sides of masculine or feminine. He learns that people can also be assholes about that, about how many people expect non-binary people to look “watered down male.” He learns that non-binary looks like anything and everything. He finds people who are trans that use all sorts of labels. He finds people who are trans and are binary. He finds people who are trans with all levels of fluctuating dysphoria, stages of transition- including not transitioning at all, and more.

He learns that there’s so many more ways to be trans than he previously thought.

He hates it.

He hates it because it means something to him, means something to him more than just being an ally. 

The transgender umbrella is amazing and beautiful and there’s so many people who have so many experiences, some they share, some they don’t. It’s a wonderful community and it’s gorgeous and Remy-

He’s angry.

He’s so fucking angry. Because he’s Remy and he’s a boy and he’s eighteen and he’s lived this way his entire life and this is who he is he’s Remy and he’s a cis guy and-

And what if he isn’t?

He squeezes his phone tightly in his hand. Hard enough apparently that Kai asks if anything’s wrong. He starts to answer no when he gets a phone call. From his dad.

He hits ignore angrily and stands up, shoving his phone in his pocket.

“I’m going for a walk,” he announces, and barely takes the time to grab his shoes before he’s slamming the door behind him. He doesn’t even bother with Cha-Cha, grabbing his cane instead.

-

That first week goes fast and soon enough everyone else moves in. They meet a few people, and start talking to Elliot. When Mitchell’s not around Elliot’s really funny. When Mitchell is around they short of shut down and Remy hates it. A little fire burns in his chest each time it happens. 

They go to the freshman movie night and both Elliot and Kai are already learning to give a shitty description of what’s going on on screen and they all laugh and the people next to them hiss at them to be quiet. It’s okay. It’s nice.

Before long, classes start and Remy remembers how frustrating it can all be.

He’s been working with disability services since he committed to the school. Over the years he’s learned that early is almost always better, because everything just takes time and then there’s issues and delays,  it’s a long process. 

It’s also Remy’s first time doing this alone and he makes mistakes and he feels like an idiot and he can’t help but hate his dad a little bit because he’s been asking to do some of this himself for years now, to get used to it, get some practice. His dad had always refused and now Remy is woefully underprepared. 

It reminds himself of when he was first going blind. When everything was new and confusing and he constantly felt lost and alone. 

It’s been years since he felt like that. 

He doesn’t like feeling like that. 

He figures the accommodations out in the end and gets the things he needs to set up. Note taker, permission to record, extra time, accessibility devices approved, and requests to all his professors to have things ready and accessible. It should all be good to go. But, there’s of course hiccups because there always is. And a week into school, he still doesn’t have notes from one of his classes.

It’s absolutely infuriating.

Because now he has a paper to write and he has to listen to the entirety of three separate lectures to find the things he needs.

It sucks and it’s unfair and time consuming and Remy hates it. He clenches a fist as he pauses the recording and goes back once more. 

It’s something so small but it makes him so goddamn frustrated.

He plays it again but he can’t hear it this time because at that exact moment Kai laughs from his corner of the room where he’s skyping his girlfriend.

He pauses the recording.

“Can you be quieter?” he hisses out, “I’m trying to write a paper.”

“Yeah. Sorry Rem. Want me to put in headphones?”

It’s a nice offer.

“Yes.”

“Okay,” Kai agrees. He gasps a bit when he stands, pauses for a moment. Remy doesn’t restart his recording and listens, slightly concerned. But Kai moves after a moment, grabbing his headphones from the desk next to Remy. He’s limping slightly.

When he returns to his bed and has the headphones in, Remy takes a breath and presses play.

And pauses a moment later because Kai’s a bit too loud again. It’s unfair- Remy knows it is- because Kai’s really not that loud. But it’s loud enough to be distracting and Remy cannot deal with this tonight.

“Can you shut up?” he snaps.

“...I ...Uh?”

Remy is so angry.

“Whatever. Forget it,” he huffs. He saves his work and shuts his laptop with a snap. He shoves it, his braille display, and the recorder in his bag. He grabs his phone and shoves it in his pocket. Grabbing his bag he heads for the door. He barely spends the time to get Cha-Cha in her harness.

“Remy- come on- wait-”

“I’m going out,” he hisses. The door slams behind him. It seems to be doing that a lot lately.

“Oh hey Remy,” Elliot says almost the moment he’s out the door. 

“I’m going to the library,” Remy grumbles and moves past them. 

