somewhereawrite - Tumblr blog

somewhereawrite · 3 years

Text

Writing a Blind or Visually Impaired Character

A Multi-Step Guide Written by a Visually Impaired Writer and Blogger

I’m hoping this blog will over time develop its own following, and when it does people will inevitably see my bio and notice what I included: I’m visually impaired.

Yes, a visually impaired writer, and I’ve written with two blind characters before so I have some practice in the field.

So, inevitably, someone is going to ask how to write a blind character.

Or, at least, I hope you’ll ask someone who’s actually blind or visually impaired about writing a blind character before you get too involved with your new WIP.

All parts will be tagged #blindcharacter in my blog, and I will add links to every post as I finish each part. Follow my blog for more writing advice.

Note, this post updates fairly often and old versions are still floating around out there. The most current version of this post is pinned to my blog with any new guides or links you might of missed.

As of 24 January 2021, this is the most extensive and screen reader friendly version of this post.

Part One: Crafting the Blind Character

In which I tell you how to begin making a blind character who is more than a cardboard cutout

Part Two: Narrative Choice, Visual Description, Verbal Description, Social Interaction

In which I give you a basic rundown on how to write from the perspective of a character who can’t see and still make the narration descriptive

Part Three: Tropes and Clichés to Avoid

Your blind readers will thank you for not being the 5000th person to do this and manage to actually finish your story. (Do you have any idea how many stories I’ve noped out of within two chapters because of these clichés? A Lot.)

-New- Part Four: Canes, Guide Dogs, and O&M

Everything I can tell you about 1) how to learn how to use a cane 2) how a cane works 3) how to describe what your character experiences with their cane 4) everything I know on guide dogs

Part Five: Small Aspects of being Blind You Never Thought Of

5 January 2021 Edit: This link has been fixed to correspond with the correct post

Or, really, very normal everyday things for blind people, the inclusion of which will make your characters more real and authentic. It’s the tiny details.

Part Six: Should You Cure Your Character’s Blindness? (Short Answer: No)

There’s no way to write a cure for your blind character that doesn’t make blind readers hate you. Sorry. We came here to finally experience a relatable character who experiences the world like us, but none of us are getting cured so seeing this character we learned to love become something alien from us in the end feels like a slap in the face

Why I’m Blind and What I See -NEW-

I thought I’d finally make a post explaining the complicated situation about my vision. Includes an explanation of visual snow and exotropia, two of the three causes for my vision issues.

Writing Blind Characters Falling in Love, an Advice Post:

Someone asked what being blind and falling in love have to do with each other. Honestly, blindness changes your perspective on everything and it makes an impact on every relationship you have. This includes some things that you definitely do not want your character’s love interest to be/do.

Writing Blind Jokes (Should You Do It?)

You know those flow charts of “should you do x?” going around? It’s like that, but screen reader friendly. Should you write blind jokes. It’s pretty complicated and there are a lot of possible scenarios and details to consider.

Advice for Writing Toph Beifong -NEW-

In this I discuss what I would like to see done in fanfiction with Toph’s character after ten years of reading Avatar the Last Airbender fanfiction

A small essay addressing the frequently asked question on giving your blind character a superpower to help them “see.”

It’s became a popular question, so to make the answer easier/faster for everyone to access, I wrote what will usually be my initial answer. Below there are a few links to some notable past questions on this subject.

Mourning My Vision, it’s More than Depression.

A small personal essay addressing the nuances of the mourning period you experience with a new disability. The mourning period is mentioned in other guides, but this is more detailed.

Dealing with Heightened Senses, a video by Molly Burke with additional commentary by me

While Molly talks about the myths and truths about heightened senses, I talk about the correlation with blindness and neuro-divergency and how co-morbid disorders/disabilities might affect sensory processing.

Satirical Commentary on the phrase “that blank look in their eyes” used too often in fiction to identify a blind character

a:tla, I’m looking at you (and my eyes aren’t blank)

I Found a Lost Piece of Blindness History

My grandmother told me about her blind aunt and how she sent letters. It led me to speculate about all the O&M things people develop on their own but never get a chance to pass onto other blind people. Technology and techniques are lost in history and reinvented, including the white cane ad guide dogs.

