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olliethescribe · 1 year

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Technically Propaganda - Major ‘Only Brooches’ Spoilers Ahead!

Here’s the beginning of our next major chapter: ‘Hamlet’! - @tmntausummit

Warning: it contains massive spoilers! Highly recommend reading this after ‘Blitz’ if you can. Tw// self-harm mention, public embarrassment, ableism, public breakdown

“It’s career suicide.”

Things weren’t exactly specular after taking to the airwaves in an all black suit, blond hair with purple streaks, nails painted dark, and amethyst eyeshadow on. His co-host questioned his new look and Warren explained it away with tales of makeovers and self-discovery. It should’ve ended there. But even four weeks later it continued, worse since he helped take on the Foot Clan with Ron. His patience was beginning to wear thin.

Still, he had help. Donatello had made Warren a pronoun pin that zapped people if they misgendered him, pinned proudly on his lapel. Ron told him he looked amazing and he knew for a fact that the magician wouldn’t lie. Still, no matter how good he was fabled to have looked it didn’t deter negative attention.

His co-workers, nice enough up close, were a nasty bunch in ‘private’ spaces. The sheer volume of indirects online were beginning to pile up, a cruel and bitter mocking edge from accounts that had only been set-up for the sole purpose of knocking him down. In person was somehow worse, unable to block people in real-life as they shit-talked his appearance by the water cooler or coffee maker, snickering as he passed them by on the way to his scheduled recordings.

It hadn’t occurred to Warren that taking control of his life would lead to so much animosity from those that once considered him a friend. Then again, given that ‘his massive ego won’t fit through the fire door’ comment a few months back, he should’ve seen this coming. It didn’t hurt, not in the ways he thought it would, more so forcing him to consider his options. He could stay and take it, or he could take the wheel on his life yet again.

Being a theater kid growing up wasn’t all for show. The newscaster had always enjoyed acting, forced himself to take those skills into social masking for work as he realized early on that being himself weren’t enough. To play a character and be rid of it rather than continue to keep up the charade? Promising. A siren song. He had the credentials, all he had to do was take the first step and audition. Ron had also offered Warren a spot as an additional magical assistant when Leo couldn’t make it to the weekend show. The options were there, he could do it. He could move on.

Especially after what had occurred that morning…

“Hey, Ron?” Warren walked unassuredly into their apartment, pamphlet in hand only slightly crushed in his death grip. His heart was pounding, having dodged plenty of sympathetic and terrible people alike on the way home. The theater he ducked into for escape was a saving grace, his mind attempting to keep its focus on that.

“Yes, darling?” Ron called out from the living room, flipping through a copy of Vogue and taking notes on all the outfits he’d try to recreate (as well as what would work well with both of his forms), and extra notes on what worked well with shorter hair. Fast fashion was never his thing, however, getting ready to peruse an online queer fashion blog instead.

He set the magazine down by the paper shredder, smiling as he heard his fiancé’s footsteps approach, a touch surprised to see Warren home so early for once. “Slow day at work?”

Warren shuffled into the room, expression crestfallen as he thought of ways to broach the subject. His legs shook. Oh god, his legs... He could bring up the play afterwards.

“Something like that.” He took his seat next to Ron, putting the pamphlet aside, a stabbing twist of metaphorical knives in his gut making their presence known. There wasn’t any getting around this, not as long as his finacé had internet access. “So I’ll be on an immediate month long vacation!”

Warren knew his face betrayed the false joy intoned in his voice, eyes distressed with the thought of letting Ron in. So it didn’t surprise him when Ron asked: “Why?”

“Well, it’s because of what happened earlier.”

The magician gave Warren his full attention, aware that there’d been some back lash at the station but not the full extent. “What happened earlier?”

“Well…” Warren trailed off until remembering that Ron had each episode of the show recorded so the magician would be able to watch it back later. He picked the remote up, turning the TV on. “Let me show you.”

Earlier

The teasing had raised to a fever pitch at that point, an irritating whine and buzz of less than charitable words. Warren felt himself begin to grind his teeth, holding back any comments on his co-workers’ conduct until…

The newscaster had sat down on set and straightened his tie as he waited for the cameras to start rolling, his other co-host, a relatively new guy named Rodney, taking his place on the right next to him. Their first segment of the day was one that focused on the Paralympics, a feel-good piece about those overcoming adversity to kick ass and win gold.

Warren had been placed on this segment every year, typically running it with Carly. He knew the motions, what to say and when to say it. Shouldn’t have been too different with Rodney, just a few subtle changes here and there to match the guy’s energy. But something felt off, a feeling of unease settling in as the segment started and Warren’s new co-host began to speak.

“You know, Stone, I see you host this segment every year, and I gotta ask. Why?”

Most would assume the question were asked in earnest. Warren had been questioned on why he’d been on certain segments before, such as the bi-annual fire safety PSA (his photos were often the ones used as warnings, especially after his meet-cute with Ron). But that was easy enough to explain away. This- this was gonna be different. This was something Rodney already knew of, knew not to bring up, especially not while they were rolling.

“Well,” Warren started, smiling at the camera with his typical plasticine expression, calm as he formulated an answer, “I’ve always been a huge fan of the Paralympics! But if you think someone else should take over this segment then I’m open to stepping down.”

“Yeah, maybe an actual disabled person, Stone.”

Warren narrowed his eyes, turning back to face his co-host. “Excuse me?”

“Like, come on, man. Have you seen your legs? Those are wayyyy too real looking to be prosthetics. Everyone’s been talking about them but now it’s getting kinda sad. Just admit that you’ve been lying for clout.”

“Are you out of your mind?” Warren hissed as hands gripped his pants hard under the table, a flurry of insults and expletives barely contained beneath the surface. He took a breath and steadied himself, turning back to the camera as he tried to hide his shaking self. “Get a load’a this guy! Well, moving on, this morning we’ll be focusing on-”

Rodney cut him off, interjecting with opinions that should be shoved far far away from where the sun shone.

“Hey, how about we focus on you? What’s going on with you? Faking a disability for years, thinking this whole ‘emo’ thing is gonna make you hip with the kids, and you really took it upon yourself to go the extra mile with those cuts on your hands. And don’t even get me started on the new pronoun thi-”

Warren got out of his seat, seething. “Don’t get you started? DON’T GET YOU STARTED?!” He steadied himself on the desk’s edge as he tried his absolute best to calm down. But nothing helped. No, no, this was happening whether he wanted it to or not.

“You-” he pointed at Rodney, “-don’t know a thing about me! You have no idea what I’m dealing with.” Warren shot his ring a brief glance. “And if you’re lucky, you’ll never understand!”

“You don’t know how much it takes to keep going, to get of bed in the morning and drag myself to this televised shitshow! I was miserable for years, and there are days where I still am! But breaking news, you son of a bitch, for once in my fucking life I’m making changes for myself, to better myself. That there are people worth changing for! That I’m worth changing for!” Warren felt tears stream down his face as he sneered at his co-worker, the once smug man looking more uncomfortable than anything else.

“But no, I gotta be ‘hip’ with the kids, it’s always gotta be for someone else with you people.” He unwrapped the bandages from one of his hands, palm with the scar on full display. “Also, if you got your head outta your ass for more than five seconds and actually thought about anything you’d realize that no one cuts their fucking hands on purpose!”

The newscaster took a moment to breathe as the camera crew and Rodney simply stared at him, the silence hanging with the fragility of a glass rod waiting to be clipped.

“....I was joking, Warren….”

Warren proceeded to lift one leg up and place it on the desk, rolling up his pant leg to his mid thigh, before feeling for the release button on his prosthesis and pressing it, slowly and carefully pulling the limb off.

“No, you weren’t.”

He saw Rodney reach out to him as if to say something that wouldn’t be an offensive mess. Warren had no desire to hear it.

“Assflash newshole, I’ve been like this the entire time! And I’m reporting your sorry ass to HR, not like they’d do a damn thing.” He chuckled bitterly, feeling the rage and pain begin to subside into numbness. “I know what ya think of me. You all make it obvious, especially now.”

“This isn’t some ‘mid-life’ crisis, but while I’m still here and the topic’s hanging around... Rodney,” he said, looking down at his co-host with a glare, “the only way your ‘bug-mobile’ would be of any value is if you crashed it into the Verrazano. Now do me a favor and fuck off.”

Warren then looked at the camera with a grin, even though they’d stopped rolling minutes prior, hands raised as he flipped off dead lenses. “And fuck you too, New York.”

Present

Warren finished showing Ron the entirety of his breakdown by switching to his phone, an intern having streamed the rest after the cameras stopped rolling.

