#Missed Insulin Injections

[transgaysex]

btw i did not get my testosterone dose raised bc my endocrinologist said that im already on the higher side of testosterone in my blood by cis men standards and she didnt want to overdose me

[aftermathing]

.

[notsodailycake]

Hello this a long shot call, am a citizen of Palestine. I am here to request for your support to help get my insulin (Humalog), just an injection for today to save my life please I beg.I was diagnosized with type 1 diabetes and due to current situation in Gaza I'm unable to get my insulin injection as a result I'm here begging for little financial support to help me purchase insulin for this week. Am sorry if am sending you again this request, kindly donate any amount please. My donation link is in my pinned post🇵🇸

I'm so sorry i missed your first ask. I have not been very active on my tumblr and missed it completely. But don't worry I'll share

Help with her donations

You can check her goal/progress on her page, there will be a pinnef post showing. If you can't donate help by sharing this post or her pinned post🙏

Edit: was informed this poster is a scam, sorry for the inconvenience yall

[bwoahtastic]

Momma Max and his pup Logan kinda sounds like the perfect duo to go to a race because Logan wanted to see Lewis Hamilton, much to Max's dismay because he had always been a Red Bull fan.

Maybe little Logan is also diabetic and he forgot to check his blood levels in his happiness and Max had to rush around, trying to find some medical staff because he definitely needs an insulin injection.

Lewis would also be at the medical centre but only because he had a minor contact with a fellow driver at the start and his wrists kinda hurt but as soon as Max whines for an insulin injection for his pup and Logan only seems happy to see Lewis, he notices them?

Please!

Max with adorable happy Logan who is just purring from the moment they enter the track! He has a merc cap too that he got foe his bday and a little tshirt max embroidered with merc logo and 'Lewis Hamilton' because the shirts are so expensive!

Logan is loving it and Mzx takes a few cute pics of his pup and in their distraction, their backpack gets stolen? And the backpack had the supplies ti check logan's sugar and give him insulin!

Msx taking his pup and running and he feels so bad because Logan is missing a part kf the race now, but he knows they need to check the sugar! Max in his pure panic e ding up in the driver part of the medic centre and whining for someone to help and suddenly Logie is giggling and going "Lewis!"

Lewis noticing them too qnd now he has to go with the momma and pup as a doctor sees them because Logan won't let go of his finger sksk. Max apologising profusely for being a nuisance and explaining the bag got stolen and Lewis just rumbles soothingly and holds Logan's little hand as Max skillfully administers the insulin his baby needs!

Max then also realising his wallet and their bustickets home were in the bag? He would panic all over again!

[thesevenwondersofawitch]

The Brothers Sun ep8

Understandable that the Tea Leaf guy won't talk unless Big Sun is brought down

Aw, they're staying in a motel

Mama Sun is so done that Bruce couldn't get the name for dragon head right 😂

She makes her son drive at night because she gets lost😭

She bought 6 pasta strainers just because they were on sale

"You are not a crime boss. You're my mom." She can be both

I get where she's coming from, but it never sits right to be mad at the kid who didn't

NOOOOOOOOOO Charles nooooooooooooooo

Oh thank god, he shot above his brother's head

The mom's hand on Charles shoulder 😭 I bet she came running

I love that Bruce said that it's going to lead to decades of therapy (that his brother was sent to kill him by their father)😂

Charles don't hurt your brother! He has a point about killing your father

The fact that Bruce said he'd do anything to protect his brother 😭

The way the mom admitted that the chairleg incident was a test and she didn't push back against the father when he forced Charles to kill the first time😭

At least she's showing the remorse and guilt she feels for sacrificing

"Forget dad, you can be Charles -churro baker Sun"😭

The way that the mom has a charger for her son's phone😭

Oh, Charles just realized how he was betrayed

Xing telling the Wang bros that they need to shut up makes me hope she at least feels some guilt for betraying

The dad is such an asshole

Good for you Charles, telling your dad you want to stay. I'm proud of you❤️

The way I cheered when Charles shot those douche bags😂

Oh no, Xing is going to kill the mother and brother 😭

Well fuck indeed, Charles, fuck indeed

Alexis saying that they don't have shrimp chips😂

Him asking for a charger is not permission to track his phone

Alexis is far worse than Charles ever could be

Mama Sun wearing an oversized jersey is so cute

Yeah, Xing sucks and blood boots would never

The fact that the mom is immediately chastising Bruce for getting the wrong milk😂

FUCK YOU ALEXIS. FUCK YOU

Bruce is absolutely playing her😂 the improv classes work!

I love how Charles is just as shocked that the mom can fight 😂😂

Bruce planning to kill their dad😂

I mean, him being good at Laser Tag and also beating his actual assassin brother at a shooting video game is hilarious and actually makes sense

Bruce: "Neither of us are who our parents thought we were."

Charles"Yeah, but both our parents are crazy."

Bruce: "yeah."

Bruce, hugging Charles: "I don't think we've ever hugged before."

Charles: "Well, you're probably gonna die, so might as well get one last one before you go."😂

Bruce: "Right."

Bruce, handing his visitor badge to Alexis: "The Brothers Sun don't work with cops." HA!

Oh no, Bruce don't listen to that serpent of a father who's telling you to join him.

I love that Charles made sure to shoot his dad and missed the internal organs 😂 It definitely pays

The way that Bruce said he'd use his spit to make his taco dumplings 😂

I'm pretty sure that it was Bruce's plan all along to get his brother and mom to cook for him forever😂

FUCK YEAH! THE MAMA INJECTING THE DAD'S IV BAGS WITH INSULIN IS WICKED AND GENIUS AND I'M SO HAPPY FOR HER!

Awwwww she bought her son a bakery 😭🥺

Hopefully that other girl isn't

The way she brought gifts to her friends

I love that she wants her kids to have lives and be happy 🥺❤️

Good for Alexis that she got a tower of her snack

The pictures in the mom's room with both her boys🥺😭

I'm crying with Bruce and Mama Sun too😭 nothing bad better happen to her

Oh nooooo, Charles is leaving too😭 I mean I'm happy that he's gonna get some time with his mama and that she's finally getting what she wants

I love that June has dinner reservations already 😂 she's got her priorities straight

The fact that Bruce still struggles to drive his car is hilarious and relatable af😂

I really hope we get another season, just because this was so well written and I enjoyed this show so much. But it also ended on a great note.

Ooooooo I wonder who that guy with the sunglasses sounds like he's being sent after Tea guy

Also still curious about who the man was that Eileen had been dancing with in Taiwan

[lightblueminecraftorchid]

Hey so uh

If you want a small peek into the American healthcare system

I currently make about $18 an hour before tax. That’s much higher than the minimum wage in my state, which is $9.65.

I have ADHD, for which I am medicated. I take 20mg of Vyvanse (lisdexamfetamine). I still use my parents’ health insurance, because it’s MUCH better than anything I could get. Under their insurance, my monthly prescription is $30. Less than 2 hours of work for me, or just over 3 hours for someone at minimum wage.

Without my parents’ insurance, that same ADHD medication at that same dosage would be $454. Over 25 hours of work for me, or 47 hours of work for someone at minimum wage in my state.

Federal minimum wage is $7.25. Without insurance, that person would have to work almost 63 hours for one month’s worth of Vyvanse. That’s almost two weeks of full time work (assuming 32 hours a week is full time) going just to one medication, every month, before tax.