“Okay,” Elliot says, running a few paces to catch up with him, “Can I join you? I have this thing for religions and-”

“No. You can’t join me,” Remy snarls, and pulls away. 

Elliot stops, stumbling for words behind him. Remy leaves them behind. He doesn’t feel bad. He doesn’t.

He goes to the library and finds a corner that’s empty. He sets his things up and tries to focus. 

He still can’t. 

He had to keep rewinding and replaying the lecture because he still doesn’t have the notes even though he was told he’d start receiving them a week ago. He checked again the other day and he was told he’d definitely have them by today. 

He doesn’t have the notes. 

He doesn’t know what to do. 

He’s mad and he’s angry and he’s frustrated and he’s so pissed and he thinks it’s a bit extreme but definitely not unreasonable. He hates this. Hates it. 

He used to hate being blind. Over the years he’s learned that’s not the part that frustrates him. It was scary at the time, sure. But losing his sight wasn't the upsetting part- the upsetting part was being in a world who wasn’t willing to meet his needs. A world that was certainly able to meet his needs, or attempt to if they really couldn’t, but wasn’t willing to even try.

It’s ableism that he hates, not being blind.

With a sigh he packs up his things. He’s not getting anything else done tonight. He pulls out his phone and messes around with it a bit, trying to ward off the creeping frustrations that are starting to overwhelm him. He feels choked up and he’s not sure why. 

Then he gets a call.

For a millisecond he thinks it might be Kai. 

God he was a dick to Kai wasn’t he? If Kai’s calling him Remy can apologize. He can make things right and things will be fine. It’s fine. 

It’s his dad. 

Remy chucks his phone. 

It’s extreme and so fucking stupid but he’s suddenly furious and he doesn’t know what to do about it. His phone goes skittering across the floor and the two people quietly murmuring near him fall silent. Remy sighs and hates himself a little bit.

He takes a breath.

It doesn't help.

He takes another.

It doesn’t help. Nothing’s helping.

He has Cha-Cha get his phone.

When she brings it back to him he checks it for cracks and then goes to his contacts. He finds the one he needs and double taps to call.

The phone rings twice before it’s answered.

“Hey,” Remy saus, “I- can I spend the night at your place?”

“Yes,” is Virgil’s immediate response, “Are you safe? Do you want a ride? I’m not home right now but I can text Patton.”

Remy checks the time. It’s not too late. The cool air will probably do him good anyways.

“I’m safe,” he confirms, “No to the ride. I’ll be there soon.”

“Okay,” Virgil says. He pauses, “Love you Remy.”

Something burns in his throat.

“Okay. Okay yeah,” Remy chokes out. He hangs up and blinks back tears, refusing to cry. He wants to scream. He doesn’t- everything’s just so much right now and he doesn’t know what he’s feeling anymore.

He packs his things up. Grabs Cha-Cha. Heads to Virgil’s apartment.

On his way there a random person grabs him by his shoulder and asks him if he needs help. He grits out a terse “no.” He gets a “well you don’t have to be rude about it. I was trying to help!” Remy’s teeth grit further, making an odd little screeching noise and causing pain to run all throughout his mouth. He doesn’t risk saying anything more, and just pushes past the stranger.

He knocks on the door when he arrives. He still has a key, but doesn’t really feel like digging through his bag. 

It’s Patton who greets him.

Remy shuffles off his shoes at the door, mind blurring. He hears Patton say something about Virgil and the library, he should've texted you- but Remy misses all the details.

“Hey Remy, are you okay?”

Remy is not.

He’s going to tell Patton he’s fine. He is. He promises he is.

He doesn’t end up saying that, but even he isn’t expecting what he says next.

“Patton, how did you know you were trans?”

“Oh,” Patton says, “Oh.” 

