#I hate needles and pain and having things stuck in my skin. so it's just...... dumb

[running-in-the-dark]

I've had my conch piercing for almost 6 months and it's healing really well I think (or at least I'm not having any issues with it at all anymore). so I'm now thinking what piercing(s) I want to get next. even though I had already decided the healing process is too annoying and I should wait a couple years.... kinda want to get my nose pierced now (worst idea ever)

[milkymora]

✧ dl characters - piercing headcanons ✧

note: ok this is kind of stupid, i literally just wondered what kind of piercings they’d wear (sakamakis, mukamis & yui) and decided to write it down lol. these ARE NOT sfw, i don’t go deeper in details but there’s mention of genitals/nipples, so.

☽ ayato sakamaki.

tongue piercings are his thing. he’s always sticking out his tongue in pictures and would like the look of it on himself.

he wouldn’t wear any detailed jewelry, just the plain silver one the piercer pierced him with.

also. his tongue is quite long and pointy. it suits him amazingly.

☽ laito sakamaki.

oh, although he hates needles this man couldn’t resist the urge to get his nipples pierced.

he finds piercings to be hot in general, indeed he has several ones on his ears too (double helixes, a tragus & a lobe on his left ear and double lobes on his right ear) with 18k golden jewelry that has little emerald stones in them.

but nipples and genitals especially are quite his thing. although he still has to find the courage to his lorum pierced.

☽ kanato sakamaki.

he isn’t really into ear piercings. he finds them to be boring and unoriginal, instead,

cheeks and lips (angel fangs and snake bites precisely) are the ones he’d pick to get pierced.

his belly button too. he loves the look of it, and would definitely experiment with all kinds of jewelry.

☽ reiji sakamaki.

piercings aren’t really his thing to begin with, so...

he’d get his lobes pierced and call it a day. just for the sake of wearing the most basic, tiny, silver hoops.

probably just because you insisted he’d look good with them.

☽ shu sakamaki.

he doesn’t really care for piercings either, i feel like he’d be more into tattoos. yet, ear piercings aren’t too bad.

indeed, he has both his lobes, a surface tragus on his right ear, and a conch ring on his left one. also a side labret with a small stud.

all his pieces are black. he likes the contrast it makes with his skin.

☽ subaru sakamaki.

he loves both piercings and tattoos. all kinds of body mods, really. and emo boy goes heavy with it.

20mm/3’4” ear lobe gauges, triple lobes, both his industrials and both his tragus. a smiley, septum, both his eyebrows and his medusa. he also got two dermals on his shoulders.

as for jewelry, he has his own collection (dude lives off of crazy factory although being disgustingly rich) of mainly plain silver stuff. he does like onyx and amethyst stones in them though.

☽ ruki mukami.

as mentioned in my first hdcs of him, he loves piercings a lot. he fancies his left industrial the most, but he does have more on his ears. triple lobes and his right rook.

he also has a labret piercing and a nose ring. mostly silver jewelry. can switch up to a 18k golden one too, sometimes.

also his frenum ladder. right below the tip. don’t ask me why, i just know he’s into genital piercings as much (if not even more) as laito.

☽ yuma mukami.

man is big as a tree but still passes out at the mere sight of a needle. that’s why he is unable to get as many piercings as he’d like. (although he prefers tattoos like shu).

still, he was able to get his left helix, his lobes and his conch.

golden jewelry guy. mostly small rings because they don’t get stuck in his hair. also suits him amazingly since he’s tanned.

☽ kou mukami.

belly button, septum and both his nostrils.

his ears are kind of empty, he just got his lobes and double lobes but that’s it. he tried a cartilage piercing but it hurt like hell and took it out the first night he slept with it.

only wears pink jewelry. the cheap, plastic one he buys god knows where that always ends up irritating his skin.

☽ azusa mukami.

we all know this boy loves pain. and he’s also low-key emo.

and it’s only logical he picked the most painful pieces he could get. which happen to be mostly on his penis.

got his nipples (double pierced). magic cross, double pubic.

☽ yui komori.

she loves curated ears. she doesn’t really care where the piercing is, she’s mainly interested in the jewelry. can’t say the same about facial piercings! not her thing.

she’s the only one to have symmetrical ear placements, having triple lobes, daiths, flats, helixes and forward helixes.

rose gold jewelry with all pretty gemstones in them. an absolute sucker for butterfly/bows studs.

i have no idea if someone is actually gonna read all this ahah, but i had to do this, i love piercings too much!!! sorry for not putting any pics but err i couldn’t really find any good one and, especially, i didn’t wanna insert anything explicit. also sorry in advance if anyone will get traumatized for searching the genital ones LMAO. dl navigation.

