#Why is it so hard to accept people with disabilities
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I wanna talk about a real problem in marginalized communities, but especially the disabled community.
The conflation of "privilege" with "oppression".
Here's two examples that I'm directly pulling from experience.
I am not intellectually disabled. I have fluctuating cognitive disabilities, but I have privilege over people with intellectual disabilities.
I also have significantly disabling chronic illness to the point where at times I have not been able to engage with hobbies due to being too sick. Disabled people who are less sick and more able to pursue activities they enjoy have privilege over me.
It's something that's not neat and simple, either. An intellectually disabled person who is able to engage with hobbies vs me? We would essentially both have privilege over each other on different axes. You can't then determine that one of us is ultimately generally more privileged than the other, because that's not how it works. Like if you have privilege x and they have privilege y, it isn't x-y=positive or negative privilege. You can't "solve" that equation because x and y aren't variables that can be substituted for number values.
So, first taking the example of hobbies - a recent controversial post we made that invited harassment. People were quick to tell us what our own experience was and that we weren't experiencing ableism - because they had had the privilege of never experiencing it. That was lateral ableism, and not okay.
Note: There may be people who DIDN'T have that privilege who were also saying the same - though everyone I saw talking about this specifically mentioned their ability to do hobbies, and that was who the main part of my response was directed at. However, I even specifically responded briefly to any people who were doing that - much more gently - to basically say that if they were being assimilationist out of fear that they didn't have to be, and to remind them that they aren't bad if they can't have hobbies.
On the other hand, way back when I first started this blog, I talked about reclaiming the r slur as someone who had significant trauma from being called it as a kid. I talked about how the reason I was called it was specifically because of my social issues due to my developmental disorders while being a gifted kid.
To make it clear - I was called the r slur for not understanding social cues and rules as a "smart" kid, because that's one of the things it meant to them. They weren't insulting my intellectual intelligence, but rather my social ability - at most, you could argue they were insulting my social intelligence - which having a low amount of WAS actually a feature of my disabilities.
I also spoke about how I wasn't reclaiming it to continue treating it as a bad thing, to insult even just myself, but rather to say "so what if I am? that's not bad". Y'know, the whole point of reclaiming.
I was told what my own experience was and that I was experiencing misdirected ableism because they were actually insulting traits I didn't have and therefore they were actually hurting intellectually disabled people but not me. Not because they had the privilege not to experience what I did - but because me having privilege was treated as the right to tell me I had never experienced the ableism they had.
They were treated not just as the experts on ableism against intellectual disabilities - which they are, of course - but also the experts on ableism against people who specifically DON'T have intellectual disabilities when it takes the same or similar forms as ableism against intellectual disabilities.
We all know that bigots don't wait to find out your correct identity before attacking you. We all know that there are identities commonly mistaken for others, that can set you up for repeated abuse over an identity you don't have. But what we refuse to acknowledge is that there are types of bigotry that can manifest identically in some ways for two different identities - and that anyone who experiences that bigotry is an expert on it and deserves to have a place in the conversation about it.
Someone with intellectual disabilities fundamentally cannot know that people without intellectual disabilities DON'T face the same kind of ableism on the basis of other disabilities that person DOES have because they have not ever lived that experience, just as, say, I couldn't say that an intellectually disabled person never faces specific kinds of ableism I face due to being a wheelchair user, because I am not intellectually disabled.
What I can say: "I face these types of ableism because of these disabilities and this is how they manifest."
What I can't say, because it is erasure and lateral ableism no matter my relative privilege: "You don't face this type of ableism for [disability I don't have] because it's exclusive to [disability I have] and any ableism that manifests that way is actually an attack on me."
Fundamentally, you cannot say that someone with a different disability DOESN'T face a specific type of ableism because you are not an authority on the experience of that disability. You are an expert on the experience of your disability. You cannot claim exclusive experiences because to do so, you would have to experience the disabilities you don't have while also not experiencing the ones you do. You would have to verify experiences that you simply don't have - in multiple places and contexts and presentations and as multiple people.
Oh wait, there's a simpler way to do that.
Listen to people about their experiences of their own disabilities and the ableism they face for it.
(Plaintext: Listen to people about their experiences of their own disabilities and the ableism they face for it.)
It's not ableist to say "no, you aren't the only disability that faces this ableism" or "no, it isn't targeted at you when it's aimed at me" or "actually, bigots also use [slur] to mean [definition specifically attacking my disability]". It is however ableist to tell people that because they have an axis of privilege over you, they can't talk about their own oppression on an entirely different axis because you've decided that experiencing similar oppression means you're the only person who experiences said oppression.
Or to put it more simply: Experiencing a type of ableism does NOT give you the right to speak over others when they say they experience it too for different reasons. Having something bad happen to you as a group does not give you proof that you're the ONLY group it happens to.
"X is caused by y, therefore x is ONLY caused by y" is quite literally a logical fallacy. It's called fallacy of the single cause (at least it's a nice obvious name, honestly).
This is the same discourse as cripplepunk. In fact, it's the primary motivator behind most slur discourse, and the reason why I'd honestly rather have blanket permission issued within oppressed groups I'm in* for everyone to reclaim in good faith** any slur that affects that group.
**What does "reclaim in good faith" mean? It means reclaiming only for self-usage, and only for self-usage specifically in a positive way - so no "ugh, I'm such a useless cripple", for example. True reclamation does require use of it against you/your disability in the first place, however, part of not being a cop about it is assuming that anyone who uses it in a positive sense for self-labeling has in fact experienced that. In short, it involves believing people about the oppression they explicitly say or imply through their reclamation that they've experienced.
*Note: I am specifically NOT a person of color or a member of an oppressed ethnoreligion/ethnicity, and recognize that dynamics of racial and ethnic oppression may be unique in some ways. However in disabled, queer, plural, alterhuman, and other marginalized spaces I do occupy, these are my feelings.
It is lateral ableism to tell another disabled person that they haven't experienced a type of ableism or didn't experience it due to their ACTUAL disability and therefore have no right to reclaim what was used to hurt them.
It is ableism to say "the bullet meant to shoot you, that hit you, was designed in part to hurt me, and therefore any time someone is shot with it, it was actually an attack on me. Hand over the bullet and never keep it or use it as you please again or you're basically shooting me with a different bullet." (For those that struggle with metaphors, the bullets are ableism.)
It's ducks saying that deer have no right to reclaim shotgun shells. Yes, slugs are more common than buckshot, but there's literally a type of the same exact kind of ammo designed for use on the deer too. In just the same way, some slurs and other forms of ableism are more typically used against one group but even have a (sometimes identical) variant specifically designed for use against other groups. "Mental cripple" and "retard" for sociodevelopmental disabilities are prime examples of this.
This is a wider problem in marginalized communities. "If you have any privilege at all, ever, you need to sit down and shut up about your own experiences. Only our least privileged members are the experts on any of our experiences. They make the rules about which of your own experiences you're allowed to talk about and what you're allowed to say about them." What's important to note, is that this is coming as much from the members with said privilege as the ones without.
And yes, this is an EXTREMELY insular community issue, but it's not mutually exclusive to the fact that large portions of the community DON'T listen to the less privileged ones about their own experiences! Just like the hobbies example (which, I know people may dismiss or cry 'false equivalence', but I want to again note that it primarily affects bedbound people who are too sick to do things they enjoy, and therefore less privileged by any metric).
I specifically referenced that example because it's exactly more privileged members speaking over less privileged members about the less privileged members' OWN experiences.
In fact, I'd say it's in fact a RESPONSE to that kind of being spoken over. It's an extreme pendulum swing in the other direction - "you need to shut up and LISTEN to us about our experiences". Which, if it stopped there, would be perfect! It's the part that follows it - "therefore, if we experience something, we're the ONLY people who are allowed to talk about it and the only people who even experience it".
I've seen time and time again, too, that even if you conclusively prove you experience something, the goalposts just get moved.
"Well, you experience it but not systemically."
"Okay, but you experienced it less."
"It didn't hurt you as much because it was meant to hurt me instead."
"Well, you're probably reclaiming it as an insult." (despite no proof of such, or even proof to the contrary)
"Well, if you experienced it systemically and it did hurt you and you experienced it just as much, it's actually because of [other identity that we begrudgingly acknowledge is affected] and not [identity that you say actually caused you to experience it] and it therefore isn't even [same type of bigotry] but [completely different type] instead."
"Well, even if you experienced it systemically as much as I did, it still hurts me more because it's about my identity and not yours, even though you were the one literally being attacked with it."
And if all that fails it's "no, that's not why you experienced it" or "no, you didn't experience that".
All examples I touched on earlier in this post, but still important to talk about specifically.
The person being hurt by a type of ableism, including slurs, is the person who they are being used against, period. It doesn't matter if they have "the right" disability. It doesn't matter what group the slurs or ableism is primarily used against. The bigots are TRYING to hurt the person they are specifically using the bigotry against, and that person is the one who ends up hurt by it. Full stop, no argument.
And if someone is hurt by a word, especially repeatedly, they have a right to reclaim it. Period.
At the end of the day, does this matter all that much? It's just community microaggressions, right?
Here's my feelings on it: I'm never going to let petty infighting get in the way of fighting for total disabled liberation. Just because some individuals are guilty of lateral ableism doesn't mean I won't fight for a world in which they face no ableism. It would be ableist of me to leave them behind over something like this. Not to mention, there's no need for anyone to be considered an authority on ableism in a world where there is none.
That being said, it is still a minor hurdle on the way to disabled liberation. If we police our own community and shut down discussions of ableism, how can we effectively fight for our right to not be policed or shut down by abled people? We're demonstrating that it's acceptable behavior.
You can argue all you want that abled people should recognize that it's different and they don't have a voice in the conversation - but what about those who are explicitly telling abled people that it's okay to shut down THESE disabled people talking about THEIR experiences because they're privileged invaders in the conversation and abled people should use their privilege over us to act as an even higher authority and stop us?
What about the conflicting messages of "abled people use your power over these disabled people to force them not to talk about the ableism they experience, but not these OTHER disabled people doing the same thing".
It's one thing to make a blanket statement to say "hey, if someone is actually attacking the validity of a disabled (or any marginalized) identity or talking over them about their own experiences, then shut that down". Saying a given marginalized identity doesn't exist or is inherently harmful is always bad. Talking over someone on their OWN experiences, when they are simply talking about things they've directly experienced, is always bad. I don't think it's the end of the world to say "use your privilege to shut down ableism" to abled people.
The problem is telling abled people that someone TALKING about their own legitimate experiences is bad and it's okay to shut it down. Abled people should not ever be given permission to do so - whether using their own judgment or just doing so on the word of disabled people.
Even besides that, though, it's still ableism, and lateral ableism is also a barrier in the way of total disabled liberation. It is an active threat to unity, to our ability to organize and demand change. We can fight to remove it from our communities while still focusing our energy primarily outward on fighting for liberation within the larger abled world.
