#they are surprisingly entirely unrelated

[exocynraku]

nightwing & smokepaw

[after-nine-at-the-oasis]

I'm sorry W H A T

[fatedroses]

A bit of community service work to repay his third chance leads to Hien witnessing Zenos' own special brand of weird.

[bijesperfahey]

Thank God !!!! My family leaves tomorrow !!!

(It didn’t go as bad as a strong part of me was afraid of (I succeeded !!!! in not letting them see where I live !!!)

Only got deadnamed twice yes i have been out for years no it truly does not change anything and only got misgendered a like ten? times a day which is much better than the last time we got together which makes me think they’re actually referring to me appropriately when I’m not there which I don’t think they were doing in the first few years of me coming out

I did however. Have to debate the Don’t Say Gay Bill while driving in heavy traffic (because of course my grandmother supports it) which I was fully unprepared for and led to me being the most open about how much I was Going Thru It in high school

Also got asked ‘so who’s the husband when two women got married’ because my mom can’t remember that my niece has a wife that part isn’t homophobia that’s just brain shit and then had to re-defend being bisexual because ‘why wouldn’t that change now that you’ve changed everything else’

Also my grandma hadn’t realized why I’m not willing to visit them in Florida but does acknowledge that Desantis isn’t a big fan of ‘all of that’

Also we went to the Walker and there was a display of Paul Chan’s signs and I’m so mad that she speed walked out of the exhibit because I had to keep up with mom but I desperately wanted a selfie with the fags hate trump sign

[audhd-nightwing]

random wayne family shenanigans

the entire family gaslights the public into thinking tim and cass are and have always been twins. they forge birth certificates and everything

tbh this is probably canon but dick is damian’s second legal guardian after bruce. and for the period bruce is gone he’s the first and alfred is second

the kids try to convince gotham that all of bruce’s children are his biologically. people believe dick jason tim and cass but then there’s steph and duke. they still insist both of them are bruce’s bio kids. steph plays along bc she thinks it’s funny and duke just rolls his eyes whenever a reporter asks him (damian is obviously already confirmed to be bruce’s bio son)

bruce once asks tim to spread some misinformation so people get less suspicious of him when he disappears to do batman stuff. tim makes a ‘tell-all’ article about how bruce wayne and batman are secret lovers. he gets quotes from dick and babs. bruce regrets asking

when dick is first adopted he pretends not to know english so he won’t have to talk to reporters or do interviews. bruce definitely lets him bc he doesn’t want dick to be uncomfortable and the media is unrelenting otherwise. jason and damian absolutely copy this idea when they are first introduced to the public

tabloids keep accusing dick of cheating on babs until he does a interview where he says “we haven’t been dating for like a year, we decided we are better as friends and now i’m dating a guy and she’s dating a girl so…” and the media loses it. he also timed it so it’s during pride month bc he’s extra like that

they convince the public that jason’s death was faked so that he could live a normal life despite being adopted by a billionaire. it works surprisingly well. they tell everyone he left to travel the world so no one can confirm or deny where he was at any point during his “death”

(a part of the reason this is so easily accepted is that people write it off as ‘weird rich ppl shit’)

[patchwork-crow-writes]

Why Good Doggies Are Also Bad Doggies

(And What That Means For MyHouse.wad)

There are two dogs in MyHouse.wad. One's a sweet, harmless puppy, and the other's a relentless, deadly hellhound. Both of these dogs reside in what's commonly known as the Brutalist house, a vast concrete structure that shifts in size from small to large as you explore it.

The smaller dog, quite naturally, provides little in the way of an obstacle, and indeed its presence is surprisingly uplifting in such a bleak, sad game. It's the big, two-headed brute, the "Bad Doggy", that aims to prevent your progres; it's swift, deals a lot of damage, and takes a lot of firepower to subdue. It rules the space it resides in with an iron jaw, and will not take no for an answer. Your only options are to avoid it, or to kill it.

But there's a catch - kill the Bad Doggy, and the Good Doggy also dies. And while this does open up a loophole to allow you to deal with the Bad Doggy with no risk - killing the Good Doggy yourself - the fact remains that an innocent creature's life has to end for your journey to become easier.

Of course, you know this, and likely opted to "spare" the Bad Doggy so that the Good Doggy could join you on the beach at the end. And yes, the sight of our canine friend napping by the waves does help to complete the sense of a "good" ending - or at least, a "peaceful" one.

But... have you ever stopped to consider what this actually means? How, rather than being a throwaway device to make you feel sad, or a lazy reference to Tom's fear of dogs, this "Good Doggy"/"Bad Doggy" actually serves to reinforce the core message of MyHouse.wad?

Consider these dogs again... or rather, consider this dog. Singular.

There is one dog in MyHouse.wad. Sometimes it is a Good Doggy, playful and diligent and affirming to our wellbeing. Other times, it is a Bad Doggy, aggressive and domineering and striking fear into our hearts. Kill one, the other dies. You cannot separate the two. Where the Good Doggy goes, the Bad Doggy must inevitably follow.

How do you stop a Bad Doggy from being a Bad Doggy? You can't, not entirely. A Bad Doggy is bad only in the context of its owner's view of it. A doggy that shreds the furniture, is overly-aggressive in its interactions with its owners, jealously guards spaces and important objects, is deemed bad because of its actions. When it exhibits behaviours that are more paletable to the humans that care for it, it becomes a Good Doggy.

As a child, Tom was scared of his family's pet dog. Viewed through the lens of a terrified young boy, a dog that might be only the most loving and attentive creature, excited to play with someone similar to it in size, may appear vicious and unrelenting, causing fear and injury with its exuberent actions and disregard for its own strength. These experiences, whatever form they might have taken, left a visceral impact on Tom, as we see in his sketchbook containing the multiple-headed hellhound.

What happened to that dog? Was it ever rehabilitated? Did its status as a Good Doggy outweigh the trauma it potentially inflicted upon Tom's psyche? Or... did something else happen to it? Were its actions deemed too harmful, too Bad, to continue living with its owners?

We can only speculate on these points, but they do serve to provide an answer to the above question on how to stop Bad Doggies - you get rid of them. Give them away, abandon them, put them to sleep. Problem solved. But that doesn't just remove the Bad Doggy from the picture - it also eliminiates the Good Doggy that can provide comfort and companionship, as well as any potential future joy that same doggy could bring to its owners.

Which brings us back to the beach, and our Good Doggy having a nice nap there. Of course, I'm sure you've realised, it's also the Bad Doggy.

But what exactly does that mean for our "perfect", "happy", "peaceful" ending? Are we going to be savaged on the beach the moment we let our guard down, having fought so hard for the happiness we were so desparate to recover? Of ocurse not. But consider what its potential presence means for the future.

The Good and Bad Doggy are inexorably linked. To have the potential for joy and companionship and love, you must also accept the possibility of pain, conflict and loss. For better or worse, the bad has to come with the good - either you have both, or you have nothing at all. That's why there's no dog at the fake beach - that ending represents attempting to escape bad things altogether, but the world that results is unsatisfying and devoid of meaning. The reason things hurt so much is precisely because of the joy that came before it. Denying pain and sorrow is no better than giving up on life.

To live a meaningful life, we sometimes have to accept people as they come, warts and all.

Happiness, as Steve opines at the end of his journal, has to be fought for. But the fight doesn't stop just because you won once. Having resolved to come to terms with the world as it is, the world where your dearest friend has died, you therefore choose to re-enact that battle every single day. Some days it's easier. Some days, it's torture. That's what being alive is all about. That's what makes the moments of peace, the moments when Good Doggies really are Good Doggies and nothing more, all worth it in the end.

