#but that's for the eczema

[butts-bouncing-on-the-beltway]

My soap bar is in a little scrubby twine net bag so it's easier for me not to drop it (given tremors and grip issues) and it A) makes the soap suds up extra nice, and B) is literally the only soap scrubbing/massaging method I will use in the shower ever again because my skin seems to take to it way better than any other method I've tried (bare hands, washcloth/rag, loofah which is weird and terrible, those weird and terrible exfoliative gloves, sponges??????, and those weird lil kiddo scrubbie buddies which are actually my second favorite because they're so cute and also very easy to hang onto)

Very pro having a nice handy lil cotton twine net with a wrist ribbon to hold your soap. Super convenient physically, literally always end up with clean, healthy, non-distressed skin, no matter what I'm scrubbing off.

wait i’m experiencing white people culture shock on tiktok again

please rb i can’t believe this is real

[matimatti]

Tlt sketches

[moved-to-piersgender]

i hope everyone with acne, eczema, vitiligo, psoriasis, dermatitis, dermatillomania, and skin conditions have a good day today

[positivelyqueer]

Hi people with chronic dandruff, psoriasis, eczema or any other skin conditions which cause dryness and flaking. I hope you’re having nice, low pain or pain free days. Know that you don’t have to access treatment you don’t want or that doesn’t benefit you for the sake of other people’s comfort. You are amazing.

[itwasntaphase]

Strange Sensations I crave:

1: taking my spine out and wringing it real good so it cracks every area and helps the pain (fuck scoliosis)

2: taking my eyes out and putting them into a glass of cold water (refreshing for dry eye)

3: Take my skin off and give it a very good scrubbing and moisturizing (no more itchy eczema)

4: taking my brain out and deep cleaning it then soaking it in an ice bath (I'm convinced this would cure my migraines)

5: Scratching behind my eyes (they are often itchy)

7: eating my many pica cravings without it causing issues (i.e. sand, foaming soap, decorative bar soap)

8: taking my muscles apart and soaking each one in a warm bath and then giving it a deep massage (bye bye achy body)

9: Pulling my sinuses out and rinsing them thoroughly (I think it would help my allergies)

10: removing my bottom jaw to give me a break from my TMJ for a while (self-explanatory)

Please reblog this and add yours so I know I'm not crazy in wanting these things. My therapist says these are symptoms from my OCD so that's fun.

[liberaljane]

If it costs you your peace, it is simply *too expensive

*digital illustration of a white woman with eczema & short blue hair wearing formal gloves, a black choker necklace & a dress with dragonfly wings. Text reads, 'if it costs you your peace, it is too expensive.'

[pastlivesxpastlie]

︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶

mirror talk fake love

︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶

adventures in skincare routines with your soft boyfriend, praisekink!vessel.

nswf • mdni • fem!reader • allusions to self-loathing and body dysmorphia • praise • vessel x you

vessel doesn’t know anything about skincare but he knows it makes you happy. well…buying skincare products makes you happy, but he’s been encouraging you to finally use them.

as your bend down to rinse your face, you hear him stalk into the bathroom, humming contentedly. you dry your face and smile at him as he considers your little collection of products. your eyes aimlessly wander over his naked torso and long legs clad in jogger style sweats.

he lifts a small bottle with orange liquid in it. “what does this do, love?”

“it’s a chemical exfoliant,” you say shrugging. “Gets all dead skin cells off without scratching me up.”

“I see, I see. And this?” he lifts a small jar of cream that clearly boasts overnight under eye miracles on the label, but honestly he’s playing dumb just to show interest and be near you.

“oh, that’s just under eye cream. For fine lines. Dark circles. Whatever.”

“But you don’t have those.”

“Exactly.”

Your quick answer elicits a smirk and a little closed mouth laugh. As you apply your moisturizer you, see him take in your form…head to every precious toe…but not without letting his eyes linger on your soft, beloved midsection. His arms snake around your waist as his toned chest and abs press against your back.

You lean back, feeling his smooth skin share its delicious warmth with you.

“does it bother you, Ves, that I feel like I need all this stuff?” you ask, gesturing vaguely to your assortment of products.

He lets out a soft huff; it’s almost like you’ve insulted him.

“tsk. why ever would that bother me? Darling…don’t you see? This shows me…”

his hands begin to trail up your waist…

“that you know how to take care of yourself. You have all the tools…”

his right hand gently caresses your chest, near your heart…

“you simply require the encouragement to use them. To show yourself love.”