“Oh… oh my god…” Ron looked back at him dumbfounded, a plethora of thoughts screaming behind those eyes.

“So,” Warren started, putting his phone down before sheepishly tapping two fingers together, “when we said no major secrets I might’ve been, eh, holding back on one? Maybe two?”

“Uh huh.” Ron’s eyes flicked from Warren’s face to his legs and back again. Between that and his boyfriend’s breakdown, he was still processing what he’d just witnessed.

“I- I’ll just be outright and say it.” Warren took a deep breath before letting it go. “Ronny, I have a confession to make. I- oh god damn it, I’ve been shorter than you this entire time!”

“That’s certainly one way to put that.” Ron felt as if his head were spinning, his entire day turned upside down in thirty minutes.

“Yeah… you probably have questions, eugh.” Warren looked away, hands on his legs as he stared at them. Oh boy.

Every thought Ron could have ran through his mind at top speed, but when it came to actually asking more questions, he blanked.

“Sorry, spaced out for a minute there.” He rubbed at his temples with one hand while the other gripped the couch. “Suppose my first question is how. How on Earth did you manage this?”

#propaganda #warren stone #hypno potamus #hypnowarren #hippoworm #hypnopotamus #no crime only brooches au #rise of the tmnt #rottmnt #fanfiction #tmntausummit #tmntaucompetition #vote only brooches or i’ll chew ur ligaments #ao3 writer #sneak peek #chapter preview #tw ableist language #tw self harm mention #tw breakdown

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paperboy-pb · 2 years

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"PAPERBOY" -- Story by @orangebox-jg.

"Paperboy is an indie-webcomic just getting started on Webtoon! It follows the story of a 7th grade boy trying to escape an isolating, negligent & abusive Special Ed class; if he does not escape the class within a year, he dies."

☆ Meet Matthew Boston! A severely Asthmatic (+ some other things!) aspiring astronaut with big moon dreams. He's also known for being a master of arts & crafts, a complete theater nerd, and holding spooky things like monsters very close to his heart. This little space cadet is sweet, curious, bright, and clearly made to roam!

But there's a problem: his local school system doesn't believe this.

In Matthew's school, Special Ed kids are treated like second-class students, dealing with all sorts of things teachers would NEVER do to others.

*They're hidden away from the rest of their grade, forbidden from even talking to the General Ed kids.

*Given all sorts of strange rules that no other class has to follow.

*Talked to like babies by some adults, berated by others, and spoken -with- by none.

*Taught in tiny, stuffy rooms with the same kids every year while General Eds have big classes & countless chances to make new friends.

*And sometimes, even their curriculum is altered... as certain teachers straight-up deprive them of certain subjects.

And nobody even tells them why.

Matthew has been in Special Ed since forever. And while he's always noticed this stuff, he'd always either blame himself or dismiss it as "bad luck." Until the day he gets his hands on some school papers he's not supposed to... and his entire worldview flips upside down.

Matthew realizes that he is surrounded by ableism; more than he could hope to fight on his own. And that for as long as he's in there, it is never going to stop. So this leaves him with one option... RUN.

And so, he embarks on a quest: to get himself transferred into a General Ed class no matter what it takes! For the sake of his mental health. For the sake of his education. For the sake of his future, safety & happiness.

This goal sparks a whole BUNCH of misadventures (some silly, some dark!) featuring Matthew, a colorful cast of his chaotic & wildly different disabled peers, their sometimes-evil teachers, weird dreams, weirder situations, and a newly-discovered Monster living under Matthew's bed. And along the way, Matthew goes on a journey in trying to come to terms with being disabled, coping with a mental illness, standing up for what's right, & learning to better understand others.

But time is ticking-- he doesn't want to ever have to spend another year in these conditions again. The more time he spends here, the more dehumanized he feels, and the more depressed he becomes.

And if he lives like this for too long... he may just not live anymore.

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ankhisms · 1 year

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allow me to complain about theater things (not related to the strike im talking about local community theater)

so as i mentioned like a day ago i didnt get into the play that i auditioned for, i was a bit bummed out but its not the end of the world im pretty much over it despite what you may think when you read this im more than anything wanting to like write out my criticisms of the culture surrounding theater circles and specifically some hypocricy that ive been noticing within the theater that i am now a member of the company (which means i am an actor who was acted in that theater company)

the play that i auditioned for was intentionally written so that any actor could fit into any of the roles, and there specifically was a note by the playwright about the huge issues of racism, ableism, and homo/transphobia in theater spaces, and how the odds of getting good roles are stacked against you if youre not white, straight, cis, abled body and neurotypical and dont fit conventional bigoted beauty standards. the playwright specifically wrote this note to encourage directors and people producing the play who would be casting it that there was no reason why any of the roles couldnt be given to nonwhite, lgbt, neurodivergent and disabled actors and encouraging directors to not just cast very conventionally attractive able bodied cishet white actors.

obviously i am a white actor and i always am aware of that, i am also a disabled actor and am not conventionally attractive. my friend and former castmate who i did a lot of theater with when we were younger is a disabled indigenous mexican actor, she brought her cane with her to the audition. even without any positive bias i might have towards her since weve acted together for a while, i can say confidently shes an excellent actor. there was also a trans woman at the audition who i really hope i can do some performances with her in the future if she comes to more auditions because she was fantastic. none of us fit the bigoted beauty standards that are often prepetuated in not only hollywood but also smaller community theater like this.

now i dont want to dismiss any of the actors who got casted for their skills and their talent, im sure that they genuinely are good actors and that they will do a good job at their roles. but it has just occured to me how this is a pattern im noticing with almost all the community theater ive been involved in (except for my theater that i grew up acting in) where all of the people cast in main roles are almost always white, cis, able bodied, and fit conventionally attractive beauty standards. even in this play where the playwright SPECIFICALLY TRIED TO MAKE A POINT of telling directors and people casting hey, you should REALLY REALLY try to not just cast conventionally attractive cishet able bodied white actors, thats a problem we have in our artform. and the community theater ive acted in specifically is very much like. one that tries to be progressive and have left leaning ideas and presents itself this way, and i dont at all think that all of that is just posturing or totally fake. im just saying that i think these biases run very deep and that its just like... dude you still have been just continuing the problem with your casting choices even when youre aware of the problem.

anyway basically when i started really thinking about it i just

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goldyke · 1 year

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On the topic of the cell block tango

youtube

This reimagining of the song deals with racism, ageism, ableism, homophobia, transphobia, and fatphobia in casting and theater spaces. Worth a watch

Also! They’re nominated for a web by if you want to vote for them

#equity #lucky charms

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dazedpuppydairies · 1 year

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New daily journaling, talking about looking for a new inexpensive hobby, and sharing about agoraphobia

Trigger Warning Going Forward For

Heavy discussion of agoraphobia

Talking about ableism within academic and healthcare spaces

Discussion of homelessness

Discussion of toxic/abusive living environments

Hiya, I'm Bandit and once again welcome to The Dazed Puppy Diaries!! Recently I've been looking for a new more inexpensive hobby so I thought I'd try to take up daily journaling on here. I've been dealing with writer's block lately, but I'm thinking just journaling about my day and maybe using some journaling prompts could help. I haven't actually found a lot of journaling prompts I like though so if you have any suggestions I'm all ears. I'm still looking for another more inexpensive hobby outside of journaling/blogging, but I'm having a difficult time.

Recently I've been coming to terms with the fact that I may have mild agoraphobia. In case you're not familiar with agoraphobia it can include the fear of leaving home alone, crowds or waiting in line, enclosed spaces, such as movie theaters, elevators or small stores, open spaces, such as parking lots, bridges or malls, and using public transportation, such as a bus, plane or train. These situations may cause the person with agoraphobia anxiety because they fear they might not be able to escape or get help, they fear they may have a panic attack or anxiety attack, or they may fear having other disabling or embarrassing symptoms, such as dizziness, fainting, falling or diarrhea. From my understanding the most common type of agoraphobia is associated with the fear of having a panic attack or anxiety attack in these settings and usually coincides with panic disorder. Though people with agoraphobia often have panic disorder it's important to note you don't need to have panic disorder or panic attacks to have agoraphobia.