And that’s when Remy finally bursts into tears.

~~~

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[its-negans-lucille]

Open Doors

THIS IS A REUPLOAD

You can find my Masterlist HERE!

Prompt: *Based on Negan/physically disabled wife headcannon/fic* A new arrival to the Sanctuary has been harassing Negan’s wife because of her disability, unware of who her husband is. She tries to keep the problems to herself, as she doesn’t want to incite the violence that would be sure to insure if Negan ever found out about these repeated verbal assaults. But that only lasts for a few weeks, as Simon happens to walk in on one of these incidents. *Continued from previous ask* Of course, Simon runs to tell the bi boss man about the mistreatment of his wife right away. But nevertheless, Negan’s wife is left feeling insecure about herself and their relationship due to the harsh and hateful words from this new arrival. However, Negan fully intends to absolve all his wife’s worries, both in her home and in her heart. He shuts that shit down, no exceptions! – Via @itsjustafeelingthatihave

Ships: Negan x Disabled!Reader Words: 1,157 Warnings: Ableism mentions, curses Category: Angst / Fluff

***

You were sat in your wheelchair, staring idly at the long blank TV that none of your favourite TV shows would play again on. You were lost in thought as you watched the dust atop the box television.

You were sat thinking about the new arrival who had been planting such irritable and hateful words in your head. You had tried your best to contain the problem, to stop Negan from discovering why you had been so quiet in recent days. You had been handling the problem, had thought that you’d been making progress, until the man had lashed out at you and had almost taken a wheel off your wheelchair. Luckily Simon arrived and disarmed the violent situation.

You had wanted to keep it to yourself but you knew that by the time Negan would return to your room from the supply run to Alexandria he would be in a blinding rage, thirsty for blood.

You had wanted to keep the problem to yourself because you felt as though people were beginning to see you, like they saw Negan’s other wives, as an extension of the man himself. Not as your own person and that just wouldn’t do. You loved Negan, you knew that for sure, but you knew that you didn’t want to become like his other wives who were no longer their own people but just ‘Negan’s wife’.

You always wanted to be called your own name.

You knew that if Negan got involved all your work at remaining your own person would flush down the drain.

You heard the door fling open and ricocheted off the wall. It would have flown back into its frame if it hadn’t been stopped by a large, leather clad hand. You jolted out of your thought.

“Negan!” You exclaimed, frowning.  “Are you okay?”

“Do I look fucking okay?” Negan replied, stepping into the room. A few hairs framed his face, this was unusual as they would normally stay fixed in place by all the product he used. His eyes were wild with anger.

“I was talking to the door.” You replied at a feeble attempt to lighten the mood. You wheeled yourself across the room toward Negan.

“I just found out that my wife has been verbally assaulted.” Negan said, emphasizing the last two words. You took his hand in both of yours.

“Negan, I’m fine.” You replied, not entirely truthfully. “Don’t get involved.” You continued, tracing small circles on his palm with the back of your thumb.

“Why didn’t you tell me, doll?” Negan said after a minute, his tone was low and his words held his true insecurity.

You thought for a few moments before answering.

“I’m my own person.” You shrugged. “I’m strong enough to handle it.”

“I know you are.” Negan said with a half chuckle. “Of course I fucking know, goddamn, that’s what got my dick so damn hard in the first place!” Negan continued almost to himself. He gave his head a little shake. “You need to tell me.” Negan said, stroking your hair softly.

“If I did that then you’d go beat his ass and no one would come near me.” You said seriously. “And I know you think you rule the world but you can’t control people.”

“But please talk to me. Be honest with me.” Negan said imploringly, making your heart ache. “Please.” Negan stressed. “Please talk to me.” Negan reiterated.

“That guy, the new guy, he made me insecure.” You said finally in a small voice.

“About what?” Negan asked. He sat down in a leather chair so that he was facing you, his eyes concerned. The wild look now nowhere to be seen.

You motioned to your wheelchair. “Everything.” You answered. You blinked back a few tears, determined not to cry.

“Oh, darlin’.” Negan said in a voice that conceived all his sorrow and concern. You didn’t answer as you were afraid that your voice may break if you did. “You are beautiful.” Negan said, leaning forward in his seat and placing his forehead against your own. “You are so so cock hardeningly gorgeous.” You chuckled in reply. “Please believe me.” Negan said with such conviction in his voice that you couldn’t help but believe him.

“But I’m not like…” You thought, your brows furloughing. “Not like Sherry, or Amber. I’m just… just me?” You continued weakly.

