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artykyn · 4 months

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here’s a token to cash in whenever you want: so what about piercings at claire’s?

Okay you asked

First of all, a traditional piercing at a reputable piercing studio uses a hollow needle to pierce your ear. The earring is essentially threaded into your ear. Needles are super sharp, sterile, and single-use.

Claire's uses a gun.

It's a special gun that loads up the earring and jams it right into your ear. They market this as "needle free piercing!" to, I don't know, calm people who are afraid of needles? But here's the thing: the gun hurts way way worse than a needle. You aren't being pierced with a sharp needle, you are being jabbed by a blunt earring.

Needle? Clean, smooth hole. Gun? Well... think about what happens if you shoot a bullet through a target. On the front, it looks like a clean circle. On the back?

That's the back of your ear after getting pierced by a gun!

Your tissues are super screwed up, your piercing wound is way bigger than it would be with a clean, sharp needle, and your healing process is more complicated. The stud you stick on the back of your earring is pressed against all that loose flappy damaged skin that is now desperate to heal itself from such blunt force trauma-- don't be surprised if your skin grows and heals around the stud in the same way that trees "consume" things.

Also you can't even sterilize a piercing gun properly. Shopping mall piercing kiosks claim that it's sterile but the fact is that single-use needles and disposable surgical gloves are way more sterile than a gun you clean between every customer.

Claire's tries to market it as a "No contact!" piercing method that's "cleaner" because the piercer's hand doesn't have to touch your ear. If you trust a surgeon to physically touch your organs then what's the big deal about a professional piercer touching your ear?

Since the cartilage of your ear is way more delicate than your lobe, using a piercing gun there is more likely to straight up shatter your ear. Like shooting a gun at a block of wood. Lots of cracks and splinters!!

By the way, Claire's is not the only place that uses piercing guns. In fact, you can even buy them yourself online to do "at-home piercing".

Avoid them. Oh my god please avoid them.

Second of all you need high-grade metal for an initial piercing. Low-grade stainless steel is okay for a healed piercing. But using it for an initial piercing is how you risk allergic reactions, irritation, rejection (it never heals, and your body forces it out). This is also how you can put yourself at risk of spontaneously developing a nickel allergy that you will have for the rest of your life! (Like me!!)

Claire's does have some high-grade metals you can choose from. But they also offer stainless steel. Most stainless steels use nickel as part of the alloy mix. If you're going for stainless steel for a first piercing, get surgical-grade.

Let's assume you wanted an aquarium. Obviously, a store that specializes in aquariums has better products than a generic store like Petco. The employees at an aquarium store are also WAY better informed about aquariums and fish, and can give you better advice, as opposed to the average Petco worker, who has a general knowledge of all animals but nothing too in-depth about any specific ones. Some of the suggestions I've been given by Petco workers would 100% be animal torture. They don't know better.

That's Claire's. The employees aren't professional piercers, they are retail workers who got basic piercing training. For that reason, piercings are super cheap! You get what you pay for.

My final gripe is around piercing culture in general. Piercings are, I'm sure you're aware, often gendered as a "feminine" thing. A woman having her ear lobes pierced is super common. And if a woman wants to have pierced ears, okay, but my issue is with mothers who take their infant baby girls to get their ears pierced.

Those are women who did not want to get their ears pierced. Their mothers forced it upon them as a baby, because their mothers had some weird obsession with gender roles and aesthetic appearance and wanted to treat their baby like a doll. If a man forced his girlfriend to get her ears pierced so she'd look more feminine, that'd be sketchy. Why is it okay for mothers to pierce their baby's ears?? A baby is a human being, not a toy.

Putting a bow on your kid is one thing. Putting them through permanent body-altering procedures for the sake of YOUR aesthetics, however? Would you tattoo freckles on your child if freckles were considered a cute feminine thing for girls to have? Would you sign your brown-eyed baby up to get that procedure that turns their eyes blue, if blue eyes were considered feminine? What is your limit? How far do gender roles have to go before you question them?

Let people choose for THEMSELVES if they want to get a piercing, or any other body alteration. For goodness's sake. Why does that have to be said.

"Oh it's just a piercing it's not a big deal" babies do not understand the care instruction "do not touch". The baby will touch the piercing. The baby will crawl and roll around and put their ears against the floor and many other things. The risk of infection and bad healing is super high. The risk of your child now growing up with a deformed ear is super high.

ESPECIALLY if you use a piercing gun.

And guess what?