I've been having trouble pinpointing the exact fear that causes me to have anxiety in these settings and often alternatively avoid them. I do have a history of panic disorder, but I don't think the fear of having panic attacks in these settings is exclusively what causes the anxiety. Having a mental health related episode rendering me helpless seems to be a big part of it, just not specifically/exclusively panic attacks. Though increased anxiety and panic like symptoms in these settings as of lately is why I've been avoiding them more. I have trouble putting it into words, but if I had to describe it I'm afraid of shutting down or having a mental health episode/symptoms that leave me trapped or helpless in some of these settings. The situations and settings that particularly cause me anxiety are going out alone, stores, and public transportation. As of lately the anxiety is getting much worse which is why I've come to terms with the fact that there's something more specific then generalized anxiety going on. I use the wording come to terms with specifically because I took note of this fear/anxiety arising all the way back in mid to late 2020, but convinced myself it wasn't an issue. I convinced myself because I was able to go outside and go to the store that I had worked through it and it was no longer an issue.

I think a big part of why I was in denial regarding this for so long is partially because my mental health team at the time invalidated all of my experiences as just anxiety. My therapist at that time once argued with me that me getting really excited was just my anxiety. She kept insisting I was anxious when I wasn't anxious and that was frustrating. I tried to explain to her that my excitement was a positive emotion and that my anxiety is a fearful emotion, but she kept saying, "I think we're talking about the same thing and just using different words to describe it". I understand physically excitement and anxiety are very similar, but psychologically they're different. Even if I was just fidgeting during an appointment she would mark that I was anxious and I stim a lot when I'm trying to concentrate so she would mark me as anxious in almost every single appointment whether I was anxious or not. Also because she was marking that I was anxious in all of my appointments that meant my psychiatric NP was also only going to pay attention to my anxiety. Then my psychiatric NP would use my anxiety to invalidate the fact that I have ADHD. One time she essentially said to me yeah you have all of the symptoms of ADHD, but we're going to keep treating for anxiety instead. She also once essentially accused me of just wanting ADHD medication for recreational uses, despite me not having a history of substance misuse, addiction, chemical dependency, etc. The main reason why I was gunning so hard for the proper diagnosis is because I wanted the diagnosis that actually matched my symptoms for my disability application. Nonetheless at the time I really didn't want to go to them expressing a new flavor of anxiety because they were already invalidating all of my other experiences as anxiety. I will acknowledge when I started going to that practice I was dealing with debilitating OCD symptoms, but I improved so much and they refused to acknowledge that which also really sucked.

Anyway I neglected my fear and anxiety surrounding these situations and settings for far long enough. I have been rather avoidant of these situations and settings recently, but something I have been able to take note of is that I feel so much better in these settings when I'm with someone like my girlfriend for example. I went to the store with my girlfriend a couple weeks ago and I wasn't all that anxious, a big part of the anxiety is being alone. I had to go to the department of human services building a couple weeks ago to get a new EBT card, I was alone and the whole time I was so anxious and just wishing I wasn't alone. I also think my OCD and other issues like social anxiety really egg on my fear in these situations.

Long story short a lot of the more inexpensive hobbies I can think of involve spending time outside and that's not super accessible to me at the moment. I would go outside and take a walk for example, but the idea of doing that makes me very uncomfortable. Like my current living situation genuinely isn't good, but I'm also very avoidant of going outside which is like a double-edged sword. Reminds me of early to mid 2021 during my senior year of high school, I was going through something similar. I was in this living situation then and people made comments like, "if it was that bad you would leave despite your fear" or, "what's worse living there or leaving". I mean my school counselor would say stuff like that to me and I thought it was insensitive then, but now I realize just how insensitive it was. Like way too invalidate both my abuse and mental health struggles all in one go. I did eventually leave in October of 2021 and become homeless. I found places to stay for over a year, but I was going to be homeless again so now I'm back in this situation. Like I've expressed my anxiety is worse now so it feels almost impossible to go back to the department of human services, and do that process all over again.

I should be moving in with two of my partners and metamor in August, but I need something to occupy my time in the meantime. I think I mentioned this in my pinned post one of my main hobbies is collecting things like dolls and stuffed animals, but that's a rather expensive hobby. On top of that you know if you collect dolls the doll second-hand market especially for lines like Monster High and Bratz is ridiculous right now. The Monster High collector dolls have been having really bad sculper issues etc etc. I don't have a proper income so I reasonably don't have money to be putting into this hobby right now so I'm looking for another one. My main hobby for a while was making kandi, but I don't have the supplies to make kandi right now. I really need to find something because I'm quite literally stuck in a bad living environment almost 24/7 with nothing to do until August. In the meantime I'm going to try journaling on here.

#journaling #journal blog #hobbies #mental health #mental health blog #agoraphobia #ableism #healthcare industry #abuse #toxic environment

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peace-uwu · 3 months

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I wish I knew how to actually advocate for myself. We are supposed to go to the movie theater today and I feel icky. By the time for the movie I might be fine enough to go but mom wants to go early and wander around the mall to kill time I guess. (Not right now, but just before the movie in a few hours)

And that is the perfect time to use the wheelchair. Even with the cane and multiple seated locations, I don't have the kind of energy necessary to just window shop before an activity. But I don't know how to bring it up as an option.

I just keep getting trapped in my own head about it which helps no one. But I don't want to to deal with the questions and implicit ableism that comes with doubting the necessity of a wheelchair "just" to go to the movies.

It's not the movie theater, it's the temporal space around it

#✌️ uwu

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drrogerjou · 7 months

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CASY Cultural Autism Studies (The Ethnography Project led by Dr. Dawn Prince-Hughes) Online Speaker Series is delighted to welcome Julia Lee Barclay-Morton, Ph.D. on Sunday, April 14, 1:00 p.m. EDT. The title of her talk is “IT SAVES YOUR LIFE: On Reframing Life After Very Late Autism Diagnosis.”

There is no cost to attend, and international participants are invited to join. RSVP online though our borderless Meetup group https://www.meetup.com/projectcasy/events/299687000/

DESCRIPTION (provided by the guest): I will discuss the process of writing and researching IT SAVES YOUR LIFE, notes on very late-diagnosed autism, ableism and awe, a researched memoir-in-progress about the liberation of being diagnosed Autistic at 57 in 2021 and reframing my life as a consequence. Integrated within the memoir is a parallel timeline of the misconceptions, mistreatments, and misdiagnoses of autism during my lifetime, through to the hard-fought movement to depathologize autism, which has emerged primarily from within the adult Autistic community itself. Also woven into the memoir is the understory of the “lines of flight" that gave me air and space to breathe throughout my life including theater, writing, yoga, and sobriety, alongside a lesser-known more autism-friendly timeline, including recently available writing about and by a radical French educator who created a haven in the 1960s-80s where non-speaking Autistic children could live freely as themselves.

BRIEF BIOGRAPHY: Julia Lee Barclay-Morton, Ph.D. is an award-winning writer/director, whose writing has been produced and published internationally; her first book, a hybrid collection, THE MORTALITY SHOT was published in 2022 by Liquid Cat Books; forthcoming essay (excerpted from memoir) in Autism in Adulthood, with recent publications in Oldster, Prairie Schooner, [PANK], Heavy Feather Review, and Nomadic Press. She founded Apocryphal Theatre when in London (2003-11), which work was the basis of her fully-funded Ph.D. from University of Northampton (2009); two decades of her experimental stage texts were streamed in 2022, commissioned by Radio Art Zone. She is now working on her memoir about being diagnosed autistic very late in life, while painting and teaching in NYC where she lives with her husband and cat. More at TheUnadaptedOnes.com.

About CASY Cultural Autism Studies (The Ethnography Project led by Dr. Dawn Prince-Hughes): An 'ethnography' is an exploration of how a group of people express themselves in a cultural way. Autistic people have a growing kind of culture, and each autistic experience is a vital part of it. Dr. Dawn Prince-Hughes is an anthropologist, ethnographer, primatologist, and author who is autistic. Join her for an exploration of the importance of autistic self-expression and the culture that grows from it. Those who wish to share their content are free to do so on our private Facebook group (see below), organically contributing to a growing autistic culture.

Links to online events will also be shared on these private Facebook groups: SOCIAL CONNECTIVITY FOR AUTISM (http://tinyurl.com/mrxnxmnc) or CASY Cultural Autism Studies... The Ethnography Project (http://tinyurl.com/4ckbyut7).

CREDITS: The preparation of this material was financed under an agreement with the Connecticut Council on Developmental Disabilities (CTCDD). CASY Sparks membership, activities and events are free. CASY Sparks is sponsored in part by The Daniel Jordan Fiddle Foundation Adult Autism Research Fund, and a generous gift from the Rosen family, and the research of Dr. Roger Jou, including Simons Foundation Powering Autism Research (SPARK) Clinical Site Network - Yale University (https://www.SPARKforAutism.org/Yale).