Finally, it's an issue because it creates more hierarchies to solve existing ones. It says "instead of addressing the actual ableism, we're just going to flip it so you're the one experiencing it instead". It's like the so-called "feminists" that just want a matriarchy. It's not about creating a safer environment, it's about being the one to perpetrate the harm currently being done to you.
So, in cases where neither group has any real systemic power over each other, it doesn't even do that - it simply creates an environment where the original harm continues to be perpetuated while another new harm occurs. It devolves into a petty slap fight, distracting from actual liberation while also causing both parties to be hurt. That's not acceptable praxis. It's not praxis at all.
Even with the harm being small in scale, it's still not okay. Two injustices don't make a justice, just as two wrongs don't make a right.
This is very much something we need to address - in disabled spaces being my focus here - but also in queer, plural, alterhuman, and other marginalized spaces. And all of stems from the idea that "privilege" is the same as having the power to oppress someone. It's the idea that if you have an axis of privilege over another person with the same overall marginalized identity as you, that you are equivalent to being nonmarginalized compared to them and therefore disagreeing with them in any way about your OWN marginalized experiences is bigotry.
Functionally, it's that you're a bigoted privileged invader of marginalized spaces if you dare to have an opinion on a shared type of oppression. And speaking as a transfemmasc person, mayyyyyybe we should actually kill that rhetoric forever.
#ableism#privilege#oppression#reclamation#cw guns#fwiw it seems people who are MORE privileged are MORE willing and likely to harass over this#while less privileged people are more likely to block#and I cannot overstate that harassment is never acceptable#which is why we also have a hard rule about simply ignoring or blocking when we're the ones in a position of privilege#and that should be your rule too#(I mean engaging respectfully if you disagree is fine either way tbc)#just having been on both sides it would not be okay for me in the cases where I am less privileged to tell people what they experience#in fact that's the whole reason I created this blog#cripplepunk discourse led me to advocate for all neurodivergent people being able to reclaim cripple and being included in cripplepunk#if they wanted to be and found meaning in doing so#because 1. cripple is not a physical-disability-exclusive slur#and 2. neurodivergence can be physically disabling#so if there was a movement that centered physical disability that didn't gatekeep a universal disabled slur#people physically disabled by their neurodivergence should STILL not be told that they're wrong/lying about that experience#and should be let into the space on the basis of their neurophysical disabilities#also a lot of times the posts that are like 'able-bodied NDs do not derail' are talking about experiences that both groups experience#and it's not 'derailing' to say 'hey I experience this too for a different reason!' even if said reason is not at all physically disabling#I've seen SO MANY physically disabled people say 'neurodivergent people don't experience this!!1'#and just sat there going 'I experienced this as a neurodivergent person before I became physically disabled for YEARS#and continue to do so due at least in part to my neurodivergence now that I have a physical disability that could also contribute to it#anyway#mod stars#unitypunk
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#it's an old frustration. an old pattern of thought.#i just feel that i have a brain that doesn't hold information. that lacks the discipline to gain knowledge. that is incapable of deeper#thought. and i cant teel you how maddening that is. to sit in a room and listen to other people discuss a paper you read in depth 5 times#like it's the 1st time you ever heard anything about it. how is that possible? how do i work with that? i read and nothing sticks.#nothing stays with me. how??? i was talking to a prof recently who ive heard is hard on her students with disability accommodation. and she#was saying how she doesnt see these things as a disability. how we're just different not disabled. ive heard the phrase differently abled#a lot of times. and i get what she's saying. i do. ad i get why she's hard on them. she wants to push them. but there comes a point where#you are quote unquote differently abled and you run into a wall that other people dont have. then what are you supposed to do? work harder?#but what if that doesn't help? what if that just compounds the hurt that's always been there? what if that leaches away all the wonder? what#then? at what point does a thing become too much of a barrier? i think there's a reason i dont run into many other dyslexic grad student.#everyone has adhd. it's a place where those with adhd prosper. but dyslexia not so much. at least not with the level of hanicap i have#and everyone's really nice. they want to help. but there's nothing anyone can do for me at this stage. it's up to me to compensate for my#leaky head. and i kno im not stupid. ive got a piece of paper stating my iq is above average after correcting for uneven intelligence. but#i dont feel very smart most of the time. i feel more like my uncorrected iq score that comes out at just below average even with me trying#my very best. iq is bullshit but there's something to be said for that gap. im smart if unconstrained by language and time. but were bound#by language and we're bound by time so what am i supposed to do? is there anything i can do? im stuck with this forever. theres no getting#better or making it easier. my brain is wired in a way that gives me the reading skills of a child. forever. and i just have to accept that#and im trying to swallow around that idea easier because the only other option is to choke on it. but maybe i chose the wrong career path.#one of my lab mates said she wants challenges all the time and ive chosen a path that's challenges all the time but im jsut trying to do#what everyone else can without a second thought. it's deeply demoralizing. yet here i am. trying to be easier abt it.#maybe im just nit cut out for this. doing a job im not built for.#unrelated
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#vent in the tags#WARNING: VENT IN THE TAGS!!#tbh its really hard to find disability community irl#at least in my country the amount of other disabled people i met is minimal and finding other disabled peopld my age?? impossible#ive been trying really hard to actually start accepting and defend my disability and try not to hide so much#but it feels really lonely not knowing anyone who is in a similsr situation as me#even tho im part of the lgbt community in my country and in my uni it doesnt erase me being disabeled and that 98% cant really understand#like yea i have few friends at uni who are neurodivergent but i still feel lonely in this regard#with that im not trying to say that they are any less disabled or have it easier or anything like thst#but its still pretty lonely being one of the few physically disabled people in my uni#and being almost all the time the only disabled person my friends even know#im kinda scared of also applying for jobs cause i dont even know if any minimum wage jobs would accept me#i wish i knew someone who is also phys disabled so i can ask them these things and get advice cause rn im so scared#how am i supposed to be even an adult person in society if i cant even get a minimum wage job? where am i supposed to live? what can i eat?#im really lucky my parents are supporting me rn at uni but what do i do after uni#also weird thibg is. why the fuck does it feel like i have to come out 3 separate times??#like why me having to tell someone im disabled feels like im coming out?? girl just look at me for 5 minutes#like. my previous clasmate of 3 years didnt know. WHAT DO U MEAN??#like we were friends. we saw each other 5 times a week for hours. u flirted with me when we were 16. are u dumb??#this is not even the tip of the ice berg. about like 70% of my friends dont know or didnt know until i told them.#like its pretty noticable and visible😭😭 it sounds almost fake that they would be that oblivious but sadly its true lol#anyways lol
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You know... I had an experience about two months ago that I didn't talk about publicly, but I've been turning it over and over in my mind lately and I guess I'm finally able to put my unease into words.
So there's a podcast I'd been enjoying and right after I got caught up, they announced that they were planning on doing a live show. It's gonna be near me and on the day before my birthday and I thought -- hey, it's fate.
But... as many of you know, I'm disabled. For me, getting to a show like that has a lot of steps. One of those steps involved emailing the podcasters to ask about accessibility for the venue.
The response I got back was very quick and very brief. Essentially, it told me to contact the venue because they had no idea if it was accessible or not.
It was a bucket of cold water, and I had a hard time articulating at the time quite why it was so disheartening, but... I think I get it a little more now.
This is a podcast that has loudly spoken about inclusivity and diversity and all that jazz, but... I mean, it's easy to say that, isn't it? But just talking the talk without walking the walk isn't enough. That's like saying "sure, we will happily welcome you in our house -- if you can figure out how to unlock the door."
And friends, my lock-picking set is pretty good by this point. I've been scouting out locations for decades. I've had to research every goddamn classroom, field trip, and assigned bookstore that I've ever had in an academic setting. I've had to research every movie theater, theme park, and menu for every outing with friends or dates. I spend a long time painstakingly charting out accessible public transportation and potential places to sit down every time I leave the house.
Because when I was in college, my professors never made sure their lesson plans were accessible. (And I often had to argue with them to get the subpar accommodations I got.) Because my friends don't always know to get movie tickets for the accessible rows. Because my dates sometimes leave me on fucking read when I ask if we can go to a restaurant that doesn't keep its restrooms down a flight of stairs.
I had one professor who ever did research to see if I could do all the coursework she had planned, and who came up with alternate plans when she realized that I could not. Only one. It was a medical history and ethics class, and my professor sounded bewildered as she realized how difficult it is to plan your life when you're disabled.
This woman was straight-up one of the most thoughtful, philosophical, and ethical professors I've ever had, one who was incredibly devoted to diversity and inclusion -- and she'd never thought about it before, that the hospital archives she wanted us to visit were up a flight of stairs. That the medical museum full of disabled bodies she wanted us to visit only had a code-locked back entrance and an old freight elevator for their disabled guests who were still breathing.
And that's the crux of it, isn't it? It's easy to theoretically accept the existence of people who aren't like you. It's a lot harder to actively create a space in which they can exist by your side.
Because here's what I did before I contacted the podcasters. I googled the venue. I researched the neighborhood and contacted a friend who lives in the area to help me figure out if there were any accessible public transportation routes near there. (There aren't.) I planned for over an hour to figure out how close I could get before I had to shell out for an uber for the last leg of the trip.
Then I read through the venue's website. I looked through their main pages, through their FAQs to see if there was any mention of accessibility. No dice. I download their packet for clients and find out that, while the base building is accessible, the way that chairs/tables are set up for individual functions can make it inaccessible. So it's really up to who's hosting the show there.
So then and only then I contacted the podcasters. I asked if the floor plan was accessible. I asked if all the seats were accessible, or only some, and whether it was open seating or not. Would I need to show up early to get an accessible seat, or maybe make a reservation?
And... well, I got the one-sentence reply back that I described above. And that... god, it was really disheartening. I realized that they never even asked if their venues were accessible when they were booking the shows. I realized that they were unwilling to put in the work to learn the answers to questions that disabled attendees might have. I realized that they didn't care to find out if the building was accessible.
They didn't know and they didn't care. That, I think, is what took the wind out of my sails when they emailed me back. It's what made me decide that... yeah, I didn't really want to go through the trouble of finding an accessible route to the venue. I didn't want to have to pay an arm and a leg to hire a car to take me the last part of the journey. I didn't want to make myself frantic trying to figure out if I could do all that and still make the last train home.
If they didn't care, I guess I didn't either.
If they'd apologized and said that the only venue they could get was inaccessible, I actually would have understood. I know that small shows don't always get their pick of venues. I get it. I even would have understood if they'd been like "oh dang, I actually don't know -- but I'll find out."
But to be told that they didn't know and didn't intend to find out... oof. That one stung.
Because.... this is the thing. This is the thing. I may be good at it by now, but I'm so tired of picking locks. I'm tired of doing all the legwork because no one ever thinks to help me. I'm tired of feeling like an afterthought at best, or at worst utterly unwelcome.
If you truly want to be inclusive, you need to stop telling people that you're happy to have them -- if they can manage to unlock the door. You need to fucking open it yourself and welcome them in.