Thankfully, I can manage okay if I don’t take my meds. I don’t get significant withdrawal symptoms, maybe because I’m taking such a low dose and I frequently forget to take my meds anyway. If I don’t take them, I struggle more to focus or take care of myself, but I won’t have a medical emergency or worsen existing health issues. This is not the case for everybody! Think of how many different health conditions require continual maintenance and medication, such as insulin injections for diabetics or blood pressure medication for those at risk of stroke. Even for just my medication, not everyone gets so lucky. Some people experience significant withdrawals when they miss a day, like my cousin, who gets migraines if she forgets her meds. Some people would have serious consequences if they forgot to take their meds; I know of people with ADHD who can’t cook unmedicated because they’d burn the house down. If you can’t maintain enough focus to cook or grocery shop, how can you eat?

Point being, medical costs are so hecking high, and I am terrified of turning 26.

[pale-pastel-girl]

after a year of doing manual blood sugar checks and insulin injections, i have both my cgm and my pump running together!! i missed having my pump so much, and the lady on the phone i talked to told me i could get my supplies in fucking PINK so i obvs had to 🥰🩷🎀

[iobartach]

okay! this has been a LONG time coming, so brace yourselves for this... we're gonna talk about that injection scene from ats.v so comic purists especially please don't hunt down my ass for what i'm about to put out into the universe 😂

....so ..... let's talk about ... atsv's injection scene ;

what was intended by it? fuck knows, waiting for sony to send answers on a postcard. buuuut, for my take, let me be clear on the interpretations / meanings that i'm not gonna perpetuate ;

it's not rapture. i'm drawing a HARD STOP under that thought. noooo thankkk you.

it's not the source of his spider powers. we're staying true to our Cronenberg-inspired metamorphosis horrific-ness here 😎 even if more... recent reinventions of miguel shown in the comics would tell you he willingly opted to make himself half-spider, i ain't subscribing to it. (miguel's perspective on his transformation probs deserves its own hc post eventually! stay tuned!

so... if not this... what then? well...

i'm gonna posit that the injection(s) are a way for miguel to manage his 'condition'

for that, lemme do a little recap / reminder;

following his accident, miguel has experienced a multitude of changes. one of the most prominent changes is that he's become an obligate carnivore / hypercarnivore if you will. which means, meat is his new bff - he'll crave the calories, he'll eat it cooked or even raw, especially if it placates his tendency to gnaw when starving. and when he does eat, he tears and swallows chunks - not really a chewer any longer.

whiiiich introduces a new issue; anything plant based? loses its appeal to him. it's a slow progression, too. he'd start with reducing portions. taking a bite or two. leaving the rest. until there's next to no greenery left on the plate, when he knows he needs the nutrients they provide.

and ooh, it's actually gets a level worse than that : )

not only does he stop eating vegetables, fruits, *maybe* fungai? idk? but wellll his own mutated body might even stop producing the important stuff like vitamin c, and things of that ilk ! so ... what's a hybrid to do? how's he gonna make up the difference and get the nutrients he needs? ( especially when you consider... whilst he doesn't eat often, due to a combination of altered metabolism and slowed digestion rate, he could eat and consume calories in the magnitude that could make a damn saiyan blush --)

but, even so, it won't make up for the deficiencies 😔 so what's a spooky spider lad to do?

Come up with a solution, duh!

Yesss, baby, we're talking supplementation! operating in a similar manner to a diabetic needing insulin, or someone with B12 deficiency, for the all important food stuffs that miguel has perhaps tried, and tried again to consume, he's gonna turn to science for a lending hand, load up on what's either missing from his diet now, or that which his body simply can't absorb any longer

And, in addition to this, these shots are important in another sense 👀

they help miguel to manage his spider tendencies

since the way i've approached this with my earlier hcs is, well, tl;dr my mig's human / spider dna isn't a 50/50 split, it's gradually veering more towards spider as the years pass

this means that, it's a bit of a perfect storm brewing; lack of nutrients + behaviours & tendencies that he is likely chronicling by the day is ... a recipe for trouble! i can bet that miguel by himself can ... manage / hold himself together ... to a point, but, to paraphrase a friendo; have you ever met a hangry person? there's a limit to everything!

and we've seen miguel breach that limit already, during the miles chase in atsv. if ya had a bingo card for just about the worst everything happening in a single day? that card probably got filled UP during that chase! 😔 perhaps stress also played as factor there was well - the dude's carrying a LOT on his shoulders!

anyyyway! back on topic! let's expand the supplementation too - let's also throw in some sort of hormones? i know this is a whole science in itself, and ain't scientist 🥹 so i'll leave this a bit more broad, and say that they also play a part in stabilising miguel, ground him, so he won't go chasing a kid across the city... .ahem 😔

leading on from this, though, i wanna add some last things here. i know, i'm... meandering here , but lemme say;

take note of the intensity of miguel's eye colouration!

r e d - sorry, but you're shocked, buddy, best of luck surviving 💀

scarlet / bright red - feeling aggro, but holding enough of himself together to not act on his impulses

garnet - the default, feeling spidery, but also feeling human as close to a harmonious state as he can manage for the most part

dark brown - the goal!👀this is potentially a state that achieved after he injects himself. it floods him with a calm like nothing else he's ever felt. it's when he feels the most human again, a memory that's easily forgotten when you've got fangs and shoot webs from the back of your hands!!!

and it's with this last point, with the brown eyes, that i wanna bring this home with the little ritual miguel develops; after takin an injection, he'll make a point of brewing the strongest cup of black coffee that he can manage. a rare treat these days for him... especially given that caffeine does not agree with spiders. 💀

so yeah!!! thanks for reading through this ! 👋

[punchdrunkdoc]

Part 3, Chapter 10

Summary: After the events of S3, Matt Murdock is trying to once again balance life as a lawyer and a vigilante. But he’s been scarred by loss and betrayal - will a mysterious new neighbour help him heal? Or will her secrets drag him back into the darkness?

Notes: This is a slow burn romance with an original female character, told in 3 (maybe 4??) parts. There is mystery, intrigue, action/violence and angst - all the good stuff!

Also available on AO3 and Wattpad

Masterlist

Reference pics

————–

PART 3

Chapter 10

Calina adjusted the blanket over Inessa, careful not to disturb the sleeping Widow. She stared longingly at the spare strip of mattress on the bed, the desire to curl up on it and sleep overwhelming.

But she had things to do first.

She settled into the armchair in the corner of the hospital room and fished out her phone from her bag. Then sucked in a breath at the notification on the screen: 14 missed calls.

All from Matt.

Shit. He really had been trying to contact her.

She scrubbed a hand over her face, so confused by what it meant.

What did he want to say to her so urgently?

Part of her didn’t want to find out. If they were just going to fight again, or if he was just going to confirm they were done, she didn’t want to hear it. She didn’t have the strength right now. Especially when she had more important things to take care of. She scrolled past Matt’s name in the phone and found the entry for Yelena. She leaned back in the chair and hit ‘dial’.

Yelena picked up after the second ring. “Calina? How’s Inessa? Katya said she woke up in the van.”

“She did. She’s okay. They did a CAT scan of her head and there’s no fracture or internal bleeding. Just a bad concussion. They’re keeping her in just to monitor her.”

Yelena exhaled. “Thank God.”

“I know. She got lucky.”

“Are you staying with her overnight?”

“Technically, I’m not supposed to - visitor’s policy. But I can find a way to keep an eye on her and make sure she’s safe.”

“Calina…there’s no need. She is safe. We all are.”

