Gonna traumapost in the tags feel free to ignore i just want to write it down

July Colorful Column: Remus is a Crip, and We Can Write Him Better.

There is one thing that can get me to close a fic so voraciously I don’t even make sure I’m not closing other essential tabs in the process. It doesn’t matter how much I’m loving the fic, how well written I think it is, or how desperately I want to know how it ends. Once I read this sentence, I am done.

It’s written in a variety of different ways, but it always goes something like this: “You don’t want me,” Remus said, “I am too sick/broken/poor/old/[insert chosen self-demeaning adjective here].”

You’re familiar with the trope. The trope is canonical. And if you’ve been around the wolfstar fandom for longer than a few minutes, you’ve read the trope. Maybe you love the trope! Maybe you’ve written the trope! Maybe you’re about to stop reading this column, because the trope rings true to you and you feel a little attacked!

Now, let’s get one thing out of the way right now: I am not saying the trope is wrong. I am not saying it’s bad. I am not saying we should stop writing it. We all have things we don’t like to see in our chosen fics. Maybe you can’t stand Leather Jacket Motorbike Sirius? Maybe you think Elbow Patch Remus is overdone? Or maybe your pet peeves are based in something a little deeper - maybe you think Poor Latino Remus is an irresponsible depiction, or that PWPs are too reductive? Whatever it is, we all have our things.

Let me tell you about my thing. When I first became very ill several years ago, there were various low points in which I felt I had become inherently unlovable. This is, more or less, a normal reaction. When your body stops doing things it used to be able to do - or starts doing things you were quite alright without, thank you very much - it changes the way you relate to your body. You don’t want to hear my whole disability history, so yada yada yada, most people eventually come to accept their limitations. It’s a very painful existence, one in which you constantly tell yourself your disability has transformed you into a burdensome, unworthy member of society, and if nothing else, it’s not terribly sustainable. Being disabled takes grit! It takes power! It takes a truly absurd amount of medical self-advocacy! Hating yourself? Thinking yourself unworthy of love? No one has time for that. 

Of course, I’m being hyperbolic. Plenty of disabled people struggle with these feelings many years into their disabilities, and never really get over them. But here’s the thing. We experience those stories ALL THE TIME. Remember Rain Man? Or Million Dollar Baby? Or that one with the actress from Game of Thrones and that British actor who seemed like he was going to have a promising career but then didn't? Those are all stories about sad, bitter disabled people and their sad, bitter lives, two out of three of which end in the character completing suicide because they simply couldn’t imagine having to live as a disabled person. (I mean, come on media, I get that we're less likely to enjoy a leisurely Saturday hike, but our parking is SUBLIME.) When was the last time you engaged with media that depicted a happy disabled person? A complex disabled person? A disabled person who has sex? No really, these aren’t hypothetical questions, can you please drop a rec in the notes?? Because I am desperate.

There are lots of problems with this trope, and they’ve been discussed ad nauseam by people with PhDs. I’m not actually interested in talking about how this trope leads to a more prevalent societal idea that disabled people are unworthy of love, or contributes to the kind of political thought processes that keep disabled people purposefully disenfranchised. I’m just a bitch on Tumblr, and I have a bone to pick: the thing I really hate about the trope? It’s boring. I’m bored. You know how, like, halfway through Grey’s Anatomy you realized they were just recycling the same plot points over and over again and there was just no WAY anyone working at a hospital prone to THAT MANY disasters would stay on staff? It's like that. I love a recycled trope as much as the next person (There Was Only One Bed, anyone?). But I need. Something. Else.

Remus is disabled. BOLD claim. WILD speculation. Except, not really. You simply - no matter how you flip it, slice it, puree it, or deconstruct it - cannot tell me Remus Lupin is not disabled. Most of us, by this point, are probably familiar with the way that One Canonical Author intended One Dashing Werewolf to be “a metaphor for those illnesses that carry stigma, like HIV and AIDS” [I’m sorry to link you to an outside source quoting She Who Must Not Be Named, but we’re professionals here]. Which is... a thing. It’s been discussed. And, listen, there’s no denying that this parallel is a problematic interpretation of people who have HIV/AIDS and all such similar “those illnesses” (though I’ll admit that I, too, am perennially apt to turn into a raging beast liable to harm anything that crosses my path, but that’s more linked to the at-least-once-monthly recollection that One Day At A Time got cancelled). Critiques aside, Remus Lupin is a character who - due to a condition that affects him physically, mentally, emotionally, and intellectually - is repeatedly marginalized, oppressed, denied political and social power, and ostracized due to unfounded fear that he is infectious to others. Does that sound familiar?