Includes a little history on the introduction of guide dogs into the 20th century

The Following are Answered Anon Questions

Making Your Blog More Accessible

Making Links Accessible to Screen Readers

Reblogging to Add an Image Description to Someone Else’s Image

Why I Write Image Descriptions

Writing Blind Characters

Advice for a Character Who was Born Blind

Over-Protective Parents of a Blind Character, Why They’re Over-Protective and How to Avoid Crossing a Line

A Blind Character in Victorian Era Historical Fiction

Is It Bad Not to Have Guide Dogs in a Fantasy/Historical Setting Without Guide Dogs (short answer: it’s not bad)

Someone Asked About My Thoughts on a Medusa-like Character Blinding Herself to Avoid Hurting Anyone

-New- Characters Who Have Recently Gone Blind and Avoiding Inspiration Porn

Talking about Popular Blind Characters In Media

Does Daredevil’s Echolocation Negate His Blindness

Someone Else was Asked How to Write Daredevil Fanfiction

Blind Characters with Superpowers/Fighting Styles

World Setting where the General Population has a Superpower

Superpowers that don’t involve sight, Five questions to ask yourself if this superpower is a bad idea or a good one

-New- Your character would not use a cane as a weapon, it’s a bad idea

D&D/Roleplaying Blind Characters

-New- Animal Familiars Acting as Service Animals and Advice for Communicating with Your DM

-New- Portraying Older Blind Characters + Causes for Vision Loss with Old Age

31K notes · View notes

somewhereawrite · 4 years

Text

Soft OC Asks

🌹 Where in the world does your OC feel most at home? Is there any reason why? If it’s not the place they were born, where were they born? Is there a certain somebody that makes them feel at home where ever they may be? What does home mean to them?

🍄 What are your OCs favourite snacks? Their favourite comfort food which always cheers them up when they’re down? Favourite meal to make? Do they enjoy baking and cooking and are they any good in the kitchen?

🍁 Where does your OC go when they need to have some time to themself? Would they ever have their own “comfort corner” filled with all the things they like? Do they have a favourite spot outside that feels like its theirs and theirs alone?

🍂 Does your OC enjoy hugs? What do they do as a show of affection for: their friends, their family, their significant other(s) or for strangers? Over all what are they like with recieving affection from others?

🌻 What little things do they notice about people or the world around them that make them happy? What tiny little treasures do they find in the normal every day that makes the world seem a little brighter for them?

🌾 Describe your OC through the eyes of someone absolutely head-over-heels in love with them

💐 How does your OC handle being unwell or forced to rest in bed? Who cares for them and in what ways? Does your OC enjoy being doted on or are they a terrible patient? Reversed: is your OC good at taking care of others who are ill or in need?

🌿 What way does your OC show that they care without using words? What way do others show your OC that they’re cared about without using speech?

🌳 What is your OC’s favourite way to relax after a stressful day? Do they have a favourite book to curl up with? A hobby? Or do they have a nice bubble bath and have an early night to bed?

🌲 How deeply does your OC feel? Are they typically empathetic or do they have a hard time connecting with others in this way? What are they like when offering support and comfort to someone they care for?

🌺 What does your OC do to calm down when they’re scared or after a nightmare? Do they have any special comfort items or need to be reassured by a specific person? How do they handle this if they’re alone?

🌸 What are some of their favourite things and why? List as many as you can think of!

🥀 How would your OC decorate a notebook or journal? What kind of things are written in there? Could you give an example of a nice entry?

🌼 Who are this characters friends and found family? How did they meet, how long have they been friends for, could they ever be something more than just friends? What do they look for in a friend or a romantic partner?

Questions for You!

💫What is your favourite fact about this character and why?

☄️ Does this OC deserve better treatment from you? Do you make them suffer just a little bit too much? Be nice to them!

🌠 On a scale of 1 - 10 how Baby is your OC? BONUS when asking this question rate the OC yourself as see if the reply matches up!!

💦 If you as the writer could erase one traumatic event from this OC’s life what would it be and why?