“You are really fucking confusing me, doll.” Negan replied, cocking his head to one side. “One minute you fucking love yourself and the next you’re ‘just you’?” Negan reasoned coolly. “And anyway, even without your legs they’re not half as good of a fuck as you.” Negan winked and dampened his lips. You shook you’re head as a light blush rose to your cheeks. “And I wouldn’t want you any other way.” Negan kissed your forehead softly, lingering for a second before leaning back.

“You okay now, beautiful?” Negan asked softly, brushing a strand of hair behind his ear.

“Yeah…” You paused momentarily. “Except I’m still worried.” You said, biting your lip.

“About what?” Negan asked, affronted.

You rolled back, a mischievous glint in your eyes as you moved toward the entrance that Negan had arrived through. Your wheelchair creaked ever so slightly, you reprimanded yourself for not getting it fixed and promised to do so later. You stopped right beside the threshold.

“Are you okay, doll?” Negan asked, standing and tentatively walking toward the door.

“I’m okay.” You said finally. “But this door is not.” You continued, crossing your arms over your chest. “Now, Negan, you say sorry to that door right now or I swear to god.” You continued, rubbing the door slightly, as if attempting to make it feel better.

Negan stood there shocked for a few seconds before shaking his head and letting out a low chuckle. He gazed at you from beneath his dark lashes before standing up straight once more. He stepped toward the door.

“Fine. I’m very sorry.” Negan apologized soundly. “Happy?” Negan directed his question at you.

“Say it like you mean it.” You said, tapping your fingers rhythmically on your chair, attempting to keep laughter bubbling in your throat. Negan nodded.

“Now, I was in the wrong when I opened you. I didn’t think about it and it was wrong of me to treat you that way.” Negan said in a mockingly genuine tone. You choked back a laugh. “Will you ever forgive me?” Negan asked, putting on his best attempt at puppy eyes.

“The door says that they accept your apology.” You clapped your hands in a satisfied way.

“See,” Negan said, planting a kiss on your lips that finished far too soon for your liking. “This is why I love you.” Negan continued.

“Well, you love a mad woman who has you apologise to inanimate objects.” You smiled, running your hands through Negan’s hair.

“And I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

***

Thank you all so much for reading and thank you @itsjustafeelingthatihave for the prompt!! Honestly your prompt made up half the word count!! xP

Thank you all for reading and have a great day!!

@negans-network

[its-negans-lucille]

Open Doors

You can find my Masterlist HERE!

Prompt: *Based on Negan/physically disabled wife headcannon/fic* A new arrival to the Sanctuary has been harassing Negan’s wife because of her disability, unware of who her husband is. She tries to keep the problems to herself, as she doesn’t want to incite the violence that would be sure to insure if Negan ever found out about these repeated verbal assaults. But that only lasts for a few weeks, as Simon happens to walk in on one of these incidents. *Continued from previous ask* Of course, Simon runs to tell the bi boss man about the mistreatment of his wife right away. But nevertheless, Negan’s wife is left feeling insecure about herself and their relationship due to the harsh and hateful words from this new arrival. However, Negan fully intends to absolve all his wife’s worries, both in her home and in her heart. He shuts that shit down, no exceptions! – Via @itsjustafeelingthatihave

Ships: Negan x Disabled!Reader Words: 1,157 Warnings: Ableism mentions, curses Category: Angst / Fluff

***

You were sat in your wheelchair, staring idly at the long blank TV that none of your favourite TV shows would play again on. You were lost in thought as you watched the dust atop the box television.

You were sat thinking about the new arrival who had been planting such irritable and hateful words in your head. You had tried your best to contain the problem, to stop Negan from discovering why you had been so quiet in recent days. You had been handling the problem, had thought that you’d been making progress, until the man had lashed out at you and had almost taken a wheel off your wheelchair. Luckily Simon arrived and disarmed the violent situation.

You had wanted to keep it to yourself but you knew that by the time Negan would return to your room from the supply run to Alexandria he would be in a blinding rage, thirsty for blood.

You had wanted to keep the problem to yourself because you felt as though people were beginning to see you, like they saw Negan’s other wives, as an extension of the man himself. Not as your own person and that just wouldn’t do. You loved Negan, you knew that for sure, but you knew that you didn’t want to become like his other wives who were no longer their own people but just ‘Negan’s wife’.

You always wanted to be called your own name.

You knew that if Negan got involved all your work at remaining your own person would flush down the drain.

You heard the door fling open and ricocheted off the wall. It would have flown back into its frame if it hadn’t been stopped by a large, leather clad hand. You jolted out of your thought.

“Negan!” You exclaimed, frowning.  “Are you okay?”