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fennopunk · 2 years

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Me and my theater friend might have gone to the executive meeting of our theater group, because we're pissed, and we lectured the board for like half an hour about disability, ableism and accessibility.

At one point I described the meltdown I had after the last show of the show week last winter. In graphic detail. My friend, who was the same person who managed to calm me down a bit, pack my stuff and arrange a ride home for me (while she was supposed to do other time sensitive tasks, but a friend with self-destructive meltdown kinda takes priority) supplemented where my own memoried are hazy. For example, I didn't actually remember that I really was self-destructive (apparently I hit myself...) and I had claimed that I'm able to walk to the tram (lol nope), and that they almost had to carry me to the car 😶

I also described how I experienced the sensory imput of the meeting place - I pointed out EVERYTHING I heard, which was a lot because the meeting was held at the deck of a bar in the city center. One of the board members, who's also my friend and has way more genuine empathy and care in his little finger than most have in their entire bodies, actually apologized afterwards because he hadn't realized how I would experience the noise there.

We had to be bit mean to drive the point across, but we may have reached our goals, and there will be actual actions towards better accessibility and inclusion of disabled people, which means we may actually apply to either team leader or team member positions ✌️

#disability #accessibility #ableism #theater drama #theater rambles #we finally got greenlight for having the costume room doubling as a quiet space too #we volunteered to be responsible for making it #so I will see if I can buy or build a play tent and aquire few spare earmuffs #they're the bare minimum supplies for the room #and I luckily have at least six months to plan and prepare

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beaftly · 2 years

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I have thought about what would happen if I was to be in a building fire, several stories up. I can't take the stairs. Access to life is an afterthought by the public.

I think all the time about whether this shop or that shop has wide enough aisles for me and my mobility aid, whether today it's my cane or my wheelchair. Access to the business of my choosing is an afterthought by the public.

I wonder if there is enough accessible parking at my destination - if there's any at all. My ability to get safely and easily out of the car is an afterthought by the public.

My dad wants to go out for coffee. "Let's go to that little coffee shop downtown, you know the one." But there are stairs up to the entrance. I can't take the stairs, and there's no back door. My patronage of businesses like this is not only an afterthought by the public, but also now an afterthought by my own father.

I contemplate the risks of flying across the world. Approximately twenty-eight wheelchairs are lost or irreparably damaged by airlines every day. My wheelchair cost twelve thousand US dollars, and insurance won't cover a new one for four more years. I can't risk my freedom just to fly. My right to pursue happiness is an afterthought by the public, and by the governments of the world that have their fingers in commercial aviation.

Mask mandates are lifting, and the people who don't want to think too hard about the vulnerable are no longer wearing them. I'm vulnerable. I see you. COVID-19 increases the risk of cardiac issues, which I recall as my heart beats irregular in my chest, one of my many comorbidities. I will not be another casualty if I can help it. Yet I am an afterthought of the public, so I'm not sure how feasible this is.

The closest movie theater to me has stairs up to the front doors, and its ramp is too steep, breaking the law. Inside the theater, the wheelchair-accessible seating is at the bottom front of the room, forcing attendees to crane their necks up to the screen. My comfort and enjoyment at the movie theater is an afterthought by the public.

I see access issues everywhere I go. I see things that are a mere nuisance, and things that are life-threatening. I will probably never legally fight an entity on accessibility, aside from informing them that their business is exclusive. The Americans with Disabilities Act is not enforced by any particular means; it relies on the disabled individual to sue the business owner in order to enact change. When my disability payments amount to less than seven thousand dollars per year, the thought of suing anyone is absurd.

I am not legally allowed to work without losing my SSI. I am not allowed to have more than two thousand dollars in assets, or my SSI is taken from me. I am not allowed to leave the country for more than thirty days, or no more SSI. I am not allowed to be hospitalized for more than thirty days - or no more SSI.

So tell me, how am I supposed to fight public access issues? I am only one person. I'm sure there's a pro-bono lawyer out there who could help me, but it is not my job to make the world accessible, and I'm tired. But the thing is, nobody else is doing this for me.

And this is only in the United States. Canada, for example, has no equivalent of the Americans with Disabilities Act. How, then, are disabled Canadians supposed to have access to anything at all?

I don't have a pretty conclusion here other than the fact that this all constitutes ableism. And I'm tired of it. I'm tired of strangers' disregard for my most basic safety. I'm tired of businesses cutting corners because "people like you don't go out anyway." I'm sick of my own family treating my disability as a nuisance or an afterthought to them. I'm tired of literally being physically shunned from public spaces, over and over again.

Just remember: disability is coming for you, the able-bodied and young. One day these issues will all be yours to inherit. So start planning now. Start sticking up for disabled people now. Start making changes now. Or you'll regret it when you're old and frail, struggling to open a door that isn't up to code.

Able-bodied people are welcomed to reblog, but don't clown.

#cripple punk #mine #cripplepunk #cpunk

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soysaucevictim · 4 years

Text

Cherry Cola

Summary: Roman is forced to face his own limits, during one particularly reckless day at the gym. (Sanders Sides Human AU, will call this the Gym Rat AU. One-shot. Ao3 link.)

Genres: Hurt/Comfort, Sickfic, Slice of Life

Characters: Roman & Janus centric. Remus supporting. Patton, Virgil, and Logan mentioned.

Relationships: Rociet (romantic/ambiguous*), Creativitwins (familial), DLAMPR (platonic)

Warnings: Hospitalization, over-training, illness, rhabdomyolysis, heat stroke, internalized ableism (brief), angst

Roman needed to de-stress.

One of his many outlets after work and everything else, was going to the gym. It was a great way to just focus on the rep counts, the whole-body burn, and his fitness progress. Nothing else mattered, in those sessions. It wasn’t his only outlet, but theater group wasn’t until a few days from then and he had far too much steam to blow off, this time.

This time, most of his usual workout buds were preoccupied. One source of stress was worrying how Patton was dealing with a health crisis in his family. Or the new hours Virgil had to take on because he needed to pay off some hefty car repair bills. Or how his boyfriend was off on a business trip again…

There were a few other people at the gym that afternoon. Most of them were regulars, but he was usually too focused on his workouts to chat. This was not the first time he did things solo, but he admitted it was always more fun with company. And probably more safe.

This was his second session for the day, he made plans on squeezing in another before closing time. He had some morning cardio and worked on his abs, behind him. He noticed the sweat he was working up in the summer heat. He knew he probably should’ve hit the water fountain a few more times than he did, or packed a sports drink that day. But he was too determined on pushing those personal bests. He was fine!

Janus and Logan would constantly remind him how he should space these intense workout days more with lighter work. Hell. Today was going to be an “active rest” day. He’ll make up for that later in the week. It wasn’t the first time he strung together a couple intense workout days in a row. He was a bit more sore than usual today, but he could work through that, right?

He was too agitated to take things easy. A lot of his coworkers at the telemarketing firm were laid off recently, so he was slammed with their workloads, until management got their crap together. That bureaucratic stuff was far outside his understanding or care. Logan would note it was an inefficient clusterfuck, Janus would note it was unfair to him. But for the time being, Roman didn’t really have a choice but to stay with that job.

He looked down at his phone, dialing up the volume of his music and kept going. He just wanted to get himself so exhausted he could sleep easier, that night.

He focused on his lower body this time. Warming up with body weight versions of all the exercises he intended to ramp up. Calf raises, squats, dead lifts, that kind of stuff. He started with small set sizes, increasing the rep counts and piling on varying free weight to ratchet up the intensity.

After about a half hour, he had his rep counts per set approach the 100s. The adrenaline and endorphins were doing their jobs. He was sweating buckets at this point, most of his friends would probably tell him to chill out by now. But he was committed to the slate he gave himself.

He’s gotten dizzy spells before, had a few the day prior, minor inconveniences, really. Even as his thoughts started to fog, in the last few sets, he forced himself to finish things. This wasn’t his first time he rendered his limbs weak from fatigue, but things felt simultaneously extraordinarily heavy and rubbery. Standing up had him a bit queasy. When was the last time he topped up on his water? Why haven’t the owners here fixed their A/C? Why was his vision tunneling?

He only managed a couple steps away from the bench, before his legs gave out on him.

“H-hey, you okay? You with me?”

One of the regulars, Roman vaguely remembered him saying his name started with an N. The voice sounded far away, Roman could only moan unintelligibly.

“Okay, I’m definitely getting you some help.”

Roman found himself drifting in and out of consciousness, feeling nothing but confusion. Things stopped feeling real.

He barely remembered being put on a body board, someone flashing a light in his face, and the sound of ambulance sirens.

At some point, everything went black.