What brought all this back to me now, you may be asking? Well... I guess it's just what I was thinking to myself as I was tidying up my phone.
Today I'm deleting podcasts.
#I guess it did save me a lot of money#I'll still probably go up to nyc to visit with friends for my bday but I won't go all the way out to brooklyn for the show#and I probably won't need to get the hotel room#and I DEFINITELY won't be supporting their patreon like I was planning lmao#I'll buy myself a new tarot deck for my birthday instead#cw:#disability#ableism
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i talked about it a little bit already but i have things to say about it. for context, i was born with amniotic band syndrome. the amniotic band wrapped around my left wrist in utero and stunted the growth of my hand. i was born with about half a palm, four nubs for fingers, and a twisted half of a thumb. i can open and close my thumb and pinkie joint like a claw.
yesterday at work i had a shift in the room with 5-10 year old kids. i had my left hand hidden in my sleeve (a bad habit of mine). a kid asked if he could see my hand, and even though internally i was debating running into traffic, i said “sure you can” and showed him my hands. he stared for a moment, looking disturbed, and then said “i don’t want to look at that anymore”. that hurt to hear, but i understand that kids are new to the world and he probably didn’t mean it out of malice. i put my hand away again, told him that it was okay, and that i was just born that way.
he then went on to talk about how he knows a kid with a similar hand to mine and called it “ugly”. i told him that wasn’t a very kind thing to say and that he wouldn’t feel good if someone said that to him, and he replied that no one would say that to him—because he has “normal hands”, and he’s glad he does because otherwise he’d be “ugly”. i tried to talk with him for a bit about how everybody is born differently, but he just started talking about a girl he knows with a “messed up face” and pulled on his face to make it look droopy. i went on some more about how it wasn’t very kind to talk about people that way, but the conversation moved on to something else.
i’ve told my supervisors about it and they’re going to have a talk with his mom. what i wanted to say is this: i’m genuinely not upset with the kid. kids are young and naturally curious, and he clearly simply hasn’t been taught about disabled people and kind ways to speak to/about others. which is why i am upset with his parent(s). i know he’s encountered visibly deformed/disabled people before (he said so himself!), yet his parent(s) clearly haven’t had any kind of discussion with him about proper language and behavior. i knew from birth that some people were just different than others, but my parents still made a point to assert to be kind to and accepting of others. i wonder if adults in his life are the type of people to hush him and usher him away when he points out someone in a wheelchair. that kind of thing doesn’t teach politeness. it tells children that disabled people are an Other than can’t be acknowledged or spoken about; which, to a child, means disability must be something bad.
i’m lucky enough that this was a relatively mild incident, and that i’m a grownup with thicker skin. i’m worried about the other kids he mentioned to me. has he been talking to them this way? when i was a kid, i had other kids scream, cry, and run away at the sight of my hand. or follow me around pointing at me and laughing at me. or tell me i couldn’t do something because i was ugly or incapable or whatever. one time a girl at an arcade climbed to the top of the skeeball machine, pointed at me, and screamed at me to put my hand away and wouldn’t stop crying until she couldn’t see me anymore. another time, a kid saw my hand, screamed at the top of her lungs, and ran into my friend’s arms, crying hysterically about how i was scaring her. that second incident made me cry so hard i threw up when i got home. i can kind of laugh it off now, but having people react to me that way as a child is something i’m still getting over. why do you think i have a habit of keeping my hand in my sleeve? it just irritates me to see children that have clearly not been taught basic manners and kindness—their parents Clearly missed something pretty important .
#and for the record i consider my deformity pretty mild. maybe i’m just used to it but things like amniotic band syndrome can turn out a lot#more severe. i rarely even call myself disabled because i don’t feel like the term is applicable to me. i’m more hindered by like#my adhd anxiety depression etc than i am my hand. so for those kids to react that way to what i THINK#is a pretty small thing. makes me worry about people that are more visibly disabled#Kids.That are more visibly disabled
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she's three years younger than i am, and i put on cascada as a throwback, cackling - before your time! i've been borrowing my brother's car, and it's older than dirt, so the trunk is like, maybe permanently locked. when the sun comes through the window to frame her cheekbones, i feel like i'm 16 again. i shake when i'm kissing her, worried i won't get it right.
in 2003, my state made gay marriage legal. where she grew up, it wasn't legal until 11 years later - 10 years ago. if legal protections for gay marriage were a person, that person would be entering 5th grade. online, a white gay man calls the fight for legal marriage boring, which isn't kind of him but it is a common enough opinion.
it has only been 9 years since gay marriage was nationally official. it is already boring to have gay people in your tv. it is already boring to mention being gay - "why make it your entire personality?" i know siblings that have a larger age gap than the amount of time it's been legally protected. i recently saw a grown man record himself crying about how evil gay people are. he was begging us, red in the face - just do better.
i am absolutely ruined any time my girlfriend talks about being 27 (i know!! a child!), but we actually attended undergrad at the same time since i had taken off time to work between high school and college. while walking through the city, we drop our hands, try not to look too often at each other. the other day i went to an open mic in a basement. the headlining comedian said being lesbian isn't interesting, but i am a lesbian, if you care. as a joke, she had any lesbian raise their hand if present. i raised mine, weirdly embarrassed at being the single hand in a sea of other faces. she had everyone give me a round of applause. i felt something between pride and also throwing up.
sometimes one thing is also another thing. i keep thinking about my uncle. he died in the hospital without his husband of 35 years - they were not legally wed, so his husband could not enter. this sounds like it should be from 1950. it happened in 2007. harassment and abuse and financial hardship still follow any person who is trying to get married while disabled. marriage equality isn't really equal yet.
and i don't know that i can ever put a name to what i'm experiencing. sometimes it just feels... so odd to watch the balance. people are fundamentally uninterested in your identity, but also - like, there's a whole fucking bastion of rabid men and women who want to kill you. your friends roll their eyes you're gay we get it and that is funny but like. when you asked your father do you still love me? he just said go to your room. you haven't told your grandmother. disney is on their 390th "first" gay representation, but also cancelled owl house and censored the fuck out of gravity falls. you actively got bullied for being gay, but your advisor told you to find a different gimmick for your college essay - everyone says they're gay these days.
once while you were having a hard day you cried about the fact that the reason our story is so fucking boring to so many people is that it is so similar. that it is rare for one of us to just, like, have a good experience across the board. that our stories often have very parallel bends - the dehumanization, the trauma, the trouble with trusting again. these become rote instead of disgusting. how bad could it be if it is happening to so many people?
i kiss my girlfriend when nobody is looking. i like her jawline and how her hands splay when she's making a joke. there is nothing new about this story, sappho. i love her like opening up the sun. like folding peace between the layers of my life, a buttercream of euphoria, freckles and laughter and wonder.
my dad knows about her. i've been out to him since i was 18 - roughly four years before the supreme court would protect us. the other day he flipped down the sun visor while driving me to the eye doctor. "you need to accept that your body was made for a husband. you want to be a mother because you were made for men, not women." he wants me to date my old high school boyfriend. i gagged about it, and he shook his head. he said - "don't be so dramatic. you can get used to anything."
the other day a straight friend of mine snorted down her nose about it, accidentally echoing him - she said there are bigger problems in this world than planning a wedding.
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“Autism isn’t a disability”, “it’s just a difference”.
I am of lower support needs. I hold down a (part time) job. I have travelled around my home country. I live alone.
At work they complain about my speech. I’m too quiet, they say, “barely audible” is the words used at my autism assessment. My voice is all monotone, and it needs to be more expressive. I get this complaint every week for a year straight, until my manager gives up. I don’t attend trainings because I forget and find it overwhelming anyways. My coworkers form friendships, and I watch them talk, wondering how they make it look so easy. I get a new manager, I tell her I find the work socials too overwhelming to attend. She tells me I can just say I don’t want to come. I don’t know how to tell her that I desperately want to, to be like the rest of my coworkers, instead of constantly being the one sat on the sidelines.
I come home, and I can hear my neighbours again. The niggling background noise messes with my head, and I meltdown; I throw myself on the floor, I hit my head on the ground repeatedly as I scream and cry, tear out my hair and scratch my arms and face. When I complain, people tell me that I just have to accept that neighbours make noise, that I should just ignore it, or block it out. I am the problem, the one overreacting. I put in earplugs and it hurts and I'm crying again. I wear headphones but I can't handle the noise for that long.
I have reminders set for everything. Every chore, no matter how big or small. My phone beeps at me, reminding me that I need to wash the dishes. If I don't go now, then tick the little box on my phone to say I did it, it won't get done. My home is almost always a mess despite this. It's not just chores either. I won't think to wash, dress myself, brush my teeth or hair, without those reminders. And unless someone actively prompts me to do so, I will do those tasks "wrong". I haven't changed my underwear in a month, and I'm currently aware that's a problem, but within the hour I'm going to forget all over again until I'm next prompted.
I can't sleep without medication - it's not unusual for autistic people to have messed up circadian rhythms. Without my medication it's hard to even tell when I'm awake and when I'm asleep. When I was younger and at school I slept through so many lessons, and when I have my mandatory breaks from my sleep meds I sleep through every alarm I set. I want to work full time some day, and I'm terrified of what my sleep issue will mean for me then.
I don't travel independently. I don't travel anywhere alone, always with someone or to someone. If to someone, I have assistance the whole way. I find it embarrassing sometimes. Yes, I have a job that requires a certain level of intelligence. No, I cannot get on a train by myself. If I am not shown To The Train, To My Seat, I will be unable to travel.
Last time I travelled, I was left alone at the station for ten minutes. I stayed rigid and sobbed the whole time. I was overwhelmed. It was too loud, I didn't know where I was or where I was meant to be going, and until the assistance person came back I couldn't do anything because for some reason I cannot understand it.
I spend a lot of time trying to explain to people that despite my relative competence, I am unable to do many things. Why can I understand high level maths but not how to get on a damn train? No fucking idea.
"Autism isn't a disability" most severely affects those with higher support needs, and this is absolutely not to take away from them. But for fucks sake, autism is disabling.
Maybe you personally are extremely lucky and just find you're a little "socially awkward", or just find some textures painful or nauseating. Maybe you would be fine with just a couple of adjustments.
But for a lot of us, even lower support needs autistics, it doesn't work like that. I will never sleep properly without medication. I still have the self-harming type of meltdowns as an adult, over things that are deemed as being "just part of life". I live alone but have daily visits from family - if I'm left fully alone I forget all the little daily things one is "meant" to do. I had speech therapy as a child to get me to the "barely audible" "mostly correct" speech. I don't mask, I'm not really sure how I would to begin with.
I'm not unhappy with being autistic. It's just who I am. Life would be easier if I were neurotypical, but I also wouldn't be me. I just wish those luckier than me could...stop saying it's all chill and not at all a disability.
