#is it nailbeds or nail beds... or nail-beds?

[guysbf]

I personally headcanon Honey to have poor circulation, and in the winter their nail beds turn kinda purple because of it. Their hands/fingers are also cold all of the time for the same reason.

[mjlol52]

you know those stupid fucking dog cones i unironically need one i have the worst nail biting habit youve never even heard of

[lunarflare64]

I just broke a nail in the worst way you could break a nail and I saw my life flash before my eyes IM SO LUCKY ITS NOT BLEEDING HHHHH

[raccoonfallsharder]

✩࿐࿔ stop biting your goddamn nails. [new 9/10]

fluff | gn reader | no use of y/n | drabble | word count: 2,921. read more on ao3 | ✩࿐࿔ take what you need masterlist | main masterlist

if you don't stop chewing on your frickin' fingers, the captain will find a way to make you.

hey nonnie-love, you marvelous little bumblebee. i hope helps a little. i know you've probably already tried everything under the sun to break this habit but maybe it will help to remember that in some timeline or another, there's a cranky sentient raccoon telling you to knock it the fuck off. he's going to make your life a living hell till you stop. because he cares about you that much.

The syrupy light glows, warm and topaz-bright, in warm watercolor splotches across the counter. You lose yourself for the next few minutes while Groot picks at the basket of candy and nuts that Mantlo — with a wink — brings out just for him. You double-check the purchase list, reconsider the medpack restock and decide to double it, and then linger over the munitions order too. Rocket had wanted you to order a thousand hundred-millimeter vibranium shells to test some new ludicrously-large cannon he’s working on, but you know how his experiments tend to go — not to mention how many times he’ll want to try it out. Maybe you should double-up that purchase too, just in case— “Hey!” You jolt on your barstool, nearly dropping the datapad propped against the counter. Too late. Like the ringtone you’d chosen to warn yourself not to answer certain calls, Rocket’s voice alerts you to the fact that your fingers are pressed up against your teeth, and you’ve been mindlessly chewing at your nailbeds for at least a few minutes. You fumble your hands guiltily into your lap. “I told you to stop frickin’ doing that,” the Captain of Knowhere scowls, stalking up to you with strides that somehow always seem to cover more distance than his short legs should be capable of.

read more on ao3 ✩࿐࿔ for nonnie ♡

need more reminders from rocket?

the world is hard, and sometimes it's difficult to complete daily tasks & take care of yourself (aka rocket bullies you for your own damn good).

feel free to ✩ request reminders ✩ via reblogs, asks, and tumblr or ao3 comments if they would be helpful for you. it may take me a hot minute to get to them depending on life n stuff, but i will do my best. if you’d like to join my fanfiction taglist, please comment or send me a message or ask! ♡

this is about as wholesome as it gets (for me) i think. can be read platonically or romantically. mcu-based anthology, meant to take place post-volume-3, but headcanon however you want ♡

✩࿐࿔ take what you need masterlist

࿔ eat somethin. (wc: 576) ࿔ go to frickin bed already. (wc: 737) ࿔ get outta bed & get your shit done.(wc: 925) ࿔ take a damn bath. (wc: 1,375) ࿔ leave your frickin skin alone. (wc: 1,579) ࿔ take a fuckin study break.(wc: 1,020) ࿔ drink some goddamn water. (wc: 1,209) ࿔ stop destroying your frickin clothes. (wc: 1,609) ࿔ just buy the damn thing already. (wc: 1,271) ࿔ it's frickin laundry day. (wc: 1,923) ࿔ get some sunshine, sunshine. (wc: 1,614) ࿔ did you take your damn meds today? (wc: 1,288) ࿔ schedule your fuckin' appointments.(wc: 1,222) ࿔ do your goddamn dishes. (wc: 994) ࿔ brush your frickin' teeth. (wc: 1,774) ࿔ nobody fuckin hates you (wc: 1,231) ࿔ stop biting your goddamn nails (wc:) for nonnie ♡

if you find any of these at all helpful, they're meant for you.

banners & dividers by @/saradika-graphics and @/thecutestgrotto taglist ✩ @suicidalshitstick ✩ @glow-autumz ✩ @evolvingchaoswitch ✩ @wren-phoenix ✩ @pretty-chips

total word-count: 23,308.

[september-rainn]

Key of Reason

CG!Jack Twist x Little!Ennis Del Mar

AO3 LINK // BELOW THE CUT

Summary: "he would wake sometimes in grief, sometimes with the old sense of joy and release; the pillow sometimes wet, sometimes the sheets."