He nuzzles against the shell of your ear and whispers huskily, “just look at you…look in the mirror.”

You look and instinctively your eyes meet his. You take in his features. His pouty lips. His short but angular jaw. He shakes his head softly and hisses gently…

“I said look at yourself, darling.”

And finally, you do. You consider yourself in your bralette, which does nothing but look pretty, offering no real support (Vessel approves of this wholeheartedly btw), and your old pj bottoms with some cute character on them. Your hair pulled back haphazardly with a fluffy headband.

“ok, I’m looking.” As if you’re expecting a lightning strike of inspiration and self-acceptance. You don’t look bad, but you don’t look your best. But somehow…that doesn’t matter. You feel an overwhelmingly pleasant sense of…neutrality.

“are you not glowing right now?” Vessel asks as his fingers delicately caress the column of your throat. You let out a soft gasp as his left hand gently grabs at the flesh of your waist and lower tummy. It is the very same flesh you prod at and attempt to hide…and the one that drives him to near insanity when he can only look but not touch. The same that has been marked with teasing bites and gentle bruises from his thumbs…holding you in place as he coaxes out the single prettiest sounds he’s had the pleasure of hearing…of producing.

“is this not the skin of someone who cares for themselves?” He continues, letting his lightly parted lips drag across your neck.

“Is this not the skin…of a good girl?”

[chaoticautie]

*temperature drops slightly*

My eczema, seasonal depression, severe joint & muscle pain, sensory issues, chronic fatigue, anemia, insomnia, unchecked heart problems, aching bones, cold sensitivity, and unpredictable immune system:

[vibescornerr]

Tenko Shimura has eczema and scars too. It was never just a Shigaraki thing. He’s ALWAYS had a skin condition. The ‘better au’ shouldn’t have him without. Things don’t chnage, he’s always had it. He might take better care of it, and not have it as bad as shigaraki, BUT its still there. It’s a skin condition. It’s chronic. It don’t go away. There’s no actual cure, just things to make it way less worse.

[maximura]

[atinyladybug-daydreams]

So. Eczema. Am I right?

[lasloser-mc-useless]

Warning me zooming in and out the camera rapidly like a clown

I have a small polymer clay evolotto just sitting on my desk and it's like I'm I gonna bake that? Uh maybe...

[softxobsessivexdreams]

Sometimes its just needy nights and perpetually insecure thoughts

[cigar-aficionado]

clean me off, i'm so dirty babe ch. 1

oz cobb x reader / 1837 words / sfw (for now)

summary: you work at a dry cleaner that oz frequents. he's one of your favorite regulars.

tags: gn reader though oz does call them 'doll,' soooo fluffy -- next chapter will be a lil more nasty tho ;)

You’ve been working in the combination dry cleaner and laundromat in the Diamond District long enough to be able to suss out when someone’s a regular businessman and when someone’s…well, not. 

The regular who identified himself as Oz Cobb was, decidedly not. However, you could tell that he wasn’t like the others. 

The first and most obvious sign that threw you initially was that he handled this business himself. Other people whose money came from underground had lackeys, or more typically, lackeys of lackeys to drop off and pick up their clothes. You couldn’t count the amount of times a twenty-something in thrifted boots came in with a stack of $4000 suits. It wasn’t subtle. 

Oz was different, though. His suits were expensive, but it was usually the same set of four or five paired with maybe seven or eight shirts – occasionally there would be a new suit in there, though no more often than a regular-person banker or lawyer or, you supposed, club owner.

He was kind. That was something else that set him apart from most of the other businessmen who came through. Probably most importantly, Oz always tipped you and often it was very well. But his kindness extended beyond that – he smiled when he came in, chatted when you were matching his order slip (which he always remembered to bring) to his clothes, and never rushed you through the scanning and checkout process. 

When he dropped off his clothes, he always pointed out stains he needed work on, apologizing for them (and you, of course, pretended not to know that the stains on his crisp white shirts were definitely blood. You also pointedly ignored how often he came in with shirts splattered with something that was definitely blood.) 

And, unlike a lot of these messy not-businesspeople, his pockets were always empty. You had a habit of running into things that you shouldn’t have tucked in those blazer or trouser pockets, be it cash in hundreds, pills, or occasionally a bullet, which you always put in a small plastic bag to be discreetly tucked into the blazer pocket later. Usually when you saw that same suit again, it came with a massive tip. 

