#Phantom toothache

[wickedzeevyln]

On Goodbyes

Saying goodbye shouldn’t be that hard, but the never-ebbing ache in our chests sweeps us to despair, we know from the beginning there is a point where the road ends, at least for us. When the closing of the eyes opens portals of unseen light sailing skyward to bind with eternity there is a constant twitch somewhere deep inside perhaps from that of a void left behind. In our solitude, we curl…

[traaumaa]

it's disheartening when the only things that are keeping you alive are the same ones slowly killing you

[chapel-of-rizztual]

Despite being a quintessence ghoul, Phantom isn’t good at the whole ‘healing’ thing. He’s not in tune with others emotions, he can’t ease their pain, he can’t get into peoples heads. He hates it, he feels like such a failure of a quintessence ghoul. 

When he’s first summoned, he’s sent to work in the infirmary. He’s told Aether and Omega will mentor him, and he’s not to worry about not knowing a lot, he’s young and has a lot to learn and they’re good teachers. 

He’s awful. And he stays awful. No amount of mentoring helps. He’s clumsy and awkward, he scares more patients then he calms. He hates blood, he gags if someone throws up, he mixes up samples, he can’t prescribe medication. He does a single shift on the maternity ward and spends the majority of it on the floor passed out. 

He gets put on tea making duty and he even manages to fuck that up. 

He’s days away from begging for a different job when a sister comes in with a badly broken shoulder. She fell from a ladder in the library, hitting her shoulder on a bookcase before hitting the floor. It’s so badly broken that Aether can’t use his magic to fix it and she’ll have to have surgery. Aether tells him to hold her arm steady so he can fix her a sling. He does as he’s told, holding her arm as carefully as he can. Then he feels it. A tingly feeling that starts on his fingertips, then spreads up his arms, to his shoulders, exactly where the break on the sister was. And the break just…heals. Just like that. 

Aether is in shock. Mending broken bones like that is hard, it’s old magic and even Omega struggles with. He asked how he did that and Phantom just shrugs and looks sheepishly at him saying he ‘just felt it.’ 

Anything bone related goes right to Phantom after that. And he loves it. He absolutely thrives. 

The next time it’s Terzo. And it’s not anything to do with bones this time. It’s his tooth. He comes into the infirmary gripping the side of his jaw, complaining about a bad toothache. Omega rolls his eyes, telling not to eat so many sweets when he’s in the office. Terzo just rolls his eyes right back, mocking him behind his back, making Phantom giggle. Omega is secretly shitting himself though, mending teeth Is even harder then bones, and he can tell that, despite the jokes, Terzo is in a lot of pain. 

He tells Phantom to have a look, see how bad it is, maybe they’ll have to call an actual dentist. When Phantom gently takes Terzo’s jaw in his hand, and he gets that tingly feeling again, starting in his fingertips, travelling up his arms, his neck and settling in his jaw. 

Terzo looks at him wide eyed, gasping out ‘you fixed it!’ 

Omega looks at him just as wide eyed and shocked. 

Despite Phantom being young, he was powerful, Full of old magic. He find old spell books, full of spells and magic from centuries before him, books that no one have been able to translate for years. Except Phantom. He understands them perfectly. And he learns so much. His magic becomes even more powerful. 

[thalialunacy]

[a wee character sketch interlude for the @calaisreno May Prompt Party]

(1) (2) (3) (4) (5) (6) (7) (8) (9) (10) (11) (12) (13) (14) (15) (16) (17) (18) (19) (20) (21) (22) (23) (24) (25) 26: manipulate (27) (28) (29) (30) (31)

-440-

Orchestras always tune to ‘A’ on the oboe, because every string instrument has an ‘A’ string. Oboes can play sharp or flat, just like any other instrument, but modernly every oboist uses a little electronic meter to ensure that their ‘A’ is exactly right.

As a child, his violin instructor had made him start every lesson by vocalising A4 out of thin air. Or, at least, attempting to do so; Sherlock has always had excellent intonation, but perfect pitch -- the ability to name the frequency of sounds one hears and vice versa -- is not on his resume.

So the exercise always felt fruitless, and aggravatingly so, because of course he never actually got the correct pitch. Close, and closer with time, but never close enough.

Years later, watching a tiny human named Rosamund drag herself to her feet just to fall back down time and time again, it finally occurs to him: That was the point.

-415-

Baroque: relating to or denoting a style of European architecture, music, and art of the 17th and 18th centuries that is characterised by ornate detail.

He finds himself in a tiny overcrowded music hall watching a small early music ensemble (3 violins, 1 viola, 1 cello, 1 contrabass, 1 recorder, 2 bassoons, 1 trumpet, 1 harpsichord, and 1 very murderous theorbo player) and it takes him far too long to realise why he's uncomfortable. Why there is a little twitch below his left eye.

They are actually using a historically accurate tuning.

Sherlock blinks, feeling around his jaw to see if it could be something else, but no, a part of his overly-trained brain rebels against all the sounds being pitched slightly lower than modern sensibilities. It's like a phantom toothache.

It's like before, when Sherlock would glance up from his microscope and observe John feeling poorly. In those days, Sherlock had nothing to offer, really, so he'd just had to let John's unhappiness bury itself under his skin as something else to ignore.

Now, though. Now he can do something about it.

-432-

Some theorists and musicians claim that the 432 Hz tuning has better effects on the human body, but there are no scientific studies that support the hypothesis.

He brings an exhausted John a late night (and therefor unattractively decaf) cup of tea. 'What happened?' he asks quietly, settling in across from him.

John shakes his head vaguely. 'I couldn't… I couldn't convince a mother to respect her child's pronouns.' He coughs. 'I am an old man who is shit at not stumbling over such things, but… She wouldn't even try.'

He meets Sherlock's eyes over the rim of his mug. 'Please remind me of this when Rosie is a teenager and I want to throttle her for reinventing herself every two days.'

Sherlock pauses, then sets his tea down and leans in until he can palm the soft pyjama fabric covering John's knee. It's a small gesture, but it works-- the creases in John's brow lose a little of their severity. 'I have no doubt she'll try our patience and sanity severely. But, John… You are already a far better parent than yours were.'

John stares at him and breathes out heavily. 'Fuck.' His free hand comes down on top of Sherlock's, absently palpating his knuckles one by one. 'But you can't-- There's not exactly scientific evidence, is there, to support that.' 

Sherlock clears his throat. 'Yes, well. I'm confident there will be.' 

John's lips twitch. 'Sherlock Holmes, are you saying you have faith in something?' 

Sherlock tuts, then decides he doesn't care about propriety in this moment. He moves until he's kneeling before John, holding his face in his hands and focusing on the tiny freckle under John's left eyebrow, knowing John will understand.