Because yes, socially, I am "awkward". I obviously don't make eye contact - I stare down and to the side of whoever I speak to. People think it's weird or creepy or a sign of disinterest. My autism assessor wrote down about how I often use words and phrases that don't make sense to others, even though they make perfect sense to me. In my daily life this means I'm frequently misunderstood, and have to try explain what I mean, when what I mean is exactly what I said, and the true issue is that what I mean just doesn't make sense to others. I gesture, at times, but again, my gestures apparently don't make sense in relation to what I'm saying. I take things literally, I have almost no filter, and I can't explain how I go from topic to topic.
And yes, I do have sensory problems. Sometimes people, including others with sensory problems, tell me that "sometimes sensory issues have to be tolerated", and I wonder what they think of as being sensory issues. I'm sure they do struggle, but if I say I can't handle a touch, I mean you will need to forcefully hold it against me for me to touch it more than a second and it will make me meltdown. If I say "I can't eat that", I mean that I am unable to swallow it, that I will gag and choke and inevitably spit it back out, as much as I try. If I say I can't handle a noise, I mean I'm so close to a meltdown and my meltdowns are a problem for everyone around me.
But yes. Autism. Not a disability. Just a fun quirky difference.
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kinda confused about why the dialogue surrounding disability has changed from "we are still worthy and have personhood even if we can't do the things everyone else can, and we deserve to participate in society" to "nobody would be disabled if society was just shaped the right way"
like I'm pretty sure that I'd still be blind and unable to play most video games even if every video game included accessibility features. I'd still be deaf and unable to understand people over phones and intercoms even if everyone knew how to sign. I'd still find it hard to walk around even if there were ramps and elevators instead of stairs
disability doesn't just vanish with accessibility, it just means we are more likely to be able to participate in life
and also, when did people start to be so afraid of accepting that some of us will be disabled no matter what access arrangements we have in place? why do we lose our worthiness? why do we lose our personhood?
#the social model has been twisted#and i never was 100% on it either#because not all disabilities are the same#anyway#ableism
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Sugary sweet | LN4 x Piastri!Reader
Words: 2420
Warnings: diabetes, passing out, hospital
Note: I am not diabetic myself but one of my close family members is, so I wrote this off of how it is for them. I do know that it can be different for everyone and please tell me if I got something completely wrong 🙏
Part 2
Lando theoretically knew that it was wrong to have a crush on his teammates sister. He knew that he should not hope for her to be at every race. He knew that it could destroy the friendship he had build with the young Aussi. But Lando could not help but admire Olivia Piastri, the twin sister of his teammate Oscar Piastri. The young girl was an engineering student and did an internship at McLaren, following their engineers and learning directly from them. The first time Lando met the young girl was at testing in Bahrain, where he also found out that she was Oscar’s sister. Both Piastri twins were rather quiet and introverted but Oscar was the more extroverted one even if not by much. Olivia only seemed to really talk when it was about the car and the engineering side of it. She barely chatted with others but instead watched what was happening around her. He mostly sees her when she is shadowing Andrew Jarvis or Will Joseph at race weekends. He tried to make conversation with her but always got interrupted by eighter an engineer, his coach or Oscar.
The Miami GP was the first time Lando got the chance to really talk to the young girl. It was a shitty race for both drivers and the mood in the garage was not too good. Everyone tried to figure out a way to improve the car for the next race in about twenty days. “How is the team treading you?”, Lando asked Olivia as he joined her to take a look at the data. Confused did the girl turn her head to the brit, looking at him with wide eyes. “Are you talking to me?”, she asked, her voice quiet. “Yeah, there is no one else here. So how is everyone treading you?”, Lando joked and repeated his question while leaning against the counter. “Good…everyone is nice to me.”, the girl admitted with flustered cheeks. “Good to hear that. What do you say to the data?”, “The wear on the tire is a bit much and the aerodynamics are also not too good.”, she said quietly. Looking at the data and recalling the race Lando agreed completely with her. They talked a little more about the car and data before Lando lead the conversation a little bit more to personal stuff. To her own surprise did Olivia felt pretty comfortable talking to Lando. Sure she also felt pretty flustered every time he looked at her but she just hoped he would not notice that. “Liv! Where are you?”, Oscar’s voice interrupted the two as he walked up to them. “I am here, Osc.”, the girl told her brother who looked his teammate up and down, trying to see what he was planning. “We are supposed to eat together, remember?”, he told his sister who nodded. Saying goodbye to the brit the twins left.
“How is your sugar? You seem a bit sweaty.”, Oscar asked his sister as soon as they were out of hearing from Lando. “I am fine. A bit high but I am going to correct once we are in the car.”, Olivia told her brother after scanning the small sensor that was hidden by her papaya shirt, with her phone. “How high?”, “232 mg/dL. But like I said I am going to correct it as soon as we are in the car.”, she told her brother but he was not satisfied. “That is pretty high. Why did you not correct it earlier?”, “Osc, my pump broke and I have to correct manually so I had not the time to do so. I am fine, stop worrying.”, the girl told her older brother by twenty minutes. Grumbling something Oscar accepted the answer and lead his sister out of the paddock. He had tried to get her to tell the team about her diabetes but the girl refused. She hated it when people asked her questions about it or treated her different. She also did not want to appear weak, as it was hard enough for a girl in this industry. Being disabled would not help to be taken as serious as a man, so she kept it to herself. It worked out well for now. No one knew, aside form Oscar of course.
As the race in Imola was cancelled due to flooding did McLaren call every one into the factory to try and solve the problems from Miami. The engineers worked their asses off to try and find solutions. Olivia was there the entire time, helping the engineers and learning from their work. They worked for hours on end when Olivia forgot to check up on her sugar levels. She already knew she was low. The fogginess in her brain and the feeling of being dizzy told her that she was in fact very low. But she could not go right now. They were going over the data with Lando and Zack right now. She tried to listen to what everyone was saying when her vision got cloudy. Right as she wanted to say something to Lando did her speech give up. “Lan…”, was all she got out before passing out. Panicked the brit caught her before she could hit her head on the floor. “What the fuck?”, Zack asked and ordered someone to get Oscar as well as calling an ambulance. Laying her down Lando kept her head in his lap, trying to wake her up. “Did she say anything about being not well?”, Zack asked the engineers she had been following. “No, everything was fine. She seemed tired but we all are so we thought nothing about it. Plus you know how quiet she is.”, one told Zack who nodded. Not long after did a panicked Oscar ran into the room. “What happened?”, he asked and kneeled down next to his sister and Lando. “She just passed out.”, Lando told his teammate, nodding Oscar asked, “Where is her phone?”. Looking around Zack found it on the table behind them. Handing it to Oscar, everyone watched the Aussi as he unlocked it and held it against her arm. A beep appeared before Oscar cursed. “What is going on, Oscar?”, Lando asked, worried about the girl he was holding onto his lap. “My sister is diabetic. Her blood sugar dropped very low, that’s why she is passed out.”, Oscar explained and Lando as well as everyone else was quite shocked to learn this. “Why has she not said a word about it?”, Zack asked the Aussi right as the paramedics walked in. “She wants to be taken seriously and worried that she would not be seen as serious if anyone knew about this.”, he explained and then explained to the paramedics what was going on. They gave her an emergency glucose shot and checked her sugars while waiting for the glucose to work. After about fifteen long minutes did Olivia regain her consciousness. “It is okay. Everything is fine.”, Oscar told his sister as she was still disorientated and unable to form words. Together with Oscar did the paramedics took her to the nearest hospital to monitor her and make sure she does not drop this low again. Lando followed them close behind as he could not stop worrying about the girl. “You like her.”, Zack noticed as his young driver was about to get into his car. “Who?”, “Olivia, you like her.”, Zack repeated. Looking at his boss the brit was unsure what to say. “Go and see her. OH, and Lando, tell her.”, Zack laughed before returning into the factory.
Oscar was not surprised to see Lando walking into his sister’s hospital room. She was asleep and stable right now. Her sugar level slowly getting higher. “How is she doing?”, Lando carefully asked. “She is doing fine. Her sugar is getting higher. Come sit down, she should wake up in a bit.”, Oscar said and patted the chair next to his. “I still don’t understand how this happened.”, Lando admitted, blaming himself for not noticing anything. “She most likely forgot to eat anything while working as well as checking her levels. So she slowly got lower and lower.”, Oscar explained, knowing how focused his sister could get. The two were living together as they went together to boarding school and then also moved together after. “And how did she not notice anything earlier or someone else?”, “She can get very low and still function some times, so it is very hard to tell from the outside. Especially if you don’t know. She most likely knew that she was low but thought she could make it a bit longer.”, “How low was she?”, Lando asked, curious. He did not knew a lot about diabetes but wanted to learn as much as he could. Thinking Oscar said, “Under fifty for sure. Her sensor just said low so it had to be below that. I would guess around 30. Maybe a little lower or higher.”.
After what felt like an eternity for Lando, did Olivia woke up. “Where am I?”, she groaned and sat up a little, now noticing the brunette sitting next to her brother. “In the hospital. You passed out from being low. Again.”, Oscar kind of scolded her, but the truth was that he was always worried about her and her wellbeing. Nodding the young girl tried to remember what happened exactly. “Please tell me I did not pass out in front of Zack and all engineers? Please, Osc.”, she whined, remembering where she was and what she had been doing as she passed out. “I am sorry but you did. I am going to get you some food and a nurse.”, he claimed and left his teammate and sister alone to talk. “You freaked me out, Pastry.”, Lando stated, making the girl blush. “I am sorry. I did not plan this.”, she mumbled, feeling a lot more shy as she was alone with Lando. “I think you also freaked out everyone else. But how are you feeling?”, Lando said and sat down next to her, where Oscar used to sit. “I am better. I should have taken care of my sugar level earlier. It is embarrassing to end up in the hospital because of this. Even more passing out in front of my boss. Do you think Zack will fire me?”, she now panicked. Chuckling at her panic Lando took her hand in his and calmed her down, “Zack wont fire you. No one is going to take you less serious now. Everything is good, love.”. Heat rushed into her cheeks as she heard that nickname. “Thank you, Lando.”, she whispered and looked at him. His eyes were beautiful as well as the little smirk he wore on his lips. “Do you like what you see, love?”, Lando teased her, leaning closer. As she turned her head to avoid his piercing look did his warm, big hand cup her cheek. Turning her head to him. Tension grew as they both slowly leaned into each other. Like magnets. Lando did the last step and closed the gap between them. Connecting their lips in a kiss. Slow at first to give her the chance to back out. To his surprise did she not back out but instead grabbed his shirt, pulling him closer. His hand was in her hair by now, holding her close to him. “What the actual fuck!?”, someone yelled, making the two jump apart. Lando almost fell off the chair as he turned to the door. There stood Oscar. A tray with food in his hand and a giggling nurse behind him. “Osc…I…we…”, Olivia stuttered completely flustered. Lando on the other hand tried his best not to giggle. The girl he had the biggest crush on just kissed him back so his ego was a little blown up. “I think I need to bleach my eyes out.”, Oscar stated dramatically as he put down the food next to his sister on the table. To everyone’s luck did the nurse intertwine, “Miss Piastri how are you feeling? I assume better?”, “Yeah…I feel better.”, Olivia said and bit her lip to try not to blush even more. “I am glad to hear this. We are going to check your sugar level one last time before we let you go.”, the nurse said and tested the sugar level one more time. It was almost completely back to normal. “Okay, we are going to keep you for about an other hour and then you are free to go home.”, the nurse said and left the three alone.