Claire's will happily pierce your baby's ears for you.

#mine #asks #claire's #piercing #jewelry #earrings #gun mention #bodily autonomy #needle mention #rant #just a thought mr fox #nickel allergy #advice #piercing gun #actually thanks for asking so I could get that out of my system haha #I always have this crap locked and loaded tbh #it gets triggered simply by the mention of nickel allergies

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cheshiresense · 2 years

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Are you still working on anything for One Piece? Any small tidbits to share? You write it so well and I'm starved for content.

I have a couple unposted wips, doesn't look like they'll be done anytime soon either but I can give you a random snippet. This is from my mute!Luffy AU:

Jozu and Haruta file out, and Marco makes himself comfortable with Ace still slumped against him. It's a bit of a reach but he manages to snag the medical chart off the end of Luffy's bed without getting up, and a quick flip through informs him that this was… it was close. It was really, really close. If Akainu's attack hadn't been just a bit off-centre, if Ace hadn't managed to get Luffy off the battlefield as quickly as he had, if Trafalgar hadn't come…

He clips the chart back on its hook. He doesn't much think about his next move, just does it because he does it for all his patients if he deems it necessary. Half a thought summons his flames to his hand, and then he plunges it straight into Luffy's chest.

As it turns out, perhaps he should've given some warning first. But Marco buries a fistful of phoenix fire in Luffy's chest just as a sleep-deprived Trafalgar Law with bags the size of the Moby under his eyes and clutching a mug of coffee like a lifeline walks back in at almost the exact same moment. The man takes approximately point-two seconds to register the macabre scene before instantly going from about negative-fifty to feral. In the span of maybe two heartbeats, a transparent spherical space expands to cover the entire room, his coffee is replaced by a sword, and Marco has to think fast and twist out of the way to avoid getting an electrically charged nodachi through his carotid because apparently the Surgeon of Death really is just as vicious as the rumours say.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?!" Trafalgar snarls, blade already curving down to take Marco's head. "Get your hand out of him! Portgas-ya, why are you still sleeping?"

Ace has always been a deep sleeper, made worse by his narcolepsy, made even worse than that by a week of starvation and dehydration and stress. He'll snap awake if there's a real threat nearby, but Marco isn't that, and Trafalgar isn't either when Marco is here, so he doesn't even stir at the Heart captain's call or the way Marco has to leave him snoring in his seat in favour of jumping to his feet to sidestep the next swipe of Trafalgar's blade.

"Wait, wait!" Marco says hastily, retrieving his hand, although that probably doesn't much help his case considering the way his flames continue flickering beneath the bandages wrapped around Luffy's chest. Trafalgar's expression turns downright murderous. "I'm helping-yoi! Let me explain!"

It is admittedly somewhat disturbing even for people who are already aware of what Marco can do - this is why he prefers Nashi no Tsubute, he still has to set people on fire but it looks less like he's killing them… kind of - so the seas know Trafalgar's reaction is perfectly justified.

Trafalgar pauses, just for a second, eyes narrowed with a demand. Marco doesn't waste it.

"I can heal other people with my flames," Marco quickly clarifies to the irate surgeon who clearly does not give a single fuck about dialling down any hostility even in front of Whitebeard's second-in-command while the entire Yonkou crew is parked just outside. Marco has to respect that. Besides, even at a glance, he can tell Trafalgar has worked a miracle on Luffy. It's bound to make anyone a little protective, even if only out of professional pride. "Not completely, not instantaneously, but they give a boost to the body to help it along, and the flames will usually last for as long as the recipient's stamina does."

Trafalgar looks at him like he wants nothing more than to feed Marco to a dieting shark.

"Does Mugiwara-ya look like he has stamina to spare?" He hisses, all attitude, zero chill.

"No," Marco says calmly and lifts the hand where a thread of his flame is still connected to the pulse in his wrist. "That's why I'm using mine. The effect is even smaller this way, but it does work, and once it starts, it's better to let it run its course."

A simmering moment of silence passes as Trafalgar seems to weigh Marco's honesty, but eventually, he sheathes his blade and stalks over to Luffy instead, checking the machines and running a glowing white palm over his patient, lingering over his chest. He still doesn't look happy when he's done, but he also doesn't try to kill Marco again, and his Devil Fruit power disappears from around them.

He scrubs a hand over his face instead - he looks exhausted, has he slept at all since the surgery? - and then directs a venomous glare at Marco. "I'm monitoring this. If I say you remove your flames, you do it. He is my patient."