'Yes,' he says simply. 'Just one thing.' And then he leans in. 

[❤️]

[music to which this was written: Britten's Violin Concerto, Op 15, which I'm certain Sherlock would hate, but he's wrong]

[lucygxybaird]

billinea on shuffle

i take this magnetic force of a man to be my lover. my heart's been borrowed and yours has been blue. all's well that ends well to end up with you. swear to be overdramatic and true to my lover, and you'll save all your dirtiest jokes for me. and at every table, i'll save you a seat, lover. can i go where you go? can we always be this close, forever and ever? - lover; taylor swift

well, i came home like a stone, and i fell heavy into your arms. these days of dust which we've known will blow away with this new sun. but i'll kneel down to wait for now, and i'll kneel down, know my ground. and i will wait, i will wait for you. - i will wait; mumford & sons

she and i went on the run, don't care about religion. i'm gonna marry the woman i love, down by the wexford border. she was nancy mulligan, and i was william sheeran. she took my name and then we were one, down by the wexford border. - nancy mulligan; ed sheeran

you kissed me out of nowhere, i can still show you the spot where everything went down. oh, i told you i was gonna marry you, you probably didn't think that it was true. that mango-rita you were drinking and that coldplay song you were singing, and i bet right now you're probably thinkin' that it's crazy i remember every detail. but i do, i can still smell your perfume. girl, that night was just like you, unforgettable. - unforgettable; thomas rhett

say you'll share with me one love, one lifetime. let me lead you from your solitude. say you need me with you, here, beside you. anywhere you go, let me go, too. that's all i ask of you. (say you'll share with me one love, one lifetime. say the word and i will follow you.) share each day with me, each night, each morning. (say you love me.) you know i do...love me, that's all i ask of you. - all i ask of you; 'phantom of the opera'

me and you, baby, we'll walk in their footsteps, build our own family one day at a time. ten little toes, a painted pink room, our beautiful baby looks just like you. and we'll build this love from the ground up, now til forever, it's all of me, all of you. just take my hand and i'll be the man your dad hoped that I'd be. and we'll build this love from the ground up, for worse or for better, and i will be all that you need. beside you i'll stand through the good and the bad. - from the ground up; dan + shay

a whole new world, a dazzling place i never knew. but when i'm way up here, it's crystal clear that now i'm in a whole new world with you. (now i'm a whole new world with you.) unbelievable sights, indescribable feeling, soaring, toppling, free-wheeling through an endless diamond sky. a whole new world (don't you dare close your eyes), a hundred thousand things to see. - a whole new world; 'aladdin'

i just think about my baby, i'm so full of love i could barely eat. there's nothing sweeter than my baby, i'd never want once from the cherry tree. 'cause my baby's sweet as can be, she give me toothaches just from kissin' me. when my time comes around, lay me gently in the cold dark earth. no grave can hold my body down, i'll crawl home to her. - work song; hozier

check out my billinea playlist

[zirawrites]

'capped her kid' yowch

ok time to cheer everyone up~

companions react to sole and shaun making them breakfast in bed?

they deserve a good day off.

Cait: Cait wasn’t the kind of gal to get sentimental, but there was something about Shaun standing at the end of her bed with his wide smile and hands clutching a plate of pancakes that made her melt. “Is all this for me?” Cait greedily snatched the food from Shaun, and he gave a boyish giggle. “Shaun, be a dear and grab me a beer and this breakfast is perfect.”

Codsworth: Codsworth didn’t have a designated sleeping area, but that didn’t stop Shaun and Sole from buying his favorite motor oil as a gift for after he was done recharging. “Goodness! I thought I was the one supposed to give you both breakfast in bed.” His mechanical eyes blinked away phantom tears. “I will endeavor to make the most of this motor oil by using it to fuel a deep-clean of the house.”

Curie: Curie was sure that the Sugar Bombs cereal, whipped creamed pancakes and cherry Nuka Cola wasn’t exactly a nutritious meal, but she ignored her impulse to lecture Shaun about the food pyramid when she saw how eager he was for her to try his breakfast. “Did Sole let you flip the pancakes?” she asked. Shaun nodded enthusiastically. “That is my favorite part as well.”

Danse: Danse was used to unseasoned slop heaped onto a metal tray in the Prydwyn canteen. He wasn’t sure how to react when Shaun and Sole handed him a plate of waffles covered in candy and whipped cream; apparently Shaun’s favorite treat on Sunday mornings. He had endearingly helped Sole make an extra plate. “Thank you for the subsidence, Shaun.” Danse paused. “And the future toothache.”

Deacon: Deacon knew he was being cheekier than usual, but it was more fun to play an entitled brat than boringly accept Shaun and Sole’s breakfast. He leaned back on his pillows, folding his hands behind his head and stretching against the mattress. “Ah, finally! Shaunsworth, Soleington. You’re late with my breakfast.” Shaun laughed while Sole rolled their eyes. “This is coming straight out of your trust fund. I mean salary. I can’t remember which is which because I am a busy and rich businessman late for five meetings and a stock market.”

Hancock: “This all for me?” Hancock’s grin stretched across his leathery face as he took in all the colorful breakfast items Shaun and Sole had whipped up. There was a little bit of everything and sprinkled with candy, which was no doubt Shaun’s request. “Now this is a meal fit for a mayor.”

MacCready: Mac couldn’t help but tear up as little Shaun sat on the edge of his bed with a plate of pancakes. It reminded him of when Lucy helped Duncan make a breakfast of their own. “Aw, Shaun. You shouldn’t have.” When Shaun added that Sole had also helped, MacCready wiped tears on the back of his sleeve.

Preston: “The most important meal of the day!” Preston wasn’t sure what else to say at Shaun and Sole’s hospitality. He was always the one making food for settlers. No one had ever done the same for him since he was a kid. “I need the fuel for a run later today. Thanks for thinking of me, Shaun.”

Piper: “Gimmiegimmiegimmie!” Piper grabbed towards the tray of breakfast like an eager child, and Shaun laughed as he cautiously handed it to her. “What’d you make me, Shaun? Sugar Bombs casserole? Mirelurk steak?” She looked at the fluffy pancakes with a smiley-face drawn in whipped cream and smiled. “Aw, I didn’t know you knew how to draw my picture.”

Nick: Shaun was so excited to show Nick his breakfast that the synth didn’t have the guts to tell him that he couldn’t eat. “Real kind of you, Shaun.” Then Nick side-eyed Sole, and they knew Nick expected them to eat it for him to keep up the charade.