The hour was the longest in Olivia’s life. To say that it was awkward to sit in the room with your crush, who just kissed you and your brother who walked into said kiss when they were teammates was not the most fun. In hopes of help did she even text her mother. But due to the time difference did she not answer her. “Can we please address this? Or I am dropping again due to anxiety.”, Olivia finally said. Both boys looked at each other before looking at her. “Do you have serious intentions with my sister?”, Oscar asked Lando. It was not what Olivia had expected Oscar to say but it was a start. “I do. I really like her.”, Lando told him, in a tone Olivia did not knew from him. it was very serious and not a hint of sassiness in it. letting out a very long and overly dramatic sigh did Oscar say, “Fine. I will not say anything against this if my sister really likes you, what I think as she kissed you, but the moment you hurt her will I push you into the wall with my car. Now if you excuse me. I still need to bleach my eyes.”. With a kiss on the forehead did Oscar left Olivia alone with Lando. “So we both like each other. How about I take you out on a date? We can go out as soon as you are free to go.”, Lando said excited. Smiling a little Olivia took his hand telling him, “I would love to go on a date with you but I think I don’t have the energy to go out right now. How about we stay in and maybe watch a movie or something like that? Or game?”, “You game?”, Lando asked surprised. Feeling a little shy again she admitted, “A little but not on stream or anything.”.
Part 2
#formula 1 fic#f1 imagine#f1 fanfiction#lando norris#lando norris x reader#lando norris x you#ln4#ln4 x reader#ln4 x you#ln4 fic#oscar piastri x reader#oscar piastri#oscar piastri x you#f1 x own character#f1 fiction#f1#f1 x oc
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Stop trying so hard to make them believe how sick you are and how much you're suffering. They've already decided how much they believe you and created a narrative in their head that explains why you would lie or exaggerate about your condition(s). You're lazy, drug seeking, money seeking, want a free ride, want attention, an excuse not to do things. But you know what you're going through and the right people will believe you. I believe you.
Sometimes you need to understand that your friend or partner(s) or parent(s) or sibling(s) or teacher(s) or whoever else, will never believe you or at least not unless you're at death's door.
And it hurts, it hurts so much. All you want is to be believed or validated or have your existence as a disabled person be acknowledged but not everyone will give you that. Sometimes you have to cut your losses and stop trying and move on from them if you can. No one should have to, but you deserve more than to be treated so cruelly. You need support, not a bully who can't accept you for who and what you are.
#chronic illness#chronic pain#disability#actually disabled#cfs#fibromyalgia#chronic fаtiguе ѕуndrоmе#spoonie#me/cfs#cfs/me#long covid#cripplepunk#cpunk#physical disability#physically disabled#cripple punk
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It is Armenian Genocide Remembrance Day
And I have some big feelings, as a part of the diaspora. Remembrance Day is an inappropriate title for a time in which Armenians still face genocidal forces. Just last year, Azerbaijan, armed by Turkey, ethnically cleansed over 280,000 Armenians from Artsakh. The illegal colonizer state of Israel, currently in the midst of their 6+ month-long genocide against the Palestinians, has placed the Armenians who call Jerusalem home under threat and siege.
The Armenian struggle and the Palestinian struggle are deeply linked.
In his rise to power, Hitler is quoted to justify his actions against the Jewish, Roma, Queer, Disabled, and other victims of the Holocaust, to say "Who, after all, speaks today of the annihilation of the Armenians?"
Echoing these chilling words, Palestinian poet Najwan Darwish wrote:
Who Remembers the Armenians?
I remember them
and I ride the nightmare bus with them
each night
and my coffee, this morning
I'm drinking it with them
You, murderer -
Who remembers you?
The trauma sustained during a genocide is not limited to the people experiencing it right now. The echoes of that trauma leak forward into the next generations, passed down through survival, and that is so insidious. My grandmother got to live, but did so believing that her parents did not love her, because the trauma they endured prevented them from expressing it. Abuse and unhealthy attachment were passed down because that starving hunger for love and acceptance was passed down. It is so deeply cruel and unfair that our oppressors get to reach through time and hurt our children's children.
We need to band together and stop the present-day abusers, the genocidal monsters that oppress the people of Palestine, Armenia, Congo, and so many others.
We need to uplift art made by those who survived, and by those who are surviving. Art is always targeted by the oppressor to erase cultural identity, to destroy legacy, and to break spirits. Support Palestinian and Armenian poets, and artists, and writers.
If you are one of the many who never learned about the Armenian Genocide, learn today. Ask yourself why people worked so hard not to educate you on this piece of history.
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Do people not remember that period on Tumblr where neurodivergent people completely threw physically disabled people under the bus to further their movement? And then they wonder why we want our own space.
Things used in arguments I heard about 10 yrs ago:
- "you wouldn't say/do that to someone in a wheelchair"
- "we are literally physically disabled too bc our brain is an organ!!!"
- "physically disabled people get everything look they have special parking spaces and ramps!"
- "when you go to the doctor for physical illness they immediately give you all the medicine and work hard to find a cure like Dr. House, but when I go to the doctor they throw me out the window" (stuff along those lines at least)
Y'all kicked us out, ignored us, made your own lil club with its own terms, turned us into jokes and strawmen, and abandoned people who are both physically and mentally disabled.
We wanted solidarity and you all didn't.
But how dare we make our own community so our voices can be heard, god forbid we discuss issues important to physically disabled people in this community without mentioning neurodivergents. And when we get even a little pissed off? How dare we.
And it's happening again. I've seen the same rhetoric repeated. No one is saying that mentally disabled people have no issues or don't face ableism at all. Stop bringing up your issues on our posts, it derails it and clogs up the notes.
We had to separate ourselves because you all kicked us out first so that neurotypical people would accept you. You didn't want to be associated with the gross ugly cripples.
Cripplepunk community is not the same as disabled community. It's under the same umbrella, not a replacement. Stop taking over our spaces and stop posting shit in our tags.
#cripplepunk#cripple#cripple punk#chronic disability#chronic pain#physical disability#spoonie#disability#ive seen a ton of young people posting that stuff and then everyone else rbs it without a second thought#and young people in my notes who dont know the history#pd people feel free to add your own examples
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I love all the headcanons of "Steve is not dumb he's..." Hard of hearing, has poor eyesight, learning disability or his primary language is not English. I particularly enjoyed @dwobbitfromtheshire 's recent headcanon that he's hiding it because his father hates feeling inferior and only Eddie realizes that he is not dumb. But I would like to throw my own hat in the ring.
Steve is not dumb. Actually, he's quite smart and did quite well in school (because his parents would not expect anything less). He just wasn't into nerd culture and everyone just placed their stereotypes and rumours of him being a pretty and privileged rich jock who bought his way out of school but couldn't buy his way into college. Nevermind that he was in the top 10 students of his year and for most of his classes if not topping them and if not he wasn't failing the rest other than one or two science/math-based (rumours say the school forged those marks so that Steve could continue sports) and had a 3.6 GPA. It wasn't enough to get into his Dad's alma mater so his dad dismissed any of the other schools he got accepted into.
He does not try to hide his intelligence from Nancy or the Party, but Nancy had bought into the "Steve is simple-minded " narrative and the like before they got together and failed to realize that they are both in the same AP classes that were full of seniors and in any group or partnered project he more-than-well pulled his weight and had his own insights. So she spreads the narrative to Mike who spreads it to the rest of the party so by the time the events that befan with Dustin asks him for help with his "dog" and developed into concussed in the back of a car while a preteen drove his car, the kids have also bought into parts of the narrative. It doesn't help that he really isn't into the stereotypical nerdy stuff
Even his best friend Robin believed the lie until she worked with him and then got tortured with him by Russians. She eventually realises that he's way smarter in a practical sense than people give him credit for (he did raise himself since he was 11 or so) but does not think of it as stretching into the academic side of his life. She has not stopped calling him "dingus" though.
Eddie on the other hand knows better, which is why when a specific exam was coming up he turned to Steve.
He barged into the Harrington home a day when tye entire party was their.
"Stevie, you either have to tutor me or lend me your notes for this class. I am not failing this class and increasing the possibility of another year at fucking Hawkins."
Mike and Dustin burst out laughing at that before Steve can answer.
"I know you're e bad at that subject, but I didn't realise you were desperate enough to use Steve's notes," Dustin says with that condescending tone that means it should be obvious to Eddie.
Mike snorts at that derisively, "If he even has notes."
"Maybe," Lucas said diplomatically, "there are better options than using Steve's notes?"
Nancy steps up next offering some of her notes and flashcards since she took the class last year/is taking the class, "It's not my strongest subject but if we do a study group I'm sure you won't fail the class."
Eddie stares at the group with growing bewilderment as they agree that Nancy is the best choice while implying that Steve was not. Actually, they were acting as though he was dumb for even asking Steve, which made no sense to him.
Eddie turned his eyes to Steve. His posture by the kitchen island was much more different than when Eddie burst in. He had subtly curled into himself as if to make himself smaller, shoulders tense and a resignation on his face as if he's been through this conversation so many times before.
It was almost as if...
"You guys think that Steve is dumb, don't you?"
There was the type of silence that only comes when the quiet part is said outloud.
"No we don't think Steve's dumb," Robin begins and Eddie can hear the 'but' before she even said it, "But you know he wasn't good at the school part of school."
She continued to ramble on from there but Eddie did not hear any of it. He was too busy reevaluating the group he was with and rechecking old memories and facts to see if there was any inkling of truth to this strange idea that even the older teens should know isn't true.
It took him a moment to find the answer, and when he did he could not stop the derisive laugh that burst out and interrupted Robin's ramble.
"You guys fucking bought into the rumours, didn't you? I expect that from the kids maybe even Johnathan, maybe even Robin because of you became friends after he left school, but not from you, Nancy."
Nancy had that look on her face that she got when she was ready to argue but Eddie steamrolled over it.
"Jesus H Christ! Weren't y'all together for a whole fucking year? How do you not know that he was at the top of his year when you were together? Unless you dismissed that in favour of believing the rumours that his parents paid for his grades and the school wanted to make sure he kept on playing sports?"
He paused for a second waiting for someone to contradict him, but the look on Nancy's face was one of scrambling to defend herself. He sighed at that; she still wasn't getting it and it a sweeping look at the others proved they were lost too.
"Even if they paid off the school he would not have been in the top ten of his year, he would be like Carver and Hagan whose parents paid and their grades were just good enough to get into a decent college without too many questions. And they would not have kept on giving him high grades after he stopped doing any kind of sport in his last 2 years at that dump. Hell if Hargrove wasn't such a fucking beast at sports he would have been told he would have to repeat his senior year with me."