Roman heard some beeping.

He felt he was in a bed, he didn’t remember driving home… this wasn’t his bed.

He opened his eyes to see that he was in the hospital, various tubes to various bags hooked up to him. His stomach dropped as he looked around in a confused panic.

It didn’t take him long to see two familiar faces that looked a mix of worry and anger at him. His boyfriend sat next his brother in the visitor seating of the room.

Janus cleared his throat, “Looks like my Prince Charming is awake. You gave me-us quite the start.”

Roman was about to muster a response before Janus snapped at him, laden in concern, “I-I reserve the right to chew you out for this when you’re discharged!”

Roman gulped, before saying weakly, “I-I’m sorry but what... happened?”

Remus, not one to be squeamish or reverent, pulled up a bag full of something that reminded him of Coca-Cola, from the foot of the hospital bed. “What do you think this is, Ro?”

There was a delay in Roman making the connection, suddenly aware of where that tube was attached. Roman was ashamed, “Th-that’s my-?”

Remus spoke in his usual crassness, “PISS! And I’m pretty sure it’s not supposed to look like that. The doctors here said you REALLY did a number on your kidneys.”

Roman wasn’t the most knowledgeable about this kind of medical stuff. But that didn’t sound good. He spoke up, “Am I going to be okay?”

Janus sighed, “I guess you should be glad that Nico kid at the gym called 911, when he did. But I’ll leave the explaining to the... Professionals, here.”

Roman grew aware of what he put himself through. Feeling as if he just caught a really bad case of flu- everything in him ached, he was sapped of energy, and his head was swimming. He didn’t really want to think of any of the lasting effects this may have.

He wound up staying there for almost half a week.

Janus took a few days of sick leave, after Roman was released from the hospital.

Just to take care of Roman. Roman felt a lot of things about this.

One of the things that lingered somewhat was being reminded of how badly he screwed up. He was still stiff, sore, and aching. This lasted longer and was harder than anything he experienced before. He would be tempted to beat himself up over this, but his body was doing enough of that right now. Didn’t stop him from trying.

It made it hard to sleep. The pain and his restless thoughts, wanting to do more than basically nothing. At times he succeeded to stay up and write some notes for future projects. But Janus was there, glaring daggers into him to get enough sleep. Though he had a prickly bent, Roman was glad he stuck around. Janus showed a kinder side for the worst moments, holding him, comforting him.

Occasionally Janus would oblige him with a nice massage. Roman’s numbers weren’t quite good enough to be taking much in the ways of pain relief.

Janus wasn’t a huge fan of knocking their apartment’s A/C down so much, but given that the doctors mentioned Roman suffered a heat stroke on top of that rhabdo-something-or-other. Janus bore with it. He could bundle up or go stand outside, if it was too much. Sometimes he just needed some time to think, anyways.

All the caffeinated stuff was taken to Remus’s place, to Roman’s chagrin. Whenever Janus caught Roman drinking anything other than plain water, he was treated with a knowing scowl. Roman would get frustrated, “OKAY! FINE, I’ll have some water after this. What are you, my mom?!”

Followed by both of them laughing about it. Roman knew Janus just cared about him, even if he tended to pretend he was made of ice. It was evident by just how often Janus reviewed the discharge papers and doted on him.

He did wish he could get back on his feet already, though. He wished he could help out with the house work more, but his entire body creaked at all but the smallest things. He realistically knew that he just didn’t have that kind of energy – having to sit down and rest frequently.

It was a week since Roman wound up in the hospital.

“… if your creatine levels don’t go down, we may need to refer you to a nephrologist. Have you been taking it easy, like we asked?”

This was the follow-up after his second round of tests. Roman had no idea what those words really meant, but it still sounded bad. “Y-yeah. My boyfriend has been on my case this entire time...”

“That’s good to hear. While it’s still too soon to be certain with these numbers, we do hope that you can get back to your normal activities, sooner than later. We’ll let you know when that’s a good idea.”

As soon as his friends caught wind of what happened to Roman. He was inundated with “Get Well Soon” cards.

“Heard what happened. Sucks, man. If you need to talk about shit, I’ll make the time.”

“Don’t be afraid to ask for help, kiddo! I’ll be there in a heartbeat, if you need me!”

“I understand you might be overwhelmed, after everything. If you need some help in the executive functioning department, I would be glad to provide… that is, paperwork and the like.”

“HEY. FUCKFACE. GET BETTER SOON, SO I CAN TAKE TURNS WITH JANNIE KICKING YOUR ASS FOR THIS. Rest assured, there will be no dignity to be had.”

He was grateful for all of the attention. But he also didn’t want to keep getting treated like a helpless child.

He was glad Janus didn’t feel the need to join in that. Sentiment was pretty apparent from his actions and he appreciated him.

Mixed emotions sucked, sometimes.

These were the longest two weeks in his life.

Roman was getting more anxious about being told that if those numbers didn’t go down by then – the idea that he may’ve permanently damaged himself floated in his mind. How would that affect him? He didn’t want to speculate.

He was feeling sick and tired of being sick and tired. His head was still somewhat foggy.

He didn’t know if the low-boiling nausea was from being stressed out about this upcoming set of tests or… no. He’s going to just hope for the best.

“Hm. Good news is that you’re now barely under the threshold we’ve been concerned with – but…”

“Yeah?”

“The fact it’s only just and has been slower than expected to go down to normal levels. It can’t hurt to at least cover our bases, at this point.”

Roman gulped. The doctor reassured him, “I’m hoping I’m just being cautious here and you’ll be in the clear soon. But I’ll leave it to the specialists to be certain.”

“O-okay.“

The next battery of tests were grueling, thanks to that team of specialists his primary doctor referred him to.

Most of the names for them or what kinds of doctors who saw him kind of made his eyes glaze over. All he knew was they checked his heart, his kidneys, and how well his muscles were doing.

In particular, he didn’t anticipate just how much the exercise challenge was going to put him toward passing out. How many milestones DID he lose that day? He swore he could’ve breezed through that load before...

He had to do everything twice in a few days of each other, before he was told anything certain.

The head of the team spoke to him about the results, “Okay. It does look like your kidney function is still somewhat diminished. And there was a not insubstantial loss of overall muscle mass. But we do think you can go into the next phase of recovery.”

Roman felt hopeful again, “Really?”

“With caution. Your kidneys are holding acceptably, they might return to optimal functioning or they may remain with some deficit. Be that as it may... this puts you at higher risk of more significant damage, should this happen again. And you may be able to regain muscle condition, with physical therapy.”

Roman looked down, sobered. “I-I think I understand.”

“Begin light activity, NO strenuous activity.”

Roman mulled that over as he did the dishes. His legs still fatigued easily, so he kneeled on a dining chair for some of the work. He didn’t LIKE that he had to do that. But he was just glad he could do anything.

To help him stay active, Janus lent him one of his canes. His favorite one, actually. It had a brass lion head on the end of the handle, a glossy black faux snake-skin grip, varnished cherry wood body, and a wide rubber foot. Janus needed them, but was often vague about it. Roman respected Janus enough not to push that.

Roman felt some irrational shame in needing it too. But he was determined to take back some of what he lost.

Janus however would pop into view whenever he noticed Roman showing really any sign of strain. Janus didn’t need to say anything for Roman to acquiesce, lightheartedly, “Okay - okay, I’ll cool it. Geez!”

Janus’s voice and demeanor softened, “That’s what I want to hear.”

On a weekly basis, Roman had to see his doctors to get reassessed.

At first, he just seemed to be in a holding pattern in everything. Better than going backwards, but no less frustrating.

Then, Roman began to notice how the team looked encouraged by the results.

He asked them, “So? How am I doing?”

“At this point, we believe you can be cleared for physical therapy and increased activity. But first, we must ask, how’s the muscle pain?”

They asked him that frequently, he still ached, but it had gone down considerably. “I-I think it’s been getting better.”

“Good to know.”

Had it really been almost three months?

He was glad to be back in the gym, he had to take it all in. The sights of the machines, the mats, and other members moving their bodies. The sounds of clanking plates, machinery, and other members. Even the smells made him smile… which was a little weird even for him. He guessed he was getting that stir-crazy. Remus probably, no, definitely wouldn’t let him hear the end of that one.

Roman wasn’t alone this time. Janus made sure of that.

“My turn to spot you?”

“Yeah.”

He knew he still had a ways to go, and he probably would need more check-ups, but he was glad to have some normalcy back.