X6-88: X6 wasn’t used to anyone making him food as much as he wasn’t used to an enthusiastic little boy bouncing at the end of his bed. Shaun held up the plate of breakfast with a wide smile and expectant expression. “This is for me?” X6 glanced nervously at Sole. “I prefer more protein, but...” He took the plate of sugary food from Shaun and shrugged. “This will do. Thank you, Shaun.”

[wyvchard]

Augusnippets Day 27

Prompts for today: migraines/chronic pain/phantom pains

Prompt/s used: Phantom Pains

Content Warnings: Toothache (not sure if it counts but it could)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I sighed as I looked at the blank word document, trying hard to ignore the pressure slightly within my cheek.

"It's back again. Dang it." I hissed as I went downstairs to find the bathroom.

"You okay?"

I gave a thumbs up to my mom before I entered the bathroom.

... Brushing my teeth helped a little bit. But it's still there.

It's been aching every once in a while for a week now. I don't wanna fess up.

There was a knock on the bathroom. "You alright over there?"

"Yes. I am."

The silence on the other end was enough to tell me my mom didn't buy it.

There was a chill on my back, causing me to open the door.

"What's really happening?"

"My cheeks hurt."

She merely stayed quiet before telling me to open my mouth and closed it shortly after. "It doesn't look damaged. Seems like the dentist was right in telling you you could feel the removed tooth for months."

I merely hugged her since I don't know what else to do.

[rinja-espurr]

so ive said i wanna talk about tadc since i have a LOT of thoughts on it so here it is. tagging @ermine-57047 since they asked for that too!!

SORRY IF THAT THING DOESNT LOOK VERY....... ORGANIZED AND ALL THAT? thats literally just some of my thoughts about tadc put in textual format. aaand it may have headcanons

i was basically thinking. so. thats confirmed that you WILL go insane in the digital circus eventually if you stay there long enough and all that. but this made me start thinking "but what if you LOVE that kind of stuff like circuses and digital stuff and everything" since i do love all of it. those are some of my HUGE special interests which made me think "well then its probably gonna be possible to stay sane here if you do like that stuff-" but ive started accidentally overanalyzing it and. no i dont think you can even if youre like me and you love that type of stuff

you know how nothing feels real in there? well ive kinda overanalyzed. that. I DID saw gooseworx' answer that its possible to feel pain, but, looking at everything I saw already, I imagine that when its NOT stuff like glitching out, then its not a REAL sensation of pain but the..... phantom touch in vr kinda thing? and. imagine feeling that every time instead of a usual normal kind of touch. or like the virtual sensation of food. i imagine that it feels similar to the time I had a dream where I ate a chocolate cake. and it tasted EXACTLY how it should taste. but it didnt feel REAL in any way. imagine feeling THIS every time too (tbh doesnt sound too bad for me but i think it does fuck you up in a way)

the fact that you dont need to sleep, drink or eat may sound alright too but its also. very fucked up in a way? like. imagine going from your normal life and needing all of that and then you just suddenly..... dont need this. you CAN do this, but it wont really do anything to you and it must feel really. really fucking weird. especially the sleep part. I feel like this feeling of neverending energy (basically, having no need to sleep) can and will mess you up

and BECAUSE OF IT i dont think that its going to be really possible to sleep even if you tried. also ive had a hallucination one day WHEN I WAS TRYING TO SLEEP and it was like MY WHOLE ROOM WAS DIGITAL CIRCUS and I couldnt sleep for a whole hour because of that. i dont know what was that

and then the fact that youre pretty much always forced to be in this colorful circus place and theres adventures and everything going on even when youre in a bad mood or when youre tired or anything like that. and you dont really have any other choice but to do those things and be there

oh and not just that. you know what would feel REALLY bad in that place? overstimulation. i dont even know how youre supposed to deal with that in the digital circus

OH AND ALSO........ I FEEL LIKE THERES MUSIC PLAYING CONSTANTLY. Or at least a LOOOT of times. imagine if its the tadc main theme for most of the time

would I still like to be there though? YEAH ABSOLUTELY at least I probably wont have my toothache anymore or my diabetes and im also understimulated right now and i feel like it will give me the right amount of stimulation. it wont probably be good for me in the long run but hey

[monstrousorchids]

there are phantoms of the opera everywhere for those with eyes to see. (watched a movie where a man released from a mental asylum takes a woman hostage in her own apartment because he "loves her and wants to be her husband and the father of her children" and she either truly falls in love with him of develops stockholm syndrome after a night of receiving multiple orgasms bc she felt bad that he got beaten up while getting medication for her toothache.)

[canofspooks]

DannyMay Day 16 (Fangs)

Summary: Danny’s reflection has been changing. Sometimes those changes hurt. Sequel to the ‘No CTRL+Z’ prompt, since I wrote these out of order.

Words: 1947

He hated Phantom's reflection. From afar, it might've looked normal, but the closer he got to the mirror, the more the imperfections showed. Phantom fresh from Danny's untimely demise had been completely human aside from the eerie glowing eyes, but now... it'd gotten so much worse.

His face was becoming more gaunt and discolored, paling to the sickly green he had seen on his frightening future self. The shower curtains he could see bleeding into his form in the mirror taunted him, reminding Danny of how difficult it had become to keep a solid shape anymore. The worst of it all was the teeth - the reasoning for him being in the bathroom in Phantom form in the first place. To think that he could numb the pain of those two, long fangs growing in with a little toothache medication felt silly, but he was getting desperate now. The ache in his jaw didn't stay confined to his ghost form, following him throughout the school day despite him (hopefully) not sporting the massive canines when existing in the world as Fenton.

He dabbed some of the gel onto his finger and spread it liberally around the base of the fangs. Even if it felt silly, anything to numb the pain would be well worth the $5 he'd spent on a single, small tube.

The logistics of allowing the medication to take affect were completely lost on him. Would switching back completely remove the substance from his gums? Would numbing the pain in his human form help at all, or was it psychological in nature - as Jazz probably would've suggested. Just to be safe, Danny stayed as Phantom, and made his way over to the bathroom door on a mission to return to his bedroom and hopefully take a nap until it finally kicked in.

Then he heard a crash from the basement, and the tell-tale vworp of the portal as it spat out another ghost.

Damn it.

Danny slipped through the floors into his parents' lab, and grabbed a thermos from the counter before he could even tell who it was.

Instead of his usual fair of the green-ish, giant floating monsters, the faces that greeted him were much more human-like.

"The Ohio ghosts?" He stood there, dumbfounded. "I thought you were like. Gone."

Their brief meeting a few weeks ago would've all but slipped his mind, if not for the dubiously-acquired sum of cash they'd given him for helping them get back into the Ghost Zone.