Tags: Wetting, Bed Wetting, Dreams, Baby regressor Ennis Del Mar, Bathroom help, sleepy cuddles, hand holding, Hurt no comfort, Angst and some fluff

Word Count: 2,076

Warnings: Wetting/Incontinence/Urine // Mention of death

A/N: I wrote this in the middle of my History of Jazz class. Yes, I know what the quote is meant to imply, I simply don't care

Ennis and Jack slot together like the hollows of spoons; Ennis’s chest concave and Jack’s barreled. Ennis’s high arch nearly missed the downturn nub of his partner’s. The sick tart of morning breath pinched his nostrils. Heavy hand and heavy heart, he grabbed for Jack’s shirt, denim and worn from the scratchy humidity, and the rebellious jolt of bulls into sand pits. His nailbed pressed into the uneven cut of his nails, which remained dirty from vigorous farm work, and was only cleaned when the rest of him molted. Their hearts alternated beats, ticking like a metronome, excluding the rubato in Ennis’s from Jack’s Adam apple quivering.

Ennis squinted as the rolling tide of boxy sun blanketed his slim face. His eyebrows twitched under the strain. His teeth parted, hungry, yearning– he licked the crescent of his pearly yellows to soothe the urges. He knew he couldn’t control himself, so why did he try? Why must he argue with instincts? Jack’s fingers pushed down on his tongue, and they both seemed confused, but Ennis played with the sensation, and Jack kept a consistent pressure despite the dream-like delirium thick in his demeanor.

“It’s early.” Ennis had already known. Jack looked to the windowsill. The air was cool and damp, with tiny droplets of moisture that clung to Wyoming grass, making everything feel slightly. There’s a faint halo south of the muted navy trying to break through. If he squinted, just enough, he could trick himself into seeing stars again.

Jack quickly realized the cause of the unexpected disruption to their schedule. His boy wasn’t great at hiding his demons. Ennis squirmed against his stocky stature, his pelvis slamming into his to lift his stomach, with about a centimeter of leeway between them. His teeth held his knuckles in place. His legs stretched, then curled back in, feet flexing and relaxing. Occasionally, he’d give a small wiggle, like a shiver running through him. His breathing is a touch uneven and got caught on the mountain range of stubble they both sported.

How long would Ennis writhe in agony?

That peeved Jack, eating at the back of his brain while witnessing his little boy squirm about. He grasped the small of his back until his balance tumbled. Their abdomens slammed together, and Ennis chomped down to burden the ripping pain, followed by an aftertaste of desperation. He licked the red grooves with surety the pain would ease under the caring laps of his tongue.

The more Jack watched, the more a peculiar sense of responsibility settled over him. He nudged his shoulder, “Does someone have to use the bathroom?”

The words were quiet, steady, and yet they sent a shiver through Ennis, something dark and tender all at once, making him want to curl up further, seeking the persistent comfort of Jack’s presence. He buried his face into Jack’s neck, the steady warmth there a fragile haven. The question was repeated, yet its meaning seemed to dissolve, overshadowed by the quiet, almost hypnotic rhythm of Jack’s voice, the gentle pulse at his throat. The words no longer mattered, and yet they lingered in the air, impossibly hard to escape.

He nudged Ennis again, his touch tender, a silent promise of his intentions, and a guiding hand to extend his silent offering. Arms aloft, with matutinal trembles edging Jack on, Ennis perfectly depicted grace. Jack felt sick with Eudaemonia and the golden mop snug in his nape felt undeserved. He coughed into the hollow of his fist.

Jack held his hamstrings between worn fingers. The hardly existent thigh plush teased his purlicue. Ennis’s long legs locked into place prematurely, folding beside Jack’s hips to keep his ground. Around the jagged protrusion of bone and subtle rolls of flesh from years of binge drinking and improper nutrition, he coddled his shoulder blade and the small of his back. Eagerness made him sloppy. His body anchored down and provided Jack with the leverage to sit up.

Grunts slipped through the humid air of quickened breaths, shared between the hollow space between them. Ennis’s mouth, heavy with concern, slid over Jack’s jugular and swiveled to catch his jaw in the affection. Jack’s lips curled back, barring rabbit teeth, and waited for Ennis to reach his ear to whisper in his own, “We’re getting up now, lamb…C’mon…”

Ennis protests of “no” were offset by Jack’s oppositional coos. His legs latched onto his waist, and his arms scrambled for his neck. His cheek rested upon his bicep, mourning the loss of his crook. Jack’s arms, as sinewy as the day they met, encircled Ennis. Each blinked slower than the last, the edges of the room blurred, and the light flickered faintly through the haze. So often, he’d find himself slipping, his weight shifting lower until Jack would have to bounce him back up. The cadance of Jack’s hot breath echoed through his body, and he fought against the urge to drift.

The sudden flash of fluorescent gold bathroom light sparkled in his heady eyes, the ring of forest amongst the landslide of hazel prominent. His pupils tightened, redialating after catching a passing gazing at Jack settling him down on the hardwood. He looked to the illuminated door frame, then back to his partner, whose lopsided smile was directly copied from Ennis.

His lips drew taut over his teeth and he placed his index knuckle between his teeth, lips grazing the skin with a strange obligation. Ennis lingered, feeling the brush of Jack’s fingers skimming just close enough to almost touch. He waited, heart thudding with a steady patience until those fingers finally found his, and for his tugging to lead him into the room Jack lit between Ennis’s patches of sleepy-induced incomprehension. He tilted his head, and Jack nodded, a silent agreement shafted between their gazes. He muffled a whine.