“Is that confirmed?” Calina asked, almost hesitantly, scared to hope. “We’re definitely safe now?”

“Yes,” Yelena replied, and Calina could hear such weight in that one small word. It seemed to hold all the worry and fear and responsibility that Yelena had carried all these months - worry and fear and responsibility that she could now let go of.

“Volkov and his men are all dead,” Yelena continued. “We drugged him up to the eyeballs with truth serum beforehand and he confirmed that there’s no one left in his faction. The warehouse has been torched, and we injected those two lab rats with the hypnotic knock-out drug you gave Ranieri. They’ll wake up tomorrow thinking they were working on a new type of insulin but were laid off due to budget cuts.”

“Speaking of Ranieri, what about him?”

“Anya’s already sent off the blackmail email. She made it clear that we’re monitoring him, and if there’s even a hint that he’s told anyone about Volkov and the Widows, we’ll release all his dirty secrets to the world. Then we’ll kill him.”

“So its really over.”

“Yes. It’s over. We’re free.”

Relief flooded Calina’s exhausted system. She slumped back in the chair, feeling a swell of euphoria and numbness, the strange combination bubbling up as laughter. She let out a giggle. Which then turned into a sob. She clamped a hand over her mouth to catch the sound. “Sorry,” she said to Yelena.

“Don’t worry. There’s been a fair bit of hysteria and tears over here. I’ll send Viktoria to come pick you up and bring you back. You can get cleaned up, get some food in you.”

Calina smiled as hints of Yelena's mother-hen nature slipped out. As much as she tried to hide that aspect of herself behind barked orders and a stern facade, all of the other Widows had seen evidence of Yelena's care and concern over the past year. 

"What is everyone going to do now?” Calina wondered.

“Well, right now, we’re getting roaring drunk on cheap wine and good vodka,” Yelena replied. “Tomorrow, who knows? Maybe we’ll all come to New York and take turns sleeping on your sofa.”

Calina frowned, her earlier confusion about Matt returning. “I don’t know if I’ll be in New York. Things with Matt…I don’t know where we stand.”

“But he showed up tonight. That has to mean something.”

Calina remembered all the missed calls. “I think he just had no other way to reach me.”

“Either way, that’s a problem for tomorrow. Enjoy tonight, Calina. We did it. It’s over.”

———

Calina stepped outside the main entrance to the hospital and took a deep breath, relishing in the chilled air that flooded her lungs. The freezing cold breeze stirred goosebumps on her bared arms and her injured knee throbbed, but she didn’t care.

She was alive. She was safe. And she was free.

She giggled again, her emotions still spiralling. She didn’t know how to process all this. How to contain and manage all this joy and relief and all the sheer possibilities open to her now.

She could go anywhere. She could do anything, be anyone.

She'd thought she was taking advantage of that kind of freedom when she'd first moved to New York. But she’d been weighed down by all the guilt she’d felt about abandoning her sisters and the nagging sense in the pit of her stomach that she was living on borrowed time.

It felt different this time.

It felt real.

“Lady, are you okay?” A paramedic wheeling an empty gurney out to his ambulance stopped and stared at Calina, a worried expression on his face.

Calina realised she must look strange, smiling like a lunatic in the dead of night, wearing a skimpy cocktail dress when it was 30 degrees out. “I’m okay. I’m, uh, just waiting for-”

“Me. Sorry I’m late, sweetheart.” Calina jerked in surprise at the sound of Matt’s voice from behind her. Then she felt the heavy wool of a coat as he draped it over her. He rubbed her arms through the material to warm her up as he reassured the EMT. “I’ll get her home now, thanks.”

She glanced over her shoulder to see he’d changed out of his Daredevil suit and was wearing sweats and sneakers, with a ball-cap pulled down low over his face to hide his unseeing eyes.

“Okay, man, no problem,” the man said, resuming his task.

Calina turned to face Matt. “What are you doing here? I thought you went home hours ago.”

“I did,” he replied, still rubbing her arms. “Then I got changed and came right back.”

“You’ve been here this whole time?”

Instead of answering straight away, he led her over to a metal bench near the ambulance bay. They sat down next to each other, Calina huddling into the warmth of his coat, and savouring the scent that clung to the fabric. It was pure Matt - dark and masculine and delicious.

Matt leaned forward, his arms draped between his spread knees. “I can’t really explain why I came back. I just...I didn’t want to wait for some vague ‘later’ to talk to you. So I jumped in a cab.  I’m sorry if you think I’m intruding, or crowding you-”

“No. Not at all,” she insisted. “I’m glad you’re here. But you could have called, you know, instead of waiting out in the cold.” She waved her cell phone at him. “I would have answered this time.”

“If I had to wait much longer, I was going to start banging out morse code on this metal bench until you heard me.”

She smiled. “That’s my trick.”

“And it always worked. I always came running to you.”

———

Calina seemed flustered by his admission. She glanced away, biting her lip and fidgeting slightly on the bench. Then she forced out a laugh and tried to make light of his words. “You’ll, uh, need to come up with a different code. I’m not ‘D.D.’”

He decided to play along. He’d take this conversation at her pace - he was just glad they were finally together and getting a chance to talk. “How about C.B. then? For Calina Balashova. Or B.W., for Black Widow?”

“It would have to be E.B.W. now - Ex-Black Widow.”

“So you’re out then? It’s all over?”

She nodded, and blew out a breath between pursed lips. “It doesn’t quite feel real, but yeah, its all over. Volkov’s…gone. They’re all gone. We’re finally free.”

He sat back, his shoulder brushing against hers. “And Inessa?”

“She’s going to be okay.”

“Good. I’m happy for you.”

“Thank you,” Calina said, shifting on the bench to face him. “For saving her. You said I could thank you when she woke up, and she woke up so…thank you.”

Matt just shrugged. “I’m just glad I could help.”

“If you hadn’t been there…”

She glanced away again, and he could hear her blink to clear sudden tears. He took her hand in his and squeezed. “Hey, don’t think about the ‘what ifs’. She’s alive. You’re alive. Just concentrate on that.”

Matt felt like a massive hypocrite, doling out advice that he wasn’t following himself. The whole reason he was here, sitting on this bench in the freezing cold, was because he couldn’t get the ‘what ifs’ out of his head. The biggest ones being: What if he’d never gone to that warehouse tonight? What if Calina had been left to fight those supersoldiers alone? And what if she’d failed?

He could have lost her.

Forever.

He’d realised it intellectually soon after the battle, during their ride to the hospital, but the emotion of it - the gut-wrenching terror and pain of that possibility - had hit him like a brick the moment he’d entered his apartment.

He’d stepped over the threshold of the cold, empty, dark space and had gotten a glimpse of what his life would be like if she was gone. Truly gone.

It would be cold. And empty. And dark.

And he didn’t know if he’d be able to survive it.

So he’d shoved on a change of clothes and caught a cab to the hospital, unwilling to wait a single moment more to clear the air between them.

He could get over her lies. He could learn to trust her again. He could live with their differing moral codes.

He couldn’t live without her.

Even just sitting beside her like this, her hand in his, was the most content he’d been in weeks. She still had a way of calming that restless energy inside him, of soothing the dark edges and bringing him peace - just as she’d done from the beginning.

Matt basked in the sensation...until the temperature around them dropped another degree, and a light sprinkling of rain moistened the air. Calina started to shiver despite his thick coat, and he felt her suppress a yawn.

It was cold and wet, and she was obviously tired. So he nudged her shoulder. “Let’s go.”