#spilled musing #sanders sides #roman sanders #janus sanders #remus sanders #patton sanders #virgil sanders #logan sanders #(another entry in the 'roman is bad at healthy coping mechanisms' dept)#gymrat au #roceit #creativitwins

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spicycreativity · 3 years

Text

Fear in Friendship (is an ugly trait)

Heehoo, this oneshot is short enough to crosspost on Tumblr instead of just linking to my AO3

Length: ~5k Premise: Percy Jackson AU/Fusion Characters: Roman, Remus, Janus ships: N/A Content Warnings: PJO-typical violence & injury, potential very very light ableism vibes (more info in the beginning notes on AO3)

Read on AO3

"Janice?" Roman asked, tilting his head at the new student Remus had brought to meet him. He was about to be late for after-school rehearsal, but Remus had come trotting up dragging the newcomer by the hand, and he'd looked so excited that Roman just couldn't bring himself to blow his brother off.

The new student glared. "Jan-US," he said, with an incredulous look at Remus, as if to say 'this idiot is your brother?' "Like the Roman god." He said it like it was obvious, like Roman was some kind of moron for not knowing. The sneering tone made Roman's blood run hot with anger and shame.

"I don't know all about that nerdy shit," Roman said, waving a hand dismissively.

Janus rolled his eyes. "Really? I would never have guessed; you seem so smart."

He was almost handsome, Roman thought, trying to study Janus' face without giving away that he was staring. He really might have been good-looking if it wasn't for the look of irritation that had been glued to his face ever since he'd entered Roman's field of vision.

A field of scarring spanned the left side of his face and traveled down his neck until the painful-looking swirl of pink and white disappeared under his high-collared shirt. The scarring itself was not necessarily unusual, just standard burn scars. What caught Roman's attention was how they just stopped, all in a straight, uniform line directly down the center of Janus' face. Almost like… Roman tried not to shudder as the thought came to him. Almost like someone had done it on purpose.

He swallowed hard and tried to get himself back on track. "Least I don't share a name with our librarian, Miss Janice."

"God, you're such a dick." Remus ran a hand through his unruly hair, shooting Roman a dark look. Roman stuck out his tongue. "Forget it." He took Janus by the wrist again and turned away. "Come on, let's go see if we can hack the vending machine."

"Oh, no you don't." Roman lunged forward, irritation coursing through him, and grabbed the top of Remus' backpack. "You're coming with me so I can keep an eye on you."

"No way!" Remus squirmed, but Roman kept his grip tight. "I don't wanna go to your stupid rehearsal."

To Roman's surprise, Janus chimed in with a keen and interested, "Rehearsal?"

"He thinks he's hot shit because he's playing Danny Zuko." Remus rolled his eyes, still trying to wiggle free of Roman's grip. "News flash, anyone can memorize lines and prance around in a leather jacket."

"So why don't you try out?" Roman asked rhetorically, starting to pull Remus down the hall.

Remus went along with it, though Roman knew full-well that he could have slipped out of his backpack and made a run for it at any time. "'Cause I'm too busy bangin'! Ba dum ch!"

As they made their way down the hall, Janus walked beside them in silence. Roman watched him out of the corner of his eye, frowning at the way he continually glanced over his shoulder like he was expecting to get in some sort of trouble. It was a look Roman was well familiar with. He had seen it on Remus and he had worn it himself far more times than he was comfortable with. Roman and his brother seemed to attract danger wherever they went, from stalkers to muggers to one stranger's memorable attempt at running them over in the crosswalk. It was never the same person twice, and each isolated incident could be chalked up to an accident. Roman didn't like to think about it for too long and worked hard to keep Remus from talking about it. After the first mugging, Remus had sworn for weeks that their assailant had had a tail. Roman had denied it out loud, but he couldn't lie to himself. Something wasn't right.

If Janus was equally as twitchy… Was he part of it? Did he know something?

"I understand the compulsion, since I am quite good-looking," Janus said, in a tone so dry it could have drained an Olympic swimming pool, "but you'd better quit staring at me before you walk into a door."

"I spaced out," Roman said, unable to think of a snappier retort. He couldn't help but shoot Janus suspicious looks out of the corner of his eye as they continued toward the Main building. "Where'd you transfer from, anyway? How old are you?"

Janus put his hands up like a cornered criminal. "You caught me," he said, affecting regret. "I'm a 43 year-old police officer trying to track down a drug ring. Promise me you won't tell?"

"Little does he know, I'm the distributor," Remus said, finally yanking free from Roman's hold. Roman let him go, knowing that if he had stayed this long, he probably wasn't going to run off.

Roman rolled his eyes. "Very funny, J Jonah Hill. But seriously."

"I'm 16," Janus said. "I transferred from a school in New York."

"All the way from New York? How'd you end up in Florida?" Roman yanked open the door to Main and held it for Remus and Janus. He was tempted to let it drop on Remus just to watch him stumble, but found himself distracted by a gold keychain on Janus' backpack. It was nothing special, just a shiny metal Gemini symbol, but the way it caught the light made Roman pause.

"Teleported," Janus said.

"Are you allergic to straight answers, or what?" Roman asked, unamused. Janus' mocking demeanor didn't sit well with him, and something about Janus' face didn't make sense. The scars seemed almost superficial, and didn't always move in conjunction with his mouth. Roman felt stupid just thinking it, but it was almost like they were masking something.

"What crawled up your ass?" Remus demanded. He turned to Janus. "Sorry, he's not usually such an asshole. He's probably just nervous about hitting all those high notes. I heard him practicing in the shower last night and it was like someone was skinning a cat."

"I sounded awesome," Roman said, blushing furiously. He paused before the theater doors, turning his back to them so he could directly address Remus. "Go find a seat. And I swear to God, if you cause any disruptions, I'll shave your drumsticks down into toothpicks."

"Not the Vic Firths!" Remus said, gasping in faux-horror. He dismissed Roman with a wave of his hand and motioned for Janus to follow him. "C'mon, let's go see if we can catch a cockroach."

Roman just shook his head and hurried backstage.

He had a hard time focusing during rehearsal, missing cues and tripping over himself on lines he had memorized days ago. But he was too distracted to even be bothered, subtly trying to keep an eye on Remus-- okay, on Janus from his vantage point on the stage.

Roman couldn't help it. He didn't trust Janus. The haunted look in his eyes, the way he was always looking over his shoulder… Something was off.

No matter how hard he tried, Roman couldn't force himself to focus. His thoughts kept whirling until they transformed into an overwhelming sense of dread that demanded all his attention. He barely even noticed when rehearsal ended, hurrying into the seating area to try to find Remus.

He wasn't there. Of course he wasn't there. Roman shouldered his backpack and strode off toward the bathrooms, trying hard not to panic. What if Janus was bad news? What if he had hurt Remus? What if Remus was lying bloody in a back corner somewhere because Roman wasn't there to protect him?

"Remus?" Roman called, checking both bathrooms. Nothing. "Shit." Where else did Remus like to go? Maybe the band room? Roman set off for it at a jog, his backpack bouncing against his back.

Nothing in the band room. Roman tried the handle anyway, just to confirm that it was locked.

"I'm going to kill him," Roman muttered, stalking off toward the football field. He swung by the vending machines on the way just in case, and came up empty. It had to be the football field, then. Remus had been talking about playing with the tackle dummies for weeks. That had to be it.

Roman forced himself to slow down as he approached the football field, not wanting Remus to know how badly he'd been freaking out. Of course Remus was there, doing cartwheels on the turf while Janus sat and watched.

"I told you not to leave!" Roman said, marching up to the pair of them.

"You didn't," Janus said, smirking. Roman glared at him. In the sun, his scars seemed to fade for a moment, revealing only the slightest hint of… green? Roman shook his head. It must have been the light reflecting off the turf. Janus continued, "You only said to find a seat and not cause any disruptions."

"I was gonna release a cockroach onto the stage and see if I could get it to go up your pants leg," Remus said, falling out of a cartwheel and landing on his back. "But Janus convinced me not to."

"You're welcome," Janus said.

Roman couldn't help but stare at him. His scars flickered in and out in the sunlight, the dark brown of his left eye flashing yellow. "Remus, get behind me," Roman said, deadly serious.

"What?" Remus lifted his head. "Why?"

Roman didn't answer, stepping between his brother and Janus. "What are you?" he demanded.

Janus' eyes widened before a look of realization crossed his face. "I'm a friend," he said in a silky, almost crooning tone. "You can trust me."

"He's a friend," Remus repeated. "Why are you being so weird?"

A sense of calm slid over Roman for half a second before he snapped out of it. "What are you?" he repeated, stepping forward into Janus' personal space. Now that he was looking for it, he could see it clear as day: Janus was half-snake. His entire left half was covered in dull green scales, and a slit pupil neatly bisected the sickly yellow of his left eye.