We’re not going to argue about whether or not “Remus is canonically disabled as fuck” is a fair reading. And the reason we’re not going to argue about whether or not it’s a fair reading is because I haven’t read canon in 10-plus years and you will win the argument. Canon is only marginally relevant here. The icon of this blog is brown, curly haired Remus Lupin kissing his trans boyfriend, Sirius Black. We are obviously not too terribly invested in canon. The wolfstar fandom is now a community with over 25,000 AO3 fics, entire careers launched from drawing or writing or cosplaying this non-canonical pairing. We love to play around here with storylines and universes and races and genders and sexualities and all kinds of things, but most of the time? Remus is still disabled. He’s disabled as a werewolf in canon-compliant works, he’s disabled in the AUs where he was injured or abused or kidnapped or harmed as a child, he’s disabled in the stories that read him as chronically ill or bipolar or traumatized or blind or Deaf. I’d go so far as to say that he is one of very few characters in the Wide Wonderful World of media who is, in as close to his essence as one can be, always disabled. And that means? Don’t shoot the messenger... but we could stand to be a tiny bit more responsible with how we portray him. 

Disabled people are complicated. As much as I’d like to pretend we are always level-headed, confident, and ready to assert our inherent worth, we are still just humans. We have bad days. We doubt our worth. We sometimes go out with guys who complain about our steroid-induced weight gain (it was a long time ago, Tumblr, okay??). But, we also have joy and fun and good days and sex and happiness and families and so many other things. 

Remus is a disabled character, and as such, it’s only fair that he’d have those unworthy moments. But - I propose - Remus is also a crip. What is a crip? A crip - like a queer - is someone who eschews the limited boundaries placed on their bodies, who rejects a hierarchy of oppression in favor of an intersectional analysis of lived experience, who isn’t interested in being the tragic figure responsible for helping people with dominant identities realize how good they have it. Crips interpret their disabilities however they want, rethinking bodies and medicine and pleasure and pain and even time itself. Crips are political, community-minded, and in search of liberation. 

Remus is a character who struggles with his disability, sure. But he’s also a character who leverages his physical condition to attempt to shift communities towards his political leanings, advocates for the rights of those who share his physical condition, and has super hot sex with his wrongfully convicted boyfriend ultimately goes on to build community and family. Having a condition that quite literally cripples you, over which you have no control, and through which you are often read as a social pariah? That’s disability. But using said condition as a means through which to build advocacy and community? Now that’s some crip shit. 

Personally, I love disabled!Remus Lupin. But I love crip!Remus Lupin even more. I’d love to see more of a Remus who owns his disability, who covets what makes him unique, and who never ever again tells a potential romantic partner they are too good for him because of his disability. This trope - unlike There Was Only One Bed! - sometimes actually hurts to read. Where’s Remus who thinks a potential romantic partner isn’t good enough for him? Where’s Remus who insists his partners learn more about his condition in order to treat him properly? Where’s sexy wheelchair user Remus? Where’s Remus who uses his werewolf transformations as an excuse to travel the world? Where’s crip Remus??

We don’t have to put “you don’t want me” Remus entirely to bed. It is but one of many repeated tropes that are - in the words of The Hot Priest from Fleabag - morally a bit dubious. And let’s face it - we don’t always come to fandom for its moral superiority (as much as we sometimes like to think we do). 

This is not a condemnation - it is an invitation. Able-bodied folks are all but an injury, illness, or couple decades away from being disabled. And when you get here, I sincerely hope you don’t waste your time on “you don’t want me”ing back and forth with the people you love. I’m inviting you to come to the crip side now. We have snacks, and without all the “you don’t want me” talk, we get to the juicy parts much faster. 

Colorfully,

Mod Theo

I was supposed to post this on my birthday, but kept scrapping it cos I was nervous, so now I’m trying again and I’m not deleting this one :P So here it goes...

...I am a trans man. I’ve been on testosterone for 3 years.