He stood up, but she stayed seated, their hand still linked and outstretched between them. She stared up at him in confusion. “What?”

“Let’s go back to mine. We can talk more tomorrow after a good night’s sleep.”

“Your place?”

“Yeah. Its closer than New Jersey.”

She shook her head. “But I thought…I thought you wanted nothing more to do with me.”

Matt frowned. He tugged on her hand, pulling her up to stand in front of him. “What are you talking about?”

“The other night. We broke up, and-”

“Calina, we didn’t break up. We had a fight - a big fight, granted - but we can get past it. We can work it out. That’s why I’ve been trying to contact you. To talk things through.”

Calina bit her lip and ducked her head. And then he tasted salt on the air and knew she was crying. He wound his arms around her and held her close. “Hey, come on, Callie. Don’t cry.”

She mumbled something against his sweatshirt. He pulled back and cradled her face in his hands, wiping away the tears on her cheeks. “What did you say?”

“I said, I thought you hated me.”

He pressed a quick kiss against her lips, then rested his forehead against hers. “No, I don’t hate you. I was just angry. And hurt. But I love you.”

“Really?” she sniffed. “Still?”

He laughed. “Yes, still. Always. Forever.”

“I love you too. And I’m so sorry for lying to you.”

“I’m sorry for judging you.”

He pulled her back into her arms and held her tightly. After a few moments, he whispered in her ear, “Let’s go home.”

She stepped back and wiped her face. “But one of my sisters is on the way to pick me up.”

“So call her. Tell her not to bother. Let me take care of you tonight.”

Calina was a nurturer - he’d sensed that in her from almost the beginning. The way she’d cared for their elderly neighbour; the way she liked to cook for him, and read to him, and stroke his hair when he rested his head on her lap…

He’d lost sight of that over the last couple of days. He’d only seen the ruthless, deadly Black Widow. The one who killed her enemies and lied to him about it.

But that wasn’t the real Calina. That was the weapon she’d been forced to become by the men who’d stolen her as a child.

Earlier tonight, watching her take care of Inessa - hugging her, and soothing her fears, and generally acting like a loving big sister - he’d re-discovered the real Calina.

She was a nurturer. A carer. But she deserved to be cared for too. And he wanted to be the one to care for her tonight.

So he held out his hand to her…and smiled when she took it.

———

Calina stirred as the taxi slowed to a stop.

She’d fallen asleep.

Not surprising, really - she was exhausted. Bone weary and running on empty. And not just because of the late hour, or the earlier battle in the warehouse, or all her uncertainty over her relationship with Matt.

She felt like she’d been running on pure adrenaline for months - since Volkov reared his ugly head, really. A part of her had always been looking over her shoulder. On edge, wondering when she might be discovered by his goons.

And now that it was all over…the comedown was heavy. She felt like she could sleep for a week.

Matt helped her out of the cab and up the steps, taking some of her weight off her sore knee. “If you tell me the elevator’s out again, I think I might cry,” she joked.

Matt laughed. “No, it’s working. But I’d carry you up the six flights if it wasn’t.”

They rode up to his apartment in silence. As he unlocked his door, she apologised. “Sorry, I know you wanted to talk, but I’m just really tired tonight.”

“Hey,” he said, removing the coat from her shoulders. “I told you, we can talk tomorrow. If you want to go straight to bed you can. Or if you want some food first, I can order something, or heat up some soup.”

She collapsed down onto the new sofa and rested her head against the back of it. “Soup would be great. Thank you.”

“Do you need something for your knee?” He crouched down beside her and gently palpated the slightly swollen joint. Calina hissed as he probed a developing bruise. “What happened to it?”

“It was stupid. Yelena and I were sparring this evening - before we realised Volkov had arrived at the warehouse - and we took it too far.”

“Bad timing.”

Calina huffed out a laugh. “Yeah. And its the same knee I hurt before, so its probably more prone to damage now. I’ll need to watch-” She broke off as a realisation came to her.

“What?”

“I was just thinking this knee’s a weakness now. And I’ll have to compensate for it in future fights…but there won’t be any future fights. I never have to fight again.” She said the words with all the wonder she felt inside at that prospect.

She never had to fight again.

She shook her head and smiled at Matt. “You won’t understand that concept,” she teased. “You’ll still be suiting up to fight when you’re old and grey.”

Matt shrugged. “I gave it up once, so you never know.”

“You did? When? Why?”

“Story for another time,” he called out over his shoulder as he strode towards the kitchen. He returned with a frozen bag of peas which he placed on her knee, then he got started on the soup.

Calina sat back and enjoyed his fussing. She knew they still had a lot to talk about. And she knew some of that ‘talk’ wouldn’t be pleasant - they had some work to do before they could move on in their relationship - but right now she was just so happy to be back here. On this couch, in this apartment, with the sounds of Matt navigating around the kitchen and the smell of chicken soup on the stove.

It was more than she’d ever expected waking up this morning.

And way more than she deserved.

But for once, she was just going to enjoy it. She submitted willingly and gratefully to Matt’s administrations - the food, the ice on her knee, the bandaging of her few cuts and scrapes and the loan of his softest, comfiest sweats to sleep in. But as they curled up in his bed later on, Matt pressed up close behind her with one strong arm anchoring her to him, she couldn’t resist bringing up one topic - she didn’t want him to end tonight without clearing something up.

“Matt?” she whispered into the darkened, hushed room.

“Hmmm?” he replied, sounding half-asleep already.

“I, um, didn’t kill anyone tonight.”

He stilled behind her.

“I just wanted you to know,” she rushed on. “For what it’s worth.”

He pulled her even closer and dropped a kiss on her cheek. “It’s worth something. But we can talk about it more tomorrow. Go to sleep, sweetheart.”

Sweetheart.

Calina smiled at the familiar, beloved nickname, and did just that.

————–

Chapter 11

Tag list: @hollandorks @chezagnes @stilldreaming666 @sio-ina-bottle @tearoseart-blog @acharliecoxedfan @freckledbabyyy

If you’d like to be added - let me know!

[whumpcloud]

Delicate - Missing

content: (institutionalised) pet whump, carewhumper, heavily implied past murder, disordered eating, alcoholism, chronic illness, collars, accidental triggering, past choking, past belting, fainting, it as a pronoun

Sir hasn't outlined any rules yet, so Peter is trying to make guesses. He cleans every morning, before Sir wakes up - Sir sometimes sleeps right into the afternoon, but Peter wakes up at eight in the morning out of habit - and that seems to make Sir happy. Peter couldn't help how good he felt when Sir first praised him for how clean everything was, even though Peter noticed some rubbish he hadn't picked up immediately after and felt intensely guilty.

Maybe Sir wants Darling to ask? Or he might be the kind of Master that only explains the rules when they get broken. Peter, and he keeps forgetting but he's Peter now and he likes being Peter so why is it so hard, thinks about it as a few days pass. Sir has been so kind, too, it makes Peter worry about breaking a rule. Sir even gave him his own place to sleep! Not that Peter minded sleeping with Master, Master was warm and usually gentle and smelled nice when he didn't smell like whiskey, but Peter has never had his own space before, even if that space amounts to an oddly spacious cupboard with the only explanation being Sir mumbling something about an unused laundry room.

Still, the futon is comfortable, and Sir has given him blankets, and Sir even lets Peter do things like make whatever meals he likes for the two of them. Peter would prefer if he knew what Sir liked, but Sir never seems to mind what the food is. Most of the time, all he seems to mind is that Peter has made food at all. Sometimes he looks a little guilty or ashamed, and sometimes he just looks at it and turns away. Peter has tried to test to see if it was things he disliked, but Sir just… doesn't eat often, even if he gives Peter the okay to make it.