13K notes · View notes

somewhereawrite · 4 years

Text

Shore

Merfolk do not kiss. Noctis had never pressed his mouth to the mouth of another mer, nor had he ever desired to. But humans did engage in the strange behavior. He’d seen them up on the docks at Galdin Quay, or upon the sandy beach. They’d squish their bodies close to one another, and lock their mouths together. Then, they’d pull apart, faces flushed as if they’d spent hours basking in the sun. Noctis couldn’t help but wonder why they did it.

“Why do humans kiss?” he asked one day when Ignis came for one of his regular visits. His human friend was sitting in a chair with his long legs crossed, drinking a can of that foul-tasting liquid he liked, when suddenly his body jerked and he was coughing.

Ignis turned away, coughing into his shoulder with startling ferocity. Noctis held himself up on his hands and watched with concern. He wanted to go to him, but dragging his tail across the shore was neither easy nor pleasant. He was relieved when Ignis waved a hand in the air, letting Noctis know whatever was wrong was not serious.

“Apologies,” Ignis wheezed. “I seem to have inhaled some Ebony.” Ignis was still letting out smaller, less painful sounding coughs, but he settled back in his chair. “What was it you said, Noct?”

“I wanted to know why humans kiss,” he said. Ignis made a face but didn’t choke on his drink this time.

“That’s… a bit complicated. I take it merfolk do not?”

“No,” he said and rolled onto his back, arms tucked under his head. “Why would we push our mouths together? That’s weird.”

“Hmm. I suppose it is a strange custom when one is not familiar with it. I guess the simplest answer is: to express affection for one another.”

Noctis was doubtful and Ignis must have read as much from his expression. “What ways do your kind show their affections?”

“Practical ways. Gifts and stuff.”

“Gifts? Such as?”

Noctis shrugged. “Like fish. If you feel affection you show it by catching a really big delicious fish for them.”

Ignis adjusted his glasses. “I see. Much like that trevally, you presented me with two days ago?”

Now it was Noctis’ turn to have his breath sputter, somehow he’d let air in through his gills. “N-no! That was– I just– I wanted you to have something good to eat.”

Ignis chuckled. “It was delicious. Thank you again, Noct.”

Noctis pushed up on one arm and studied his human friend. Ignis would make for a very handsome mer, he thought, and not for the first time. He still couldn’t decide what color his scales would be. Maybe sea-green? Or a sandy-gold like his hair? Maybe his tail would be speckled like a rock barramundi?

Still, as nice as it was to think of Ignis as merfolk, Noctis couldn’t deny he liked his friend on two legs.

“So, kissing…” Noctis said, bringing the conversation back around. “It’s weird. But,” he chose his words carefully and studied Ignis for his reaction, “maybe I would understand it better if I tried it?”

Ignis swallowed. He set his can of Ebony down. “You would need someone for whom you feel affection,“ he said at length.

“And that someone would have to be human, right?”

“Naturally.” Ignis’ tongue darted out to wet his lips.

“Well,” Noctis said, his eyes following the movement. “Seeing as I only have one human I feel affection for, I guess I’ll have to ask him.”

“Noct–”

“Will you kiss me, Specs?”

Merfolk do not kiss. And Noctis couldn’t help but find that tragic as Ignis dropped down onto the sand and bowed over him. His arms wrapped around Noctis’ body, pulling him up and into him. Ignis’ lips were soft against his own, but they were demanding. Noctis tried to keep up with them. Ignis invaded his senses. All he could smell, feel, taste, was Ignis.

When his body demanded air he felt the loss of those lips against his. Ignis pulled away, his face red like he’d spent hours basking in the sun. It was a good look.

“Noct, I…” His glasses had fallen askew. He reached up to fix them.

“I think I get it now,” said Noctis.

“Do you?” said Ignis, cautiously.

Noctis grinned. “Maybe. Might need to try again, just to be sure.”

Ignis was more than happy to oblige.

#wow this is adorable

96 notes · View notes

somewhereawrite · 4 years

Text

my story: hey please write me i want to exist

me: write your own goddamn self you son of a FUCK

68K notes · View notes

somewhereawrite · 4 years

Text

#ffxv #prompto argentum #spy!prompto

4 notes · View notes

somewhereawrite · 4 years

Text

Happy Birthday

Original Fiction

Word Count: 2,268

Warnings: Mentioned Abuse, Brief Suicidal Ideation

TC: Happy birthday dude! 🎂 🎉

IC: thanks

TC: Are you working?