“Do you….” Jack didn’t finish, and instead, “Yeah, alright.” He blew a puff of air, but his lips remained tight, and with nowhere to go, it lingered in his cheeks until, with a reluctant sigh, it finally slipped free. He stretched back, a hand across his back dimples as leverage. His eyes went wide, a flash of surprise passing through them like a sudden storm, before they narrowed. Ennis’s breath hitched in his throat, pushed down by a gulp, thinned lips blubbering, staring across to the brunette mid-stretch.

If he wasn’t nonverbal before, the awestruck ensured it.

Jack’s thumb caressed the hairs standing on end. His eyebrows raised and his classic smirk sent Ennis’s ogle to the wooden floor. Huh. Strange choice for a bathroom.

A dark shadow hung overhead. He looked straight ahead, to willfully ignore the hands prying at his button, and then his fly. Jack grasped the tip of his tongue between his prominent buck teeth. His blue eyes dulled under his eyelids. He couldn’t tell when he blinked, it all blended through the squint. He tilted his head back, tendons tensing, lips pursing, and chin scrunching, with a jingle of belt hitting the tile.

Jack grabbed his biceps with a firm, almost commanding grip, guiding him forward with a steady pull. He steered Ennis toward the potty, the urgency in his touch leaving no room for protest. Ennis, with no choice, scuttled to the side. Jack pushed down on his acromion, and he plopped down onto the porcelain. A flush kept him from looking head on. what his peripheral caught was enough to make his breath hitch—Jack’s expression, a tender arch in his eyebrows, his eyes glistening with something unspoken, something that wasn’t just the dim light.

His pout trembled. His hands reached for Jack’s shirt, and he was happy to lend it. His hand cradled the back of his blonde. Long crass fingers worked through the night induced tangles. He looked to the mirror opposite him, catching a glimpse of his flushed face, and Jack’s jean shirt, ruffled by his fingers, the fabric moving with the smallest of gestures. Jack noticed where his gaze had landed. He glanced back, and a smile tugged at the corner of his lips. Ennis, caught in the moment, smiled back, keeping his bucked teeth on display; Ennis’s favorite feature of his.

“It’s alright…. Let it out. I’m here…” He murmured. It was reassurance he didn’t know he needed until a familiar hiss hit his ears. The bathroom smelt of sharp pine and an indistinct clean, all Jack’s doing. Ennis let water work it’s magic. Jack preferred the dramatics, partially because he grew up affording it. Bull fighting was all presentation, and he rationed smell was part of the pseudonym.

“There we go, kiddo… Atta boy…” The mole, balancing on his left cheek, bounced with his verbal reassurance.

…Or was it on his right cheek?

Ennis’s eyes creaked open. The room remained dull, and he couldn’t discern if it was rainy or still nighttime. He caught nothing but white popcorn ceiling, half decorated by a shot light that came with the trailer. His hands remained helpless by his side, clutching the now wettened sheet, getting cold the more he laid there.

Despite the dead weight filling his chest, he rolled to his side, and coped with the sudden surge of wet on his thigh. He ran his hand over his face, fingers pulling the age plagued skin. His eyebrows furrowed, jerking, while his eyes squeezed shut. Warm rain hit freckle to freckle, dropping to the pillow at the peak of his bridge.

What started as small choked cries tumbled and grew into full body wails into his pillow, forming another wet patch into his bed dressing. The room was bitter, and he couldn’t smell anything aside from ammonia and mildew. He slurped through his teeth as to not get saliva on the pillow case, but it was in vain with how messed the bed already was.

His eyes refused to open, he refused to move from the soiled bedsheets. His hand covered his eyes, enforcing darkness. He grasped the fading ghost of comfort one last time, of Jack, hunched over him, balancing on his shoulders. And like Jack, it faded faster than it stayed. Yet he fought for it, fought like Jack fought for him, for the life he fantasized about months after his passing. He let himself wallow in his filth, in his own urine, for Jack perished in worse. His last moments smelling the hot Texas sun, pungent manure, and iron. If he could smell at all. He hoped his nose was busted first so his last scent was the morning flowers laced with raindrops.

He sat up, reason finally coercing him to change. His body felt hollow, like a shell controlled by something omnipotent, and he was watching it all from the window. He wiggled on new boxers, after throwing the other on the bed. His head rolled back, alongside his eyes, to keep more tears from falling at a familiar chime of metal. He flicked it, just to reminisce on the clank, often on an egotistical bull-rider buckle.

A new, unironed and only somewhat washed, shirt dawned on his shoulders. His hands fumbled with the buttons, clumsy and irresponsible. Fully buttoned, a hole remained lonely. He masked his whine with a forced, manly scoff, and he shoved the hem into his jeans to hide the mistake he refused to correct. He stomped his heel into the floor, part way to get his clanky leather boots on, and part way to force his annoyance out of his body.