“Do I look fucking okay?” Negan replied, stepping into the room. A few hairs framed his face, this was unusual as they would normally stay fixed in place by all the product he used. His eyes were wild with anger.

“I was talking to the door.” You replied at a feeble attempt to lighten the mood. You wheeled yourself across the room toward Negan.

“I just found out that my wife has been verbally assaulted.” Negan said, emphasizing the last two words. You took his hand in both of yours.

“Negan, I’m fine.” You replied, not entirely truthfully. “Don’t get involved.” You continued, tracing small circles on his palm with the back of your thumb.

“Why didn’t you tell me, doll?” Negan said after a minute, his tone was low and his words held his true insecurity.

You thought for a few moments before answering.

“I’m my own person.” You shrugged. “I’m strong enough to handle it.”

“I know you are.” Negan said with a half chuckle. “Of course I fucking know, goddamn, that’s what got my dick so damn hard in the first place!” Negan continued almost to himself. He gave his head a little shake. “You need to tell me.” Negan said, stroking your hair softly.

“If I did that then you’d go beat his ass and no one would come near me.” You said seriously. “And I know you think you rule the world but you can’t control people.”

“But please talk to me. Be honest with me.” Negan said imploringly, making your heart ache. “Please.” Negan stressed. “Please talk to me.” Negan reiterated.

“That guy, the new guy, he made me insecure.” You said finally in a small voice.

“About what?” Negan asked. He sat down in a leather chair so that he was facing you, his eyes concerned. The wild look now nowhere to be seen.

You motioned to your wheelchair. “Everything.” You answered. You blinked back a few tears, determined not to cry.

“Oh, darlin’.” Negan said in a voice that conceived all his sorrow and concern. You didn’t answer as you were afraid that your voice may break if you did. “You are beautiful.” Negan said, leaning forward in his seat and placing his forehead against your own. “You are so so cock hardeningly gorgeous.” You chuckled in reply. “Please believe me.” Negan said with such conviction in his voice that you couldn’t help but believe him.

“But I’m not like. . .” You thought, your brows furloughing. “Not like Sherry, or Amber. I’m just. . . just me?” You continued weakly.

“You are really fucking confusing me, doll.” Negan replied, cocking his head to one side. “One minute you fucking love yourself and the next you’re ‘just you’?” Negan reasoned coolly. “And anyway, even without your legs they’re not half as good of a fuck as you.” Negan winked and dampened his lips. You shook you’re head as a light blush rose to your cheeks. “And I wouldn’t want you any other way.” Negan kissed your forehead softly, lingering for a second before leaning back.

“You okay now, beautiful?” Negan asked softly, brushing a strand of hair behind his ear.

“Yeah. . .” You paused momentarily. “Except I’m still worried.” You said, biting your lip.

“About what?” Negan asked, affronted.

You rolled back, a mischievous glint in your eyes as you moved toward the entrance that Negan had arrived through. Your wheelchair creaked ever so slightly, you reprimanded yourself for not getting it fixed and promised to do so later. You stopped right beside the threshold.

“Are you okay, doll?” Negan asked, standing and tentatively walking toward the door.

“I’m okay.” You said finally. “But this door is not.” You continued, crossing your arms over your chest. “Now, Negan, you say sorry to that door right now or I swear to god.” You continued, rubbing the door slightly, as if attempting to make it feel better.

Negan stood there shocked for a few seconds before shaking his head and letting out a low chuckle. He gazed at you from beneath his dark lashes before standing up straight once more. He stepped toward the door.

“Fine. I’m very sorry.” Negan apologized soundly. “Happy?” Negan directed his question at you.

“Say it like you mean it.” You said, tapping your fingers rhythmically on your chair, attempting to keep laughter bubbling in your throat. Negan nodded.

“Now, I was in the wrong when I opened you. I didn’t think about it and it was wrong of me to treat you that way.” Negan said in a mockingly genuine tone. You choked back a laugh. “Will you ever forgive me?” Negan asked, putting on his best attempt at puppy eyes.

“The door says that they accept your apology.” You clapped your hands in a satisfied way.

“See,” Negan said, planting a kiss on your lips that finished far too soon for your liking. “This is why I love you.” Negan continued.

“Well, you love a mad woman who has you apologise to inanimate objects.” You smiled, running your hands through Negan’s hair.

“And I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

***

Thank you all so much for reading and thank you @itsjustafeelingthatihave for the prompt!! Honestly your prompt made up half the word count!! xP

Thank you all for reading and have a great day!!

Tag List:

@sc1525 @lilablauerhimmel @shawn-and-aiden-frost-9 @ali-pennell @wishfulwinona @jeffrcy @mrsnegan25 @petlaufeyson @isoldmysoulforspn @girlygreenie @thewhisperingfox @ninjacuddlepile @deeinthedarkwonderland @whizper @clinicalkayla @warriorqueen1991