IC: No. I missed my shift

TC: That sucks. Everything ok?

IC: yeah i just got locked out

TC: Of your house?

IC: yeah. I think my dad changed the locks cuz my key doesn’t fit anymore

And he’s not home so

TC: You’re outside right now? Are you okay?

IC: yeah

Just fucking cold

There’s snow everywhere

I went over to that one corner store but they kicked me out for loitering so

Ngl i kinda wanna die right now lol

TC: where are you?

IC: the park across from my house

TC: me and my mom are pretty close by. We’re going to come pick you up

IC: ok

~~~

Ian couldn’t feel his fingers anymore.

They’d skated past the miserably cold stage about an hour ago, and settled into the slightly numb and painful stage. Now he couldn’t feel them at all, and they were like clumsy icicles stuck to his hands than actual digits as he used them to scroll through his texts and see if Taylor had responded to him.

Nothing yet. Ian clicked the lock button and shoved his phone and his hand back into his coat pocket. The battery was at 12%. Probably a good idea not to waste it.

At least the wind had stopped blowing. Ian had swept the snow off of the park bench he’d taken shelter on before sitting down on it, but he could still feel his jeans and the back of his coat getting soaked through. He’d pulled his legs up to his chest to conserve warmth, but at this point it was no longer doing any good.

Maybe his dad really did want him to freeze to death.

Today was Ian’s birthday, but that did not change in the slightest the fact that it was a bad fucking day.

It hadn’t even started out right. He’d woken up this morning (or rather, dragged himself out of bed, semi-conscious and uncertain if he’d gotten anything restful enough to be called “sleep”) feeling sick, but gotten ready for school anyways and jogged out the door barely on time. He hadn’t ridden his bike, because he could hear Dad talking to someone out in the garage from the hallway, and he really didn’t want to go in there and interrupt whatever was going on, so he grabbed his coat and his earbuds and resigned himself to being late.

One of his fucking ear buds broke on the walk there, so there was that. So much for carefully arranging the balance settings in stereo for the best amount of bass versus treble versus mids, because all he could fucking hear now was treble.

He walked in to find out he had enough tardies to equal an unexcused absence, and that admin would be sending his dad a letter and a request to schedule a parent-teacher meeting about attendance. Fan-fucking-tastic.

He missed a quiz first period, used fourth period to scribble down homework he’d completely forgotten, and spent lunch sleeping in the corner of the shop classroom. By the time he headed home to grab his bike for work, his head was throbbing and his sore throat and sniffles were definitely turning into a full-blown cold.

And then he was locked out. He called his dad twice, then texted him a few times after that, but no response. It wasn’t like he was expecting one anyways. He found his manager’s number on his phone and called out.

Then he wandered around for a bit, got kicked out of the corner store, and ended up on the park bench with his school backpack and a dying phone, freezing to death in slow motion.

He felt like his organs were going to rattle apart with how violently he was shivering now. He should probably stand up a bit, move around, get his blood pumping and stomp his feet a little to ward the frostbite off his toes. He didn’t want to. Instead, he buried himself a little deeper into his coat, rested his forehead on his knees, and closed his eyes.

He didn’t want to go home. He didn’t want to go to school tomorrow. He didn’t want to try to explain to his manager why he called out again, and he didn’t want to have to deal with his dad. He didn’t want to think anymore. He just wanted everything to stop.

Everything was bullshit and he was so, so tired.

His phone buzzed and he pulled it out to glance at the screen.

TC: You still there?

We’re right in front, by your house

Ian tapped back a quick “k” and uncurled himself, pushing to his feet and grabbing his bag. The movement and a gust of cold air made his stomach lurch and sent fresh stabs through his skull, but he closed his eyes for a second until it passed, then shouldered his bag and headed toward the front of the park.

Lauren Conroy drove a small silver SUV that was just old enough to look like a mom car. Ian saw the puff of exhaust from the tailpipe and the glow of the headlights cutting through the dimness the second he crested the hill, and something in him gave a little sigh, collapsing into tired relief.