I started HRT when I was 17 and changed over all my legal documents shortly after when I turned 18 and up until that point, it had been a very difficult road for me, namely with mental health. But since transitioning, it’s taken the weight of a lot of issues off my shoulders which had me stuck for years in a perpetually pessimistic and aggressive mindset. And now, well, I’m 21 and can safely say that old person is long gone!

I’ve always struggled to feel confident in myself, and I still do. Being proud of my homosexuality always came easy for me. Being trans however, wasn’t always so easy. But I was never inherently ashamed of it. In fact, when I came to the conclusion I was trans at 14, I felt happy. It was other people in my life who beat that excitement to the ground. My happiness quickly plummeted into a deep, suicidal depression. I lost all my friends. I was ostracised by what few allies I had. I was bullied and roped into believing so many lies about myself, objectified, sexualised, and made to feel nothing but ashamed and burdensome.

I can remember being cornered in a bathroom to prevent me from committing suicide at 15. I remember how my parents reacted, how my friends abandoned me, the bullying, and the endless nights of self harm and negativity. I was the ONLY out trans person in a school of over 2000 students, and was the only only trans person I knew for a long time.

And I know something that happened to me when I was very new to coming out tainted a lot of the good feelings I initially had about myself. I had been telling a trusted friend of mine how I didn’t know if a person could be with me because I was trans. And instead of reassuring me, she told me, “You’re right... I don’t know how anyone is ever going to love you.” And I hadn’t ever confronted that memory until today. I finally, after so many years, allowed myself to cry about the moment that had catalysed the stripping of my self confidence. I realised one horrible little memory among many had been hurting me today much more than I ever thought it had been.

...And I still live with the painful memory, as I’m sure many of you do too, that I had to go through the most crucial years of my coming out completely alone and afraid, struggling to be proud of someone everyone told me was nothing but an unlovable burden to society. Afraid if I seemed proud for just one moment, I would be abused. But I find that the older I get, the more miraculously I feel the strength to get back up or to not be struck down in the first place when I’m confronted by hatred and ignorance.

And I feel that, for me, one of the worst things I could do is to keep this part of me perpetually hidden, because I can’t imagine how many people following me are in desperate need of guidance or at least someone to talk to, to be told that they are worthy and loved. I know I have advice that I would love to give, and words to say to people who feel they need help, because it’s in my nature to always offer assistance if it’s asked of me or if I see someone hurt. It would still mean so much to me even if this message only reached 10 people, because that’s just 10 more people who have read they don’t have to feel like they’re going through things alone. I know to some people this might sound Basic but you honestly have no idea about the people who need to read posts like this.

Of course I know there are considerable times where it is still unsafe for me to come out, be it trans or gay, and there are times when I feel it’s irrelevant for me to mention it, or times when I feel I just don’t need to. But it isn’t about coming out as much as it is about purging the old fear I have that being proud of my identity is something I shouldn’t do.

I’m always saying sorry for the simplest things, terrified of being burdensome, and being trans hasn’t ever been exempt from that list of things I’ve been made to feel fear and shame for loving. But I’m a year older now. And I feel that checkpoint should begin with learning I should never have to apologise for being who I am, to feel confident in the pride I have always had in my trans identity and learn to not let others take that away from me like they had done in the past again and again. I’ve always found myself admiring people who can be comfortable in their entirety without apology. I would love to exist without feeling like I’ve disappointed someone who likes me or wants to be friends by revealing I’m trans, and even though that has happened to me countless times, I know if those people have a problem with my gender, I wouldn’t want those people in my life anyway. My worth is not determined by how negative people treat me.

I know it’s a long and difficult road sometimes, to learn to love yourself, but you should feel proud to be trans. And there might be people who try to twist that idea and scare you into thinking no one will ever love you. You might feel not that you‘re ashamed to be trans, but that you feel afraid no one will accept you as much as you accept yourself. You worry to be proud of your identity makes you undesirable or inconvenient. And I wish I would’ve had someone tell me when I was a kid that people only tell you that to break you and silence you.

So whoever is in a low place right now and needs to hear this, as I needed to hear so many birthdays before, birthdays I never thought I’d make it to:

There is NEVER any shame in feeling proud to be who you are. There are ALWAYS people who will love you and who will listen to you when you need help, and there is NO shame in feeling you need that help. Vulnerability does not equal weakness.