[sams-venting]

Ough ok, today's eaps episode really Got to me and boy I was not prepared

I find it interesting, that the things that would trigger and harm other people, I love to seek out as a hobby. Shock sites, well made args, real life disappearances in the woods, existential conspiracy theories, etc. shit my schizo ass Really shouldn't be indulging but I do anyway for the sillies even tho it triggers persecutory hallucinations (please for the love of God don't do as I do). I find morbid and gorey shit fascinating

but then you just, have something simple as a 'make a wish kid' concept in a silly little VRC rp. and. it really fucks with me

because like, I'm never Not aware of how little time I have left. I am constantly under the ticking tower of death. Everyone talks about graduating college, getting a career, getting married, being able to live on their own. and I?-

I am just stuck. I'll maybe get to accomplish One of these and that's it. Knowing that I most likely won't live to see my 30s. And in two more months, the clock ticks down to 6 years left. 6 years till I develop bone marrow cancer or skin cancer from my immunosuppressant. And that's assuming that I survive till then, the never ending surgeries that remove my organs piece until there's nothing left; assuming I don't catch a skin or respiratory infection that everyone else can fight off except for me; assuming that I don't resume trying to overdose like I should've done when I was 14, before the universe decided I was a parasite it had to slowly kill off; assuming I survive living in a sundown town; assuming I don't die in a freak accident like a normal american on the highway; assuming I don't give into the impulse to do opiods to escape the neverending pain; assuming I'm able to get my shit together and take care of myself without having some needing to intervene before I literally wither away; etc. I could keep going about how the former prognosis is infact a positive outlook by all calculations.

Surprisingly, I've come to terms with this a few years ago. It's not a big deal. Well I mean it is, but it's nothing that can't be worked around. Everyone lives on borrowed time, we are never promised tomorrow anyway. The wise say to live like very day is you last, and whether I like it or not, I have the most reason to follow that compared to the average Joe

But what they don't tell you, is that, you never go through the grieving process once or twice. When you know your time is going to be up in less than a decade, it doesn't Ever stop. You just suffer the same stages over, and over, and over, and over again. Till you're fine. and then the next day your brain decides the last dozen times wasn't enough, time to process the state of our mortality all over again :) bc why not :) :) fml in particular ig

And honest to God that is the worst part of this all. It's not the colonoscopies, it's not the endoscopies, it's not the surgeries, it's not the thousands of needles that I've been stabbed with to the point where I can rate nurses like it's doordash. It's the grieving process that won't stop repeating once you know you're going to die

Anyway I just- I don't even know if I can finish the episode, and I'm only a few minutes in. This might honestly be the first video I'll ever have to skip. and it's SO FUCKING STUP:ID. Like I can go through all of this other bullshit jsut fine and not bat an eye, but THIS, THIS IS THE BREAKING POINT??? Fucking pathetic. I hate myself so mcuh tjhis is so stupid and I hate it. I think what I hate most is how I can never fucking get over myself. boo hoo so fcuking what. Just push through and stop being a limp dick coward for two mcfucking seconds. It's not even real, are we really gonna get our panies bunched up over pixles ona fucking screen? Is this Really the level we want to stoop to? Fukcing piece of shit good for nothing idiot.

It's not like I don't know Why it affects me so badly. It's all so stupid but I Know why. For fucks sake, I got body slammed into fnaf as a whole to cope with the fact my grandma literally got admitted to the hospital for emergency brain cancer surgery on the hour of Thee solar eclipse that happened in April. When she got admitted to hospice in May and we were dealing with the funeral, obsessing over the dca and later solar lunacy and TSAMS was the only thing keeping me sane.

Words cannot describe accurately just how fucked it is not only to watch someone else lose their mind as they're dying (and knowing that one day that's going to be me, and that's the future I have to look forward to), but also get slapped with traumatic flashbacks from my own medical procedures. It's almost funny in a twisted way how the simple smell of saline solution and cleaning alcohol can fuck a guy up. Istg I've never had my surgery scars impossibly itch in the worst way possible except when I'm around it in recovery wings.

Honestly I wish none of it affected me. Not to be selfish on main or anything, I'm just sick of wasting wasting what precious little time I have on pissing and moaning over things no one can change.