He shuffled down toward them, shoes scuffing and sliding against the icy sidewalk, and then he was there, frigid fingers bumping clumsily against the handle of the back passenger side door, pulling it open, shoving his backpack and then himself inside. Lauren was in the driver’s seat and Taylor was in the back, pulling his backpack out of the way, stabbing the buttons that turned up the heat.

“Good god. Taylor, grab that blanket in the back and give it to him.”

Before he could react, Taylor was reaching past him and dragging the lengths of a soft, heavy comforter from behind the seats. Lauren twisted in her seat, dragging it around and over him as far as she could reach, and directing Taylor to do the same.

“How long have you been out there?” she asked, an edge in her voice.

Ian pulled the rest of the blanket over him so that it covered everything but his head. “Since four-ish.”

Lauren froze and stared back at him. “Since four?”

Ian nodded.

Lauren muttered something under her breath that he couldn’t hear. “Have you eaten?” she asked, louder.

“Not yet.” The words slurred a little, Ian’s lips and tongue stiff from the cold.

“Christ.” Lauren’s expression was lethal. She took the car out of park and pulled into the street, heading towards the edge of the neighborhood. “Taylor, my phone. Look up an Ihop or something. Someplace we can eat inside.”

“Got it.”

The car was so warm it almost hurt. The heater was blowing at full strength now, deafening, and the seat warmers were on full blast. Ian sank into the seat and pulled the blanket as tightly around him as he could, still shivering and sniffling so that his nose wouldn’t start running from the heat.

Lauren glanced back through the rearview mirror. “Are you sick?”

“Yeah. A little.”

“You look awful. Taylor, there’s some Tylenol in my purse, and there should be an extra water bottle back there still.”

“Yeah, got it.”

Taylor handed over the water and Tylenol, and Ian took two of them, then enveloped himself in the blanket again. Lauren glanced back at him once, then again.

Then finally, “I can not believe he left you out there.”

Ian half-shrugged. “It’s fine. It’s happened before.”

Wrong thing to say. Lauren looked furious. “This has happened before?”

Ian dropped his gaze, not in the mood to meet her angry stare. “Yeah, once. Wasn’t this cold though.”

“Of course not, because you would have--” she cut herself off and huffed out a breath, tugging on her ponytail.

Would have frozen to death. Ian knew. They all knew.

Lauren didn’t say it, though. When he looked up, there was a misty sheen in her eyes and the muted anger on her face was mixed with regret. “Sorry, kiddo. I’m just--” she broke off again. “Let’s just go get some food in you.”

The car fell silent, and for a moment, the only sound was the gps’s electronic monotone spitting out directions.

Ian didn’t speak up again until the feeling came back into his fingers with a rush of tingling and pain. “Thanks for picking me up,” he said.

“It’s the least I could do, kiddo. The very, very least.”

No one said anything else until they arrived at the restaurant. Lauren sent them both inside to find a booth, saying she had to make a call, so they went ahead without her.

“What even happened?” Taylor asked over his menu, once they’d gotten in and sat down. “Was there a fight or something?”

Ian shrugged. “No. Don’t think so. Guess he was just done.”

“That’s…” Taylor shook his head, struggling for words. “That’s so crazy.”

“Yeah.” Ian didn’t really want to think about it anymore. “Does your mom care what we get?”

“No, get whatever you want.” Taylor watched him over the menu. “You know you can stay at our house if you want to, right?”

Something inside him twisted. “We already talked about that. You guys live too far away from my school.”

“My mom says she might be able to make the drive before work. Me and Fletcher are almost finished saving for a car, so she wouldn’t have to bring us and Jackie to school.”

Ian hesitated, looking at him. He wanted it. He wanted it so badly. Living someplace where he knew he wouldn’t get screamed at for no reason or locked out without warning, where he liked people he lived with and they didn’t wish he was dead--living someplace normal. It sounded good. Too good to be something within his reach. “I… my dad--”

“Hey, boys! We order yet?” Lauren’s voice, bright and cheery, interrupted him as she swept into view. Taylor scooted to the side and she dropped into the booth next to him, picking up the third menu. Her eyes were rimmed in red, but her smile was genuine and almost defiant.

“Not yet,” Taylor said.