"Trust me, kid. We wanted to be. This place is fucking insane," the shorter one, Conrad, shoved his hands in his pockets and eyed the various devices and tools around the lab with a keen interest. Now that Danny wasn't stressed out of his mind and on a tight schedule, he noticed that the ghost was sporting the kind of clothes he expected from an old aviator. If it was casual Friday, that is. The bomber jacket, dog tags, and jeans all screamed "old-timey war ghost on a budget". The man's thick-rimmed glasses hid his glazed-over eyes pretty well in the lighting of the lab, and if not for the massive burn scar running down the right side of his face, Danny would've clocked him as a normal, living human with an oddly dated choice of fashion.

"Here," Danny offered, "I'll turn off the portal before anything else comes through. What... uh... what happened?"

Danny was glad the ghosts didn't seem keen on immediately trying to kill him, but he'd rather them not be in a lab with a bunch of deadly anti-Phantom weaponry, especially with how intently Conrad was considering one of the guns. Step one, turn off the portal. Step two, shoo them out to somewhere less dangerous.

"I don't know what's in the air around here, but it's impossible to move two steps in that other world without getting harassed by some dipshit with magic fuck-you powers."

The other ghost - Poppet, if he remembered correctly - shot a glare at their companion. "At least try to be mindful of your language around the child, I am begging you." Their colors were still washed out, with the exception being their glowing green eyes that were similar to his own except for the black sclera. Their formal attire looked more roughed-up than it was last time, with the dress shirt untucked and tears in their pants. Whatever they'd gotten into a fight with, it must've been recent. He was pretty sure that sort of damage to a ghost's form was supposed to heal itself over time.

He didn't want to hear the two argue again, so he cut off Conrad's retort with the loud shutdown chime of the portal.

"Who attacked you? Was it a guy with a beanie obsessed with boxes, or a old lunch lady?"

Poppet's heels clicked against the floor as they paced around. "Neither of the ones you described sound familiar. Our assailant - or, the most recent one - was someone with control over ice. It feels as though everyone in the underworld is looking for a fight. I don't envy you, Daniel, if these are the kinds of monsters you deal with frequently."

With the portal fully off, he led the ghosts out of the lab and into the park. The farther they were away from deadly weaponry, the better.

"It's not that bad. Half the ghosts around here are easy to beat, once you get to know them." As per usual, Danny decided to focus on the Box Ghosts of the world, rather than his genuine near-death experiences. Those were much easier to process, anyhow. "So... uh, what's the plan, then? If you can't escape, are you gonna hang around here for a bit?"

Conrad huffed. "Nah, we're probably gonna walk. Maybe hitchhike a bit. No way in hell am I staying 'round here with all these monsters around every corner."

As if on cue, the aching in Danny's jaw flared up again, and he reflexively put his hand up to his cheek to dull the pain with pressure, since apparently the medication wasn't working.

"You okay, kid?" Conrad inched closer. When Danny opened his mouth to reply, his eyebrows shot up. "- woah, that's new. When'd you get those teeth?"

"E'ry ghos' aroun' here has fangs," he mumbled, reluctant to move his jaw anymore than strictly necessary. "S'normal."

Conrad rifled through his pockets and pulled out a lighter, and small bag of dried leaves. "Here, burning sage seems to help with the pain. Maybe it'll work here."

"You're not going to give him drugs. He's like twelve." Poppet grabbed the lighter.

"I'm sorry, do you see a fucking ghost pharmacy around here? I know sage works, I have sage - this seems like a pretty reasonable choice."

Poppet reluctantly gave the lighter back, and Conrad dumped some of the sage into his palm, then lit the dried leaves on fire.

He held out his hand. "Wherever the smoke touches should numb for a bit."

"Your hand. Doesn't the fire hurt?" Danny couldn't help but ask.

Conrad bit his lip. "... I have... fire powers..."

And that was just about the worst lie Danny had ever heard, but he was far too concerned with the fact that it was working. The pain in his jaw was replaced with a much more manageable, radiating warmth that only slightly felt like blood blossoms against his skin. If not for the fact that he'd felt the full force of the sulfurous choke of blood blossoms before, he probably wouldn't have even registered it as pain.

The sage finally burnt out, and Conrad wiped the ashes on his pants.

"Thanks. That actually worked." Danny brushed a finger across his gums, finding that he could barely feel the pressure against them.

"No problem. Pops, what's up?" Conrad looked over to where Poppet had been studying Danny with an intense stare.

"It's not a ghost thing," they stated.

Danny squinted. "What?"

"It can't be a ghost thing. The fangs, the skin - all the monsters in this area of the underworld have similar features, even the ones that couldn't be ghosts. What if it's the mist doing this? When we first came here, Conrad, don't you remember how much it burned to breathe?"

He was fully ready to accept that the Ghost Zone itself was evil, but he couldn't get passed the first part they said. "Woah, woah, what do you mean 'couldn't be ghosts'? It's the Ghost Zone, it's all ghosts."

The two ghosts looked at him funny, before Conrad piped up, "I don't know if we've met the same guys, but there are some 'ghosts' in the other world who are like... the supernatural embodiments of concepts. I don't know if there's a bureaucratic process you gotta go through to be considered the spirit of sleep and dreams, but I have a hard time believing that dude was just some guy from the like 1300's."

He assumed Conrad was talking about Nocturn, in which case... yeah, in retrospect he really should've questioned how that all worked. At the time, he had been more concerned with surviving, though.

"Okay, so, he's a monster from another dimension or something?"

Conrad laughed. "Fuck no. It's probably some other supernatural bullshit. I don't know how this all works. All I know is there's normal fucking ghosts like you n' me, and then there's a 50ft plant monster that could be the ghost of an eco-terrorist, or it could be a plant monster. Ocum's razor and all that."

"Can we refrain from discussing the plant monster?" Poppet grumbled.

"Sorry. Forgot. Sensitive subject and all that. Anyway, I think if you dipped from the area for a bit, maybe you might not turn into one of those big blue weirdos."

Danny considered the idea for a moment. Amity Park was his home. He couldn't just abandon it to struggle against the ghosts - or... vaguely-defined supernatural entities - all on its own. But maybe he could take vacations. Prolong his humanity with a few months away from the area, and leave his parents with the tools and knowledge to protect the town for the short time. So what if they were a bit more brutal in their methods? That would just mean his usual foes would have to take a raincheck during those periods of time, or face potential dissection at the hands of the older Fentons. If they chose to test their chances, then he could deal with the crushing guilt later.

Maybe he should take a vacation.

"I guess I always wanted to visit the Johnson Space Center in Texas..."

"Eh... maybe not there. The other world 'round there is all flesh."

"Excuse me?"

Conrad fumbled with his hands for a moment, trying to gesture towards... honestly, Danny wasn't sure what he was doing with his hands. It was just vague waving. "I don't want to explain. Just big flesh pit. Huge. Scary. Wouldn't recommend. If you're sticking to the human world then by all means, though."