Janus put up his hands. "You're stronger than Remus," he said, almost to himself.

Roman grabbed him by the collar. "You have 30 seconds to explain what's going on."

"Look," Janus said. "You know you're not normal, right?"

"Bad start," Roman said, making a show of cocking his fist back. He'd never hit anyone in his life, save the occasional thrown elbow in wrestling matches with Remus. Should he go for the jaw? The eye?

"You have an absent parent, you get in trouble a lot, you've been in a lot of one-off dangerous situations that you can't really explain," Janus rattled off like he was reciting from a memorized list. "You're dyslexic, you make things happen like magic. Stop me when this sounds familiar."

"Some of those things, maybe," Roman said. Remus was dyslexic and they'd both had their fair share of dangerous run-ins. Distantly, he thought he heard the overlapping thumps of several car doors shutting. "What does that have to do with you?"

"You aren't human," Janus said.

"You aren't human," Roman shot back.

Janus rubbed his forehead and sighed. "Okay, look. You're the only one who can see my real face, right? Why do you think that is?"

"I don't know!" Roman said. Distracted, he let go of Janus' shirt. "What are you saying?"

"I'm trying to say that-- Okay, you know what? Let's just rip the blindfold off like a Band-Aid, sure!" Janus gave a hysterical-sounding laugh. "You're a demigod. You're both demigods."

Roman scoffed, unsure of exactly what else to say. A million questions raced through his mind, punctuated by that slamming car door sound again. What was that, anyway? He backed away from Janus and nearly stepped on Remus, who grabbed him by the ankle and bit. "You can stop harassing my friend now, you neurotic weirdo."

"Look at him!" Roman said. He bent down and hauled Remus to his feet, and was immediately distracted by a mechanical-sounding hissing and creaking. "I'm sorry, does anyone else hear a broken washing machine?"

"Whoa!" said Remus. "You're a snake!”

"I am not," Janus said.

Roman spun around, still searching for the source of the noise. It came into view a moment later and he froze for half a second, eyes widening. "Uhh, guys?" he said, backing up despite himself. He kept his gaze locked onto the massive copper bull that was striding directly at the fencing surrounding the football field, radiating heat that warped the air around it.

"What the heck is that?" Remus asked in obvious fascination.

"Listen," Janus said, his voice strangely calm. In the corner of his eye, Roman could just make out Janus as he removed his backpack and yanked the gold Gemini keychain off the zipper. "You need to get to my car. It's the blue Kia Soul parked by the main entrance."

In the distance, the bull backed up and smashed its way through the fence with a horrible clanging sound.

"Is that thing gonna try to kill us?" Remus asked.

The bull meandered closer, looking as nonchalant as a massive metal bull could. Roman fought the urge to back up, to grab Remus by the hand and get the hell out of dodge. "Why isn't it attacking?"

"It probably hasn't seen us yet," Janus said. He sounded as calm as ever, but Roman didn't miss the frantic rise and fall of his chest. "Walk off," he said. "Slowly."

"What about you?" Roman demanded.

Janus spun the keychain around his finger. The metal gleamed in the sun and lengthened into something Roman didn't recognize: a long metal pole with a half-moon blade at the end. "I'll hold it off."

"You can't seriously think--" Roman started, but the bull looked up and started to charge and the words died on his lip as raw panic choked out his rational thought

"Run!" Janus ordered. "Blue Kia Soul. Meet me there!"

Roman shrugged out of his backpack, grabbed Remus by the wrist and sprinted.

"Are you crazy?" Remus shouted. "We can't just leave him!"

"No shit!" Roman shouted back, still dragging Remus along. "We need weapons or something!"

"Hurdles," Remus said, veering off to the side.

Roman nearly tripped and was forced to let go of Remus’ hand. He wanted to argue, but there was very little of potential use on the field. The tackle dummies and tires left out by the football team were far too heavy for them to move. The track hurdles were the only things even remotely useful. Remus grabbed one and started hauling it back toward the fray, and Roman was quick to follow suit. He didn't want Remus going in first if he could help it.

The hurdle was unwieldy and made his hands ache, but he barely noticed, too wrapped in not tripping while he watched Janus in a state of adrenaline-riddled horror.

By some miracle, Janus wasn't dead. In fact, to Roman's puzzlement, he sort of looked like he knew what he was doing. More or less. He held his weapon with confidence and kept his center of gravity low. The bull seemed to have no other strategy than to aim itself at a target and charge, allowing Janus to dodge every time. Unfortunately, it seemed he could only dodge, as the long handle of his weapon, whatever it was, didn't allow for quick maneuvers.

They were locked in a stalemate, and it was pretty much a guarantee that Janus was going to tire out. He was already breathing heavily, keeping his moments sparing and conservative.

Then Remus came flying in and Roman could only watch as his brother flung the track hurdle with wild abandon. "Die!"

"I told you to run!" Janus shouted, barely audible over the clanging of the bull kicking furiously to try to dislodge its back legs from the hurdle

"We'll run after we finish saving your ass," Roman said. The bull's head swiveled between the two of them, as Remus was still behind it, and Roman swore he saw a spark of intelligence in its molten-metal eyes. Without any sort of warning, it kicked Remus in the chest and took off at a dead sprint for Janus again.

For a split second, Roman was paralyzed. Remus hit the ground hard and rolled and lay still; Janus stood frozen with guilt written all over his face.

"Move!" Roman shouted, already formulating a plan. If he could get the hurdle underfoot while the bull was charging, it might trip, allowing Janus enough time to… stab it or slash it or whatever his weapon was supposed to be good for.

Janas sidestepped again and dashed forward. He glared at Roman, too winded to speak.

"I need you to draw its attention again," Roman said, glancing at the bull. It left deep gouges in the artificial grass where it stopped, and the rubber smoked from the sheer heat it put out. It turned and pawed the ground. "And I swear to God, if you let it get to Remus again, I will end you."

"Like it was my fault," Janus panted, already in motion. He backed up, careful to step away from Remus. Lacking any spare fabric to wave, he threw his free arm out and shouted, "It's me that you want."

He used the same silken, commanding tone he'd tried on Roman earlier. Roman made a mental note to ask him about that when they weren't in the middle of a death match.

The bull charged. Roman threw the hurdle. Then everything went to Hell.

The bull did trip as Roman had intended, but it had so much momentum that it kept thundering toward Janus as it stumbled and scrabbled for balance on the melting rubber chips. A wayward hoof caught Janus in the ankle and knocked him flat, practically right underneath its massive chest. He gave a shout and dropped his weapon, and Roman realized with a feeling of sinking dread that it must have been too hot to touch.

Well, there went that.

He needed a new plan and he needed it now. Already the bull was finding its footing and turning its fiery glare on Roman.

Roman charged it, feeling more like Remus' brother than he had ever had before. "Die!" He rolled forward and grabbed Janus' weapon, barely noticing the heat that seared into his palms-- He didn't have time for pain or panic. Spotting a crack in the metal plating on the bull's back, Roman aimed the blade and shoved. The bull shuddered and Janus shouted something, but Roman had no room for thoughts more complex than kill, protect, kill, protect. He shoved and shoved until the bull gave a final hiss and went still, until sweat poured into his eyes and he could no longer keep them open, until the metal shaft of Janus' weapon snapped under his hand.

"Remus!" Janus shouted.

That got Roman's attention. He left Janus half-pinned under the steaming body of the bull and dashed for Remus' prone form.

He was already starting to sit up and self-assess, touching the back of his head and studying his bloodied fingers with an unsettling blank expression.

"Are you okay?" Roman asked.

Remus blinked hard, stared at him. "Is it dead?"

"Yeah, it's dead."

"Where's Janus?"

Roman frowned and looked behind him. Janus had extracted himself from the wreckage of the bull and was kneeling and wiping the sweat off his face. "Remus is asking for you," Roman said, trying not to let his bitterness show in his voice.

"You broke my scythe," Janus said, not moving.

"You could thank me for saving your life," Roman shot back, half-forgetting Remus.

"That was my best weapon! Now all I have is this stupid knife."

"Are you coming over or not?"

"I can't." Janus glared at Roman. "Somebody dropped a two-ton Colchis bull on me and shattered my ankle in the process."

"But did you die?"

"Can you stop yelling?" Remus murmured, burying his face in his hands.

Roman stared at him, heart hammering with renewed fear. "Are you okay?"

"I just want to go home."

"You can't," Janus said. Roman glared at him, but he continued without acknowledging it, "It's not safe. The monsters know about you now. You have to come with me."