Maybe I'll be in a better headspace to watch EAPS later tomorrow or something. Hopefully. I despise the idea of trauma having any control over what I do and don't do in my life, and if there's one thing anyone should know about me, it's that I live on pure spite. Nothing will stop me istg, even if it kills me. People identify as male or female, and then you have me, certified stubborn little shit supreme

P.S. If you know who I am, don't bother trying to contact me outside of this post. I'm making it 'anonomus' bc I don't want ppl pussy footing around with sympathy or any of that bs. It's not wanted, and I hate the simple concept of being treated differently just bc I'm medically fucked. I can't stand ppl throwing pity parties for me. I ain't got time for that shit. literally. Also I already have hives and a migraine from crying while venting, don't make me relive these emotions please

Anyway, this is your local lunatic signing off. I've got fanfiction to write before I die, and I refuse to kneel to fate until all 3 of my main projects are finished - Winter

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[rebecca2407]

My Endometriosis and IC Journey, Part 2: Pain, Needles, and Unsolicited Advice

Let me start by saying: living with endometriosis and interstitial cystitis (IC) feels like being stuck in the worst episode of a medical drama—except no one is solving anything, and you’re still the patient screaming in pain. Over the years, I’ve tried more remedies than there are Kardashians. Spoiler alert: most of them don’t work, but hey, you have to try something, right?

Let’s talk about pain management, or as I call it, the “what fresh hell is this?” department. The one thing I do consistently rely on is my trusty TENS unit. This little device sends electrical pulses through my skin, and for some reason, it helps take the edge off my pain. Is it magic? Science? Am I just so desperate that tiny electric shocks feel comforting now? Who knows. All I know is that when it’s 3 a.m., and I’m curled up like a shrimp because the cramps are bad, this thing is my ride-or-die. Bonus: it gives me a slight “Frankenstein’s monster” vibe, which I think adds to my charm.

Now, let’s move on to physical therapy. Mondays are officially my “torture and hope” days because that’s when I go to my pelvic floor physical therapist. We recently started dry needling, which sounds horrifying, doesn’t it? Let me tell you: it’s exactly as bad as it sounds. They stick tiny needles into my muscles to release tension. And while it does help for a day or two, the aftermath is… intense. Side effects? Oh, just the usual: feeling like I’ve been hit by a truck and having to pee every three seconds. Seriously, I can’t leave the bathroom. It’s like my bladder heard about the needles and decided to punish me for it.

Speaking of my bladder, let’s get into the creative methods I’ve had to use to calm it down. Bladder spasms are no joke—they’re like having a rebellious toddler throwing a tantrum inside you. My go-to remedy? Ice packs. Yes, ice packs up there. Glamorous, right? You know things are bad when your most effective pain relief method involves freezing your lady parts. But when the bladder spasms are roaring and heat isn’t cutting it, you do what you have to do.

Oh, and water. So much water. I sit in tubs until I feel like I’m about to evolve into some kind of aquatic creature. Warm water does help a little, but I hate how people act like it’s some magical cure. “Just take a bath!” they say, as if that will solve the fact that my uterus is staging a coup. If baths were the answer, I wouldn’t be writing this blog—I’d be soaking in a tub 24/7, living my best mermaid life.

And then there’s the unsolicited advice. I’m looking at you, people who tell me to “just breathe through it.” Breathe? BREATHE?! Listen, if breathing solved chronic pain, I’d be the Dalai Lama by now. Deep breaths don’t stop my organs from feeling like they’re trying to escape my body. Telling me to “breathe in, breathe out” is like telling someone with a broken leg to just walk it off. Not helpful. In fact, it’s mildly infuriating.

Now, don’t get me wrong, I’ve tried everything under the sun. Essential oils? Smelled like a walking herb garden, still hurt. Acupuncture? Felt like a human pincushion, still hurt. Meditation? Oh, I tried. I sat there, cross-legged, chanting, “Ohm,” but all I could think about was how much pain I was in and how I wanted to scream at whoever suggested meditation as a cure.

Heat is another staple in my pain management arsenal. Heating pads are my best friends—seriously, I have one in almost every room. The downside? I’ve burned myself more times than I can count because I tend to crank the heat up to “lava” levels. Sometimes, I’ll combine heat with water therapy, which is a fancy way of saying I sit in the shower with the water as hot as I can stand. It’s not exactly relaxing, but hey, it keeps me from losing my mind.

Honestly, one of the hardest parts of this journey isn’t even the physical pain—it’s the emotional toll. People just don’t get it. They’ll say things like, “You don’t look sick,” as if chronic pain comes with a neon sign above your head. Or they’ll tell you to “stay positive,” as if smiling through the pain will magically cure my insides. Look, I appreciate the sentiment, but positivity isn’t going to un-glue my organs or calm down my bladder.

Then there’s the guilt. Oh, the guilt. Chronic illness is like having a toxic relationship with your own body. You feel guilty for canceling plans, for not being as productive as you’d like, for being a burden. But you know what? Screw that. I’m not a burden. I’m a warrior. A very tired, slightly cranky warrior, but a warrior nonetheless.