Thank you for reading :)

[sunkissed-zegras]

☕️jack or luke hughes

IM DOING JACK CUS SURPRISINGLY, i haven't had that many jack reqs??

shower sex w jack sounds like an absolute dream😤

nsfw under the cut, read at your discretion!!!!!!!

the warm water cascaded down your bodies as jack drove his rock-hard shaft into your core, harsh and unrelenting. his pace was fast and hard from the beginning, making your legs shake at the rough treatment.

one hand held your hip as the other gripped your hair harshly to keep you still as he rammed into you, the only thing holding your body upright was his hands. your back arched at the harsh thrusts as loud moans left your mouth involuntarily.

the water made the thrusts so much louder, the obscene sounds filling the entire bathroom. you almost cringed at how loud and vulgar you two were being but your mind couldn't even comprehend anything except jack and how good he was making you feel.

the grip he had on your hip was bruising and you would've been slightly hurt by the impact, but right now the only thing you felt was utter and raw pleasure.

you soon felt the knot form in your lower stomach as your whole body began to shake, "jack, i'm so close!" you cried out, shutting your eyes.

jack pulled your head closer to his mouth and pressed his face next your ear, "cum for me, pretty girl."

that was all you needed, letting go of yourself as you screamed out in pleasure in the hollow bathroom, making the noise travel faster. you were glad you two were home alone or else, dinner would be very awkward.

a few more hard and quick thrusts and jack was right there with you, spilling into you as he held onto you, keeping you close. "fuck, baby." he groaned out as his head lolled back in pleasure.

MY 100 FOLLOWER CELLY!

[sixty-silver-wishes]

Roasting you based on your favorite of these German Expressionist films

(this post is a joke; don't take it too seriously lol)

Metropolis: You've got spicy political opinions and daddy issues. You were doing great in life until you found out how corrupt capitalism is sometime in high school or college, and it's absolutely mind-boggling to you that nobody else is batting an eyelid at all the injustices of the world because they're too busy defending the concept of a 40-hour work week. You're constantly checking your privilege and everyone else's, too. Or you just want to bang a robot. That's probably it.

The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari: Okay, I could make a joke about you being emo, or you liking the most basic film on the list, but that's not really the issue here. Your Hot Topic fashion sense and shitty drugstore eyeliner are nowhere near as concerning as the fact that you have no idea who the hell you are without them. You constantly overthink everything and are great at solving everyone's problems but your own, and you're averaging like 4 hours of sleep on a good night. You can't get your intrusive thoughts to leave you alone and if you relate to literally any character in this film, you need to get help. It's okay; I promise your therapist doesn't secretly hate you.

M: You're a surprisingly sweet and empathetic person for someone whose favorite film on this list is about a child murderer. You care deeply about others and are very much in tune with yourself, but unfortunately, everything you say is so off-putting that most people don't get that vibe about you. If they actually gave you a chance, they'd find that you have a great personality, but they don't, so instead you're stuck at home stalking your ex's vacation photos on social media.

Dr. Mabuse the Gambler: You like the finer things in life. You're high-maintenance, your tastes are classy and expensive, and you actually know how wine tasting works. However, you're way too into conspiracy theories and pyramid schemes for your own good, and your cultured proclivities are deeply undercut by the fact that you probably got into Bitcoin when that was a thing. Your two career paths are either "businessperson" or "cult leader," and it's concerningly difficult to discern which one you're on.

Nosferatu: Your sense of humor relies entirely on recycling memes that are at least a decade old, and the fact that you communicate nearly entirely in pop culture references is your attempt at disguising the fact that you're really bad at socializing. You think you have lots of great ideas that make perfect sense, but most people don't know what the hell you're going on about. However, you've got one or two ride or die friends who love you for who you are, cringe and all. Keep being you, Nosferatu fan. Never change.

The Student of Prague: I'm not sure this one is actually anyone's favorite film, but if this was yours, you were into shipping the Onceler with himself when that was a thing. You're super competitive, but you have a tendency to overwork yourself and burn out quickly, so now you're living off of Top Ramen and protein bars. People love to tell you that you "have potential" and "just need to apply yourself," but what they don't get is that you're stressed 24/7 and won't give yourself a break because you're trying so hard to satisfy your own impossible standards. Please take a nap.

Der Golem: You're great with children, small animals, and potted plants, but that's because literally anyone else you have to deal with fucking pisses you off. The absolute audacity of everyone around you means you're never not two seconds away from throwing hands, but honestly? You're always right and you should say it. You're actually a really nice person, but people keep pushing you to your limit and you're sick of it. On an unrelated note, you probably work in customer service.

Different from the Others: If this is your favorite film and you're a member of the LGBT community, that's perfectly understandable. It was a monumental achievement in LGBT cinema in the early 20th century and, despite being somewhat dated by today's standards due to the time period it was created in, largely holds up as an educational, yet tragic, piece of cinema. That being said, if you're a straight/cis/allo person and this is your favorite film, what is going on with you. I want to study you in a lab. How did you find this film. Come to think of it, how did you even get into German Expressionist cinema to begin with. I just want to know

Der Januskopf: [REDACTED]

Genuine: You're a "Caligari" fan who doesn't want to seem basic like the rest of the "Caligari" fans, so somehow you ended up here. You don't actually like this film aside from the visuals. Nobody actually likes this film. You want so, so badly to like this film, so you lie to yourself, just like you do about everything else.

[cipheramnesia]

The "movie about a movie that kills you" is a surprisingly robust genre of horror. There's a wide range of approaches, but one key factor is the question of how good the deadly film in a film is, on its own. Some approaches are keeping the faux film entirely unseen, use brief clips, or make it real short.

Antrum: The Deadliest Film Ever Made goes in for a high risk approach and delivers a complete finished film, ostensibly made in the 70s and never released, framed by brief opening and closing info bites to set the stage of it.

Somehow this thing was completely off my radar, which means I was taken fully off guard as an ominous warning about the content in white text on black appeared on screen, giving a thirty second count down to leave if I wanted.

Wonderful showmanship and canny filmmaking that got me right in the mood to enjoy what followed. While I wouldn't call it a scary movie, I found it almost delightful in the atmospheric dread and devotion to its aesthetic of low budget 70s films. Nothing in it feels like a curse on its own, but it does feel like the sort of movie that could easily prompt psychological distress for anyone under psychotropic influences, pre-existing emotional vulnerability, or prone to delusional states. Not through anything supernatural, more because it works hard to keep the viewer in constant doubt over what is and is not real for the characters in the film. Combined with the framing device of it being a movie somehow able to influence the real world of the viewer, and the use of fractionally visible flashes of occult symbols on the screen, it generates an intense feeling of unreality which for me was an almost drug-like high and an immersive pleasure.

The premise of Antrum is simply a brother and sister decide to dig a hole to hell, and the movie plays out around this event by surrounding it with disturbing sounds and imagery, as well as real world dangers that weave the protagonists between the supernatural and mundane while keeping them in a state of terror and madness that grows until it becomes unrelenting.

In a certain sense it also feels cursed, like the kind of film where there are elements that feel very transgressive - in particular the opening scene which to my mind evoked Un Chien Andalou - not the infamous eyeball slicing scene, but the use of rotting animals. The few and very basic visual effects remind me as well of the early Survival Research Laboratory devices engineered by Mark Pauline.

However, the core question for me is also always what is the movie about besides the plot. If I had to identify some rough themes, I would say it's trying to explore the idea of understanding death and violence through the eyes of children who do not yet have the psychological tools for processing such matters, but who have been left on their own to do so regardless.

Many of the unusual elements in the movie can relate to death rituals poorly understood, starting from the very premise of digging a hole into the earth. And the same act is surrounded by strange rituals unclear in their origin, ideas which might be logical drawn from watching words recited over a grave without having a connection of purpose. Their encounters with other people are fully without possibility of communication as none of them speak the same language, and these mundane threats feel at times akin to a satanic Alice in Wonderland, rituals and violence whose meaning cannot be understood by the protagonists.

Likewise the supernatural is full of unprocessed images of death. Demons with black skin who look like mummified corpses. River crossings and empty chains dragging through leaves. It's as if death itself has manifested through the ambient world, surrounding the two children and refusing to let them leave its circle.

In combination with the intriguing use of sigils inscribed throughout, it creates a movie that is for me a joy to watch. An absolutely perfect Halloween spook for next year, but your mileage may vary between finding it full of pretentious nonsense or maybe the scariest film you'll ever watch. It can really come off either way, and I'm honestly not quite sure why my reaction was actual joy in the watching. Not to undercut the severity of the subject matter, but I just can't stop thinking about how happy I was to watch the movie at work mechanically, to enjoy the well oiled pieces fitting together, and then all topped off with the delicious extra treat of the framing device. Surely worth 90 minutes of your life.