Marco nods without protest. "I know. I apologize-yoi. It was habit on my part, but that's no excuse. I should've asked first."

Trafalgar doesn't look any friendlier after that, but he does seem marginally appeased. "Fine, stay here, take a seat."

He eyeballs Marco like he thinks Whitebeard's first division commander is possibly mentally deficient. "I'm going to assume you know when to stop yourself if I don't tell you to stop, but just in case, if you do this until you feel like passing out," He smiles, thin and cold and actually pretty creepy. Marco wonders if he practices it in the mirror. "Make sure you get off my ship before you do, so you'll be someone else's problem instead. I agreed to take care of exactly two people for the foreseeable future, and neither of them are you."

#one piece #fic snippet #marco #trafalgar law #mute luffy AU #anonymous #msg

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youbloodymadgenius · 4 years

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Brother (a Modern!Ivar fic with an unexpected Ragnarsson as special guest)

A/N: This is my entry to @maggiescarborough celebration. Happy early Anniversary, love 💝

I’m quite proud of this one! So, please, I know it’s not a reader insert, but give it a try, give it a chance 🙏🏽

Prompt in bold, as usual.

@inforapound - I know how much i owe you. Thank you 💞

Let me know if you want to be tagged 😊

Summary: One of Ivar's brothers was in a car accident. How will Ivar react?

Warning: description of physical injuries; mention of a car crash; medical and surgical inaccuracies.

Words: 2331

As soon as he spots Doctor Mikelsson, Ivar gets up, wincing at the throbbing pain in his legs as he steps closer to the renowned surgeon.

"Doc," he says, giving him a slight nod, "How is he?"

The surgeon sighs tiredly and slowly rubs his palms down his scrubs-clad thighs. "I'd say he has been very lucky. As far as I know, it could have been much worse. Car versus truck is never a winning combo, at least for the car's driver. His car has been completely destroyed, from what I hear. It must have been a terrible wreck. "

"That’s an understatement." Ivar grumbles under his breath, shivering as he struggles to get the images of the crash out of his mind. The pictures he saw were so vivid, he could still hear the screams and ambulance sirens that had undoubtedly filled the accident scene. Closing his eyes for a brief instant, he shakes his head, forcing himself to focus on the here and now.

"That's not what I was asking, Doc. How is he?" He insists, emphasizing the last three words as he shifts his weight from one foot to the other, leaning heaviliy on his crutch, physical and mental discomfort obvious on his face.

"Well, he's not so bad, all things considered. As I said, it could have been much worse. He's stable and his condition isn't life-threatening. It's serious, though."

Ivar rolls his eyes, getting impatient. "Straight to the point, Doc, please! And no need to sugarcoat it." His commanding voice is sharp and stern, his tight-lipped expression giving away what little patience he has.

"Okay, Ivar." Doctor Mikelsson gives him a weary smile, a hand up in surrender. "About his upper body first. Aside from several bruises, he had a sprained wrist and a cracked rib. The last one will be painful for awhile but it won't be an issue in the long run. His lower body, on the other hand…" The surgeon frowns, visibly gathering his thoughts. "He suffered a double tibia-fibula fracture of his right leg and his pelvis has been multi-fractured; therefore I had to stabilize it with plates and screws. To allow his pelvis to recover, your brother will be bed- and then wheelchair-bound for at least six weeks, maybe more. Not that it matters, anyway, given the condition of his left leg."

Hearing those words, Ivar shudders. "How…" His voice comes out strangled and he clears his throat. "How is it? You… You could save it, right? That's why I… had him transferred here."

Putting a soothing hand on Ivar's forearm, the doctor nods. "Yes, I saved it. It was quite a challenge, I must admit. His leg has been severely shattered during the crash, literally crushed by one of the truck's tires. From the top of his thigh to the tips of his toes, not a single bone was intact. I do understand why my colleague from the public hospital wanted to amputate it, you know?"

"But you saved it?" Ivar asks once again, his free hand running nervously through his disheveled hair.

"I did." The doctors answers soberly before explaining. "I reduced the largest fractures, using rods and plates there as well. I couldn't avoid putting an external fixator though, his leg was too damaged. He'll still need several more surgeries, but he gets to keep his leg."

"Thanks, Doc." Ivar adorns a slight smile which doesn't completely reach his eyes. "And what about recovery? He will fully recover, right?" A frown creasing his forehead, Ivar bites his inner cheek, worried and concerned.