Oz wasn’t messy like that though, he was clearly meticulous with his clothing and his belongings – not like someone who could afford to be careless. 

You grew to look forward to seeing Oz, he and the unmistakable car he always pulled up in were like a breath of fresh air. 

One day, a completely dead afternoon, he came in at around his usual time for pickup. You didn’t need to look at his slip to know where his things were, “Hey Oz,” you said as he walked in, the bell on the door ringing behind him, “how’s your Tuesday?” 

“It’d be a lot better without this heat, I gotta tell’ya. How’re you?” 

You came out with his suits, hanging them on the rack by the counter and catching that he wasn’t wearing one of his usual blazer. You’re not sure you’ve ever really seen his body before this and were you not on the clock you’d probably be blushing, but you maintain professional stoicism, clearing your throat, “I’m alright, it’s been very slow today. Pros and cons, you know.” 

He nods and you take the first suit to scan it in when something catches your eye, “Shit – ah, pardon my language,” you say, hurriedly flipping through the short stack of suits in front of you.

“Everything alright?”

“Ugh, my boss let the new guy do these while I was out and he didn’t crease any of your pants. I’m so sorry, Sir, I can have them done in about twenty minutes if you don’t mind waiting, but I can give you a discount on them if you need to head out. I’m so sorry again.” 

“‘S alright, Doll. Shit happens, ain’t the end of the world.” He pulled his phone out of his pocket, glancing at it before looking at you with those big brown eyes, “To be honest with’ya? I really don’t feel like going back out there. It’s nice and cool in here, and I got a little time anyway. If you have time to take care of them now, I’ve got time to wait.” 

“Thank you, Sir. I appreciate your uh – “ not being a total asshole about this “ – flexibility.” 

“All good. And you don’t have to call me ‘Sir,’ Oz is fine.” 

“Okay, Oz,” you smile, “I just put on some coffee, would you like some?” 

“Honestly, that sounds wonderful. Thank you.” 

You give him another smile, “You can come get it, it's just to the left here,” you say, pointing to the machine and mini fridge just past the space to get behind the counter. 

He looks at it and laughs a little as he makes his way over, “VIP treatment, unless you’re this nice to all your customers?” 

You chuckle, shaking your head and going to the creaser with his suits, hanging them up on the rack next to it, “You might be the first. But you’re in here like clockwork and you always remember your slip, so you get the privilege of the secret menu.” 

“Well, color me flattered,” You get to work, as does he, and it’s silent until he opens the fridge. “This caramel macchiato creamer thing any good?” 

“Oh yeah, that’s mine, it’s my favorite,” you say, carefully setting the first pair of his pants in the machine. “It’s a little sweet, they do a good job with the caramel, though.” 

“Hm.” You continue to work, practically on autopilot, and you hear him hum happily, “This is excellent, I’ll have to get some for my place.” 

“Good! I’m glad you like it.” He walks back to the waiting area in front of the counter. You work some more before calling out to him, “Any plans this weekend?” 

“Eh, the club’s been real busy lately. Which is great, I’m thrilled about it but you know – doesn't leave a lot of time for rest. Barely been sleepin’. Anyway, I’ll probably be there, keepin’ an eye on things. Gave myself tomorrow off, maybe I’ll try to rest then.” 

“I hope you catch up on your sleep, it’s so important,” you say. “That and self-care, do you get massages?” 

“Not really my thing.”

“Probably no facials either?” 

He laughs, a full yet bright sound, “No facials either.” 

“They’re nice! Especially if you work hard, which I know you must.” 

“Maybe I oughta listen to you, you know coffee. My clothes always look good when I get them back, too.” 

You beam, “I’m so glad to hear that.” 

You work on the rest of his pants, chatting with Oz as you do. It’s easy conversation between the two of you, swapping restaurant recommendations and making other small talk. You’re about to start the last pair and think about asking him out, innocently enough, but then his phone rings and he takes the call. 

He’s speaking Spanish and while you’re not fluent, you were good at it through school so you can understand the gist. Someone close to Oz, especially if his face was any indication, had been found down the street. There’s a brief argument about her medications, about long-term care for her. Oz hangs up with a deep sigh. “Sorry, Doll, that was my shift lead at the club. Needs me in for a really important meeting, completely forgot about it. You know how it is. Would I be able to come in a little later and pick these up?” 

You suspect this isn’t the first time that Oz has lied to you, but it’s the first time you’re able to see it. You turn around and give him a smile, “Absolutely, no trouble at all.” 