[welcomeabyss]

Continuation to this post ❤️

Themes: Angst, replaced Mc! Au

When The Stars Didn’t Align Part 2

Lord Diavolo had held a thank you party for the exchange students.

Mc was there by themselves, drinking small sips of their drink, as they watched the brothers and others around her: the woman who had won over their hearts, not too long ago. Mc watched, as she laughed with them. So gently, so genuinely. Not a single sign of an ill intention could be sensed from her, but she still made Mc sick to their stomach.

The brothers had of course given Mc some gifts for this party, maybe simply out of good manners. But it was obvious that Mc hadn’t had been the top of the brothers’ minds, when they were thinking of ways of showing their appreciation: Pressed on the laughing woman’s skin there was a necklace, which Lucifer himself had putten on her. It had a magnificent red stone, in a shape of a heart. Mc felt their throat tighten, so they took another sip.

Soon Mc noticed, him. Mammon was now surprisingly by himself, as the woman had gone to dance with Satan. This is it, Mc thought: This is my chance.

Mc hadn’t told it to anyone, but they had feelings for Mammon. Even though he hadn’t given much attention to them anymore, Mc still had this ever lingering love for him. Now how could Mc just forget the way he used to treat them so specially, ready to do anything to get Mc to stay with him?

Suddenly Mc had this urge to go up to him. Maybe it was because of bravery, a need of closure, perhaps? Or maybe it was simply because they felt desperate, for any kind of attention from their previous number one. They stopped listening to any words of wisdom in their minds, Mc’s legs just started moving on their own.

Their heart was beating so loud, that they could feel their entire body tremble to it. But Mc didn’t care, they couldn’t stay back in the background anymore, not this time.

Mammon looked up to Mc, as he noticed someone approaching him. There it is, Mc thought, as the two had locked eyes for a moment. Mc felt that feeling again that almost ripped them to pieces: a spark of hope.

“Hi”, Mc had simply said. Their eyes didn’t look away from him as if fearing, that if they looked away even for a second, Mammon would have just disappeared. He looked away and responded, bluntly. But the flame of hope was still there.

Before Mc could do anything. Before they could give him the simplest smile, ask him how he’s doing. Before they could ask him out to dance, or anything, his face hardened. His eyes became cold, as he now had brought them back to look at Mc. The edges of his mouth tightened just by a little, his eyelids lowered, not even by an inch. Mc thought to themselves: He isn’t feeling this same spark is he? No, he is trying to suffocate mine.

“What do you want?” Mammon had asked. If Mc didn’t know any better, they could have interpreted his reaction as him having been simply busy or irritated by something unrelated to them. It didn’t matter was their intuition right or wrong, because Mc could almost touch it. His indifference towards them.

Mc’s heart sank. The fire that was burning before, had now created a gaping hole in their chest. As the happy memories of the past were racing on their minds, Mc realized that all of their fears had been real this whole time. They couldn’t do anything else, but put their hand on their chest, as if it was their only way to keep themselves protected from the eating hurt in their heart.

Mc turned around and started instinctively walk away. They couldn’t hear anything, think of anything. They couldn’t even notice the sudden burning sensation on their eyes, as the tears that had waited so patiently, had finally started to let themselves free.

[cebwrites]

since you wanted some uncommon character requests; could i request some sfw and nsfw relationship headcanons for penguin x reader and shachi x reader? If they're not too out of the way for you (～￣▽￣)～ I rarely see those two requested for, so I'd love to see you're take on them! [I'd ask off anon but i can't ask from a non-primary blog - I'll be reblogging to @remisloves if you wanted an identity (. ❛ ᴗ ❛.)b ]

a/n: surprisingly they aren't around these parts, I've gotten quite a few requests for the boys lol - but since you asked nicely, sure <3 [thank you so much for including your blog too, it feels nice to actually put usernames to people （；´д｀）ゞ]

Relationship Headcanons (Penguin, Shachi)

gn reader, trans penguin, nsfw under the cut self-indulgence unrelated to pen and shach at the end cw; blood, funky OP-verse sex toys word count: 1.1k

Penguin

Penguin was the oldest of the original Heart Pirates quartet, he's always been the oldest even when it was just him and Shachi, before and after the tsunami that left them with Shachi's horrible, horrible relatives

It's made him protective over the people he holds dear, incredibly worrisome even if he tries to hide it, but also surprisingly nurturing for someone who seemingly goofs off as much as his counterpart does

He makes snacks, he checks up on the crew, and has a bad habit of taking too much onto himself, although not nearly as badly as the notorious Heart captain, Penguin still struggles with that "eldest sibling" mentality even if most of the crew is quite a bit older than him; he vehemently denies any teasing you or the crew give him about passing on those traits to Law

When it comes to you, Pen likes to keep a close eye on you even when things are calm and everyone's having fun, not that he doesn't trust you to take care of yourself, but he'd just like to make sure no one's getting hurt or too carried away when his crew mates' usual brand of shenanigans kick into high gear

There's a cute kind of shyness when he opens up to you for the first time; yeah agreeing to being in a relationship is one thing but it's another to actually know the person you love and with Penguin, it's tentative, almost scared, but genuine

He's hesitant to let you come too close at first, become too physical, an insecurity that you do your best to quell but it isn't easy, Pen's become used to protecting himself and his own so much that vulnerability is alien

Being topless with the guys on the Tang's deck, whacking each other on the ass with freshly laundered towels is one thing, but being intimate with his partner in a private room is another entirely

Still, you're patient with him, you don't react poorly when he gets overwhelmed at the protective layers of clothes hitting the floor, you allow him space, and eventually, maybe even agonizingly slowly, he lets you in - starting with a held pinky while Penguin catches his breath with his shirt off, his nerves getting the best of him after getting a little more handsy than usual that day

When the dam finally breaks, when he's comfortable showing himself to you in his entirety, you're surprised at how ravenous Penguin actually is - he's insatiable, betraying the composure he carries himself with throughout the day

In the bedroom, against the wall, in the communal bathroom and over the Tang's railing when everyone's asleep, hell, even in an alleyway once when the both of you had time to kill on a random island while everyone else was getting wasted, he can't keep his hands off you

Penguin loves watching you eat him out, one hand in your hair while the other shakily props himself up, but what he loves more is the view he gets when you're sucking him off

The Grand Line is.... an anomaly, neither you or Pen are here to dispute that - weird as it is, however, it's often resourceful once you can get past the initial recoil; all that to say—Penguin got his hands on seeds that, once "planted" between his vulva, allowed him to temporarily grow a fully functioning phallus

By god, Pen loves the way you look bouncing on it

He digs his nails into your waist, laps up the sweat on your skin, his grip is hard enough to bruise but you're no better, egging him on to take you after you've done such good work prepping his cock, prepping yourself for him

And really how could he say no after all that

Shachi

The MOST live in your hoodies mf to ever; he's clingy, he's affectionate, he mock-whines if you've been apart from him for too long like a pup with separation anxiety

To some degree you both know it's an act he puts on to vie for your attention, but there's also a real part of him that worries if he lets his hold on you slip a little too much, you'll disappear

I like to think Shachi's part fishman too, so there's a quiet part of him that worries his partner would leave if they found out, or couldn't handle the treatment you'd get by proxy of being so close to a fishman, even if he wasn't full-blooded - yet every day you find ways to reassure him that'll never happen

In return, he'll climb to the top of the Tang's mast to yell about how much he loves you and how perfect you are, he's a little obnoxious in the Maes Hughes "look at my adorable family" kind of way but you can forgive the mild embarrassment when he flashes his award-winning smile full of razor-sharp chompers

Shachi takes incredible pride in being the one who takes care of the Heart Pirates' hair, his little summer job on Swallow Island for the few years that he spent as a stylist really did turn into a passion for him, even if his occupation on paper is "pirate", but hey, who's keeping track anyways?