“Well? Come on! Ian, order whatever you want, I’m paying. Are we getting milkshakes? I’m getting a milkshake.”

Ian did get a milkshake. And a breakfast skillet. And hashbrowns. And crepes slathered with fruit and whipped cream. And Lauren didn’t so much as raise an eyebrow, just slapped on an order of birthday pancakes and handed back her menu.

Taylor ordered just as much as he did, and Lauren sat back with her milkshake and strawberry French Toast, watching them converse with a satisfied look on her face.

After they’d finished devouring the last of the dessert pancakes, Lauren glanced at her phone. “Sorry to break up the party, but we have to get going if we’re gonna pick you up a toothbrush before we head home. I told your dad you were staying over.”

Ian narrowed his eyes, wary. “What did he say?”

“He said it was fine, of course. You’re staying for the rest of the week, at least.”

The rest of the week? “Wait, really? He was fine with that?”

“Oh, he was more than fine,” Lauren said, glibly.

Ian stared at her, disbelieving. “He was more than fine?”

“I’m guessing he wants me to go easy once the court proceedings are underway.”

Wait. What? “What court proceedings?”

Lauren looked at Taylor. “You didn’t tell him?”

Taylor shrugged. “Didn’t get the chance.”

Ian frowned. “The chance to tell me what?”

Lauren reached into her purse and pulled out a stack of neatly stapled papers, set them on the table, and slid them over. “The reason we were in town.”

Ian picked them up and read the lettering at the top. He suddenly couldn’t breathe. “Petition for... guardianship?” he read aloud, voice tight. “What are-- are you serious?”

Lauren nodded solemnly. “We’ve talked about it enough. You’ve said plenty of times that you wanted to go ahead.”

“Is that why you called me yesterday?”

Lauren’s face softened. “Yeah. And you told me that it was just your--”

“--my dad,” Ian finished. “He’d never agree. How did you…?”

Lauren grinned slightly. “I talked to him last week. I was very convincing. And he knows we have a case. Seems like he doesn’t want trouble.”

Ian stared down at the papers again, clenching his teeth against the lump growing in his throat. “So that’s it? He’s giving me up?”

“That’s what he’s saying right now. But if he changes his mind and we have to fight for it, we will. If you still want it.”

It was all suddenly too much. Ian’s vision blurred and his breath shuddered, and he pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes to block the tears that had sprung from nowhere, but then he was gasping and he felt arms around him, holding him tight and warm.

“Do you still want it?” He heard Lauren ask him, voice quiet and full of emotion he couldn’t quantify.

He felt everything inside of him unravel as he nodded, letting her hug him and leaning into the embrace. “Yes,” he said. His voice sounded choked, but he didn’t care. “I want to.”

Her arms tightened around him, every so slightly. “I guess that’s it then. Happy birthday, Ian.”

Taylor’s hand squeezed his shoulder from wherever he was, still across the table. His voice sounded shaky when he spoke too. “Happy birthday, Ian. Welcome home.”

#original fiction #original characters #hurt/comfort #happy birthday #ian carpenter #taylor conroy #lauren conroy

4 notes · View notes

somewhereawrite · 4 years

Text

It’s my OC’s birthday today, so time to make him cry

#I’m feeling bad today so I need some hurt/comfort in my life #sorry Ian

0 notes

somewhereawrite · 4 years

Text

I’ve got a short ffxv holiday exchange fic going up on Sunday, and my ffxv minibang fic is in the editing stages

Feeling good 💪🏽

#author note

0 notes

somewhereawrite · 4 years

Text

#is mutual pining such a big thing in fanfic because it’s just part of the lgbt experience #im just saying #me and my girlfriend liked each other for a YEAR before we realized #and that doesnt seem all too unusual

0 notes

somewhereawrite · 5 years

Note

A thing that I find fascinating and I think more people should realize: if you click the profile of people that comment/leave Kudos, the vast majority of users haven't posted anything. There's this pressure that feels you aren't part of the Ao3 community if you don't write, but just a reminder that that isn't at all true. Engagement is still valuable.

I strongly encourage readers to get an account, even if they never intend to write anything. There are a lot of advantages to it.

You can comment more easily because you don’t have to enter your email address every time

You have an Archive inbox, so if you don’t want email notifications of comment replies, you don’t have to get them