Well, that isn't healthy at all.

"Sir, I'm going to make lunch!" Peter smiles. "Would you like anything in particular?"

Elio fidgets with the bottle in his hand. "M'fine. Thanks for offering, I guess."

Peter can be insistent, if he must. "Sir, it's important that you eat. Not just to stay alive, but because you're diabetic. Have you checked your blood sugar today?"

"The alarm hasn't gone off, so I'm fine," Elio mumbles.

"...just because the alarm hasn't gone off doesn't mean that your blood sugar is stable, Sir," Peter says. "You shouldn't wait until you're at risk of illness."

"I'm already ill," Elio mutters.

"You know that's not what I meant, Sir," Peter says softly. "Please take your insulin and eat."

Elio hangs his head and groans. "Fine. Were you trained to be this annoying?"

Peter bites his lip, but only because Sir can't see. "Master was stubborn. He trained me to push past that."

"He must have been one stubborn son of a bitch," Elio half-laughs.

Peter isn't sure yet if that's a nice laugh. He'll learn. He's adjusting. This can be home, if he tries hard enough.

Elio pulls himself up, abandoning the bottle on the floor. He watches Peter's eyes dart to it from the kitchen doorway, then dart back to him.

"Don't judge me," Elio mutters as he walks past.

Peter steps away quickly. He's started to give Sir a wide berth, though something in him aches about it. "There's no point in your Pet judging you, Sir. I'm just here to assist however I can."

"Mhm. Right."

Peter falls silent, and focuses on making lunch as Sir languidly injects himself. At least that means he'll have to eat something now.

"...Sir, would you like me to assist in any way in terms of your drinking?" Peter asks, after a few minutes of anxious hesitation. "I could help you get sober, or help you limit the amount, or just take care of you when you're drunk?"

"I don't need taken care of," Elio mumbles. "...and I don't wanna get sober."

Peter doesn't understand Sir's insistence that he doesn't need to be taken care of. Most people can clean like Peter does, but Sir doesn't even put his mugs beside the sink. Sir doesn't eat properly, and the only time he even contemplated showering, Peter had to push him into actually doing it. Sir doesn't seem to hold down a job - in fact, he hasn't gone outside at all since Peter got here, and spends most of his time drinking or sleeping, and only ever does something else when Peter convinces him to.

So isn't that exactly what Peter is doing? Taking care of him?

"You don't have to get sober," Peter says, chipper as ever. "I mentioned other options. I could help you limit or just help you when you're drunk."

"I don't get drunk, so…" Elio leans against the cupboard, forehead pressed against his arm. "Fine. Limit. No more than, uh, three a day, I guess. Just stop me if I go for another. If you're gonna be so… insistent."

Peter nods. "I can do that, Sir."

Watching Peter do anything is like watching a well-oiled machine. He's precise and cautious and… happy isn't the right word. Content? He seems content, at least. Elio isn't sure if it makes him feel any better about this whole Pet situation.

Peter makes a plate of crackers and cheese, red grapes, and yogurt, and places it in front of Elio. "Here's your lunch, Sir. Eat it when you're ready."

Elio stares at it for a minute, before blinking back to awareness and realising Peter has turned to walk away. "Hold on, can you-"

Elio hooks two fingers into Peter's collar to drag him back and Peter screams.

The sound makes Elio jump back, but the collar is tight around Peter's neck and he can't pull his fingers free before Peter gags and crashes onto the linoleum.

Darling's eyes are wide, tiny irises flitting from the floor to Sir's feet to his own hands shooting to his throat. It's breathing too fast. It holds the breath for a moment, then lets the breath out, slowly, controlled. It's a good boy. It needs to stay completely calm.

It moves onto its knees and bows its head, hands flat on its thighs. It takes another deep breath. Calm.

"I'm sorry, Master," Darling says, quietly. Peter flinches. "S-Sir. Sorry."

"I- what are you sorry for?" Sir is just staring at it, like the only thing it's done wrong is confuse him. He! Peter is a smart Pet, why can't he remember this one tiny thing? He wasn't even always 'it' to Master, not even usually 'it' to Master, he doesn't know why he can't just make 'he' stick.

"For my emotional outburst," Peter replies, voice steady. "Please punish me to correct my mistake."

Maybe it's just because Sir doesn't like 'it'. Peter is just a bad Pet, of course he's still thinking of himself as 'it'. He deserves to be punished for that too, but he doesn't say that right now.

Elio blinks. "Sorry? Punish you?"

"Yes, Sir," Peter nods. "I could retrieve a belt, if you want. Or something else. I know I have no choice in this. Master belted me a lot, so it was the first thing I thought of."

"No, no, no, what?" Elio shakes his head and grasps desperately for something he can actually comprehend. "Stop. What did you freak out for?"

Peter's face burns in shame. "...Master used to choke me using my collar, Sir. I didn't… like it. I panicked because you've been so kind and I thought I had done something bad. I thought I had made you angry or disappointed you and the thought was a lot to handle."

Elio is barely taking any of this in. Peter screamed like he was trying to take the entire building down, and not even a minute later he was on his knees, still as a statue. Is that a trained response? To just bury all of that?

"What the fuck are you talking about?" Elio's vision is swimming for some reason. "I'm not gonna punish you for that. Don't be stupid."

"...oh." Peter resists the urge to fidget. "I'm sorry for being a stupid Pet, I shouldn't have assumed."

Elio groans. "Stop apologising for everything."

Peter balls his hands into fists. "Sir, it's unclear what I should apologise for. It's better that I over-apologise than under-apologise. You haven't given me any rules to follow so I'm sorry if I'm not up to your standards."

Elio stares at him for a very long moment. Peter covers his mouth and squeezes his eyes shut. How could he be so disrespectful? He spoke far too sharply. That must make him deserving of a punishment, right?

"You have a backbone," Elio finally says, monotone as ever. "Huh."

Peter waits, for the inevitable slap, the kick, the pulling on his hair and dragging him to be tied down and left for hours. But it doesn't happen.

"I guess I'm, uh, I'm not being fair to you," Elio mumbles, grabbing the counter suddenly. "I can't expect you to just deal with all this and be all, like, unsure about it. Especially with me being… me. I'll come up with some rules, I guess. If it'll make you feel better."

"You aren't going to punish me?" Peter's voice isn't more than a muffled squeak. "I- I talked back to you."

"Nah," Elio shrugs. "I don't care. Not gonna punish you for the collar thing either. It's clearly, like, a traumatic thing for you, so."

"...traumatic, Sir?" Peter slowly returns his hands to his thighs. "Pets don't… get trauma."

Elio snorts. "Yeah, I guess you'd call it training."

Sir says some strange things, but Peter really shouldn't be anything but grateful that Sir seems to find disrespect amusing (is amusing the right word for this?) rather than a punishable offence.

"Ah, fuck," Elio says, hissing through his teeth. "I'm gonna faint."

Peter is quick to his feet, and so Elio doesn't even fall any distance. His eyes roll back and he just goes limp in Peter's grip. Peter isn't completely surprised at how light Sir is - it proves Peter's right about how much Sir is eating. He manages to drag Sir to the sofa and sit him up, then collects the plate of food from the kitchen.

"Sir," Peter says gently. "Wake up."

"Mnn…" Elio frowns and twitches as he tries to wake up. "Uh…?"