Despite his enthusiasm about most everything else, he's incredibly delicate with you initially, constantly checking in to see if you're alright, making sure boundaries aren't crossed, confirming that you are, in fact, enjoying yourself like the big shell-conchus dweeb he is, Shachi just wants to make sure you're alright

Not that he doesn't still check up on you now, he absolutely does, but now with a decent amount of shared time between you two, he's a lot less jumpy about things, more confident in his stride - or rather stroke, I should say

He's loud, peppers you in kisses all over, hell if other people can hear, Shachi needs you to know that he adores every part of you - it does result in an addition of both of your chores (takes two to tango), so whenever the sub drops anchor the both of you try to sneak off to a love hotel given the option of free roam at least once if possible

Shachi answers to you completely, he marks you up at your command and eases whenever you show the slightest discomfort; still, when you do manage to convince him to let loose, he definitely takes the phrase leaving his mark literally - with those exact teeth

He laps at the wounds he leaves as he makes love to you, smearing crimson and words of praise against your body like hymns of devotion, pulling you impossibly close and sharing your taste when you pull him in for a kiss, still trying to hold back that animal desire

The aftercare is just as tender, just as sweet, but maybe a little awkward the first time around when he has to explain to Law why he's sneaking medical supplies away while you sit in the middle of blood stained sheets like you're the victim of a murder

And a bonus for me since writing this had me thinking about it-

I know Law goes down on their man like a champ; inexperienced initially? Yes, but they learn quickly and spite from being teased is a good motivator as any, plus, pleasing their partner, of course

Kirin's got his dick out? Not a problem, they're making him beg for it, the E, As, and T on their fingers might not see the light for hours, not until they're satisfied with edging Kirin until he cries

The only one who beats them at that is Zoro but realistically, no one's topping the King of Cock, not unless Zoro finds it in his heart to not power-bottom Sanji for the night

[pompomegranate]

homesick

⇢ miguel o'hara x f!reader

⇢ warnings | angst. casual alcohol consumption. mentions of death and miguel’s past in atsv. descriptions of loneliness, depression, etc. shifts from miguel’s pov to your pov. note that this part is not 18+ but the next part will be. meet cute? but not really? let me know if you want to be tagged in part two – i won’t block minors/blank blogs for interacting with this part one, but will for part two! edit: i’ll be fleshing this out into a longer series. read more about this in the next chapter/on ao3!

⇢ a/n | on the anniversary of the worst day of his life, miguel o’hara meets you. you can tell he’s suffering, so you do your best to comfort him. strangely enough, the loneliest man in the universe opens up to you.

⇢ chapter one | chapter two | ao3

One night per year, Miguel allows himself a break. It’s barely even that.

He eats, sleeps, breathes heroism. It’s embedded in his DNA – but there’s a small part of him (a very, very microscopic part at that) that aches for freedom. Freedom from the burden that comes along with shouldering the weight of the entire universe.

It’s not a holiday, per se. For anyone else, it’s just another day, but for Miguel, it’s the only day that matters. This time, it falls on a Friday – last year, a Monday. A Saturday the year before that.

He doesn’t tell anyone he’s leaving – save for LYLA, the only one who’s even remotely allowed to get close.

…until you.

It's not your fault you happened to be in the right place at the right time on a day like any other. You weren’t expecting to meet anyone.

The drinks slide down easy, the casual conversations even easier, but you want some time to yourself, so you settle in on the balcony, drink in hand.

The setting sun is balmy and warm on your skin. As the night approaches, the city bustles, alive and breathing beneath you.

The balcony is surprisingly calm, quiet. The buzz of the city below drowned out by the smooth beats rattling the thick walls of the bar. it’s loud in there, it’s loud down there, but not here.

You exist in this sliver of space that feels unreal, almost dreamlike, like the stars aligned perfectly so that you could take a deep, settling breath.

If the universe were as loose as your favorite sweater cardigan, you’d be nestled in the microscopic gaps, a sanctuary between its threads. You give it your thanks by taking a little extra time to drink in the sunset. You’re content. 

And this place is where you find him.

Of all the places he could be, this seems like the last one he’d enjoy. He's stiff and unrelenting, his hard-ridged, tense body sucking the air right out of the sky as he peers down over the edge.

“Hey, want some company?” You’re hospitable as can be when you approach, still high off of the gorgeous atmosphere.

“No.” His response is immediate, the word, icy and biting, cuts through the air like a sharp blade. “Thanks.”

He says he wants to be alone, but… you sense his loneliness. He doesn’t need solitude, nor does he want it. But clearly, friendliness does nothing to crack his hard exterior.

You stay, elbows perched against the brick-lined balcony, the gentle summer wind caressing your exposed skin.

There’s barely three feet of space between you, but even then he’s a thousand miles away.

He hasn’t made a move to look at you; he hasn’t glanced your way once. Time keeps ticking, the sun slinking lower till golden hour envelops everything it touches, long brush strokes painting the city in its gilded warmth.

You’re nearly done with your drink. Is a refill worth it or should you just make your way home?

It should be an easy decision, but this chiseled stranger is anchoring you in place. You’re too curious to leave, but not nosy enough to prod.

“Apologies if I’ve made you uncomfortable,” he murmurs finally. “I won’t be here long.”

You shake your head, the movement catching his eye. He glances your way and you finally get a glimpse of his rich brown irises, a similar color to his disheveled hair, thoroughly raked through with his long fingers.

His brow is set, deep wrinkles framing his eyes like warning signs.

But… although everything else about him is intimidating, his eyes are not.

There’s a fire that burns in him, the flames threatening to lick your skin raw if you get too close, but his irises, sooty and morose, tell a different story.

You stamp away your nervousness, instead pulling from the little bit of courage you’ve gained from your curiosity.

“I’m not uncomfortable.” Stay.

His posture relaxes ever so slightly at your admission.

More time passes and it’s clear he’s reflecting. He can’t tear his eyes away from the street.

“You don’t seem like the type to take to strangers.”

A ghost of a smile and he turns to face you, finally.

“It’s easier this way.”

Something in the way he says it makes you want to embrace him.

He says it like there’s no other way, like he’s resigned to his fate. Like no one could ever possibly understand.

That doesn’t stop you from trying.

“It could be easy, though,” you start, taking a tentative step towards him. He doesn’t pull away.

“You don’t know me, I don’t know you,” you continue. “If you won’t judge me, I won’t judge you.”

You flash him your palms and shrug. “I promise I’m a good listener.”

“I’m not much of a talker.”

You shrug again, less animated this time. “There’s no harm in trying.”

He winces ever so slightly and a brief spark of something you don’t recognize flashes across his face.

“We could start with your name,” you say.

“Miguel,” he says, voice gravelly, almost unused. “O’Hara.”

“Miguel O’Hara,” you repeat back. “We’re getting somewhere.

––––

He doesn’t know why he told you his name. Of course, you wouldn’t know that he’s Spiderman, because this earth’s Spiderman hasn’t been bitten yet.

So, he’s safe – for now.

There’s a tiny part of him – buried deep – that wants to blurt it out. I’m Spiderman. I help people. It’s consumed my entire life. I’m a good guy.

Does it matter? If he told you the truth, you might not think so.

And similarly, any self-importance, any need for validation died inside of him when he lost her that day. Today.

He stares down at the paved road, soaks it in.

The parked cars and meandering bodies twisting between the spaces – careless sprints across the street to greet friends who linger in the lamplight. Beat up parking meters and camera phones flashing – idle chatter and the bliss of shared company.

Miguel soaks it in like he does every year, reliving the worst moment of his existence on repeat while the world keeps turning without him.

He can still feel the earth crumbling beneath his feet as he helplessly tried to outrun the inevitable – the demise that he brought upon himself.

She’s weightless and trembling in his hands, terrified and screaming for him – and then she’s gone.

One moment, she’s the center of his universe; the next, it’s as if she never existed.

One moment, he’s at the dinner table helping her with her homework, icing homemade cupcakes for her class party, bringing her to Saturday morning soccer games at the local park – and the next, the world he tried so desperately to fit into fades away into nothing.