His greying eyelashes did little to shield him from the rising sun. Though the light struggled to pierce through the heavy clouds, casting a dull glow, it was enough to stir a tension in Ennis. Already overwhelmed, the quiet brightness felt like too much—a soft but insistent weight that pressed against his pupils. No wind circulated through his room, like it was too scared to aggravate him further.

He tottered to the kitchen, but not before glancing to the bloodied shirts he kept wedged between his laundry. He turned on the tap, watching as water poured into his only metal pot, the sound especially loud in the silence. He placed it on the stove and flicked on the gas, the faint hiss filling the room. It was a relief, smelling something that wasn’t piss. He’d count his small victories. As he stood there, staring at his reflection in the simmering, greyed water.

All he could see was himself this time. 

[llau-ren-ti-a]

Bad Batch Headcanons - Skin Conditions

I’ve had this on my mind for way too long now and I NEED to write it down.

For context: I think that their mutations and “enhancements” had some side effects and actually made them more sensitive or gave them some other issues, this is one of many. Maybe Regs have to deal with this too, but I’m running with the Bad Batch for now.

TW: skin conditions, acne, eczema, a little blood? self-harm and injury

Hunter

first of all - he has like the most sensitive skin ever

I’m talking unscented, only natural ingredients, ph-neutral, everything you can imagine

soap made from ash, lime and oil, like, really specific and gentle shit

but on the other hand worst mixed skin ever, goes from crazy oily to dryer than Tatooine at least once a week

he’s either looking like a glazed donut or a shedding lizard

he’d straight up put cooking oil on his face bc “oil is good for dry skin, right?

someone tell this man how to take care of himself istg

bandana hides his greasy roots

bandana may be tied in different styles to hide his dandruff

he‘s highkey insecure about it

he‘s shedding like a dog, his hair is everywhere

in the shower, on the bed sheets, in the food if he cooks

if he ever shaves, doesn’t matter where or how he’s getting the worst razor burn and ingrown hairs ever

he’s getting all the issues

also, a big candidate for body acne?

he gives me back acne vibes

doesn’t wash his bedsheets or towel nearly often enough

they actually all (accidentally?) share a towel and never wash it, I’m convinced

Tech

his skin is dry af like, eczema / neurodermitis / psoriasis dry

especially his hands and joints, like the inside of knees and elbows

and around his eyes, especially because of his goggles/glasses, but also in the corners

he researched everything but sometimes just can’t help it and almost scratches his skin off

Hunter makes him wear cotton gloves when he goes to bed

that’s why he never sleeps

Crosshair straight up ties his hands with bandages so he can’t scratch himself

also a very dry scalp / dandruff candidate

should spend all of his time moisturising

tinkering around the marauder and getting into contact with motor oils/hydraulic liquids/fuel only makes it so so so much worse

doesn't wear skin protection, especially not gloves because it 'inhabits his motor functions'

don't get me started on his nails and nailbeds, because I can see how inflamed and irritated the skin is

the skin also peels off

sweaty hands

has a lot of moles?

stresses about said moles

Wrecker

has the nicest skin ever

except for a big pore / blackhead here and there

usually around the nose or on his forehead

literally the guy who either doesn't use soap or uses the same bar of soap to wash everything

it works

healthy glow might be mistaken for oily skin but it's actually not

actually gets a sunburn often, especially on his head, but refuses to do anything about it

turns into a lobster on uv-light-intense missions

red skin, really tight and shiny

sometimes, if crosshair is feeling really mean he gives him a brotherly slap on the sunburnt shoulder

he gets mouth sores sometimes, like cold sores?

also very attractive to mosquitos? he sweats a lot

scratches his mosquito bites so there are little scars all over his body

really random but occasionally he gets like one big aggressive butt pimple and can't sit for a few days

is very vocal about said butt pimple

Crosshair

my beloved

he's also getting all the issues

had very bad acne as a cadet

especially around his chin and cheeks to the point he straight up refused to take off his helmet

now that he's done with puberty he has a bunch of acne scars left

still breaks out sometimes

very sensitive to water - he just washes his face like usual and suddenly breaks out because that particular planet's water is 'weird'

so much acne but dry af skin, it's hard to combat

skin picking as self harm

aggressive nail biter; not only the nails but the skin around it

he's actually one big hangnail

and his nailbeds and sides are always inflamed

toothpicks to stop him from picking his skin

or to try to stop him from smoking but this is not a mental health / addiction headcanon

I'm convinced he has the ugliest, driest old man elbows and knees, I just know that they look weird

Echo

technically a reg, I know

but his prosthetics sometimes don't sit right, so there's a lot of friction and a high risk of irritated skin, blisters and sores

he's so pale - not surprised at all if he gets sunburnt quickly

reminds everyone to use lotion / sunscreen

learned the hard way bc he listened to Fives

tries to keep everyone from making stupid mistakes

buir mode activated

Omega

baby

baby skin

for now

Echo attempts to keep her in check

gets one really bad sunburn and learns her lesson

can't move for 3 business days

also, not a skin condition but she spends 5 seconds in direct sunlight and is just covered in freckles

[post-maester]

I had my very first big mood swing yesterday! I got uncharacteristically upset at my partner, it wasn't very cool of me. We had a talk and everything was okay in the end, but that instance was weird. And the moodswing didn't end there! I continued to have the most intense panic-cry I've had in weeks. It was really not fun. My Mister stuck by me and weathered the storm, he was so helpful to me, even though I'd been so rude to him earlier.