You can subscribe to individual stories or to everything an author posts

Bookmarks - you can make them private or public, add in your own description of the fic so you can remember which one it was, tag them with whatever extra tags you want to add in, and even mark them as a recommendation to others.

Mark for Later - a handy button to use so that you can come back later to read that fic instead of having 85 tabs open all the time.

And that’s just off the top of my head :)

2K notes · View notes

somewhereawrite · 5 years

Text

229K notes · View notes

somewhereawrite · 5 years

Text

Whumptober Day 1: Shaky Hands

Ian’s breaths are coming in hisses, and that wetness on his face is definitely more than just just smeared blood.

She’s never seen him actually cry, she realizes. Even now, there are no sobs, no hiccups or sniffling, even though his expression is twisted and his teeth are clenched and there’s water on his cheeks that’s mingling with the tacky red.

She doesn’t know if that counts as tears, but even if Ian’s not crying, she definitely is.

“Jackie,” he snaps, and it’s not really a snap of anger, it’s more like he’s trying to spit out words because the longer they sit in his mouth the more they hurt, “you have to do it. Just dig it out.”

She can barely even look at where his side is torn up with the bullet wound. There’s so much blood and it’s everywhere, soaking his shirt and into the carpet underneath him, covering his hands and arms up to his elbows. It makes her a little sick to think about the way he must have stumbled home in the dark, his fingers and his torn jacket the only things keeping all his blood from leaking out of his body.

His hand shoots out now and clutches at her wrist. “Jackie—”

“We need to get you to a hospital,” She blurts out, and her voice is closer to a whine than she wants it to be.

His grip tightens. “No. We can’t.” He tries to turn, winces instead. “They’ll turn us in, you know that.”

“You can’t— I’m not a surgeon, Ian! You need a fucking doctor!”

He leans his head back and closes his eyes. “You’ve got it. How hard can it be?”

Panic’s rising, she can feel it coiling inside her like a snake. The tweezers are shaking in her hands, and the steam from the hot water in the bowl at her feet is just making her cold sweat worse. “Ian.”

“Just… go quick. Rip it out like a bandaid.”

“Yeah, not sure that’s how this works.”

He’s really pale. He shouldn’t be that pale.

“Do whatever then. Just—” his brow knits and his breathing hitches. “Just hurry up.”

She forces herself to look down at the bullet hole. The blood’s started to clot around it, and she can’t even see where the bullet might be.

“Okay,” She says, both to herself and to him. “Okay. Hold- hold on to something.”

“Yep.” He breathes out slowly, keeping his eyes closed.

She has to dig around before she finds it. She never wants to remember the sound the tweezers make going in, or the gasps and pained whimpers that Ian makes as she pulls out the bullet.

His eyes lose focus as the bullet clatters to the floor and she reaches for the cloths soaked in hot water.

“Ian,” She says, so he won’t lose consciousness. If he does, she’s going to break down. Then louder, “Ian!”

His eyes shift, slowly, lazily towards her and that’s good enough for now. She works quickly, cleaning the wound, gathering what she needs for the stitches. She has to keep him talking.

“You said this was gonna be an easy job.”

There’s a sound probably meant to be a laugh. It’s not though, it’s a shuddery rasp, horrible to hear. “Yeah, forgot about the whole… shoot the messenger… thing.”

She has to try to thread the needle four times— she keeps missing, and once she threaded it, then immediately yanked the thread out since her hands were trembling so badly.

“We should have gone to the hospital,” She says for the twelfth time.

“Can’t risk it.” Ian’s voice is a whisper. “Can’t get caught, not after everything with your dad. Rather be dead than in jail or sent back.”

I wouldn’t, she almost says. I’d rather go back in time and live with my dad than have you die here.

“You’re not gonna die.”

“Yeah, of course.” Then, softer. “Either way, not going back.”

He’s unconscious by the time she finishes her stitches. His breathing is uneven and shallow, and he still looks like he’s hurting even though he’s unresponsive to her voice or anything else. She doesn’t know what else to do, so she covers him with a blanket and cleans up.

There’s a chill in her gut when she thinks of being alone.

#whumptober2019 #writing #original characters #ian carpenter #jackie conroy #cw: gore #cw: blood #cw: stitches #cw: death mention

1 note · View note