Bound by fate, a finite end.

Miguel was never supposed to be happy. It wasn’t in the cards for him.

The universe proves it to him time and time again.

“So… Miguel. How are you? Really?”

He tears his gaze away from the ground and back to you again.

You watch him with a curiosity and care that he’s not used to. It’s been a long time since anyone paid attention to him like this.

Fuck it. Maybe it’s time for a change. A brief break in the neverending cycle.

----

sorry this is short !! i wanted to put out this part to see if anyone’s interested in being tagged in part two – which is going to include smut, and like i said in the a/n please have your age in bio! just comment below if so :-)

i’ll be putting this on ao3 tonight as well if you’d rather read it that way! likes/rbs/comments appreciated <3

[iamthekaijuking]

I didn’t have a part in this one since no organ system illustrations were needed and the bones of crabs are on the outside, but it’s still a really fun video because crabs are always a really fun thing to research.

Like UHC said, the duo having half the legs of other decapods is actually advantageous at a larger size. Less legs means less energy expenditure and more focus on the legs you have, and many of the fastest running animals only use 4 or 2 legs so it’s also a speed advantage.

And surprisingly, at least in sunbreak, Hermitaur and Ceanataur have somewhat realistic crab mouths. While their mouths are surrounded by spikes, they do have 2 out of the 3 maxillipeds visible. Albeit just oriented weird.

I do have to disagree with UHC thinking they’re unrelated though. They have too many anatomical features in common and their juveniles are identical as well. But as far as where they and by extension Shen Gaoren go in the decapod family… it’s hard to say. I’m not entirely sure since I’m not very knowledgeable about crustacean phylogenetics. Hermit crabs are an obvious answer but the ‘taurs have abdomens that are very different from real hermit crabs (although it’s entirely possible the person who modeled them didn’t know what hermit crab asses looked like).

(Image curtesy of @krmoaten-blog)

[kalashnikovlobotomy]

paused drawing my hetalia zompocalypse au bc im sleepy. here's the main cast of ragtag survivors (or "where's my sibling" gang if you will) and their situations:

russia: infected by his government for research purposes, escaped after biting a scientist thus beginning the spread of infection in the facility. doesn't remember it. swings between fully lucid and rabidly ravenous depending on mental state. doesn't have the strength to fully eliminate the infection yet, tries to use it to his advantage when possible. kind of happy that this has at least landed him a group of friends in a way. hopes his sisters are safe but dreads to think about it.

america: infected trying to be hero (whomp). trying to remain lucid but the hunger is unrelenting in the back of his mind (the golden hero persona stands between him, the lucid desire for satiety and the bottomless infection hunger). it keeps his state precarious so he can't fully eliminate it yet either. at some point he disappears in the middle of the night for reasons he doesn't want to admit to anyone (the wretched munchies) and comes back later on with romania.

canada: eliminated the infection, wanted to prove that he could (was scratched not bitten so it was easier...) is now immune and tries to make himself useful, but he's mentally exhausted. feels bad for everyone but also really can't stand them, pissed at ame for literally his entire attitude in this. opposed to donating flesh to his infected weirdo comrades, they can eat eachother as far as he's concerned.

romano: infected because he thought he was hot shit when he was not. is however on the way to beating the infection, but he's scared of the inevitable pain of the process. hungry and weak because the thought of flesh morally repulses him. we'll see how long that lasts.

prussia: immune. is he even technically alive? eye to eye with america trying to keep morale high, but the fact that he's immune makes ame want to kill prus himself. surprisingly chill with the prospect of flesh donation, which places him in proximity to romano as they're also both in this just to find their stupid brother.

romania: vampire situation complication... has limited real magic skills which help with the healing process of other but require fuel, and preferably from a human source no matter dead or alive or in between. really doesn't very much like any of these people, but tries to at least have a conversation with romano or cana... ame convinced him to tag along because he'll have a better shot at finding, you guessed it, his brother, but he's lowkey being used for his magic.

[callsignfate]

A blank card with a name and a number

Day One of Writemas/Birthday posts!

If you want to see the scheduled posts go here If you want to see more posts like this go here

TW: None? Tell me if I've missed any!

♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡

You worked unconventional hours at the small coffee shop owned by your friend and boss, Faith. Eager to stay open as much as possible, and given your limited sleep schedule, you found yourself taking the early morning shifts. Your cherished customers were often regulars, exhausted from all-nighters or with unconventional work hours, appreciating the availability of hot coffee at their convenience.

Among them, there was one woman you always looked forward to. She started coming in one morning, and since then, without fail, appeared every day around 4 am. Always fatigued and worn out, you made an effort to engage her in friendly conversation. She responded with a small exhausted hum or a few words, never more.

Her name, spelled simply k-a-t-e, struck you as a bit off with her rugged appearance. Yet, she consistently gave her name for the order as Kate. Not that you had written it that way, or that she would correct it, although you hoped she would. That was the way you were hoping to start a conversation with her, but for weeks she said nothing, the names changed every day, always starting with a K to make it look believable. Strangely, she never corrected it, though you hoped she would, providing an opportunity to start a conversation and for weeks, she remained silent, even when you experimented with variations like Kayla or Kara.

One morning, she walked in looking surprisingly well-rested and almost happy as she placed her usual order. As you went to type in Kathleen instead of Kate, her rare smile caught your attention.

"It's K-a-t-e, Kate," she said, offering a genuine smile. Your mind raced, considering how to respond.

"Oh, thank you, Kate," you replied, correcting the name on the order.

Unbeknownst to you, Kate understood the unspoken game. She realized you had already memorized her order, and this time, you inputted it before she even reached the counter. Departing unusually with cash, she left as you organized the bills in the register. Among them, a blank card stood out, bearing the words 'Kate Laswell' and a delicately written phone number.

Your heart quickened as you stared at the card with 'Kate Laswell' and a phone number written delicately on it. The usual routine of your early morning coffee shop suddenly felt charged with a different energy. This mysterious gesture from Kate, after weeks of quiet exchanges, left you intrigued and a bit excited. As you tucked the card away, you couldn't help but wonder about the change in her demeanor today. The well-rested look, the almost happy expression—something had shifted. Your mind raced with possibilities. Was it a change in her work schedule, or perhaps something entirely unrelated? The questions lingered as you resumed your tasks, the coffee machine humming softly in the background. As the day progressed, you found yourself glancing at the card more than once. The simplicity of the message contrasted with the complexity of your thoughts. Should you call her? What did she want? It was a puzzle, and you couldn't help but feel a mix of anticipation and nervousness. Eventually, your shift ended, and you found yourself holding the card as you walked home. The streetlights cast a warm glow, and you decided to take the chance. With a deep breath, you dialed the number, the familiar hum of the city in the background. The phone rang, and just as you were beginning to think she might not answer, a voice on the other end said, "Hello?" It was Kate. The conversation that followed was filled with laughter and stories, a stark contrast to your usual early morning exchanges. You learned more about her, about the challenges and joys in her life. It was a connection that had started with a simple change of a name on a coffee order. From that day forward, your conversations with Kate expanded beyond the coffee counter. The coffee shop, once just a backdrop, became the starting point for a story that unfolded with every shared moment. And in this ordinary place where you worked odd hours, an extraordinary connection blossomed—one that began with a subtle change in a routine and a blank card with a name and a number.

♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡

If you want to see the scheduled posts go here If you want to see more posts like this go here

[baeddel]

tips for writing a character with type 1 diabetes

people make these for whatever disability they have. but most of the time they're not really about writing, they're just informative about the disability, which isn't always that helpful. i thought it'd be fun to do one that takes the writing part seriously. so, here's mine!

the only fictional depiction of diabetes i'm aware of is Paul Blart Mall Cop. it's a pretty stupid point of reference, so i'm mostly going to be talking about the protrayal of the blood plague in Bloodborne instead. perhaps surprisingly, this post contains Bloodborne spoilers.