"It's okay Eddie; leave it go." He turned a fake sunny smile with his eyes tightly shut towards Eddie as if to pacify him.
Eddie turned to Steve who had yet to say anything throughout Eddie's diatribe up until that moment. He just continued to robotically make dinner for the party as though nothing was wrong, as though the hurt dripping off him didn't matter.
"I'm not letting this go! They had classes with you, some of which I'm pretty fucking sure were AP classes. If I had the attendance needed I would have graduated last year because of you, Stevie. So excuse me if I'm a bit annoyed that our friends are so blinded by a rumour that they can't fucking see your Salutatorian medal. Hanging. Right. There!"
All eyes except Eddie and Steve's turned in the direction that Eddie pointed at.
And there on the wall, was a framed silver medal with the word "Salutatorian" emblazoned on it. The party immediately burst into chaos amongst each other.
"Now, pretty boy, are you gonna tutor me or what?"
Or it goes something like that, I'm not sure.
#dustin immediately tries to bring up D&D and immediately gets shut down#later they collectively lose their shit when they find out he got into a college#pre steddie#steddie#steve harrington#eddie munson
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yknow a moment from today that I feel is really under appreciated and kinda highlights the difference between the people q!Bad trusts and the people he doesn’t?
(this is about the characters obviously. You cannot make me use q! on long analysis posts. None of you can make me.)
Aypierre was showing Bad the room he used to capture and question Fred, and built into the only entry into the main room was an inventory scanner.
An inventory scanner - the thing Bad was hesitant to use to save Forever because he was scared of the islanders knowing of its existence and turning it against him. He did it anyway obviously because he cares about Forever but it’s clear he knows this is the one thing that could remove all his carefully built up protections in an instant. And the only way into the room was through it.
So Bad stops, of course, and Aypierre (who already walked through it first) notices and goes “I’ll just give you your items back, come through”
And Bad says “Ehhhh no, I…”
And Aypierre reassures him “You can come through. Don’t worry, don’t worry, don’t worry.
And Bad repeats “Ehhhh no…” And then “Forgive my paranoia, can you disable it? Or make an opening for me?” He asks it very politely too, as if he believes it’s a hard ask (it’s not).
And Aypierre does. That’s why I think this moment is underrated. Bad asks for forgiveness for his paranoia - a paranoia that has been built up and rewarded and reinforced by his experiences on the island - and yet Aypierre doesn’t treat it like a burden. He doesn’t complain about it, he doesn’t tell Bad he’s overreacting, and he certainly doesn’t try to guilt-trip or otherwise insist Bad go through when he’s clearly uncomfortable. He just… makes another opening, and Bad walks through that, and the moment of hesitance, of distrust, is left behind. Not just left behind, but accepted. From Bad’s perspective, Aypierre has essentially communicated that “I can see you don’t trust me fully, and that’s okay, I understand why. It’s not a big deal, and I can move on.”
And I think that acceptance is why Aypierre has managed to gain an impressive amount of Bad’s trust so much faster than other islanders. I think that’s why when he told Bad he put cameras in his house, Bad didn’t get upset.
A lot of islanders, even islanders that are Bad’s friends, would not have reacted the way Aypierre did to Bad not wanting to step through the inventory scanner. And it does make a difference.
#and this isn’t even the first time q!Aypierre has been considerate of q!Bad’s paranoia instead of dismissive or disparaging#I’m reminded of the time q!Bad was hesitating on entering the art museum so q!Aypierre offered to walk ahead of him in case of traps#it’s just. interesting#q!Bad does not have many people who are so nonchalant about his extreme trust issues#it’s probably refreshing for him#qsmp#qsmp liveblog but late#qsmp aypierre#q!aypierre#qsmp badboyhalo#q!badboyhalo#q!bbh character analysis#bebou and the French stay winning
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| Glad it's you | — R.H
PARING: Rook Hunt x Deaf!reader
SYNOPSIS: All your entire life, you knew silence. But—it isn't as bad as people make it out to be. Because even with your biggest flaw, he still chose you.
˗ˏˋGENRE ´ˎ˗ — Romance, fluff, angst/comfort
˗ˏˋCW ´ˎ˗ — Rook is already a warning. Ooc, mentions of bullying, stalking(It's Rook, duh) horrible poetry.
˗ˏˋNOTES ´ˎ˗ — Wow! It has been a while and I am so sorry for not making anything in quite some time, I've become so busy nowadays that writing has barely crossed my mind, so I'll make most of my free time writing this!
✎| Masterlists|Navigation |
♡ "Are you really willing to accept me?"
♡ "I've accepted you a long time ago."
People always pitied you for as long as you can remember now. Frequently assuming it must be hard not being able to hear. And yeah, sometimes—but it isn't as bad as they make it out to be, if anything, you find solace in the silent world you have lived in all your life. Sure, there were times when it was hard to understand people, especially if they didn't know sign language.
Luckily, you mostly used poems to interact with them. Though, it was amusing to see them struggle to grasp your poems—that's what makes it fun anyway.
And so, making use of your skills, you swiftly wrote down another poem for a certain hunter. He's one of the few people you've known who could actually decipher what your poems meant. And it's not to say each and every time you show him your masterpiece, he always seems to be on your level when it came to writing back to you.
It always makes you feel giddy inside when he writes back to you. Re-reading every syllable. Caressing the ink that was clearly carefully written with such consideration with each word he used, you couldn't help but feel as though he was hinting to you about something.
You scoffed; shaking the thought away. Who were you trying to fool? This was the Rook Hunt you were thinking about! He's like this with everyone. Besides—why would he go for someone who had a defect? To say the least, you weren't insecure with your disability but, thinking about the blonde hunter who seemed to always cross your mind whenever you wrote—you couldn't help but feel your heart tightening in your chest from such thoughts.
In the end, why would he choose you? You're nothing special, far from it anyway. You're just someone who could never hear and someone who just writes to communicate. But, even then, you were still wrapped around his fingertips. And besides—it doesn't hurt to hope, right?
You felt a hand placed on your shoulder, you froze. You had never stayed still like a statue so fast in your entire life until now. What? Millions of thoughts were racing through your mind right now—was it another of the students who were here to once again chuck balled up papers again? Take your poems away from you and ripped them to pieces or flames it until there's nothing left but ashes?
"Awww, what's this? Another one of your silly stories?"
"Look! It's another one of their love poems!"
"Pathetic if you ask me."
You didn't focused on them, you never even knew what they were saying, and you could care less what insults or degrading comments they were spewing from their filthy mouth. Your knees on the ground while clutching onto what was remains of the paper you once cherished. And they tore it all up like it was nothing.
Shuddering from the memory, you closed your eyes and continued to look at your lap; prepared for whatever torture they were gonna do to you again. Tore your poems? Throw paper at you? Mocking at you while you cry in tears because they had nearly killed you? What else did they had in store for you?
You gripped the paper even harder, shutting your eyelids even tighter if that was even possible. You were scared.
Huh.
You felt a piece of paper slid onto your lap, hesitantly, bit by bit, you forced your eyes to open to see what it was. Was it an insult written in a letter? If so, then you're surprised that they were even intelligent enough to finally realized that you had a hearing disability instead of using their vocals to try and insult you.
But no, it was not anything you expected or thought. Instead, your vision was blessed with a familiar handwriting. Subconsciously, you read what was was written on the white letter that graced your sight, and goodness it always doesn't fail to make your blood rushing through your face. By the sevens, how does he always make you feel this way?
Why such a blue face?
You don't need to be ashamed of such a heartache;
If you need someone to wipe your tears, my heart will gladly volunteer;
What you consider flaws, is what I consider perfection —
Mon Cherie, you are the belle of my dairy heart,
You, sweetheart, have me wrapped around your fingertips;
I will never let go of the string that wraps around my wrist;
That connects me, to you.
My heart beats loudly; even you could hear it—
If your heart longs for anything,
Mon cherie, just write to me;
And tell me all your silly sorrows.
-Rook Hunt
Though it was short and simple, you couldn't help but re-read the words every now and then. You smiled seeing the words written on the paper. How could you not? His words sweet like candy, it was addicting in a way even you were worried you wouldn't get enough of it. Or maybe it's too late for you.
Your heart started racing so fast you thought even you could hear it. The more you examined the poem the more it started to look like a love confession. But it couldn't be that, could it? You so badly wanted to hope that you had a chance but you didn't want to get your hopes up.
You, sweetheart, have me wrapped around your fingertips.
Those lines, shit, you couldn't help but swoon over them. Clutching the poem, you finally gazed at the author with wonders and hope. He smiled at you and signed those three words you've been waiting to see.
"I love you."
Was it even possible for your heart to be beating faster than it was before? You held the poem closer to your beating heart, trying to conceal it; worried he might hear it. It felt like your heart was about to leap out of your chest. You sighed dreamily and thanked your heart for choosing him.
Meanwhile, Rook chuckled seeing your flustered expression. He found beauty in all things whether it was considered good or bad to others. But he found you the most beautiful of them all. He won't lie, he fell for you hard when he saw you. Because even when he learnt about your flaw, it didn't matter to him; you were still the fairest of them all. You weren't able to hear his words—but that's alright; he'll gladly write thousands or more letters if it meant to show you just how much he loves you.
He'd gladly and happily dance in hot and burning shoes if it meant to show you his devotion to you, just to show how much he cares for you. And if anyone were to make you doubt? Let's just say they wouldn't be coming closer to you anymore if they caused you pain. But before that, he'd come and comfort you, with words written on paper just so all your worries would go away.
Even if his fingers start to go numb and bruises appear, he won't stop until he finally sees you smile. He's glad that his heart chose you.
END
Wow! Uhm, heyy ik it's been awhile but I finally found enough inspiration to make this! Again sorry it's been awhile I've been so busy that I barely found any time to write at all, but I do hope you guys liked this!
#atier's works✎#rook hunt x reader#twisted wonderland x reader#twst x reader#twst fluff#twst scenario
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The Business That Pays You
prompt: ( requested ) not all disabilities are visible. being accosted for something out of your control angers the watchdog - your boyfriend, Carmy.
additional request: protective Carmy.
pairing: Carmen 'Carmy' Berzatto x disabled!female!reader
fandom masterlist: FX's The Bear
word count: 4.5k+
note: it's not the best, it's short, doesn't really focus on Carm being protective but it'll do for now.
warnings: incredibly niche, depiction of invisible disabilities from author's personal experience, need and use of medical equipment, author doesn't pay for therapy and projects hard in this, cursing, Lord's name in vain, strangers picking fights.
Your mother raised you to be poised, collected, personable. Your mother indeed raised a lady; someone was independent, who valued morals and education, who showed equal respect to both custodian and CEO. Your mother instilled a set of beliefs that you refused to dismantle; becoming someone who knew right from wrong, to be helpful, kind, compassionate, empathetic.
Your mother, however, did not raise you to be a bitch. She did not raise you to take other people's shit, she did not raise you to take life for granted; to walk away from confrontation as much as she taught you to stand up for yourself.