Grimacing, the surgeon lets out a deep breath. "Ivar, I'm not sure you understand the extent of the damage. It's not just about a couple of broken bones. We're talking about devastating injuries that could have – that should have – resulted in amputation. If you ask me if your brother will walk again, I can't be sure yet, but I'm quite confident he will. Will he need walking aids, like cane, crutch and or leg brace? It's too soon to say. But to be perfectly honest with you, it's quite likely." Seeing Ivar wince, the surgeon gives him an apologetic look. "Sorry Ivar. Be sure I did my best."

"Don't be sorry, I know you did. It's just a lot to take in. Does he… Does my brother know?"

Scrunching his face, the surgeon hesitates, unsure. "More or less. I talked to him in the recovery room but he was a bit dazed from the drugs and the nurse had to increase the morphine because he was in pain. He was completely out of it after that. He'll probably sleep through the night so I'll talk to him first thing in the morning." Taking a step back, Doctor Mikelsson stares at Ivar from head to foot, noticing how the blue-eyed man favors his left leg, his right foot barely touching the floor. "You should head home and get some rest, Ivar. I'm pretty sure you've been wearing these braces for far too long." Giving him a light pat on the shoulder, he shrugs. "I'll do the same anyway. Guess I'll see you tomorrow. Good night, Ivar."

***

Opening the door as quietly as possible, Ivar watches his sleeping brother. He's awfully pale, his frail frame so small on the hospital bed, his right leg in a cast, his left propped up on a huge pillow. Ivar frowns at the sight of the fixator, which makes him think of a barbaric tool more than a medical device. He suddenly feels grateful that he never needed one.

Trying to not make any noise, he crosses the room without using his crutch, struggling and wincing with every step. He's successful but fails to stifle a hiss as he sits down on the chair next to his brother's bed. He looks at him, worried, and sees his eyes flutter open.

"Ivar?" His brother's voice is hoarse and the stunned look on his face unmistakable. "Why did you come here? To make fun of me?" There's no fight or fire in his eyes, only exhaustion and sadness.

Ivar shrugs, a light smile playing on his lips. "Can't say the thought didn't cross my mind." He lowers his head one second, snorting, and when he raises it again, it's with a serious look on his face. "Guess I wanted to know how you are doing." His voice is barely a whisper and he doesn't look his brother in the eye.

"What did you say?" Ivar's brother's tone is suspiscious, dripping with disbelief. "Since when are you concerned about that??" He tries to sit up but groans in pain, collapsing back onto the bed.

Worry wrinkling his forehead, Ivar instantly gets up, putting a hand on his brother's shoulder. "Hold still, will you? And seriously, tell me, how are you feeling? How is your pain? I mean, on a scale from zero to ten, zero meaning no pain at all and ten an unbearable pain. Tell me, how bad is it?"

Ivar's brother rubs his cheek with two fingers, squinting his eyes, before letting out a long and audible sigh. "Four I think, maybe five."

Ivar – who lives on a daily basis with a six or seven rated pain – has to remind himself that his pain treshold is much higher than that of ordinary people. "Okay," he begins softly, "four or five might still be tolerable but don't let it get higher. Look," he points at a small medical bulb with his index finger, "that's a morphine pump, just squeeze it once and let the magic work. Trust me, it's terribly efficient. It will make you a bit dizzy but it'll be worth it." As to illustrate his point, Ivar squeezes the pump and he can see the relief washing over his brother's face almost instantly as the pain goes numb.

"I spoke with the doctor who did the surgery this morning. Did you?" Ivar's brother asks, a frown on his face and biting his lower lip.

"I did." Ivar answers without saying anything more. An uneasy silence settles in, eventually broken by Ivar's brother‘s shaky voice. "So, you know there's a chance…" His words catch in his throat and he swallows loudly. "What if…" Overcome with anxiety, he's unable to say more.

"Hey, stop that, brother!" Ivar almost scolds him."You will walk again. It may be hard, but you'll get there. For now, you should be thankful for being alive. You know what they say… Where there's life, there's hope. So please, stay positive and fucking look at me if you need to. I was able to walk, so I'm pretty sure you can too."

Ivar's brother looks at him for a long time, a puzzled look on his face. "Karma is a bitch, isn't it?" He eventually says sheepishly, a sad smile crossing his lips. "You can say it, I won't get mad, you know? I probably deserve this, after all I did…" He sighs, lowering his gaze, but Ivar doesn't allow it, raising his brother's head with a finger on his chin.