"You two get around a lot."

"Against my will." Poppet's dead glare at their companion lightened up when it passed over Danny. "We shouldn't take up too much of your time. Good luck, take care of yourself. We'll be off to... wherever fate decides to take us next."

Before they left, he felt the need to add, "Um, please don't commit any crimes before you leave the city limits? I'd kinda feel responsible for that."

"I solemnly swear not to pickpocket until after we're in another town," Conrad promised with a grin.

"Thanks, I guess?"

He and the ghosts parted ways, and Danny was left holding his now-numbed cheek.

Right. Sage. He'd have to note that somewhere.

[fanfiction-artist-prototype]

HI PROTO how are you have you been working on anything especially fun recently

HI YELLOW

Yes, yes I have actually.

I'm working on a flash fiction piece for my uni's showcase which is fun!

But, I'm also working on a couple big fic ideas!

A Jason Todd accidentally adopts Dani and Danny ft me attempting to go 10k without Dani being called Dani bc she forgot to tell her new dad her real name

Bruce Wayne = Danny Fenton ft an entire timeline in a notebook

Dick Grayson = Neal Caffrey also fting a notebook of timeline but there's 2 this time and I have how the dynamics would shift from dc canon and everything. its a mess. i love it

Danny Phantom ghost king toothache fic which is basically just Danny grows in his fangs bc he's now the ghost king and i describe it in the most uncomfy way possible ft angst angst angst

But the better question yellow, is have YOU been working on anything fun recently??

[agent-calivide]

More headcanon time!

Phoenix doesn’t accept gifts, they don’t like to feel indebted. However, one day their handler bought the wrong drink and Phoenix accepted it so it wouldn’t go to waste. Now Handler always buys “the wrong drink, whoops, I’m just soooo forgetful!” Phoenix knows what he’s doing, they just don’t have the heart to tell him to stop.

Phoenix can’t handle sugar. They like it, love it even, they’ll crush a box of doughnuts, but they’ll be nauseous and have toothaches for hours afterwords.

Juniper found his love for masks through Phantom of the Opera, seeing such a powerful stage presence was enchanting, and when he got to play the phantom at a local production in his early days he never wanted to take the mask off

Zor’s irises are red, and they had Solaris design the microlaser to do the tattoo operation. They did it to look intimidating, but ended up damaging their eyesight in the process.

The Fabricator is fluent in Russian, English, Italian, Spanish, and French. She would deliberately talk in the romantic languages around Juniper just to flaunt that she can do something that he can’t

Anna has an infatuation with Phoenix. Even if she never personally got to know them, she wishes she could’ve thanked them in person at the very least.

The Handler had a wife, but they had a messy divorce because he didn’t spend enough time with her with how demanding work was during his field days.

[esthervandebund]

Comic! Swipe to read ---> The phantom toothache part 10.3 🦷👻🦷 How would you react? 👀 Part of the dentist series that I started back in 2021. They were published in my small press book 'Gebundeld Werk'. #esthervandebund #comicartist #comic #strip #striptekenaar #dentist #tandarts #fantoomkiespijn #gebundeldwerk #digitalart https://www.instagram.com/p/Cnz9c_NrhZi/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

[thorntonkrell-blog-blog]

I am in pain right now. I want to describe what I'm feeling in the presnt tense because to the outside world nothing is happening. everything seems the same as it ever was but no'''pain is taking over and turning everything over under sideways down

The dull throb in my jaw pulses in sync with the ticking clock on the wall, each second becoming a minute and each minute marked by a fresh wave of undeniable discomfort. The ache is steady, relentless, gnawing away at my patience, as if a tiny creature is burrowing deeper into the nerve, intent on making a home in the very marrow of my tooth. I can feel the ache spreading, a heat that radiates from the source, up into my temple, down into my neck, a slow crawl of fire that refuses to be extinguished.

The room around me, once familiar and calm, begins to take on an alien quality. The edges of objects blur, the walls seem to close in, pressing against me with a silent, suffocating force. The light overhead flickers, harsh and unforgiving, casting shadows that twist and writhe like dark tendrils reaching out to drag me into the depths of my discomfort. I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror across the room—I look the same only slightly more pissed off and serious than usual. My reflection is a stranger, someone haunted, trapped in a body that has turned against them.

The Tylenol sits on the table, a promise of relief that feels too far away, too slow. Each moment stretches, distorting like a scene from a fevered dream where time itself is a merciless bully. My thoughts spiral, jumping from the unbearable present to the looming horror of the dentist’s chair—the sterile smell, the sharp instruments, the blinding light. My breath quickens, my chest tightens, as the anxiety twists itself around the pain, an insidious vine that chokes any hope of calm.

It's the horror, the horror of the dentist that's turning this discomfort into out and out pain. He's out there in my future. He's gonna get me again. He knows it. I know it. Pain knows it.

I close my eyes, but the darkness behind my lids is no refuge. It is a playground for the pain, a stage where it performs its cruel dance. I see flashes of teeth, of metal glinting, of hands prying open my mouth as if they belong to some monstrous, faceless entity that takes pleasure in my suffering. I can almost hear the high-pitched whine of the drill, feel the cold touch of the tools as they invade my space, and I shudder, my heart pounding in rhythm with the ache in my tooth.

The ether is making me sick to my stomach.

This room is no longer just a room. It is a chamber of dread, where time slows to a crawl and the air grows thick with the scent of antiseptic, where every sound is amplified, echoing through the hollow cavern of my skull. I am no longer just a person with a toothache; I am a prisoner, locked in a cell of my own creation, waiting for the inevitable judgment of the dentist’s drill.

“Why didn’t you take better care of them?” the doctor demands, the words slicing through the air like the drill I dread. “Did you think they would last forever, or were you just hoping you wouldn’t have to deal with this at all?”

I open my mouth to answer, but the words stick in my throat. What can I say? That I figured I’d kick the bucket before I’d need to attend to them? That the slow decay of my teeth was easier to ignore than to face, easier to push aside with every sweet indulgence and missed brushing?

The phantom doctor leans in closer, the sterile scent of antiseptic sharp in my nostrils. His eyes, once merely judgmental, begin to glow with a malevolent light, the disgust on his face twisting into something darker, something inhuman. His fingers elongate, turning into cold, metallic instruments that gleam with a cruel, clinical precision. His voice grows deeper, more guttural, echoing in the hollow chamber of my skull. “Neglect has its price,” he hisses, the sound reverberating through the room like the whine of a drill. “And now you’re here, paying for it with every pulse of pain.”