Table of Contents

Preface on Modes of Narrative Discourse

Tip 1: Varieties of Diabetes

Tip 2: Onset of Diabetes

Tip 3: History of Diabetes

Tip 4: Living with Untreated Diabetes

Tip 5: Treatment of Diabetes Today

Tip 6: Hypoglycemia

Tip 7: Diabetes is an Immune System Disorder

Conclusion

before we start, in this post i'm going to use the division of the narrator's discourse employed by Lubomír Doležel in Narrative Modes in Czech Literature, 1973, 5-10, except i'm using 'third person' and 'first person' instead of Er-form and Ich-form because you'll stop reading if i call them that. here's his chart for reference:

the objective narrators (first and third person) are totally external to the events they narrate and have no interpretations to make about what they see—they write in the detached manner of an ornithologist's field journal. example: Hemmingway's 'the Killers.'

the rhetorical third person narrator gets to interpret what it sees; the interpreter in rhetorical third person will generally be someone not involved in the story, such as the author themselves or a fictional storyteller like Shazarad. example: Balzac's 'Sarrasine' (once the Sarrasine sequence actually starts).

the subjective third person narrator is when the answer to 'who speaks?' and 'who sees?' is different. here, the narrator confines their interpretation to the point of view of a specific character within the story. Dolezel's example: "When Helenka was finishing her internship in orthopaedics, there was in the ward a young man who had broken his thigh-bone. Such a common femur fracture, a rather uninteresting case" (M. Pujmanova, Playing with Fire). the comment that the fracture is "uninteresting" is spoken by the narrator, but it is obviously Helenka's interpretation.

the personal and rhetorical first person narrator is a character within the story who can report on their own thoughts and feelings. the personal narrator acts within the story, while the rhetorical narrator merely comments; generally first-person stories will contain all three kinds of first-person narration; personal for their own actions, rhetorical for the actions of others, and observer's for things like providing context about the enviornment. example: Hajime Kanzaka's 'Slayers.'

i promise it's going to be important. now for the tips!

TIP 1: there are different kinds of diabetes

Type 1 diabetes (5-10% of cases), MODY (1-2%) and MIDD (1%) are genetic, whereas Type 2 (90%) and Gestational Diabetes are acquired. you get Gestational Diabetes during pregnancy and then it goes away (it occurs in 6% of all pregnancies), and you acquire Type 2 diabetes pretty much randomly although it's highly correlated with bodyweight. MIDD is accompanied by hearing loss. there is another unrelated disease which is also called diabetes, diabetes insipidus.

if you're writing about a historical period Type 2 is going to be much less common. the number of people with Type 2 has exploded since the 1960s. "As of 2015 there were approximately 392 million people diagnosed with the disease compared to around 30 million in 1985" (wiki). personally i don't know jack shit about any of those other kinds, so i'm only going to talk about Type 1.

TIP 2: onset is prolonged and dangerous

while Type 1 is entirely genetic, onset doesn't actually start until your teens or twenties. basically, your pancreas just stops working. you cannot predict if this will happen, and you won't notice as soon as it does happen.

when you eat carbs or sugar you're absorbing glucose. your body detects the presence of glucose and the pancreas creates insulin which converts glucose into energy. when your pancreas stops working, you will not produce enough insulin to convert the glucose and it'll stick around in your system indefinitely. this is called 'hyperglycemia' or 'high blood sugars' and it is extremely perilous, but its effects come on slowly.

first of all, you will suffer fatigue and tiredness because you aren't making enough energy. at the same time, all the excess glucose your body isn't using will stick to your cells and cause problems. it sticks to the retina, causing vision problems (everything is white and gooey, like you've been rubbing your eyes). it collects in veins and arteries, slowing the flow of blood to the extremities, causing your hands and feet to become severely cold. you'll be lightheaded and dizzy all the time. you urinate constantly, and you also become extremely thirsty, nothing will parch your thirst, and your urine will be completely clear, like water. you lose a lot of weight. you sleep for extremely long periods of time and no one can wake you up. eventually you'll start to collapse during the day and lose consciousness. then you'll die.

if you're reading this and think you have some of those symptoms, please see a doctor!

for myself, i was collapsing unconscious regularly before anyone realized something was wrong. while i've just described these things as symptoms of a disease, your characters are probably not likely to interpret it as a disease right away. i was about fifteen, so my family probably thought i was just a teenager. i didn't want to go to school, but no teenager wants to go to school. i was sleeping in all the time, but that just meant i was lazy and needed to be disciplined. these years (years!) were very hard in my family; every morning i would fight back visciously to stay in bed. i would refuse to attend school and i would defend myself if they tried to drag me. punching and clawing. i was a disobedient teenager with behavioural problems and poor attendance. in fact, i was very close to death. it was only after i started passing out that it became evident to anyone (including me) that something was wrong with my health. when they took me to the doctors they hospitalized me immediately.

so if you're going to write about a character experiencing the onset of diabetes, they are going to have most of these symptoms, but they will probably not experience them as symptoms. if they are from a society like ours, which puts a lot of value on work ethic, they'll probably blame themselves for their flinching self-discipline. they are not likely to connect things like their worsening eyesight to their sleep and behaviour changes; they all come on slowly, over a long time, and don't look connected. other characters will notice gradual changes in their behaviour; their lover might find that they've become distant and disinterested in sex, the people at their church might notice that they attend less, and so forth. they're likely to have become isolated from the people in their life before they start passing out, so no one might be around to notice. i dropped out of my social life before anyone learned i had diabetes, so my old friends don't know what happened.

so, the onset period of Type 1 Diabetes is inherently denpa (see). it also has a natural narrative arc; there is a period of confusion, uncertainty and conflict which culminates in the dramatic symptoms of prolonged hyperglycemia—the sudden fall from unconsciousness. the diagnosis recontextualizes everything the reader has previously witnessed about this character. it therefore fits well in a slow story which takes place over a long time, months or years, and wants a coy narrator who can fairly hide information from the reader: personal first person, observer's first person, objecive third person or subjective third person. in this situation it's an especially good red herring, for example in a mystery or horror novel where the reader is paying close attention to out-of-character behaviour, and a long, slow, character-focused story is expected. but you could also pick a rhetorical third person narrator who conveys information to us which the characters are ignorant of, allowing the reader to cringe as the characters act on their misapprehensions. example:

once Eric didn't open the door on the third day of knocking Lune said "what the hell, you bastard," and then they said "i didn't need you anyway, and i'm not sad you're breaking up with me." then they went and wrote him a pissed-off letter about how they would just go to Denver on their own after all and they stuffed it in the letterbox. four days later when Eric woke up from his diabetic coma he found the letter.

i understand that suggestions like this can be a bit less than useful, since a lot of writing ideas only work in one story, so if you read it in a post someplace it's probably already too late to use it. i would like to make the case, however, that Type 1 diabetes onset can be a generically useful trope. Amnesia is a generically useful disorder in fiction because of how efficiently it solves narrative problems; it allows first person and subjective third person narrators to hide information, and it gives the characters an excuse to explain known information to the reader—the character just forgot all the important stuff. Type 1 diabetes can't be quite that useful to narrators, but it is quite useful; untreated diabetes causes a person to be inconsistent, unreliable and uanvailable. if you ever need a character to fail to show up at a crucial moment in the story, but you don't have a reason yet—it was the diabetes! EZ! this turns what might have been an inconsistency into a set-up for a later payoff, when they figure out what was wrong with them.

more generally than Type 1 diabetes, 'life-changing symptoms which no one realizes are symptoms' and 'slow onset of an unpreventable disease' are common situations in real life, but don't happen very often in fiction, so you should feel free to use them. it's a device that's used to excellent effect in Bloodborne, where it affects almost every character in the game, since everyone uses a substance the tragic effects of which they could not foreknow. because in Bloodborne it's happening to every character all the time the trope has a stochastic impact on the player; as the player learns more about the plague curiosity gradually shades into dread, the heart sinks with each new phase of the moon as the player worries about the characters they've left back at Oedon Chapel.