Sir's phone isn't going off, so his blood sugar must be fine. When was the last time Peter saw him eat? It must have been… five in the morning yesterday, when he woke Peter up making that boxed macaroni.

"Sir, please eat." Peter brushes Elio's hair out of his face. "Don't make me call an ambulance because you won't eat."

Elio tries to mumble something along the lines of "so you're good at guilt-tripping too" but it doesn't come out. He just weakly nods and reaches for the plate.

After some crackers and a few sips of fruit juice, Elio sits up properly. He waves Peter off when Peter tries to kneel and lean against his leg.

"I'm not gonna, like, pet you or something," Elio says. "Can you just fuck off for a bit? I feel awful."

If Peter were an even worse Pet he'd say something like "and I wonder why that is" but he doesn't. He just nods, and smiles, and goes to the room he was given.

The smile falls as soon as Peter is alone. He sits on the futon, leg bouncing. Sir didn't give him anything else to do. Should he find something to do? But he already cleaned everything, and Sir doesn't need him for anything right now, and he's even made sure to take care of himself too, aside from bathing. He doesn't have any other clothes, and he doesn't want to ask Sir because Sir… clearly doesn't really care about him.

Not that he expects Sir to care. Sir doesn't need to care about him, only the other way around.

Peter chews his sleeve. Master would be so mad about it, but Master is gone. But Master would've pet his hair at least, even on an angry day, long fingers slowly running across his scalp. Peter wonders if Sir's hands would feel as nice. Peter wonders if he'll ever get to know.

He misses being Darling. At least Darling got to sit in Master's lap and feel loved.

But it's his own fault. That wasn't enough to stop him from ruining it all. He begs Master for forgiveness under his breath. He would take everything back. He'd live with only the memories of the blood on his hands and the knife he stole from the kitchen and the light leaving Master's eyes and nothing else if he could just take it back and curl up, playing with Master's hair until they both fell asleep.

Peter is being such a bad Pet. He should be thinking about Sir.

It wishes Sir would call him Darling with a hoarse throat and a messy kiss and make things feel right again. Peter kisses its knuckles and tries to pretend, as though they never had Master's blood on them at all.

taglist: @whumpsday @roblingoblin285 @whumpycries @kira-the-whump-enthusiast @clairelsonao3

[rosethornewrites]

I saw my new PCP on Monday and got the fun job of explaining my conditions. I’ve previously had doctors who ignored my needs or told me to lose weight, so it’s scary to have to try to convince them that, yes, I am very sick, too sick to work, but I don’t want to be that sick. I miss working. I miss keeping my mind engaged.

So I decided to preface everything with, “You know, a year ago I was a professor at a state university, living in my own apartment. Before I got sick I used to go to a ton of events and travel places. And I spent so much energy pushing through to try to keep going that I burned myself out. Now I am in so much pain and have so much brain fog that even getting out of bed is a challenge. It feels like my life has crumbled around me, and I want to get it back.”

And then I discussed my medical history, what I’ve done to get treatment so far (getting on Medicaid, getting a behavioral health specialist, a dermatologist, a rheumatologist, etc., all involving dozens of phone calls each just to find someone who specializes), the setbacks I’ve faced and how it’s changed how I face seeking healthcare (that all my providers are women is not an accident), and the medications I’m currently taking and what they’re for. How I discovered I can’t have sulfa antibiotics.

It’s a lot—just the medications, I take a biologic injection every two weeks, 2 anxiety medications, an antidepressant that also helps with fibromyalgia, a controlled substance for my pain (NOT an opioid), a medication to control my insulin resistance, an anti-inflammatory, a low dose of antibiotics, and blood pressure medication. Oh right, and birth control, which is supposed to help with the HS. That’s just the prescriptions—I take OTCs and supplements that are meant to help keep my conditions under control because I researched copiously while trying to push through.

How long it took me to be diagnosed with HS (despite telling my PCP at the time I thought I had it, I was diagnosed on sight by a gynecologist two years later, who then referred me to a dermatologist), and the story of how I realized something was terribly fucked up with my body. The struggles with pain. How I take cannabis but hate that it doesn’t allow me to have a clear mind. The years of insomnia, which is a symptom of multiple conditions I have.

I have so many horror stories about my health that my horror stories have horror stories, and those are fun to relate, in graphic detail so they know exactly how bad it is.

It’s this fucked up cycle of having to convince a doctor you’re sick (apparently they don’t want to believe you if you say you are) and actually get treatment, except you get stuck on step 1 because everything must be weight-related and therefore I should just lose weight.

I been fat my whole life. This other shit is new. Catch up.

But then they get mad if you’re “difficult” aka advocating for your health.

Knowing that nearly everyone with chronic illnesses goes this, and even worse than me typically, is distressing.

I knew my chronic pain was fibromyalgia because my mom struggles with it and eventually got diagnosed after being told half her life it was in her head. I was lucky. I have to consider inheriting a debilitating illness from my mom lucky because at least I knew what it was from her experiences.

Every new doctor I see, I feel like I have to vet for egotism because that’s generally the mark of a hot dog who won’t listen or care.

All I really want is treatment so I can maybe get my life back.

[destinationtoast]

cats with diabetes - advice?

So I just found out Tico has diabetes. My vet has recommended:

a new diet of all wet prescription food

an insulin injection every twelve hours

monitoring glucose levels, either via frequent vet trips or via home monitoring, which involves pricking his ear for blood often IIUC

This is going to be extremely difficult for several reasons, but mostly because I'm usually gone a couple times a week for 18-36 hours. I have until now just left out a bunch of dry food for all three of them, and they've been okay without me there.

I can solve the problem of "I have three cats with different diets now who will want to eat each other's food" -- there are now RFID feeders that I can key to their microchips (so the feeder only opens when the right cat approaches -- which will apparently scare the hell out of them at first, but they'll hopefully adapt). But the injections + wet food every twelve hours is going to be HARD.

I asked the vet, "My parents had a diabetic cat who only got injections once a day -- is it possible to adjust the injection schedule to that? Or how bad is it if he misses an insulin dose a couple times a week, or if he eats dry food on those days?" All the vet would say is, "That's not recommended." But, like ... would it mean a minor decrease in his quality of life? Or would it make him get much sicker, or be noticeably uncomfortable? They wouldn't say anything. I know it varies a lot by pet, but does anyone have relevant experience here?

Also, does an ear prick blood draw bother a cat? Am I going to be able to do that at home? idk. [Edit: but my cats are nearly impossible to pick up or capture, so going to the vet regularly sounds bad.] I know the insulin injection in the scruff isn't noticed by most cats, at least.

We're supposed to take him back in on Saturday for more tests, because he's got other issues, too. Poor kitty.

[judjira]

tzuyu’s day off

AN: im back again with another self-indulgent apartment au, this time it’s tzuyu ! this one is actually a lil sloppy coming from me, but i still dig it HAHA next up is the devil herself (or one of them, at least) !

pairing: datzu apartment au wc: 1459

Tzuyu took her job very seriously.

The task of a guardian angel was to protect their charge above all costs. Especially from mortal danger. Humans were weak, fleshy, and easily punctured. There was no shortage of dangers that could befall them.

Who knew what grave perils could be lurking around the corner, ready to strike?

And this…this might have been one of the gravest dangers of all.

“I’m going grocery shopping, everyone.”

A day off.

“Oh, Dahyun, can you get me some more salt and chalk?”

This was unprecedented. Kim Dahyun’s schedule was supposed to be set in stone, fixed and unmovable.