People saw you and made snap judgements; thinking they could manipulate and control you, offer harassment and instill a sense of fear in you. Your mother raised you to only fear the wrath of God, not the opinions of privileged, foul-mouthed nobodies who couldn't understand a Goddamn thing you endure. She did not feed you from silver spoons; you had no preconceived notions about life's realities, but instead of becoming pessimistic, you were extraordinarily optimistic because the world had enough negativity in it.
However, despite the strength your mother built in you, that did not mean you were indestructible or any less human than anyone else. You weren't some robot who could turn emotions off and operate mechanically, you had a heart despite how your mother tried to program it to keep you safe from emotional turmoil.
The world could tear anyone down, she didn't want you defenseless against forces that would take advantage of you; she understood there was often no say in how life played out, so, if she could, she wanted to prepare you for what you could control.
All that to say, your mama didn't raise no bitch - but that didn't mean your feelings couldn't be hurt. While graceful, you had both bark and bite; traits that came in handy when defending yourself against wrongful opinions that drained your energy. Since starting high school at 14, you were always the oddball out - the need for a medical aids making it that much harder to fit in amongst able-bodied peers. Since that age, you were accustomed to every Tom, Dick, and Harry voicing their opinion about you; constantly wondering what was "wrong" when you seemed perfectly capable to their naked eye.
They had no business being in your business. No right to know what medical complications you endure, nor the diagnosis bestowed or any explanation for why you needed medical equipment. Didn't stop anyone from voicing their questions, though, feeling some kind of sick entitlement to answers only you could provide.
You were human, why wasn't that enough? You were a person with real feelings, someone with a heart, someone who bled red and had a thick desire for friendship, love, and acceptance.
One look at you and people would think you're perfectly normal, until the days your chronic medical condition flared its ugly head and forced you to rely on mobility aids. You looked normal, but the truth was, you body was in a chronic state of malfunction and sometimes, you needed braces on your ankles, knees, wrists - shit, even your hips! They couldn't tell by looking at you, but the pain was insurmountable. They couldn't tell by looking at you, but you were at a constant disadvantage. They couldn't tell by looking at you, but life was a never-ending nightmare of confusion that made everyday a little extra complicated.
No, nobody could tell - until you were on the ground. Until you had a dislocated joint. Until you lost control of your body and were forced to operate with limited energy and capability.
As you got older, you learned new tips and tricks that could help navigate life a little easier. You made sure to prioritize your rest, drank two liters of water a day, tried to keep a balanced diet, always took your medicines, and exercised to the best of your limited ability. You did whatever was in your power to help yourself, but most people didn't see it this way.
A lot of people just saw you as an inconvenience, someone who complained a lot and held no stake in this life.
One of your newer accommodations was actually more of a necessity. A qualified rheumatologist recommended you get a cane to help keep your balance and prevent unfortunate injury - being a common occurrence for you. So, a cane was added to your inventory and holy shit, did you hate it. You were used to your disability being invisible, allowing you to just skate by under most radars, but with this mobility aid, you couldn't deflect anymore. You were victim to gossip, a spectacle for people to stare at, a curiosity people questioned without real regard to your emotions.
They figured since you were sick and had been for so long, you were at peace with what was "wrong" and wouldn't be triggered by their jarring questions. You hated it, being asked what was "wrong" with you, why you needed a cane when you appeared fit, how you split your lip or sprained your ankle, why you didn't play anymore sports and spent your free time at a hospital - not considering it wasn't a choice you made willingly.
They considered you selfish for prioritizing yourself; telling you that the world was cruel and unfair, that you weren't special, that you didn't deserve "special treatment" because your disability wasn't directly in their face.
They questioned why you wore braces one day and not the next. They wondered how you got sick to begin with. They wanted to know how bad it truly could've been if you still appeared well-enough.
Many thought you were lying about your disability, not understanding what a "flare up" meant; where your body had lulled into a state of homeostasis before being rattled into painful action. They didn't consider that your "normal" was probably on par with their "worst days". Their questions irritated you, yes, but their assumptions just straight up pissed you off - thinking their hour of Googling was enough to compete with years of attending specialty appointments with qualified physicians.
As a direct result, you developed the philosophy that you can't know something if you don't ask questions. However, now you just hated having the responsibility of teaching them thrust upon you when already being the patient - thinking it shouldn't be your role to play.
You already didn't ask for this illness, you certainly didn't ask to be the one that had to make people understand that you were still viable and worthy - like every other human being. You didn't think educating the ignorant should be your duty, but yet again, who better could understand and put everything in words? Who else could convey your situation, explain how you felt, narrate what you endured?
So, for years, you developed a sort of passive attitude, figuring if someone was curious enough to ask questions, the least you could do was answer truthfully to avoid speculations and assumptions. Perhaps it would make the next chronically ill / disabled person's life a little easier by lifting the burden of education from their shoulders. There was no use in feeling bitter anymore, this was your reality and there was no escape; so, your attitude softened and you became a little more open and forthcoming in your tribulations.
Something Carmy admired since the first day he met you.
It was natural for you to feel skeptical when a desirable, able-bodied, very attractive and talented chef took a sudden interest in you; fearing he had some weird kink or wanted to get his jollies by dating "the sick girl". He proved you wrong around every corner, and after keeping him at bay for several months, came around to the idea of going on a real date. This time, when he asked questions to better understand you, your answers were honest, raw, open, and detailed - wanting him to get the full picture to avoid surprise later down the line. It was the least you could do: giving him a look into what dating you would look like, providing every opening to let him run away.
If anything, it made Carmy cling to you tighter.
He impressed you by how easily he accepted your truth. Next thing you knew, the label "sick" or "disabled" was all but vanished from your mind; Carmy making you feel simply human and as if your state was more than enough for him. He treated you with compassion, and if you had a flare-up in front of him, he remained calm and level headed in order to best care for you. Didn't mean he wasn't afraid or startled, but he was at least capable to help in the moment and ensure your safety. That was something Carmy made you feel: safe.
Safe, understood, like you were enough.
As if your condition didn't deplete you, but added to who you are.
Carmen Berzatto - or Carmy - was truly one of a kind. A man of rare stock and breed, someone you confided in and trusted; someone who never needed you to be anything more than what you already are. Yes, you were disabled, but Carmy made you feel alive, passionate, and excited to tackle each and every single day; a sensation you have not known since childhood. Since before your illness took over your life.
However, there were some days that even Carmy couldn't save you from. After being assigned your cane, you were recommended to a physical therapist, who taught you the proper ways to best utilize your new mobility aid. Never have you considered there to be logistics behind such a device, but after a brief tutorial, you could feel the difference in use and developed a sense of gratefulness for the helpful tips.
"One last thing," the PT informed you before you could leave, "I'm not saying you will, but a lot of our patients who have invisible disabilities have reported they've encountered individuals who harass them for using their aids in public."
You didn't put stock into his words, just nodding and using your cane to hobble to your car and get back home.
You honestly didn't even think about the warning for weeks... Until one day, you were boarding the bus with your cane and boyfriend with the intent of heading to The Beef to pick out appliances for the renovations. Carmy normally would've drove, but his car was at the mechanics - leaving you both dependent on public transportation like your days in college.
You panted lightly as you climbed the stairs, feeling more tired than a normal day, but still smiling and nodding at the bus driver, swiped your pass, and limped down the short aisle to an open handicap seat Carmy pointed out to you. With a breath of relief, you relaxed slightly to try and relieve tension in your muscles, boyfriend standing beside you to let your head rest on his belly; the bus making several stops before your destination.
When approaching The Beef, you pulled the wire, heard the bus chime in acknowledgment of your stop, and stood from your seat with Carmy's helpful hand in yours; stomping your cane to catch your weight when it lurched while trying to adjust to your new position.
"All right, baby?" Carm checked, eyes wider than normal; able to recognize a flare-up was working into your system as your weakness grew more apparent.
"Yeah," you mumbled, ignoring the sweat dotting your upper lip as your adrenaline was engaged in order to keep you upright.
"Wow," a snotty voice leered slowly, seeing an older, dark-haired woman eyeing you with a curled lip, "bad enough you stole a handicap seat, but you're really using a cane, too?" She scoffed, "Way to lay it on thick. You look absolutely fine, you don't even need that - "
"Excuse me? Do I know you? Did I ask your opinion?" You snapped, the bus going quiet as patrons eavesdropped on the confrontation. Carmy readjusted beside you, his anger and confusion flaring.
"Well, look at you," she gestured, "perfectly healthy but trying to lie about the state of your health? That's so pathetic! You don't even need that cane! Way to steal it out from under someone who does need it, no wonder Medicaid's all backed up. It's 'cause of people like you thinking it's cute and will get them attention or special treatment that the truly disabled can't get their necessary supplies."
You barked a laugh, cutting off Carmy's ready response. He glanced at you in confusion, only seeing entertainment marring yor features. So, you sneered, "Wow, didn't realize I was talking to Superman."
"What does that even mean?" She sneered.
"Oh, sorry, just thought that since you had X-ray vision and all, you must've been him. You know, since you have such an extensive opinion on my disability and all."
"Wow," her eyes rolled as Carmy snickered, "Millennials are truly the worst - "
"I'm Gen Z, bitch," you cut her off, "and just because I don't look like it in your untrained opinion, doesn't mean my disability is any less valid. You know, not all of them are visible - some of us suffer on the inside and hide the outside really well."
"Something you might wanna learn to do - got a whole lot of ugly you might wanna cover up," Carmy scoffed, shaking his head. "C'mon, baby, don't gotta stand here and listen to this kinda bullshit."
"I just think it's shitty of you to steal equipment out from under those who genuinely need it!" The woman continued, making you pause in slight interest. "You're young, your sprained ankle doesn't warrant a cane - you're just using it for the attention, probably want people to feel bad for you. What? Your little boyfriend doesn't dote on you enough?"
"Listen, lady," Carmy snapped, "we've been decently nice, but you're asking for us to get mean. Why don't you fuck off - you don't have the faintest idea what's wrong with her, I don't think you get to say what's necessary and what's not. You're not her doctor, you have no idea what the issue is, so, please, kindly refrain from imposing your bitterness onto other people. Mind the business that pays you, lady, and maybe you won't be so brash and cranky."
"Jesus, she sounds like my little brother when he needs a nap," you tacked on. "Talk about needing attention - throwing a public tantrum is definitely the way to do that."
"I'm just saying!" She defended, noting how the bus of patrons were glaring at her and shaking their heads, "You look perfectly healthy, there can't seriously be something wrong. You would look way worse if there was something real - "
"Jesus, fuck, use your X-ray vision, Superman, then maybe you'd see how brazenly wrong you are," Carmy snapped, your eyes rolling bitterly. You hobbling towards the door, Carmy's warmth at your flank assuring you he was following.
You offered stiffly, "And for whatever it's worth, I had a trained medical professional prescribe this cane as a mobility aid - I don't need some Karen on the bus offering unsolicited opinions."
"I am not a Karen!" She gasped shrilly, looking mortally offended. "You little brat!"