TIP 3: diabetes was understood from ancient times all over the world

there's a bit of a misconception that nobody knew anything about health and illness until very recently, and past peoples attributed everything to magic. for example, there have been countless attempts to diagnose Hildegard von Bingen with Temporal Lobe Epilespy based on her descriptions of her mystical visions, which—while it isn't refuted by this evidence—seems a bit unchairtable considering she was a physician who especially wrote about epilepsy herself. in short, assume people in the past were medically informed.

according to wikipedia diabetes is one of the oldest diseases described (see). in ancient and imperial China it was called "wasting-thirst", and the article talks about how ancient Egyptian and Indian physicians diagnosed it based on the sweetness of the urine; we actually still diagnose diabetes this way, except we use a chemical that reacts with the urine instead of taste unfortunately. Galen named it diarrhea urinosa, 'diarrhea of the urine', in reference to how much you pee. Galen's medical writing was circulated all over the Middle East and, later, Europe in the medieval period, and diabetes was also described by Celsus who's work was circulated throughout early medieval Europe.

they didn't, however, have an effective treatment for it. if you're writing a historical setting it's likely to mean a long, slow, and unpreventable death. "[Aretaeus of Cappadocia] described the disease as 'a melting down of the flesh and limbs into urine' [...] commenting that "life (with diabetes) is short, disgusting and painful'" (wiki). i'll talk more about contemporary treatment below.

TIP 4: a short, disgusting, and painful life is worth writing about

in tip 3, when we talked about the onset of diabetes, we were thinking from the perspective of a character experiencing gradual changes. but death from untreated diabetes might take years, so they have plenty of time to settle into new habits and routines. it's worth thinking about not just how they change, but what kind of person they become, and therefore might already be before your story starts.

you will get access to the untreated diabetic's first person perspective in the narrative discourse if you're writing them from their own point of view in personal first person or subjective third person, as well as in their character's discourse (ie. dialogue) or in their reported speech. we immediately have some interesting questions about such a character's first person perspective:

1. do they know they have diabetes?

2. if so, are they receiving an ineffective treatment?

Avicenna (our Avicenna!) treated diabetes with "a mixture of lupine, trigonella (fenugreek), and zedoary seed" which could not have helped anyone.

3. if so, do they believe that treatment will work?

i have a very unusual form of Type 1 diabetes which is extremely difficult to treat (there isn't a name for it or anything, as far as i know i'm the only one). it took over ten years to stabilize, and i still have to endure a lot of compromises. all the while i also had Chronic Fatigue Syndrome, which further confused my and my physician's ability to understand what was happening to me. within my own psychology there were two stages of post-diagnosis experience; an initial faith that i would eventually respond to treatment and everything will go back to normal, and the gradual realisation that help isn't coming. yearning and passivity turn to dejection and stubbornness as doctors stop ordering new tests and i stop asking for them.

4. if they don't know they have diabetes, how do they interpret what's going on with them?

earlier on we talked about a hypothetical diabetic who blamed their lack of work ethic for their problems. how are they doing four years later? they might start identifying with their inaccurate self-image; now they've become a bitter, stubbornly workshy Belacqua.

4. how do they live as someone with untreated diabetes?

remember the symptoms from before; aside from constant urination, exhaustion and losing weight, your sleep becomes very disordered. it is difficult to socialize, keep appointments, work. for myself i have never worked a single day, i no longer leave my house, and i usually sleep during the day. as a teenager and young adult, either before diagnosis or during the unstable period where i did not respond to treatment, i certainly became a different person. i gave up on my physical hobbies and focused on things i could do by myself at any time of day. i read a lot of strange books, i argued with strangers online, and so forth. i was probably never destined to be a normal person, but i certainly became more strange, more reclusive, more self-involved, until i no longer even really share a culture with my neighbours. your untreated diabetic will probably be this way. an eternal stranger; a diseased anchorite, slowly dissolving in the latrine, barely touched by the material world which passes overhead.

many characters in Bloodborne are protrayed that way, but Gilbert is a good point of reference. he is locked in his house—we never see his human form—so we encounter him as a disembodied voice. he is a stranger to Yharnam—he is as alienated from it as the player and becomes our confidant—yet he is also the source of special information. he has certain foreknowledge of his own inevitable death; in conversation he is politely dismissive about it, although you can overhear his terrified pleading.

our experience of Gilbert in Bloodborne is a strictly third person one. Gilbert doesn't want to talk about his health, so his statements in character's discourse are brief and a bit dishonest. the player therefore has to read between the lines. after playing some more of the game they probably assume that Gilbert is suffering from the same beast plague everyone else is. when Gilbert finally turns into a beast and attacks the player we are therefore not surprised, but find our suspicions horribly confirmed. this kind of elenctic delivery, which coaxes knowledge from the reader rather than informs them, is an attractive way to present the symptoms of a secondary character who is only available in third person objective, third person subjective or another character's first person, and the nature of their condition never has to be made explicit. such a character might be—as we suggested earlier—missing or unavailable. they might live alone, not work or socialize, sleep all the time, seem exhausted, and so forth. every time these symptoms present themselves it both explains that character's personality and foreshadows their future, either early death or diagnosis.

all together, the symptoms of untreated diabetes can be part of the penumbra of an interesting character, and the progress of their disease can be a useful and emotionally significant means of advancing the plot. to summarize with a simple example, the protagonists might have to go to a certain character's house because it's known that they won't leave it themselves. then you could have a dramatic scene where the fully dressed detective (for example) has to interrogate the emaciated, barely clothed and barely conscious suspect in her tranny hovel while she lies in bed (or even in the bathroom while she pisses involuntarily). he tries to show her his badge but she can't even see it, "for all i see is white—it means God in heaven must be with me, sir." she makes a rotten smile.

TIP 5: treatment is difficult and prone to human error

the first effective treatments for diabetes came in the 18th century when it was discovered that restricting the intake of sugar improved outcomes. the diet which developed as a treatment resembles what today we call the "Keto diet", containing no sugar and few carbs. a diet like this works because it shifts the burden of energy production to the liver, which begins to turn fat into ketones which are converted into energy in a manner similar to glucose, a state called 'ketosis.' this is actually happening during prolonged hyperglycemia in untreated diabetes as well, since the body isn't converting glucose for energy, but at very high sugars these ketones are more likely to turn acidic in the blood and kill you, which is called 'ketoacidosis.' this happened to me and i had to have my blood flushed (after some emergency asthma treatment raised my blood sugars to toxic levels).

you might be surprised to learn this—most people seem to think there was no effective treatment for Type 1 diabetes until the discovery of insulin in the 1920s, but that isn't the case.

regardless, since the discovery of insulin it has been the first line treatment for diabetes. 1923 is the year that Eli Lilly first produced commercial quantities of insulin, incase period matters. wikipedia has a timeline of insulin milestones (see).

while i spent the last 3,000 words talking about the horrors of untreated diabetes, diabetes which is being managed may be nothing more than a nuisance. there are many diabetic athletes. in one study, "the absolute probability of working was 4.4 percentage points less for women and 7.1 percentage points less for men relative to that of their counterparts without diabetes" (see). that's a noticeable amount, but it still means a minority of diabetics are unemployed because of their diabetes (compare to schizophrenia or autism, where only a small percentage find employment). so diabetes is not necessarily even a disability for most diabetics.

insulin is a very effective treatment. normally the pancreas makes insulin in response to glucose; if you make insulin in response to glucose instead, it's like nothings wrong at all! the point is to take an appropriate amount of insulin relative to the amount of carbohydrates you're consuming. in principle there are no dietary restrictions necessary for a diabetic managing their diabetes with insulin, but in practice refined sugars in things like sweets and sodas raise the sugars too dramatically to manage. diabetics should therefore avoid sugary foods as much as possible, but sugars in foods like cottage cheese which are bound to proteins digest much slower and are much easier to manage.

note: the following descriptions of the treatment of diabetes are based on my own experiences and the experiences of people i've met. they may not represent a worldwide view, may be slightly out of date, and are likely to be partial or limited in other ways.