Until her university cancelled classes for the day.

Those bastards.

“Why, so you can make more angel and devil traps, Chaeng? I don’t think so.”

“Aw man.”

They probably planned this, all so Kim Dahyun would break her routine, and stumble upon an irregularity to her daily schedule that might endanger her.

How devious.

“You need anything, Tzu?”

“I am alright.”

Thankfully, Tzuyu was here to prevent that from happening.

No harm would come to Kim Dahyun, the Lady of the Sanctuary. Not under her watch.

“Then I’m off. See you all later.”

A chorus of voices chime in.

“Bye Dahyun!”

“See ya later, Dahyun.”

“Woof!”

“Farewell, my Lady.”

As soon as the door closed, Tzuyu willed her physical form away, vanishing with only the sound of flapping wings in her wake.

She immediately hone: in on Kim Dahyun’s position, just seconds after leaving the apartment. Her angelic essence would do well to mask her presence from the human, allowing Tzuyu to do her job in secret.

Tzuyu hovered above the apartment, before flying down to where Kim Dahyun was, walking along the sidewalk to the nearest grocery store.

There she was, in all her beauty.

Pale skin, long black hair, gentle eyes.

Not at all aware of the immediate danger that was about to befall her.

A pebble.

Right in the way of her foot, ready to trip her down to the pavement, breaking her neck and killing her instantly.

Not if Tzuyu had anything to say about it.

Tzuyu swooped down, calling upon her angelic powers.

Light suffused her invisible form, like that of the sun, harnessing the energy of the heavens themselves to coalesce around Kim Dahyun.

And with one burst of her aura, her will became true.

The pebble nudged one inch to the right.

Kim Dahyun’s walk remained unimpeded.

Tzuyu patted herself on the back. Then quickly refocused, not resting on her laurels. The day had only begun, after all. Who knew what else threatened the safety of her charge?

Next up, the supermarket. A capitalist deathtrap, luring people in with the promise of food and supplies, its linoleum aisles and frozen closets waiting for the right moment to strike at unknowing passersby.

Just looking at it made Tzuyu sick.

Kim Dahyun wheeled a cart theough one of these said aisles, humming as she looked through boxes of human cereal.

Oh no.

Tzuyu saw it.

One of, if not the greatest, danger in the supermarket.

Kim Dahyun’s favorite cereal, Frosties.

The damn thing was 37% sugar! With that kind of statistic, having enough would give Kim Dahyun diabetes. Then, she’d miss her insulin injections because she was so forgetful, causing her to die alone in her sleep with no one to help her, because no one would know, because Kim Dahyun slept like she was already dead.

Good thing Tzuyu was here to save her.

With a close of her eyes and a flex of her wrist, heavenly energy gathered in her stomach, until light shone on the cereal aisle, visible only to those who had a third eye.

And with a snap of her fingers, that energy bursted forth.

“Aw man…no Frosties?”

Another attempt at Kim Dahyun’s life prevented successfully.

The day was passing quickly, the afternoon sun already beginning to set as Kim Dahyun finished her groceries, paper bags in both arms as she braved the trek home.

The way home was safe, only because Tzuyu made sure it was. Any dangerous pebbles or deep puddles found themselves promptly disposed of.

But there was one last problem that needed to be taken care of, as Kim Dahyun reentered the apartment building.

“I’m making dinner.”

Dinner.

The most dangerous event of all.

Knives, fire, and poison.

Well, potentially poison, at least, if the food was cooked wrong.

Usually, the fallen angel, Ko—or rather, Yoo Jeongyeon as she liked to be called now, would be the one to make dinner for everyone, especially those with special appetites, like the vampire or the werewolf, but it was Kim Dahyun’s day off, Tzuyu should have foreseen this coming.

Seeing no point in obscuring her presence anymore, she reveals herself behind Kim Dahyun.

“I shall assist you.”

Kim Dahyun jumps, startled.

“Jesus Christ, Tzu.”

Tzuyu frowns.

“What about Him?”

Recovering from the scare, Kim Dahyun sighed, an exasperated smile coming on her lips as she patted Tzuyu on her chest, the touch somewhat confusing to Tzuyu.

“Never mind. Come on, let’s get that bread, huh?”

A furrow of the brow.

“Bread? I did not see you getting bread.”

“So, that was you who was following me around.”

Tzuyu’s eyes widened, taken aback.

“How did you know someone was following you?”

Kim Dahyun giggled, taking Tzuyu’s hand—a warm feeling overtaking Tzuyu’s chest—as she led her into the kitchen.

“You made a pebble disappear in front of my feet, Tzu, you weren’t exactly being subtle.”

Tzuyu grunted in acknowledgment as Kim Dahyun hung an apron over her, going around Tzuyu to tie it together. She’d be more careful not to be noticed in future excursions. If Kim Dahyun could see her, then who else could?

Then again, Kim Dahyun, the mortal of many names, was a special case.

“Let’s get started. Can you cut these for me?”

A knife is placed into her hands, along with a chopping board and some vegetables.

Tzuyu’s eyes flick to Kim Dahyun. She needs to watch over her, cooking can be one of, if not the most, dangerous tasks to accomplish in the household, right next to attempting to bargain with the damn devil that lived next door to her.

Her hand is placed on the knob to the burner. The sound of the fire going has Tzuyu narrowing her eyes, watching Kim Dahyun’s every movement.

Oil splatters onto the pan, bubbles beginning to form as the oil sizzles. The heat could very well kill a person, if used correctly. Tzuyu has to watch every single thing, hands ready to flex and call upon her angelic power to protect her charge.

A flattened piece of some sort of meat is placed onto the pan, and the sizzling intensifies, oil splashing out of the pan.

Some of it gets onto Kim Dahyun’s hand.

“Ooph. Hot.”

The next second has Tzuyu immediately unfurling her wings, ready to smite this presumptuous stove for daring to hurt her human.

“How dare you—”

“Tzu.”

The relatively calm tone in Kim Dahyun’s voice has Tzuyu stopping immediately. There’s an unimpressed look on her face.

“What did we say about revealing your true form in the apartment?”

“…we said not to.”

“And?”

“…that we have to ask for permission first.”

“Did you ask for permission?”

“…no.”

“There we go. Can you please turn back so I can open my eyes again?”

Tzuyu reverts back into her mortal form, a slump to her shoulders. She failed in protecting her charge. She’s a disgrace of the highest order, not even fit to be a guardian angel. She’s completely failed her mission. She might as well go back to heaven and—

“Oh, sweetie, you’ve cut yourself.”

Kim Dahyun’s voice breaks her out of her reverie, attention being brought to her finger, a small cut on the very tip of her index. Silver ichor drips out of it slowly.

“Let me get a band-aid for you.”

The Lady of the Sanctuary rummages around her top cupboard to take out what seems to be a band-aid with a pink kitten on it.

“Here, it’s Hello Kitty. This’ll make it feel better.”

Tzuyu watches as Kim Dahyun plasters a Hello Kitty band-aid onto her index finger.

“All better?”

She nods, numbly.

“Now, thank you for watching over me today, but I’m the Lady of the Sanctuary, remember? It’s me who does the protecting around here.”

It was an unfathomable concept, for a mortal to be protecting a being of her stature. Humans were weak, fleshy and easily punctured. It only made sense for a seraphim like Tzuyu to be doing the protecting.

“Go and sit in the lounge and wait for dinner, okay?”

But this…this wasn’t so bad, either.

“At your command, Kim Dahyun.”