I know there is a time and a place for me to reveal I’m trans irl and there are questions I still have the right not to answer, but I don’t want to spend my life persistently afraid I will never find anyone, friend or lover, who will care about me. I want to have the same love for myself I have for everyone else.

So happy birthday to me, and to the 6 year old boy photographed who didn’t understand why he couldn’t spend the night at all his boy friends’ houses. But more so, to the 14 year old boy who never thought he would make it this far. I wish he would’ve believed the people who told him the best things happen when you least expect them to. Because they do.

Not only would I like to extend my help to my trans followers who need someone to talk to emotionally, but I have been through all legal document changes (that I own as a California resident at least) and have had some unexpected things happen to me on testosterone on top of the usual changes, along with having some knowledge about top surgery and insurance, so if you aren’t cis and have a legal or appropriate medical question for me regarding transitioning, I may just be able to provide some help! While I’m not always sure how good I am at these things, my askbox or DMs are always open to anyone that needs to talk or is seeking advice :)

Thank you for listening and as always, I love you all ♡

P.S. I didn’t go through all of this to have clowns in my inbox so please be respectful

Your self love is super inspiring. Have you always been so confident in yourself? If not, how did you get to be?

nope! spent most of my natural life hating myself. have attempted suicide more times than i can remember. self-harmed in pretty much every way i can think of.

i have borderline personality disorder and my abandonment issues ruled my life. in 2016 my nightmare scenario came true--my boyfriend of 4 years cheated on me with my high school rapist, and him & all my irl friends fucked off and left me. at my lowest and most directionless i really examined why i was so fucking scared of people leaving me, and i realized that more than its traumatic on principle, it’s because i viewed myself as so completely horrid and unlovable that if i couldn’t hold onto the people i managed to charm in the first place, i would never hold onto anyone. legitimately, i believed i would never meet anyone who would stay with me to the end.

so rather than trying to view this with positivity, which i could not do at the time, i viewed it as a simple truth. worst case scenario: i am alone forever. well, i better learn to like myself and be strong, and maybe then being alone won’t be so scary.

this was one part of it. the other part was realizing that life was... just too short to spend in such unbearable agony, living in what ifs.

in my mind, i envisioned her. the woman i wanted to be. and to put things bluntly, there is no poetic way to say this and make it universally relatable, that woman was jessie from the pokemon anime.

i’m kin w/ her and throughout my life she has been this force i felt not WORTHY of being kin with. people close to me almost never thought of us in the same breath. the goth kids, the angry addicts, the miserable whelps i was kin with--people always associated them with me, tagged me in pictures of them. no one ever remembered i was jessie. i buried her, i just didn’t feel anyone would ever see us as one another.

in a way, it was also an act of defiance against those people. to be so much like her, the goal i strived for since i was young, that i would make everyone who ever forgot we were one feel like an idiot. spite is very, very motivating.

dyed my hair from classic red to white tomorrow magenta. started standing with my hands on my hips in the mirror and laughing uproariously at the top of my lungs when no one was home, just to see if i could pull it off with the lilt of a proper villainness. turned my ‘i’m a trash goblin’s into a sly-eyed smirk and an overly embellished ‘aren’t i the most elegant creature on god’s green earth?’ 

lied lied lied to myself. 

my brain said: fat, ugly, unremarkable.

and i said back: fat, beautiful, dazzling.

my brain said: toxic, burdensome, worthless.

and i said back: hurting, inquiring, perfect.

my brain said: nothing.

and i said: queen.

and i repeated it forever, forever, forever. i did not ask myself “who do you want to be?”

i asked myself, “who are you?”

and my answer, one i did not believe for a very long time, was “queen.”

it turns out, i wasn’t lying to myself when i said that. the brain telling me i was nothing, that was who was lying all along. after all, i wasn’t born thinking i was worthless. the world convinced me, and i bit back out of spite for the world.

and if i fell low, i just said ‘would she talk this way about herself?’

of course she wouldn’t. despite everything, she’d always know her own worth. and i wanted to be her, so i couldn’t contradict that.

i’ve talked a lot about this topic, and i feel my articulation on it has kinda deteriorated lmao. there’s a lot of introspective ramblings in my /tagged/the great calamity , a tag for the year everything fell to nothing and i decided to rise above. 

tl;dr: life was simply too short to spend it day after day with a person i hated. so i made myself into a cartoon supervillain and called it a lifetime. i’m much happier.