there is a lot of technique involved in taking insulin, most of it is outside the scope of this post. for your purposes it should be enough to know that there are two types of insulin a typical Type 1 diabetic will use: slow release and fast release. i know these as Lenovo and Novorapid, or green and orange insulin (because of the colour of the pens). a typical diabetic will take some slow release insulin at night, and possibly once or twice during the day, and will take rapid insulin every time they consume carbs. the more carbs, the more insulin. the patient is educated in the relationship between carbs, sugars, glucose and sugar levels and afterwards they are responsible for their own insulin management.

insulin is a completely clear, water-like liquid. it comes in pens with metered doses. doses are very small to allow granularity. most people take double digits of rapid insulin with every meal; i take very small doses, 1-2 units at a time, because i'm extremely sensitive to insulin (part of my strange case). disposable needles are screwed onto the top of the pen and discarded after one use. injection is intramuscular; it is typically injected into the outer thighs or at the bottom of the stomach, but it can be injected elsewhere, such as the butt. pens can be disposable or reusable with disposable cartridges of insulin. the injection is painless in my opinion.

most diabetics will also have a blood-glucose reading kit which tells you what your sugar level is. you do this with meals, anytime you think something might be wrong, and to help make decisions relating to sugars (eg. can i wait and order takeout or do i need to eat right now?). to take a blood reading, a disposable strip is inserted into a small computer with a digital screen. the user pricks their finger with a lancet needle (a sort of small needle gun) and draws blood that way. this is a lot more painful than taking insulin!

all that sounds pretty good, right? so why the ominous headline? well, it's very easy to mess this up. if you take too little insulin then you're going to be high blood sugars again. you might feel lightheaded and tired, but short-term high sugars aren't really a big deal. the problem is that you can take too much insulin. apart from mere forgetfulness, there are many situations in life where we end up with less carbs on our plate than we predict. burning some food, ordering at a restauraunt, and other situations out of your control can present dangers any time you have already taken insulin. while you can delay taking rapid insulin until the food is ready, your long-acting insulin is always ticking down. taking too much insulin by mistake or missing a meal entirely because of circumstance happens more often than you think it would, and it always leads to

TIP 6: Hpyoglycemia... Living Hell

shaking hands, vertigo, cold sweat, nausea, intense dysphoria. none of it really does it justice; hypoglycemia is an overwhelming, all-consuming hunger. but it's not a hunger in your stomach, it's like a hunger with your whole body.

if you don't treat a hypo you'll pass out. then you'll die. i have passed out from a hypo before and had to be taken to hospital; my grandfather fortunately found me lying unconscious, otherwise i would have died. while its hard to get to this stage under normal circumstances—you cannot fail to notice hypoglycemia, it's so intense—humans are not always in normal circumstances. especially in a story, you're often talking about abnormal circumstances. getting lost in the forest, your car breaking down in the desert, getting shipwrecked, or even getting locked out of your apartment. these are all potentially lethal predicaments for a diabetic with insulin in their system, their sugars inexorably ticking down to nothing. it's a very dramatic situation which can turn things which are small inconveniences for other characters into life or death situations for the diabetic. meanwhile, hypoglycemia impairs your ability to resolve your situation.

hypoglycemia is used as a plot device in this way in Paul Blart Mall Cop. actually, it's used in a very funny way. they're doing the 'Dark Night of the Soul' beat, where the hero has to look like they're on the verge of defeat, but they turn it around for the climax. so all the action is going on—whatever the hell it is that happens in that movie—and Blart enters hypoglycemia at the worst time. he's lying on the floor, incapacitated... defeated by his illness, just like back in the Police Academy... when he finds—miraculously—just out of reach—a lollipop! sugar! shots of him struggling to reach the lollipop are intercut with the rising action in the A plot. then once he reaches it, it's all gross because it was on the floor. comic gag of him eating a gross, floor lollipop... and then he leaps into action and saves the day!

it's very funny, and part of what makes it funny is how incredibly inaccurate it is. sucking on a lollipop basically gives Blart superpowers; in his post-hypo sugar rush he can accomplish things he couldn't even accomplish normally. it certainly doesn't work that way, you're really going to be in a daze all day and should be in bed. but this goes over while you're watching. what's funny is that they're turning the language of blockbuster cinema to a very mundane, stupid situation, to which it cannot possibly really apply. it's absurd that a diabetic mall cop can turn into a Sylvester Stalone-like movie hero with the help of a piece of candy, and that's the joke the movie is making.

so you can take a lot of artistic license here, and lean on the drama, and the audience will understand. Paul Blart Mall Cop actually takes something like the first step towards making diabetes into a generic narrative disease like Amneisa the way we discussed. by the way, there's another Kevin James movie, Hitch, which does a similar thing with Asthma. in that movie, the Asthma of Jame's character, Albert Brennaman, is made into an image for his imperfection and thus low status as a person (which makes him incompatible with the very high-status woman he is in love with). because asthma attacks take us by surprise, he must use his inhaler at times not of his choosing, and inconveniently expose his poor health and, poetically, his low status. Hitch, the date coach, attempts to make him mask his low-status and, consequently, his asthma, bad advice which Brennaman overcomes in the finale when he opens his big gesture to the leading lady with a few puffs of his inhaler.

it's a bit wasted on those movies, but it's actually very good writing—it's a very good way to use impairments, making them plot devices, poetic motifs and sources of comic relief, without being at all mean spirited.

anyway. there are, again, two ways to depict hypoglycemia: the first-person view of the diabetic, available to personal first person or subjective third person narrators, or the third-person view of another character, available to the rest.

in third person, the hypo is another way in which diabetes is naturally denpa. on this occasion, when we encounter this character, they are acting differently—not just strange, but scarcely human. possessed, possibly even violent. once when i entered hypoglycemia in town i had to try and navigate to a shop and buy a can of soda, since i didn't have anything with me to help. i managed to find a shop, grab a soda and navigate to the till, but i missed the queue entirely and pushed infront of an old lady. she interrupted me to scold me, but once i turned around—i don't know what she saw in me, but she immediately became very frightened and apologized. the situation is even worse for a diabetic who doesn't understand their condition and doesn't know how to help themselves.

if you choose a coy narrator and withold the fact that they're diabetic, or presently low blood sugars, from the reader, you can present a lot of confusing signals to them. it naturally creates an enigma which the reader wishes to solve. and if you choose a narrator who is free to interpret the situation for the reader, such as the rhetorical third person narrator, then it is once again a situation to stage tragic ironies—conflicts or confusions which the reader understands, but which the diabetic character cannot communicate.

it's also a captivating way to introduce a character for the first time. here it's a bit like Father Gascoigne in Bloodborne, who we only meet in person after his blood-craze has begun—sweet blood, ooh, it sings to me—but before and afterwards we have the chance to hear reports about his loving faterhood and doting family.

from the first person, it's probably going to be a bit of a challenge to represent hypogycemia. it is characterized by a total distortion of the inner experience. i generally don't remember what happens during one, but if i do, it is not at all what others recall. only certain prose styles—highly emotional, subjective ones, such as the stream of consciousness—will really be appropriate. it is acceptable to treat it as a blackout, accessible only through vague flashbacks. however, if you are writing a highly emotionally intense story which cares a lot about the inner experience of its characters, hypoglycemia may be an alluring state to paint with. i am not aware of any attempt to render this in prose fiction. Serious Weakness has scenes a bit like that, for other reasons, that's the closest i can compare it, or else some of the junk sickness sequences in Burroughs.

TIP 7: diabetes means being sick all the time

this is a rather minor point, but diabetes is an autoimmune disorder. your immune system is very compromised. you get sick all the time, sometimes for reasons you can't specify. i have severe flu-like symptoms a lot of the year.

in conclusion, i think Type 1 diabetes is a very strange disease with a lot of alarming symptoms which no one is really exploiting in fiction. a lot of our everyday experiences as diabetics lend themselves well to fictional situations and there's a lot of room for the writer to use their artistic license. depending on how you choose to narrate the symptoms of diabetes it can take on many different appearances and colours and therefore fit into a lot of stories. and much of this is probably true not just of diabetes, but of disorders and impairments in general. it's up to you to decide how and why you want to write about impairment, the 'moral' organization of your story which this post doesn't care about. hope that helps you write something, fuckers!