“I’ll be back before you close. Thanks for understandin’.” 

True to his word, he does come back in the evening. You weren’t sure if he would; you imagine he has other things on his mind. He looks much calmer than when he left earlier, his smile contagious. “Welcome back,” you say, moving to get his suits. 

“Glad to be back,” he laughs, coming to the counter. You hang his suits on the rack and he breaks the silence, placing a sequined dress on the counter between you. “I’ve got a question for ya, do you do repairs?” 

“What do you need?” You ask, looking at the dress. 

“Well, it needs to be cleaned first, it’s – it’s my sister’s, she asked me to take care of it but I’m not sure something like this can even go in a washing machine. Anyway, there’re some missing sequins – where’d they go…” he murmurs softly as he turns over the fabric until he reaches a small but obvious section of missing sequins toward the bottom, running his fingers over it. “Right here, would you be able to fill in the gap here?” 

You take the dress, looking over the spot and nodding, “Absolutely, that’s no problem. It’ll take a little longer because I think I’ll have to order these sequins and I’ll have to do it by hand – you can with the sewing machine, but I don’t think it looks as nice.” 

“You’re a lifesaver. She was real upset about it, I told her though, I said ‘I know where I can take this and they’ll make it good as new.’” 

You chuckle, “I admire your faith in me. When does she need it back by?” 

“Oh, whenever. I don’t think she’s got anything coming up for it.” 

“Awesome. I can call you with a price estimate once I look at the new sequins.” 

“Sounds good.” 

Oz paid his bill for the rest of his suits, thanking you again. “Today was kinda – didn’t go as well as I’d hoped. But this made it better, thank you.” 

He turns to leave and head for the door but you stop him, calling his name. Maybe it was the way he thanked you, maybe it was his confidence in your skill, maybe it was that he liked the coffee but before you can stop yourself, you’re writing down your number on the back of a dry clean ticket, stepping out from behind the counter. You’ve never really looked at him this closely before, your gaze flickering to the tufts of hair peeking out from the undone button on his shirt. He’s looking at you curiously and you will yourself to speak. 

“Um – “ you clear your throat, handing over the paper “ – that’s my personal cell. In case she needs her dress back early or…in case you want to get dinner sometime?” 

Oz smiles but it’s not one of his customer service interaction smiles – it’s something real, like when he was sipping your coffee earlier. “Well look’it that, you just keep making my night better and better. I’ll text you about plans later tonight, this week’s a little busy but I’m sure I can make some time.” 

You smile brightly, “Perfect. I’ll be around.”

“Have a good night, Doll.” 

[bitchfitch]

So context: I have Ridiculously severe misophonia. If I could painlessly deafen myself I would, "all noise is evil" levels of noise sensitivity. It's too the point I can't tolerate being around other people because the sound of breathing swallowing lip smacking etc drive me up the wall and turn me into the joker in .1 seconds.

and it's not like, it's not a "I don't like this" type of misophonia, it's a "these sounds are physically extremely painful as is any volume above the absolute lowest amount possible (I have returned multiple pairs of earbuds for having their minimum setting still be painfully loud)

Ok, that's just my life. those are the cards I've been dealt and I've been making it work.

My shrink recommended concert earbuds. They're like normal wireless earbuds but instead of being electric, they have a small tube and a hole in them that effectively changes the shape of your ear canel when you're wearing them. So they filter noise without reducing volume or quality too badly.

It is fucking Night and day. Volume is still a problem but all the little sounds that were driving me insane and making me be constantly overstimulated are just gone. I can talk to people without immediately wanting to end the conversation. and be in the same room as my fishtank without the filter sounds chasing me off.

[mindblowingscience]

The unbearable itch that accompanies the chronic inflammatory skin condition eczema has a new culprit. Scientists have discovered that a familiar bacteria, Staphylococcus aureus, ignites persistent itches by directly triggering sensory neurons in the skin, a finding that could help researchers devise new treatments. Eczema, which is also known as atopic dermatitis, is common in children and teenagers but also affects one in ten adults. Up until now, immune cells and the inflammatory molecules they secrete were thought to be the main drivers of the insufferable itch that occurs with eczema. That itch so often drives a vicious urge to scratch which only damages the skin further, leaving it red, raw, swollen, and cracked. Years ago, researchers figured out that people lacking a skin protein called filaggrin were more likely to develop eczema; but what specifically caused the itch that enflames eczema still bugged them.

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