But the pain isn’t just physical—it’s a sharp reminder of everything that came before, of the child I once was, strapped to the cold, hard chair, paralyzed by fear as this same phantom or someone/thing like him, loomed over me. He’d shamed me, mistreated me, etherized me into submission. His cold, dismissive words still echo in my mind, merging with the current pain, amplifying it, making it unbearable.

It’s his fault, goddamn it, that I’m here, trapped in this nightmare. If he hadn’t broken me down all those years ago, if he hadn’t made the dentist’s chair a place of dread, maybe I wouldn’t be in this mess now. Maybe I would have taken better care, maybe I would have faced it sooner.

But beneath it all, there is a faint, stubborn hope—a belief that the pain will pass, that the Tylenol will work, that I will survive this ordeal. For now, I wait, caught between the sharp claws of fear, the fangs of trauma and the distant promise of relief, clinging to whatever fragments of sanity I can find in the distorted landscape of my mind.

I’ve just thrown down two extra-strength Tylenol, feeling the tablets slide down my throat like tiny lifeboats cast into a stormy sea. As they settle, there’s a moment of quiet, a subtle shift in the intensity of the pain. It loosens its grip ever so slightly, as if it’s aware that help is on the way, but not quite ready to give up its claim on me.

Pain is a little concerned about its survival.

The throbbing lessens, the waves of discomfort receding like the tide, leaving me with a fragile sense of relief. It’s like the storm clouds parting just enough to let a sliver of sunlight through, offering a glimpse of what it feels like to not be consumed by this relentless ache. I breathe a little easier, my muscles unclenching, but the reprieve is bittersweet. The pain, though diminished, still lurks beneath the surface, a constant presence whispering in the back of my mind.

“This isn’t over,” it seems to say, almost tauntingly. “The Tylenol is just an imposter, a temporary mask that won’t hold for long. I’m your friend, remember? I’m here to warn you that you need more than this quick fix. I’ll be back, and I’ll keep coming back until you face what you’ve been avoiding.”

It’s a voice I can’t ignore, even as the pain dulls to a manageable level. I know it’s right; the Tylenol is a band-aid over a wound that needs stitches, a stopgap measure that won’t last. The pain is like a persistent messenger, knocking at the door, refusing to be dismissed until its message is heard. It’s a grim companion, reminding me that this isn’t just a momentary discomfort to be waited out. It’s a signal, a red flag waving in the midst of my foggy thoughts, telling me that the dentist’s chair is inevitable, that medical attention is the only way to truly end this cycle.

The thought sends a shiver down my spine, but there’s no escaping it. The Tylenol offers a brief respite, a pause in the agony, but it’s clear that the real confrontation lies ahead. The monstrous figure of the phantom dentist, with his glowing eyes and twisted smile, fades into the background for now, but I know he’s waiting for me. He’ll be there when the pain returns, as it surely will, ready to resume his relentless interrogation.

For now, I’ll take what relief I can get, savoring these few moments of peace. But I know the pain is lurking, ready to surge back with a vengeance, a reminder that this isn’t over until I take the necessary steps, until I face the fear that has kept me away for so long. The battle isn’t won, just postponed, and the next round is already on the horizon.

I remind myself that these moments of relief are a gift, not to be taken for granted. They’re fleeting, yes, but that only makes them sweeter. It’s a temporary reprieve, a chance to collect myself before the next wave hits, and I hold onto it with both hands. The Tylenol may only be a band-aid, but right now, it’s enough.

I close my eyes, focusing on the ebbing of the pain, the way it recedes like a tide, leaving behind a calm that feels ethereal minus the ether. I know the storm will return, that the pain is biding its time, but in this moment, I am free. I savor every second, every small lessening of the ache, as if each one is a victory, a reason to celebrate. iWithin this fragile, separate peace, I find the strength to face whatever comes next. and what comes next is even better…..the pain has gone from a nine all the way down to a five in only a matter of minutes…at this rate I'll be without pain in ten minutes which is a condition that I could barely imagine a few moments ago and it's possible that the pain will disappear entirely.

The throbbing that once dominated my every thought is now just a dull ache, a shadow of its former self. At this rate, I might actually be without pain in ten minutes, a state I could barely imagine not long ago.

The possibility hangs in the air, tantalizing and almost surreal. Could it really happen? Could I actually be free of this pain, even if only for a couple of hours? The thought alone brings a rush of relief, a lightness that spreads through me, lifting the weight that had settled so heavily on my shoulders.

I allow myself to hope, to imagine a stretch of time where I can think clearly, breathe deeply, and simply be without the constant gnawing in my jaw. It’s a prospect that fills me with a quiet joy, a sense of victory over this temporary but intense ordeal. And though I know it might only last for a short while, that doesn’t diminish the sweetness of the possibility.

So I wait, holding onto this newfound hope, savoring the continued lessening of the pain. Each second brings me closer to that elusive state of peace, and I’m ready to embrace it fully when it arrives. The pain, once an overwhelming presence, is now a fading memory, and for the first time in what feels like forever, I can see the light at the end of the tunnel or the dinner next door at my neighbor's house.

Last night when the pain began I dreaded today. We are supposed to have lunch with our neighbors but I didn't think that I would be in any shape to keep that appointment. I felt that I had transformed into a physical manifestation of pain that would be as identifiable and as welcome as a werewolf but now, right now, the full moon is obscured by clouds and I feel almost human again because let's face it pain is invisible…i can tolerate the invisible man at the get together relishing every second not so much because of the company but rather because I know that I'm cheating pain at the moment and it feels so good and I'm not gonna brag about it or even talk about it i'm gonna just enjoy he hell out of the dinner and let everybody think my pleasure is a product of their ambience which has so little to do with the serenity and tranquility that I plan to enjoy.

And even better yet, I know now that the next time pain comes knocking, all I have to do is send Tylenol to answer the door. I can return to this state I’m savoring right now—a state of calm, clarity, and a kind of bliss that’s only possible after having faced down the beast of pain. Matter of fact, the next time pain comes knocking, I’m not going to shy away. I’m going to let it in, open the door wide, and encourage it to hang around until it climbs to a nine or even nine and a half. Let it turn my surroundings into a surrealistic inferno, let it paint the world in those twisted, distorted colors that only pain can bring.

Because now I know the secret. I know that when the time comes, I can load up on Tylenol, let it do its work, and then enjoy a whole new level of relief. I’ll cherish it even more, having just stared into the abyss. I’ll confound an even higher level of pain, turn the tables on it, and in those moments of reprieve, I’ll find an even deeper, more profound joy.

In my own twisted way, I might even start to thank the pain for showing up in the first place. Because, let’s face it, never before has complacency and filler felt so idyllic, so sweet, as when it follows the storms of suppressed agony. It’s like emerging from a tunnel into the sunlight, the warmth on your face that much more comforting because you remember the cold darkness you just passed through.