When I was ready to emerge from the cave, he suggested I sit on the floor in front of the couch so he could play with my hair. I asked if we could watch an instructional video on how to use my brand new ROUND HAIR-BRUSH!!!!!!🌠🌠🌠 He agreed, and we sat down to practice. He pet me and called me a good girl.

Well. Apparently you need a fucking blow dryer to use round brushes! Guess what; I didn't fuckin know that. I dont have one! But Mister was so determined to help me feel better that he tried to follow along with the video as best he could to get it down before we added a blow dryer someday when I could afford one. He brushed my hair for at least an hour and a half as I dove into a femme self-care tutorial video RABBITHOLE. We watched a "how-to do a 90's blowout!" and "here's my everything shower routine!" and "my Coachella nails for 2024!" and more.

Each video taught me so fucking much it was incredible honestly. The everything shower video told me I should be shampooing twice, conditioning only the mids-ends of my hair, etc. While the Coachella Nails video taught me a certain level of what to expect if I wanted to go get my nails done at a salon (maybe?), but it also realized within me: Hand/Nail dysphoria.

I stared at my hands for maybe 10 minutes noticing how thick, lined, and scarred they are. Even though my hands are soft they don't look soft. The video host's fingers were so slender, long, elegant. Mine are stubby in comparison. My nails are so short because I bite them when I have nothing else to fidget with. Her nails were at least an inch long on her nailbed, it was like they were groomed specifically for nail art and extensions (i suppose they were). I've never thought about my hands before. I used to like having scarred hands. But now they make me feel sick.

I needed a change of pace. I switched to a video that detailed tips and tricks for DIY alt/goth fashion by a channel called Rattus Rattus. Loved it. Only made it 20 minutes in as it was 1:30am and I was fading. Captivated by each of the videos telling me how to achieve a certain level of high-maintenace girlhood, my eyes drooped closed until i could keep them open no longer. I lied down on the floor and fell asleep until my husband decided it was time to sleep in a real bed.

Anyway. Big day yesterday for learning and new experiences. It was intense. Time for sleep.

[thats-a-lot-of-cortisol]

Corentin {The Prodigal Saer}

wood elf storm sorcerer // they/them // dark urge

"Getting lobotomized was the best thing to ever happen to me. Getting dissected gave me IBS."

Age: ~30 y/o

Background: Haunted One

Favorite Weapons: The Spellsparkler Staff and the Sword of the Emperor

Style of Combat: fly by the seat of your pants and pray to whoever's still listening

Most Prized Possession: the acorn. you know the one

Deepest Desire: To remember their family from before they were taken to the cult. it's a desire they'll likely never be able to fulfill- they couldn't remember their mother & sibling even before the tadpole.

Guilty Pleasure: Eating just frosting. Gale taught them how to make it one day and they haven't been the same since. They experiment with different flavors and add-ins sometimes too.

Best-Kept Secret: There are definitely some things they've remembered that they haven't told anyone (yet) because either they're too ashamed or it's too painful. I think the raid/mission that directly broke them & resigned them to their lot as Bhaal's Chosen is one of those.

Greatest Strength: They're pretty good at recognizing when to be charming vs intimidating, when to use violence and when to at least try to talk their way out of a situation, etc. It's a skill they re-learned and honed over the course of the game.

Fatal Flaw: They're stubborn as hell and don't like to budge on their convictions and decisions, which is great when they're correct and really not great if they're not. And they can be careless with their words when arguing about said convictions and decisions, especially if they don't know the other person(s) involved or if they don't care that much about them.

Favorite Smell: wood smoke

Favorite Spell/Cantrip: Shocking Grasp for sure

Pet Peeve: Slow walkers who also take up the entire pathway for unclear reasons. They can deal with one or the other, but not both at the same time.

Bad Habit: Chewing their fingernails. Sometimes they'll wear down the nailbed so badly their fingers bleed. They swallow the nail

Hidden Talent: Weaving. They got really good at braiding while they were a teenager, practicing both on their hair and Orin's. It was calming to them, and they pretty quickly expanded to looms and more intricate plaits/knots/etc as a way to cope. Muscle memory meant they started doing it out of habit after getting off the nautiloid.