"And why the Hell would we do that?" Roman demanded. "You almost got us killed!"

Remus peeked over the tops of his fingers. "I don't think it was his fault, Roman."

"Thanks for the backup, bro." Roman rolled his eyes and turned to address Janus again. "Why should we trust you?"

The look Janus gave him could have burned a hole in titanium. "Hm, let's see. Who has all the answers? Who just tried to save your ungrateful ass? Think hard now, Roman, don't be afraid to phone a friend."

"I get it, I get it." Roman got to his feet, surprised at how stiff and sore he already felt. He extended a hand to Remus only to yelp in sudden agony when Remus tried to grab on. He turned his hands over and found both palms bright red and shiny with small blisters on the centers. He offered Renus his forearm instead, and steadied him as he swayed. "You okay?"

"Super," Remus wheezed. "Fucking peachy. I got kicked right in the tit by a steampunk rodeo bull and busted my head open on the single rock in this entire field of soft-ass rubber chips. Can't wait to tell Mom."

"Shit!" Roman said. "Mom!" Realization hit a moment later-- she was out of town for a few days at some big-shot surfing exposition, no kids allowed.

"She's in for a nasty surprise."

"Very nasty," Janus said, "unless your godly parent warned her ahead of time. Is anyone going to help me up?" Roman forced himself to compartmentalize. One thing at a time. Remus seemed steady enough on his feet, so Roman stepped over to help Janus up. He couldn't seem to put any weight on his right ankle and clamped onto Roman's shoulder when he tried to step away. "You have two options," Janus said, "help me walk, or grab my keys and bring the car around-- Oh." He looked away, horror dawning in his face, and Roman followed his gaze to see what he was staring at.

"Let me guess," he said, examining the still-smoking remains of Janus' backpack. "They keys were in there?"

"The keys, my wallet, miscellaneous demigod survival crap. You know, nothing too important."

"I'll go see what I can find." Roman let Janus drop, privately amused by the undignified cry he gave out upon hitting the ground.

Janus' black Nike backpack had melted and fused with the rubber chips on the turf. Roman poked the mess with the tip of his toe and found it cool enough to touch for short periods, so he knelt and did his best to sort through what was left.

The Kia keys had miraculously survived, although the remote was unusable and the lanyard was nothing more than a pile of ash and melted orange polyester fibers. It sent flames of agony all across his palms, but Roman managed to extricate the car key and a few strange golden coins. He ignored the remains of a few Ziploc bags, but examined the orange Hydroflask with a critical eye. It had a hole in it, but whatever it had once held had a peculiar smell that cut through the stench of burning rubber and made Roman feel strangely at ease. It smelled like fresh-squeezed orange juice, and he could have sworn he caught a hint of guava and vanilla, like the nonalcoholic punch his mom made for the kids when she was hosting parties.

"Take your time," Janus called, pulling Roman back to reality.

Roman flipped him off, and it hurt like his hand was on fire, but it was worth it. Now that the adrenaline was well and truly gone, he just felt sick and wrung-out, and not at all in the mood to deal with Janus' ill temper.

"Got the keys," Roman said, turning around. "And these weird arcade tokens."

"Those are drachma."

"That's funny," Remus said, in a voice that was still much too quiet and calm for Roman's liking, "I thought they were ligma."

"Oh my God," Roman muttered.

"What?" said Janus, eyeing Remus with concern.

"Ligma nuts!" Remus said.

After a long silence, that Roman supposed was meant to restore some sense of dignity, Janus said, "Good to know you're not dying."

"So are we leaving or what?" Roman asked, jangling the keys.

Janus nodded, and gestured for Roman to help him up.

Roman was sure they looked ridiculous as they hobbled across the football field. Roman, who was the least injured, had to support half of Janus' weight as he limped along, and Remus kept getting lightheaded and grabbing Roman's other shoulder for balance. At least Remus was able to carry his and Roman's backpacks, though it slowed him down considerably.

Roman was winded when they finally reached the parking lot, his shoulders and obliques screaming in protest at the awkward position he'd held for so long.

"Can you drive?" Janus asked when they'd reached the Kia and he could finally let go of Roman.

"Uh, I have my learner's permit."

Janus closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "Let me rephrase that: You're going to have to drive."

"Where to?"

"New York."

"New York?" Roman repeated. "Are you crazy? Why New York?"

"I'll explain on the way," Janus said, "but we really need to get out of here."

"Fine." Roman helped Janus into the passenger seat and then lifted Remus into the back so he could sprawl across the seats. His head had stopped bleeding on its own, but since they hadn't paused to apply any pressure, blood had dripped down his neck and dried on the collar of his shirt. "I don't suppose you have any first aid stuff?"

Janus yanked open the glove compartment and rattled off the contents. "Manual, registration, Taco Bell napkins, tire pressure gauge, plastic baggie full of mystery pills, novelty Medusa PEZ dispenser, Mapquest directions to the Lotus Hotel, titanium spork."

"Those are Aleve," Remus said, poking his head between the seats. "Can I have about 20?"

"You can have two," Roman said, snatching the bag of Janus' hands. His own fingers were stiff and clumsy and flared up with pain every time he tried to use them, but he couldn't deny the increasing compulsion to be in charge. He had to fix it for Remus, he had to make it better, he had to keep them safe--

"Like, now, or…?" Remus said.

"Sorry." Roman distributed the pills, then passed around his water bottle. "Okay," he said, struggling with the cap while Janus watched with a cool eye. "So, uh. Now I just have to drive to New York. With messed up hands."

"It helps if you get in the car," Janus drawled.

Roman said nothing, but as he walked around to the driver's side, he made a silent vow to hit as many potholes as he could.

"Road trip!" Remus crowed once Roman was seated. "Hey, Roman, how much money do you have?"

"I dunno," Roman said, trying to focus on backing out while only holding the wheel with his fingertips. "Like 20 bucks. You're the one with the backpacks, why don't you count?"

"I get to go through your stuff?" Remus asked, clapping his hands in delight.

"Just don't steal my good pens or I'll kill you." Roman put the car in drive and lurched forward.

"Accelerate with your toes," Janus said.

"No backseat driving."

"I'm not in the backseat."

"Keep running your mouth and I'll strap you to the roof." Roman turned up the radio before Janus could reply. He'd had enough; his hands hurt, his body ached, he was terrified. He couldn't deal with any more snark and attitude.

He took the on-ramp for I-75 North and started to sing, first to himself and then louder as traffic increased and he got nervous. In the corner of his eye, he could see Janus double-checking all their blind spots, peering in the rear view mirror, fidgeting with his seat belt.

It didn't help Roman's nerves any. He kept singing with the radio, privately grateful that it was already set to a pop station. He noticed two things at once as he switched lanes to let a bright red Maserati blow past him: First, a bone-deep exhaustion that left him so dizzy he nearly swerved onto the shoulder. Second, his hands no longer hurt.

He took one off the wheel and glanced at it, shocked to find the skin as smooth as if it had never been damaged at all.

"Did you do that?" Roman demanded, sparing a glance at Janus.

"What, make you hit the rumble strip? No, that was all you."

"My hands," Roman said impatiently. "They're better. Look!" He showed his palm to Janus, then to Remus.

"Lucky," Remus said. "I feel like somebody pushed me off a 69-story building."

"Nice," said Roman, unable to help himself.

Janus just rolled his eyes and turned back to face the road.

"So how about those answers now?" Roman asked, stifling a yawn behind his hand.

Janus nodded. "But no interrupting. If you don't believe me after everything you've seen, that's on you for being an idiot."

"Who said I was going to interrupt?" Roman said.

Janus looked at him out of the corners of his eyes. "Oh, I just have a feeling."

"We can be quiet," Roman said. He turned the radio off and sat back as much as he could without losing his grip on the wheel.

"Super quiet," Remus agreed. "Silent but deadly."

"Alright," said Janus. "The Greek gods are real. You're the children of one of them."

Roman pressed his lips together, determined not to make a sound. He kept silent as they continued to crawl down I-75 in rush hour traffic and Janus elaborated about gods and monsters and mythology.

It wasn't until the sun was well and truly down, until Janus had gone silent, until it was too late for it to matter, that Roman even realized he had been the victim of reverse psychology.

He scowled and doubled down on his vow to hit as many potholes as possible. Whether Janus was telling the truth or not, Roman didn't like him.

#as i said: the devil works hard but hyperfixating adhders work harder #sanders sides fic #sanders sides fanfiction #sanders sides #tumblr fucked up my tags so sorry if there's an irrelevant tag on here lmao #spicypost #spicywrites

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