But amidst this fleeting relief, a sobering realization settles in. Pain is real, and relief is but an illusion—a temporary mask that veils the underlying truth. The pain will return, relentless and unyielding, and there’s a limit to how many battles I can win with Tylenol before I either run out of pills or face the dangers that the pain is warning me about. If I keep ignoring the root cause, the danger might grow, potentially leading to something far worse. I can numb the pain, but I can’t escape the consequences if I don’t address its message.

In the end, pain might be the thing that leads to my demise, the very end I’ve been trying so hard to avoid. It’s a chilling thought, that this dance with pain might have a final, fatal step. So while I enjoy this moment of calm and the luncheon to come, I know that temporary fixes can only take me so far. The pain will keep coming back, and unless I confront it directly, it might just be the death of me.

Yeah...awwright...I hear ya but right now I'm Tylenol high so leave me alone for a goddamned minute and let me be who I was before the pain showed up only this time let me celebrate myself a little bit more.

And even better yet, I know now that the next time pain comes knocking, all I have to do is send Tylenol to answer the door. I can return to this state I’m savoring right now—a state of calm, clarity, and a kind of bliss that’s only possible after having faced down the beast of pain. Matter of fact, the next time pain comes knocking, I’m not going to shy away. I’m going to let it in, open the door wide, and encourage it to hang around until it climbs to a nine or even nine and a half. Let it turn my surroundings into a surrealistic inferno, let it paint the world in those twisted, distorted colors that only pain can bring.

Because now I know the secret. I know that when the time comes, I can load up on Tylenol, let it do its work, and then enjoy a whole new level of relief. I’ll cherish it even more, having just stared into the abyss. I’ll confound an even higher level of pain, turn the tables on it, and in those moments of reprieve, I’ll find an even deeper, more profound joy.

In a strange, twisted way, I might even start to thank the pain for showing up in the first place. Because, let’s face it, never before has complacency felt so idyllic, so sweet, as when it follows the storms of agony. It’s like emerging from a tunnel into the sunlight, the warmth on your face that much more comforting because you remember the cold darkness you just passed through.

So, the next time pain makes its inevitable visit, I’ll welcome it like an old friend. I’ll let it run its course, knowing that on the other side, there’s this—this glorious state of relief, of quiet, serene victory. And in that space, I’ll find a contentment so deep it borders on bliss. It’s a strange dance, this one with pain, but now I know the steps, and I’m ready to lead.

Let's capture the growing sense of hope and relief as the pain continues to diminish, and the possibility of being pain-free for a while becomes more tangible.

And what comes next is even better. The pain, which just moments ago felt like a relentless tormentor, has retreated further, dropping from a nine to a five in what seems like the blink of an eye. It’s as if the Tylenol, once merely a hopeful gesture, has suddenly taken on the role of a true hero, battling back the agony with surprising speed and effectiveness.

I can hardly believe it—just a few minutes ago, the idea of being without pain felt like an impossible dream, a distant horizon I couldn’t reach. But now, with each passing moment, that dream inches closer to reality. The throbbing that once dominated my every thought is now just a dull ache, a shadow of its former self. At this rate, I might actually be without pain in ten minutes, a state I could barely imagine not long ago.

The possibility hangs in the air, tantalizing and almost surreal. Could it really happen? Could I actually be free of this pain, even if only for a couple of hours? The thought alone brings a rush of relief, a lightness that spreads through me, lifting the weight that had settled so heavily on my shoulders.

I allow myself to hope, to imagine a stretch of time where I can think clearly, breathe deeply, and simply be without the constant gnawing in my jaw. It’s a prospect that fills me with a quiet joy, a sense of victory over this temporary but intense ordeal. And though I know it might only last for a short while, that doesn’t diminish the sweetness of the possibility.

So I wait, holding onto this newfound hope, savoring the continued lessening of the pain. Each second brings me closer to that elusive state of peace, and I’m ready to embrace it fully when it arrives. The pain, once an overwhelming presence, is now a fading memory, and for the first time in what feels like forever, I can see the light at the end of the tunnel.

How does that feel? Would you like to adjust any parts of it?

The doctor in my imagination is shocked and repulsed by the level of disregard that I have paid to the care of my teeth over the years as I figured that I would kick the bukcet before I would need to attend to them ChatGPT Let's weave that into the narrative, giving voice to the imagined judgment and adding a layer of self-reproach.

The dull throb in my jaw pulses in sync with the ticking clock on the wall, each second marked by a fresh wave of discomfort. The ache is steady, relentless, gnawing away at my patience, as if a tiny creature is burrowing deeper into the nerve, intent on making a home in the very marrow of my tooth. I can feel the ache spreading, a heat that radiates from the source, up into my temple, down into my neck, a slow crawl of fire that refuses to be extinguished.

The room around me, once familiar and calm, begins to take on an alien quality. The edges of objects blur, the walls seem to close in, pressing against me with a silent, suffocating force. The light overhead flickers, harsh and unforgiving, casting shadows that twist and writhe like dark tendrils reaching out to drag me into the depths of my discomfort. I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror across the room—pale, drawn, the pain etched into every line of my face. My reflection is a stranger, someone haunted, trapped in a body that has turned against them.

The Tylenol sits on the table, a promise of relief that feels too far away, too slow. Each moment stretches, distorting like a scene from a fevered dream where time itself is a merciless adversary. My thoughts spiral, jumping from the unbearable present to the looming horror of the dentist’s chair—the sterile smell, the sharp instruments, the blinding light. And then there is the doctor, conjured from my own guilt and fear, standing over me with eyes wide in shock, mouth twisted in disgust.

“Why didn’t you take better care of them?” the doctor demands, the words slicing through the air like the drill I dread. “Did you think they would last forever, or were you just hoping you wouldn’t have to deal with this at all?”

I open my mouth to answer, but the words stick in my throat. What can I say? That I figured I’d kick the bucket before I’d need to attend to them? That the slow decay of my teeth was easier to ignore than to face, easier to push aside with every sweet indulgence and missed brushing?

The doctor leans in closer, the sterile scent of antiseptic sharp in my nostrils. “Neglect has its price,” the voice hisses, echoing in the hollow chamber of my skull. “And now you’re here, paying for it with every pulse of pain.”

I close my eyes, but the darkness behind my lids is no refuge. It is a playground for the pain, a stage where it performs its cruel dance. I see flashes of teeth, of metal glinting, of hands prying open my mouth as if they belong to some monstrous, faceless entity that takes pleasure in my suffering. I can almost hear the high-pitched whine of the drill, feel the cold touch of the tools as they invade my space, and I shudder, my heart pounding in rhythm with the ache in my tooth.