Leisure Activity: Gardening; stabbing the ground and pulling up weeds can be great ways to blow off steam. Also reading- they didn't exactly get much of an education, and what they did have they'd forgotten. They want to learn as much as possible

Favorite Drink: Hot chocolate, made half with cream & half with milk.

Favorite Food: hand pies, especially ones filled with sausage or beef. But they have to either make them themself or be certain whoever made them is telling the truth about the ingredients they used.

Favorite Person: Wyll, hands down.

Favored Display of Affection (Platonic or Romantic): Hair! Playing with it, brushing it, styling it, etc.

Fondest Childhood Memory: sitting on their bed, detangling and braiding Orin's hair when they were teenagers. They're sure they have some happy ones pre-Bhaal but all that's left of them is that inkling, no specifics.

Other: Their fashion sense was pretty bad when they got off the nautiloid. The others (especially Astarion and Shadowheart) stepped in pretty quickly to remedy that, which means most of their outfits in Acts I and II were picked out by their companions. They'd gained their footing by Act III but still made some...questionable color and cut decisions occasionally. It's unclear whether they've always been that way or if it was from their brain getting scrambled. Also, they bind sometimes! Whether or not they do depends on how they're feeling that day (physically & mentally), if it's practical, and if it goes with the vibes of that day's outfit(s).

Fun Fact: Wyll helped them cut their hair after the proposal!

Top 10 Songs: - "Nunemaker's Parable" (Everybody's Worried About Owen) "I am mourning/I am morning/So break me anew" - "A Good Thing" (Kyle Stibbs) "This is birth, in reverse/This is sacred, tell me, how'd I take it worse?" - "Pyre" (Mel Bryant & the Mercy Makers) "I am a child of god my fingers move the earth and yet/I cannot scrub the dirt beneath my nails" - "Prologue" (Shayfer James, Kate Douglas) "We build a cradle from our grave/And feel it rock with every wave" - "A Pearl" (Mitski) "It's just that I fell in love with a war/Nobody told me it ended" - "The Price of Life Itself" (Moon Walker) "But mama didn't raise no wolf/And I was never really one to fight" - "Bloody! Bloody!" (Junie & TheHutfriends) "A craving that cannot be fed/It's happening again/(I think it's getting worse now)" - "Take Me to War" (The Crane Wives) "So I will leave it where it's standing/And instead I will find me a match/I'll turn it all to kindling/I'll burn it all down to ash" - "Fate Goes" (Shayfer James, Kate Douglas) "Fate is the only one that's just, and I trust/That fate goes as ever fate must/Ashes to ashes, dust to dust" - "In the Woods Somewhere" (Hozier) "The creature lunged/I turned and ran/To save a life I didn't have"

Questionnaire template by @sporeservant!

[mousegirlheart]

I recline upon a bed of nails. As you draw closer, you notice that the nails are actually thousands of little spears held at attention by thousands of mousegirls. I stare at you haughtily from atop my throne of iron thorns. Any slight against mineself shall rouse the fury of the mousegirl army.

claps so the girls startle and break formation so you're not getting the nailbed cushion effect. get ass stabbed.

[xxxcany0us33m3xxx]

more vent below the cut, see warnings

The passive suicidal ideation that comes with having a physical disability is hard. I'm sure I'm not the only person who feels this way. I grew up with an ever-increasing pain tolerance due to my condition to the point where ripping nails from my nailbeds became Just One of My Habits, because it hurt less than my condition, and having my nailbed be deformed anyways before that habit formed certainly didn't help. I was the kid who always tried in sports, even if I was never athletic. I was the kid who got an A's, even when going to school was exhausting and painful and, to be honest, I was and still am really convinced that my inherent worth is attributed to what work I can produce. In all the jobs I've worked, I've done what I could, even if it wasn't...Enough. In moment like these, where my head is clouded with exhaustion and I lay in bed, in too much pain to do anything but tap my achey and tingly fingers on a keyboard as every movement sends sharp stinging pain up and down my entire arm region and drips down into my torso, and I have to get all my work done, but I can't. Think. I can't. Move. I feel like I'm an old cat, just waiting to die, except I'm a young adult human being who just wants the pain to be over. It'll never be over. This isn't to say I'm actively suicidal. I'm not- At least not anymore. Just living in a body that is in agony all the time gets hard. Really hard. And I start to wonder and think about how good I would feel if I could just slip into a sleep and not have to wake up to the pain, and the exhaustion, and the lack of limb functionality, and the fainting, and the falling, and the humiliation, and the shame- And I sometimes wish I could die, before everyone realizes how much of a disappointment I am because of this. I can't work up to the same par as everybody else can, even though I manage to get everything done up to a very good quality, it take some about 4x longer to do it compared to an able-bodied person. oinfdgionfdnndndnnnfvfn

[fairygoremutt]

The other day I accidentally peeled the nail partially away from the nailbed on one of my pinky toes and ended up pulling the rest of it off with pliers

Now I just want to do it to the rest of them and my fingers. Reminds me of when I got a hole in my thumb nail near the cuticle and spent several days picking it away from the bed piece by piece

[cafalla]

Diary Entry - 02/28/2024

Last week, my sweet old man of a kitty jumped face first into a standing fan and practically knocked out one of his front teeth. He had to spend the last week with a tooth awkwardly sticking out of his face, and then today he went into surgery and had all of his teeth removed.