[cohendyke]

being diabetic in the american healthcare system is soo fucking exhausting and not in the “i have to constantly be monitoring what i’m eating and how much insulin i’m getting” way (which is also exhausting but has gotten easier w technology) but in the “can my fucking supplier please ship my pump supplies so that i don’t have to revert to giving myself injections every couple hours and possibly miss work while i wait for them to show up”

[abellinthecupboard]

The Last Mojave Indian Barbie

Wired to her display box were a pair of one-size-fits-all-Indians stiletto moccasins, faux turquoise earrings, a dream catcher, a copy of Indian Country Today, erasable markers for chin and forehead tattoos, and two six-packs of mini magic beer bottles—when tilted up, the bottles turned clear, when turned right-side-up, the bottles refilled. Mojave Barbie repeatedly drank Ken and Skipper under their pink plastic patio table sets. Skipper said she drank like a boy. Mojave Barbie secretly hated the color of her new friends' apricot skins, how they burned after riding in Ken's convertible Camaro with the top down, hated how their micro hairbrushes tangled and knotted in her own thick, black hair, which they always wanted to braid. There wasn't any diet cola in their cute little ice chests, and worst of all, Mojave Barbie couldn't find a single soft spot on her body to inject her insulin. It had taken years of court cases, litigation, letters from tribal council members, testimonials from CHR nurses, and a few diabetic comas just to receive permission to buy the never-released hypodermic needle accessory kit—before that, she'd bought most on the Japanese black market—Mattel didn't like toying around with the possibility of a Junkie Barbie. Mojave Barbie had been banned from the horse stables and was no longer invited to dinner, not since she let it slip that when the cavalry came to Fort Mojave, the Mojaves ate a few horses. It had happened, and she only let it slip after Skipper tried to force her to admit the Mojave Creation was just a myth: It's true. I'm from Spirit Mountain, Mojave Barbie had said. No, you're not, Skipper had argued. You came from Asia. But Mojave Barbie wasn't missing much—they didn't have lazy man's bread or tortillas in the Barbie Stovetop to Tabletop Deluxe Kitchen. In fact, they only had a breakfast set, so they ate the same two sunny-side-up eggs and pancakes every meal. Each night after dinner, Mojave Barbie sneaked from the guesthouse—next to the tennis courts and Hairtastic Salon—to rendezvous with Ken, sometimes in the collapsible Glamour Camper, but most often in the Dream Pool. She would yenni Ken all night long. (Yenni was the Mojave word for sex, explained a culturally informative booklet included in Mojave Barbie's box, along with an authentic frybread recipe, her Certificate of Indian Blood, a casino player's card, and a voided per capita check.) They took precautions to prevent waking others inside the Dream House—Mojave Barbie's tan webbed hand covering Ken's always-open mouth muffled his ejaculations. One night, after drinking a pint of Black Velvet disguised as a bottle of suntan lotion, Ken felt especially playful. Ken was wild, wanted to sport his plastic Stetson and pleather holsters, wanted Mojave Barbie to wear her traditional outfit, still twist-tied to her box. She agreed and donned her mesquite-bark skirt and went shirtless except for strands of blue and white glass beads that hung down in coils around her neck. The single feather in her hair tickled Ken's fancy. He begged Mojave Barbie to wrap her wide, dark hips around him in the “Mojave Death Grip,” an indigenous love maneuver that made him thankful for his double-jointed pelvis. (A Mojave Death Grip Graphic How-To Manual was once included in the culturally informative booklet, but a string of disjointed legs and a campaign by the Girl Scouts of America led to a recall.) Ken pointed his wooden six-shooter and chased her up the Dream Slide. The weight of the perfectly proportioned bodies sent the pool accessory crashing to the patio. Every light in every window painted itself on as the Dream House swung open from the middle, giving all inside a sneak peak at naked Ken's hard body and naked Mojave Barbie gripping his pistol, both mid-yenni and dripping wet. Ken was punished by Mattel's higher-ups, had his tennis racket, tuxedo, Limited Edition Hummer, scuba and snorkel gear, aviator sunglasses, Harley, windjammer sailboard, his iPad and iPhone confiscated. Mojave Barbie had been caught red-handed and bare-breasted. She was being relocated—a job dealing blackjack at some California casino. On her way out the gate, she kicked the plastic cocker spaniel, which fell sideways but never pulled its tongue in or even barked—she felt an ache behind her 39 EE left breast for her rez dog, which had been discontinued long ago. Mojave Barbie tossed a trash bag filled with clothes and accessories into her primered Barbie Happy Family Volvo, which she'd bought at a yard sale. The car had hidden beneath a tarp in the Dream House driveway since she got there. She climbed through the passenger door over to the driver's seat, an explosion of ripped vinyl, towels, and duct tape. She pumped and pumped the gas pedal, clicked and clicked the ignition, until the jalopy fired up. Mojave Barbie rolled away, her mismatched hubcaps wobbling and rattling, a book of yellow WIC coupons rustling on the dash, and a Joy Harjo tape melted in the tape deck blaring, I'm not afraid to be hungry. I'm not afraid to be full. Mom and Dad Barbie, Grandma Barbie, Skipper, and Ken stood on the Dream House balcony and watched Mojave Barbie go. Grandma Barbie tilted at the waist whispering to Mom Barbie, They should've kept that one in the cupboard. Dad Barbie piped in, Yep, it's always a gamble with those people. Mom Barbie was silent, hoping the purpling, bruise-like marks the size of mouths circling Ken's neck were not what she thought they were: hickies, or, as the culturally informative booklet explained, a “Mojave necklace.” Skipper complained to Ken that Mojave Barbie had flipped them off as she drove out the wrought-iron gates, which, of course, locked behind her with a clang. Ken fingered the blue bead in his pocket and reassured Skipper, Mojave Barbie was probably waving goodbye—with hands like that, you can never be sure.

— Natalie Diaz, When My Brother Was an Aztec (2012)

[type1diabetesinfandom]

I made another podfic! This time of my pjo fic Lost, which is 17k. much longer than the other two fics I recorded. this one is a little over an hour and a half long.

[Podfic] Lost (01:38:12) by Too_Short_for_My_Own_Good

Fandom: The Heroes of Olympus - Rick Riordan

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Characters: Jason Grace

Additional Tags: Type 1 Diabetes, Light Angst, POV Second Person, POV Jason Grace, Present Tense, Book 1: The Lost Hero (Heroes of Olympus), Diabetic Jason Grace, Jason Grace Has Dyscalculia, Jason Grace & Piper McLean & Leo Valdez Friendship, Protective Jason Grace, Angry Jason Grace, Past Jason Grace/Piper McClean (Mist Version), Children of the Big Three (Percy Jackson), Attempts to Fix the Power Scaling in the Series, Continuous Glucose Monitor, Multiple Daily (Insulin) Injections, Diabetic Percy Jackson (Mentioned), Canon Compliant, Podfic

Audio Format: MP3 and Streaming

Summary:

Jason Grace wakes up with no memory, a chronic illness, and the unsettling knowledge that everything is wrong.

When he’s taken to Camp Half-Blood, he hopes for answers; instead, he comes to realize that although the campers love the mysteriously missing Percy Jackson, they think Jason shouldn’t exist. But Jason’s disturbing kinship with the air and tendency for spontaneous electrical surges aren’t the only things to worry about.

Told in second person POV, Lost is a character study focused on Jason and his powers during The Lost Hero. What are you supposed to do when your instincts tell you to trust no one?