"Not doin' a damn thing to beat those Karen allegations, I see," Carmy chuckled, slinking an arm around your waist; feeling incredibly protective against these judgements. "You might wanna start minding the business that pays you - which certain, isn't us."
"Hope you have as shitty a day as your attitude," you wished her with a smile when the bus pulled up to the curb, easing yourself down the stairs and onto the sidewalk with Carmy's large hands splayed to ensure you didn't trip or fall.
"Jesus Christ," He cursed, glaring at the bus as it pulled away, "you deal with that kinda shit often?"
"More than I should," you shook your head. "Just - let it go, Carm, it doesn't mean shit. The opinions of one dumbass isn't seriously going to make me embarrassed to use my cane."
"Can't believe the nerve of some people," he shook his head, walking on the side of the street to keep you tucked into his side. "I'm sorry you gotta hear that bullshit, baby, Jesus. Only heard it once and I'm fuckin' pissed."
You weren't sure what you felt, but definitely prickly, irritated, annoyed, and very frustrated. Knowing Carmy was just as wound up helped you feel less alone, and the fact that he tried to protect you from the onslaught of rudeness made you a little fuzzy. Perhaps this world wasn't totally doomed...
However, it seemed that wouldn't be your only encounter with a loud-mouth Karen that day. After helping Carmy with certain designs and decisions at The Beef, he informed you that a health inspector was coming to run point and after, you could go home together and soak the irritated joints that were swelling to twice the size they should be. Richie promised to your two a ride home, revoking the need to utilize public transportation. You didn't mind the bus, but it was a helluva lot easier to get in or out of a car, plus it reduces exposure to nosy strangers, their stares, and any comments people might feel the need to voice.
You stationed yourself in the office with Sugar, helping her with anything she asked, and when you limped onto the main floor, you saw an unknown man and woman in pressed suits talking to Carmy and Richie.
You leaned on a counter and listened, cane stationed in front of you, sighing internally when the man eyed you with mild trepidation. You were so close to snapping, but didn't get the chance because he was asking decently kindly (as if you two were friends), "You okay, Miss?"
"Hmm? Oh, yes, yeah," you nodded. "Is there anything I can do to help the inspection run smoother?"
"Do you work here?"
"My boyfriend owns and operates the place, I'm just here to help if it's needed."
"Right..." His head shook, shrugging, "Well, uh, no, ma'am, we're just about to finish. Say, if you don't mind me asking, what's with the cane? I mean, you look pretty young, why do you need it? I mean, is it even necessary?"
Carmy was at your side without you even noticing him approaching, arm sliding around your neck to dangle casually as his brows furrowed with mistrust. He asked stiffly, "What's it matter to you?"
"Well, I guess it doesn't, but I was just curious. You mostly see the elderly with canes, a little weird to see someone so vibrant using one, too. I mean," he eyed you up and down, "you look perfectly healthy in my opinion."
"I don't remember her asking for your opinion," Carmy snapped, arm tightening in irritation to keep you close to his side.
With a sigh, you pet his waist and revealed (a brief and condensed version of) your medical diagnosis, explaining what it meant and what symptoms you were forced to endure all day, everyday. "That good enough for you, sir?" You asked sharply. "Didn't realize medical doctors now did health inspections - bit of a step down, isn't it?"
"I'm not a doctor, I'm just pointing out, you don't look sick to me. I'm wondering why you would use a cane if there's nothing wrong? Look, I know about your illness - I have a niece who has the same condition and she's perfectly fine, doesn't need a cane - "
Carmy snapped, "The fuck are you trying to get at?"
"Carm - "
"No, no, fuck that," he deflected your words, "the fuck is this guy on? Where do you get the audacity to have an opinion on a stranger's health?"
"It's just weird and I'm familiar with the illness," he scoffed, your throat swelling with frustration and strangling any response you might've defended yourself with. Something in your chest warmed with anger, raising your heart rate and blood pressure.
It was as if Carmy could sense this, snapping at the man, "It's not just an 'illness', it's an actual disability, asshole."
"It's literally just an inconvenience, there's not something seriously medically wrong - you'd look a lot worse if there was. I mean, there are other people out there with your condition that don't need a cane or braces, and there's also people who need a cane more than you - "
"Disabilities can be invisible, you fuckin' dumbass," Carmy bristled loudly, making Cousin and the female inspector look over. "You got some nerve, don't you? Trying to have impose an unsolicited opinion on something that has literally nothing to do with you?"
"It was just an observation, sir - "
"That you didn't need to voice. You're being fucking offensive and insensitive, she answered your little questions - which is more than I would've done - so you can fuck off now. Nobody owes you - or anyone else - an explanation about their Goddamn health. It's personal and you're just an asshole for asking a stranger about it. Especially one that was just fuckin' standing here, minding her business - you literally came to her, outta your way, and started attacking her."
"I'm not attacking anyone - "
"We good over here, Cousin?" Richie asked with a growl, stalking over with a glare marring his features; female inspector silently following in obvious discomfort.
"Yeah, Cousin, just this dumb fuckin' asshole harassing Y/N about her cane," Carmy answered, neck and cheeks reddening from his anger. Richie and Carmy narrowed their eyes almost in sync, making the inspector hold his hands up in defense.
"The fuck he say?" Richie snapped.
"That she looks too healthy, how his niece doesn't need a cane and is, also, sick, oh, and that she doesn't need her cane - "
"Why? 'Cause you can't see whatever's physically wrong? So you think she doesn't need extra assistance 'cause you can't outright point at her disability?" Richie barked with anger, a vein bulging and pulsing. "Didn't know we had a doctor in the house, excuse the fuck outta us!"
"I'm not a doctor - "
"Oh, so, just a Karen who offers their opinion nobody asks for?" You finally chimed in after calming your emotions. "Or does that make you a Kevin?"
"No, I think Karen's accurate," Richie nodded at you, hands moving to his hips. "Always sayin' the wrong shit, imposin' themselves, right?"
"Accurate," Carmy snapped, dropping his arm to hold your waist.
"Look, I don't know why you're all getting so defensive! I'm the one with the experience, my niece is sick, too, I'm just trying to understand how you think you're different enough to need a cane," The inspector snapped, "I'm just saying, there's nothing actually wrong with her, my niece has explained the symptoms to me, so why use a cane? For attention?"
"Oh, this fuckin' guy!"
"The fuck did you just say!?"
"Dale," his coworker tried to intervene but was ignored.
"Oh, Jesus fuck!" Richie barked loudly. "Is he fuckin' serious? He bein' serious!?"
"'For attention'?" Carmy repeated over Richie, narrowing his eyes and bunching his brows, "Wow, that's fucking golden! Dude has one family member, had one conversation with her as a patient, and thinks everyone with that condition has the same disadvantages! The same fuckin' symptoms - you fuckin' poser!"
"Fuckin' bitch-ass-loser," Richie still ranted.
"Dumb fuckin' idiot. Who needs the attention now?" Carmy sneered.
"She's too young to need a cane and she doesn't even look - "
"Dale!"
"I think you might wanna fuck off outta here - right fuckin' now," Carmy seethed, "and be prepared when you see your boss next, we're gonna report your dumbass to your superiors. You're being condescending and rude, meddling in someone's health - which isn't remotely any of your business. She was nice enough to answer your stupid fuckin' questions, she even explained what was wrong, but you're still gonna shame her? 'Cause you think she looks fine and healthy?"
"Yeah, time for you to get the fuck out! The more I hear, the more pissed off I feel - get out, goodbye, fuck off, before I make this into a physical altercation," Richie growled, moving forward to coral the inspectors towards the door. He was yelling profanities, the male inspector trying to defend himself and his opinions; still trying to say you must've been faking the need for a cane since there was no way someone who looked like you could need it. The woman was apologizing profusely, but was drowned out over the Chi-Town accents yelling at one another.
When Richie slammed and locked the door, still mumbling to himself in anger, Carmy turned towards you and asked, "You okay, baby? Shit, I'm sorry about that - "
"Don't, hey, it's okay," You soothed.
"It's really not - I mean, Jesus Christ," he seethed, "what the fuck even was that? Twice in one day? Gotta be fuckin' kiddin' me."
"I can't say I'm surprised," you shrugged. "I was warned people get lippy when they see people like me, who don't outright look disabled but still need to use their aids."
"Fuckin' bullshit, that's what it is!" Richie raged in a rant. "How the fuck do you put up with that shit? I'd be swinging that cane around like a fuckin' nunchuck - Jesus - fuck these dickheads! Knock their dumb fuckin' opinionated asses out!"
You paused, slowly perking your brows as Carmy chuckled, "Ah, fuck, you just gave her an idea, Richie, Goddamnit. Am I gonna get a call from the cops to come bail you out after you go on a rampage with your cane as your weapon of choice?" He asked you.
"You might..."
"I'd be disappointed if you didn't, dollface," Richie smirked. "But seriously, babe, what the hell? Does that happen often?"
You sighed, admitting, "More than you'd think, more than I'd like to deal with. People don't believe what they can't see, so they can only go based on what they think they know."
"They don't gotta open their fuckin' mouths, though," Carmy shook his head, skin still cherried from his anger. "It's fuckin' rude - "
"People love having their opinions, baby, that won't change," you sighed, squeezing his waist. "But thank you, both of you, for coming to my rescue."
"You don't need rescuing," Richie sighed, hands back to his hips.
"Yeah, we know you had it covered, just fuckin' angered me hearin' that shit," Carmy scoffed. "You shouldn't be the only one defending your health."
"You want me to hit him with my car? Give him a reason to need a cane, too?" Richie offered, the two inspectors seen outside the window at their truck; exchanging heated words, arguing.
You paused to consider his offer with a hum, Carmy barking, "Hey, hey, no, no, no, bad idea, no hitting people with cars!"
"You're missing the point - it's giving that Karen a reason to use a cane, too, and for us to mock him that he doesn't look like he needs it."
"No."
"Bitch-ass."
When Carmy left you two alone to deal with something in the kitchen, Richie smirked and whispered to you, "I'm gonna hit him with my car."
"You're a good friend," you chuckled, his grin genuine as he offered his arm; letting you take it and limp back into the kitchen.
requesting rules and masterlist
The Bear masterlist
#carmy berzatto#carmy#carmen carmy berzatto#carmy x reader#carmy berzatto x reader#carmy berzatto imagine#carmy berzatto fic#carmy the bear#carmy berzatto fanfiction#carmy berzatto x you#carmy berzatto x female!reader#carmy berzatto x fem!reader#carmy berzatto x f!reader#carmy berzatto fluff#carmy berzatto hurt and comfort#carmy berzatto x oc#carmy berzatto x female reader#carmy berzatto x fem reader#carmen berzatto#carmen berzatto x reader#carmen berzatto x female!reader#carmen berzatto x female reader#carmen berzatto x fem!reader#carmen berzatto x fem reader#carmen berzatto fluff#carmen berzatto imagine#carmen berzatto fic#carmen berzatto fanfiction#carmen berzatto x you#the bear
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