Granted, he has needed to have his teeth removed for quite a few months now. Him messing up his front tooth just made me realize I needed to get a move on with his dental procedure.

Sadly, his previous owners before I adopted him did not take good care of his teeth, and they've only gotten worse over the years despite trying to help him with brushing, water additives, dental treats, etc.

I knew he'd eventually need all of his teeth out - the damage was too far gone. But I hesitated because I felt so guilty for taking away his teeth.

Part of me felt he would rather have teeth, even if they were bad. I thought about it in the same terms of how declawing can harm a cat's mental health - I feared the same would be true if I took away his teeth. I love this little guy more than anything, and I would never want to harm him or make him feel insecure. But I know ultimately his quality of life is going to improve now that he doesn't have decaying teeth in his mouth.

He is resting and recovering. I hope he heals quickly and truly feels better after this surgery. Ugh.

----

I also had a podiatrist appointment, and basically have now lost all hope for having a normal large toenail. I damaged it pretty badly many years ago. I've had it removed and have gone through many treatments to promote nail growth.

My nail just doesn't grow normally, and was told today that basically my only options at this point are to file it myself/go in and have it filed by a podiatrist when needed, or go through a procedure to permanently have the nail removed so it will not grow back.

Basically, during the time my nail was damaged/removed, my nail bed healed over. So now a growing nail will not attach to about the top half of my nailbed. So my nail grows slowly and is attached to my toe at the bottom half, but can't attach to the top half, so it grows in an odd dome-like shape over the part it can't attach to.

And because it is damaged, my nail grows in layers and builds up, making it thick. Which needs to be filed down to keep it from being this huge rock on my toe lol.

It's hideous, but ultimately nothing can be done about it. I'm sad because I've been holding out hope that one day my nail will go back to normal, and that's just never going to happen.

I guess there are fake nails that can be applied, but I'm uncertain since I'm not a person who ever uses fake nails or gets my nails done at all. And the thought of just having NO nail whatsoever forever makes me feel weird. So I guess I'll continue to file it...but idk.

It's an insecurity of mine, and I'm just saddened to know I can't hope for my nail to go back to normal.

I guess I should be happy I at least have all my teeth, since my poor kitty friend has none. A toenail, in the grand scheme of things, is no big deal, and people tons of people have toenail problems that are way worse than mine.

Still, it sucks. I'd love to just wear a pair of sandals or walk barefoot one day without feeling insecure. As I get older, I am loosening up a bit, but it is going to take me some more time to get used to the toenail thing...ugh.

----

Things have been a bit rough, but I'm hopeful March will be better!

[monky]

So I can’t really find anything scientific about it but a lot of ppl online are sharing personal experiences and photos of their nailbeds (the pink part of your nail) growing longer after they stopped a biting/picking habit and now I’m curious if that’ll happen to me cuz I always just tore off my nails when they got too long until recently and the beds on my left hand that I prob mess with more are noticeably shorter than my right 🧐

[sassypotatoe1]

So like in a moment of cognitive dissonance I knew Raynauds and nutrient malabsorption leads to brittle hair and nails and dry flaky skin, but I didn't expect that it would happen to meee. Anyway I had to look up what the fuck I could possibly do about my peeling cuticles and crumbly ass nails because I'm starting to get infections and I do not want to end up in the ER with sepsis again, so y'all also get the dos and don'ts.

Dos:

Use hand cream with lanolin

Use cuticle oils

I like the avocado oil with vitamin e essence one I just ran out months ago but I have ordered another one

Use moisturizing sanitizer

Use a calcium or biotin nail hardening polish

It shouldn't contain formaldehyde

Keep your nails short and filed smooth

Keep a miniature manicure kit with you to file your nails if they chip

Also cut off peeling cuticles do not pull them

The manicure kit is good for this too

Wash your hands with soap and warm water instead of using sanitizer where possible

Don'ts:

Do not get acrylics or gel nails

I beg of you

They file down and soften you nail bed to get it to adhere

The monimers used to bind them split your nail fibers

You can also develop an acrylate allergy at any time

You really really don't want that

Regular nail polish is fine

But don't use acetone removers or pick or file it off

No cuticle remover chemicals at all

Don't buff them they do not come back stronger remotely quick enough

If you want that benefit of buffing just lightly massage your nailbeds and cuticles with the nail oil to improve blood flow

Don't wash dishes or clean your house without gloves

The water makes your nailbeds softer and detergents dry them out

Wear rubber gloves with a cotton lining

If you feel like picking at or chewing off a chipped nail congrats you have a miniature manicure kit on you at all times use that instead

Being chronically ill sucks your nails don't have to.