So, what’s next in this never-ending journey? Who knows. Maybe I’ll stumble upon a miracle cure. Maybe I’ll invent one myself—some magical device that zaps away endometriosis and IC forever. Until then, I’ll keep doing what I’m doing: experimenting, surviving, and sharing my story.

To anyone out there dealing with something similar, just know you’re not alone. And if someone tells you to “just breathe,” feel free to direct them to this blog. Or, you know, throw a heating pad at them. Whatever works.

[unculturedmia]

The dream of the corner store on a strip mall. We walked towards it with the sun burning down on the pavement, hitting our eyes. The bell clinked as I walked in. I slowly wandered thru the aisles, looking for nothing and everything at once.

ŗ̸͇̪̗̹̲̟͌̇̐ḑ̶̪͈̬̇̌̓̿́̿̓͜i̵̱͐͋̔ǎ̴̢̛̼̞̯̮̫̾̊͊̏̾̓̊́ļ̴̼̞̤͚̫̀͒̑́͛̀́̈́͂̉c̸̘̋̋͗̏̍e̷̖̎̈́́̔̑̋̓͋͠ï̸̘̦͈̀̑͑̾̓̐̏̉ÿ̸͉͍̮̘̲͖̓̎͠͝ͅd̶̼̺̫̪͈̥̙̖̅̀̓͘̚ pointed to the back wall, where twirls of shimmering bright spirals hung from the ceiling. Party supplies littered the floor under my feet, all opened and crumpled. I turned the corner, and the lost things sat covered in dust, a stark comparison to the bright storefront.

My lucky charm lay on the floor, it's corners broken, the surface smeared. I carefully tiptoed through the contents of my missing childhood. A box full of yarn and soft fabrics sat on an unbroken store shelf to my right, and I plunged my hand into it. The pain was unimaginable, I felt nothing as I drew my hand from the box, mangled and dripping blood. Needles poked through my skin, scissors had snipped at my ligaments, pins had stuck in my palms. I turned my hand, holding it up to the dusty lights overhead. The orange glow flickered briefly through the storefronts window, and as single stray ray of light found my splintered, bleeding hand, colored pins and needles sparkled in the sunbeam.

The sun faded and I blinked, seeing its shadowy remnants behind my closed eyes. The image or my wounded hand was burned into my head. I walked onward, ignoring the shuffling footsteps behind me that lingered back. My memories lay fragmented, scattered bits of an old quilt, as shards of broken pottery begging not to be broken. I shed a tear for what I'd ruined.

The feet behind me crunched on the glass, and a steady wet drip... drip .. drip... was the loudest thing in the building.

Paper flowers brushed my cheek on a soft breeze, leaving the soft scent of lavender, brown eyes and mint. Their petals turned to ash once they touched my skin.

I walked to the front of the store, the shuffling shadows behind me grasped at the flowers.

There were more aisles, more dark and foul looking aisles. But all I wanted was to stop hearing the drip of.. ...... behind me. The front of the store glowed from the yellow overheads. Short little aisles sat there, cluttered in old vines, wicker homemade baskets, green, rusty trophies..

And that goddamned drip. It haunts me. It disgusts me. I hate it. I hate it so much. The first aisle was nearly empty, with only a small box on the bottom shelf, taped up and covered in dust.

I reached for the cardboard box, and wiped the dust off the top, squatting to pull it into my lap. It mewed.

And like that, I had something that needed me. Inside was the tiniest kitten blinking up at me, cooing and climbing onto my chest.

I let myself fall back, my head hitting the concrete floor with a dull thud. The kitten snuggled up to my face, and there we were.

But that didn't happen. I just laid on someone else's floor, my eyes dilated, my fingertips burned.

So here we are. Bleeding out in an abandoned corner store, inhibited only by ghosts. The drop ceiling tiles are rotting out, creating more dust. Kitty coos at me again, and I lazily rub his tiny chin. He curls up around my neck, purring and I cradle him the best that I can. Yellow overheads have the worst buzzing sound, but I couldn't hear it, or rather, the lights had gone out.

Its pleasant, how cool a concrete floor is on your back. How many secrets can fit in one head. Is it symptomatic of something worse, or is it just inherent badness? How many people I've loved, really loved. How many people think of me today?

It's a quiet space, the mind of someone dying. Quite peaceful, considering my blood is slowly trickling towards a floor drain. How easily we leave people. How easily we shut people out, forget they exist. Did I even love them in the first place? One mistake, one fight and I run, I kick and scream, and I curse them as I leave. I talk badly of them so I don't miss them. Try to ignore how badly I treated them.

Maybe I'm deserving of whatever fate i get.