"Listen carefully, brother. No one deserves to suffer. Neither you nor anyone else. Karma has nothing to do with what happened to you. You were just in the wrong place at the wrong time, nothing more. The truck driver was sleep-deprived and didn't see the red light. It sucks, I get it, but it was just bad luck that you were at this crossroad at the same time that he was."

Ivar's brother just nods lightly, and then yawns, rubbing his eyes. "You should rest, brother. I'll be back soon." Ivar grabs his crutch but his brother wraps his hand around his wrist.

"Wait… You told me why you were here but there's one thing I don't understand. Why are you the one here? Where are our–" He stops as another yawn cuts him off.

Ivar, however, understands his unfinished question. "Last time I heard from our dear brothers, they were going on a business trip to Cancun. Seeing as it is the beginning of Spring Break in the US, I'm pretty sure calling it a fuck trip would be more accurate. It also means that you're stuck with me for a couple of weeks. Sorry about that." Tilting his head, Ivar gives his brother a semi-amused look. "Anyway, now, you're going to rest,” Ivar strokes his brother's hair with unexpected gentleness, "and in the meantime I'm going to make arrangements for your future."

"What… what does that mean?" Ivar's brother babbles, the drug-induced dizziness hitting him with full force.

"It means that as soon as you'll be discharged, you'll be moving in with me." Ivar says casually, shrugging, as he heads towards the door.

"Moving in with… you? But… why?" The questioning tone of his brother is obvious and Ivar turns back to look at him. "It was either this, or the rehab center. Trust me, you'll be better taken care of with me. My apartment is fully accessible, I've got a real PT room and Sven, my longtime PT, is the best in all of Scandinavia. You'll also probably need an OT, and it happens that I know the best OT too. Flora is her name, she helped me a lot a few years ago. So yeah, you will be in good hands, I promise. As good as Doctor Mikelsson's hands."

Confused, Ivar's brother looks at him questioningly. "Doctor Mikelsson is… your…" Obviously befuddled, his speech is now slurred and he can't find the right word.

"My surgeon, yes,” Ivar completes the sentence. "Has been for the last twelve years. That's why I had you transferred here, in this clinic."

Dumbfounded, Ivar's brother stares wide-eyed. "I don't… I didn't rela… realize I've been transf… transferred. And that… that was…"

"At my request, yes." Ivar nods. "Because the Doc is more than a surgeon. He's a magician. He truly can work wonders. Me standing and walking is enough to prove it." Raising his head proudly, Ivar smiles at his brother reassuringly.

"Why… why did… you do… this for… me?" Ivar's brother sputters, exhaustion written all over his face. Yet, he fights it, his curiosity prevailing above all else.

Ivar shrugs once again, giving his brother an airy wave of his hand as to let him know that what he's doing is no big deal. "I know your pain, brother. I know the struggles you'll be facing. You have a long road ahead and I know how scary it might be. You won't be alone. I won't allow it. We'll get through this together, because no one should have to deal with such things alone." Ivar almost hiccups, his heart is suddenly in his throat as a wave of painful childhood memories floods his mind. He pushes them away, gritting his teeth, because now is not the time. Focusing once more on the blond in front of him, he speaks again, in a firm tone. "So, brother, you won't be. Never. I will be right next to you at every step, literally. We'll make our own version of 'the blind leading the blind', you know?" Ivar scratches the back of his neck, a half-smile on his lips, before taking a deep breath. "And you may be an asshole most of the time, but you're still my brother. That's why I do it. It's as simple as that. Sleep now, we'll talk later."

Hand on the doorknob, Ivar hears a faint whimper. Looking backwards, he's surprised as he sees a single tear running down his brother's cheek. "Thank you, Ivar." His brother says with a trembling voice, clearly shaken up by Ivar's words.

Ivar gives his brother a genuine smile, suddenly struck by the thougth that it's probably the first genuine smile he's given his brother in years. "You're welcome, Sig," he says sincerely as he has to blink back his own tears, an unfamiliar but warm feeling in his chest, "Sleep now, I'll be back soon. I promise."

🛡💖🛡

@maggiescarborough @honestsycrets @lisinfleur @waiting4inspiration @saldelys @gearhead66 @readsalot73 @milkkygirls @xbellaxcarolinax @shannygoatgruff @zuxiezendler @a-mess-of-fandoms @hecohansen31 @lonewolf471 @ivarthebloodyking @fuckindiva @tgrrose @didiintheblog

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