[harrygroves]

our maladies were such we could not cure them

Steve would like to make one addendum.

He only thought Billy flourished in crowds, but it was a ruse. A mask he wore to get through the day.

He'd first noticed it at a party. Billy had strictly forbidden Steve from speaking to him at said party, and while rolling his eyes Steve had begrudgingly agreed to his demand while they lay naked in bed only hours beforehand.

Steve had had this weird, overwhelming urge to trace the curves of Billy's bronzed back with the tip of his finger. He refrained from doing this because he knew Billy would freak out.

Anyways, the party.

Billy's subtle warning didn't stop Steve from saddling up beside him in the kitchen, island covered in half-empty bottles and cases of beer as people hooted and hollered around the house.

He nodded at Billy in greeting and the guy just glared in return, tapping the lip of his beer bottle mistakenly against his chin as he brought it up to his mouth.

While mixing himself some rum and Coke, Steve noticed Billy picking at his nailbeds. A subtle move he'd never registered before, but one of his thumb nails was digging into one of the beds to the point where blood started beading.

Later in the evening, a few drinks in and loose from a joint, Steve saw Billy across the room bouncing his leg as he sat next to some blonde whose name Steve could not remember.

Steve could tell whatever conversation they were having wasn't holding Billy's attention. His jaw was ticking, muscles moving as Billy ground his teeth together in annoyance.

Steve didn't bring it up the next time they were together. He just saw Billy's thumb start to move towards his nailbed and Steve reached out to thread their fingers together.

It was the most intimate thing they had ever done.

Billy reacted once their fingers brushed, almost jolting away but he let Steve finish the move, eyes set heavy on the digits.

They didn't speak and Steve didn't let go until Billy's hand stopped tensing.

But he didn't pick at his nails, so Steve considered it a win.

He had successfully done it a couple more times before Billy started trying to shake his hand loose as Steve tightened his grip.

"Fuck off with this fairy shit." Billy growled.

"Stop." Steve muttered.

"Seriously, Harrington, fuck off."

"Billy-stop-stop it!" Steve snapped.

He let go of Billy's hand but brought his palms up to grab Billy's face.

Tears, there were tears starting to form in Billy's eyes, turning his ocean blues stormy.

"Stop." Steve repeated softly. "I'm-I'm not going anywhere."

"Fuck you." Billy grunted, cheeks pinking, reaching up to grab Steve's wrist.

"Billy, please. You...just let me take care of you." Steve mumbled.

Billy made a couple aborted sounds around the well of sobs curling up his throat and pinched his eyes shut tight, trying to ignore Steve's help, trying to swallow his feelings again.

He didn't cry, but he didn't push Steve away.

"Let go." Steve whispered, touching his forehead to Billy's. "I've got you."

he was a hothouse flower to my outdoorsman

come one, come all, it's happening again

Billy only ever flourished in crowds.

In private he needed to be nursed and tended to.

He needed to be cared for.

And oh god, did he hate being cared for.

Steve came away from several of the...they weren't get-togethers, they weren't meetings, or sessions...

Steve didn't know what it was, but they would do the thing, that thing they did so well, and then Billy, oh, he would need something, just a little something...

And it took Steve a few times for it to sink in.

At first he would just leave.

Cum still leaking, knees wobbling, sweat a clotted mess across his bangs as he slid his polo over his chest and he would bolt. Run away as quickly as he could manage.

But Billy would remain unmoving.

Still.

Shaking.

And it took Steve a few times before he realized.

He needed to Stay.

Wrap his jacket over Billy's shaking shoulders, back off, wait, smoke a cigarette, hand it over to Billy, wait until his knuckles weren't white, wait until there was only a cherry-red flame that was no longer tobacco and only filter.

Then he could lean in, settle his head in between Billy's chin and shoulder, his full weight resting there, and say,

"I've got you."

[lemonadesandlavender]

The walls are caving in...

Swipe to read.

This is what despair feels like.

I see a little bug roaming around my room, trying to find the little hole from which it came to me, its eyes are droopy and legs a little wobbly, the hole is nowhere to be seen.

My nailbeds don’t exist anymore, I have been biting my nails so hard, blood oozing out and dripping my sheets red.

My heart tries to plant a little sliver of hope inside my thorax and the next second, my nostrils stop taking in oxygen, the sliver doesn’t stand a chance to grow.

The back wall of my bed has been filled with sketches of me crying, me throwing up, withered flowers everywhere, a little blooming flower here and there, and more pencils nowhere to be seen.

The last time I checked out the balcony was when a bird made a nest out of scraps of twigs and feathers, only to pick it up and throw it around the sill.

My brain doesn’t seem to remember the shapes of clouds and the position of the infamous spot on the moon anymore, ask me where the smallest crack in my ceiling is though.

If this is what it feels like to live in despair, then take me to a world full of romantic comedies and books and puppies licking kitten’s ears, where the walls don’t cave in as much as they do now.