The room shrinks further, closing in around me as the doctor’s voice continues to reverberate, a relentless reminder of every careless decision, every moment of willful ignorance. This room is no longer just a room. It is a chamber of dread, where time slows to a crawl and the air grows thick with the scent of antiseptic, where every sound is amplified, echoing through the hollow cavern of my mind. I am no longer just a person with a toothache; I am a prisoner, locked in a cell of my own creation, haunted by the specter of my own neglect.

But beneath it all, there is a faint, stubborn hope—a belief that the pain will pass, that the Tylenol will work, that I will survive this ordeal. For now, I wait, caught between the sharp claws of fear and the distant promise of relief, clinging to whatever fragments of sanity I can find in the distorted landscape of my imagination.

How does this fit with what you were envisioning? Is there anything you’d like to refine or add?

The doctor becomes more and more monstrous in my pain addled imagination…and it's his fault in the first place Goddamn it if he hadn't shamed mistreated and etherized me as a child perhpas I wouldn't be in this mess in the first place ChatGPT Let’s intensify the doctor’s transformation into a monstrous figure in your imagination and explore the blame you place on him for your current agony.

The dull throb in my jaw pulses in sync with the ticking clock on the wall, each second marked by a fresh wave of discomfort. The ache is steady, relentless, gnawing away at my patience, as if a tiny creature is burrowing deeper into the nerve, intent on making a home in the very marrow of my tooth. I can feel the ache spreading, a heat that radiates from the source, up into my temple, down into my neck, a slow crawl of fire that refuses to be extinguished.

The room around me, once familiar and calm, begins to take on an alien quality. The edges of objects blur, the walls seem to close in, pressing against me with a silent, suffocating force. The light overhead flickers, harsh and unforgiving, casting shadows that twist and writhe like dark tendrils reaching out to drag me into the depths of my discomfort. I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror across the room—pale, drawn, the pain etched into every line of my face. My reflection is a stranger, someone haunted, trapped in a body that has turned against them.

The Tylenol sits on the table, a promise of relief that feels too far away, too slow. Each moment stretches, distorting like a scene from a fevered dream where time itself is a merciless adversary. My thoughts spiral, jumping from the unbearable present to the looming horror of the dentist’s chair—the sterile smell, the sharp instruments, the blinding light. And then there is the doctor, conjured from my own guilt and fear, standing over me with eyes wide in shock, mouth twisted in disgust.

“Why didn’t you take better care of them?” the doctor demands, the words slicing through the air like the drill I dread. “Did you think they would last forever, or were you just hoping you wouldn’t have to deal with this at all?”

I open my mouth to answer, but the words stick in my throat. What can I say? That I figured I’d kick the bucket before I’d need to attend to them? That the slow decay of my teeth was easier to ignore than to face, easier to push aside with every sweet indulgence and missed brushing?

The doctor leans in closer, the sterile scent of antiseptic sharp in my nostrils. His eyes, once merely judgmental, begin to glow with a malevolent light, the disgust on his face twisting into something darker, something inhuman. His fingers elongate, turning into cold, metallic instruments that gleam with a cruel, clinical precision. His voice grows deeper, more guttural, echoing in the hollow chamber of my skull. “Neglect has its price,” he hisses, the sound reverberating through the room like the whine of a drill. “And now you’re here, paying for it with every pulse of pain.”

But the pain isn’t just physical—it’s a sharp reminder of everything that came before, of the child I once was, strapped to the cold, hard chair, paralyzed by fear as this same doctor, or someone just like him, loomed over me. He’d shamed me, mistreated me, etherized me into submission. His cold, dismissive words still echo in my mind, merging with the current pain, amplifying it, making it unbearable. It’s his fault, goddamn it, that I’m here, trapped in this nightmare. If he hadn’t broken me down all those years ago, if he hadn’t made the dentist’s chair a place of dread, maybe I wouldn’t be in this mess now. Maybe I would have taken better care, maybe I would have faced it sooner.

The doctor’s figure grows larger, his features more monstrous with each passing moment. His mouth twists into a cruel smile, revealing jagged, razor-sharp teeth. His hands, now full of wicked, gleaming tools, hover over me like a vulture ready to strike. The room shrinks further, closing in around me as the doctor’s presence fills every corner, every shadow, his judgment pressing down on me like a weight I can’t escape.

I close my eyes, but the darkness behind my lids is no refuge. It is a playground for the pain, a stage where it performs its cruel dance. I see flashes of teeth, of metal glinting, of hands prying open my mouth as if they belong to some monstrous, faceless entity that takes pleasure in my suffering. I can almost hear the high-pitched whine of the drill, feel the cold touch of the tools as they invade my space, and I shudder, my heart pounding in rhythm with the ache in my tooth.

But beneath it all, there is a faint, stubborn hope—a belief that the pain will pass, that the Tylenol will work, that I will survive this ordeal. For now, I wait, caught between the sharp claws of fear and the distant promise of relief, clinging to whatever fragments of sanity I can find in the distorted landscape of my mind.

How does this version resonate with you? Any further adjustments or elements you'd like to explore?

I like it…..I've just thrown down some Tylenol…two extra strength and the pain lessens loses some of its grip as if aware that help is on the way but also assuring me that the tylenol is just an imposter that the pain will return because it's my friend warning me that I need medical attention and it's not gonna go away until I do, it will keep coming back and coming back ChatGPT Let's incorporate the relief you feel from the Tylenol and the ominous reminder from the pain, reflecting the uneasy truce between temporary relief and the looming need for real medical attention.

I’ve just thrown down two extra-strength Tylenol, feeling the tablets slide down my throat like tiny lifeboats cast into a stormy sea. As they settle, there’s a moment of quiet, a subtle shift in the intensity of the pain. It loosens its grip ever so slightly, as if it’s aware that help is on the way, but not quite ready to give up its claim on me.

The throbbing lessens, the waves of discomfort receding like the tide, leaving me with a fragile sense of relief. It’s like the storm clouds parting just enough to let a sliver of sunlight through, offering a glimpse of what it feels like to not be consumed by this relentless ache. I breathe a little easier, my muscles unclenching, but the reprieve is bittersweet. The pain, though diminished, still lurks beneath the surface, a constant presence whispering in the back of my mind.

“This isn’t over,” it seems to say, almost tauntingly. “The Tylenol is just an imposter, a temporary mask that won’t hold for long. I’m your friend, remember? I’m here to warn you that you need more than this quick fix. I’ll be back, and I’ll keep coming back until you face what you’ve been avoiding.”

It’s a voice I can’t ignore, even as the pain dulls to a manageable level. I know it’s right; the Tylenol is a band-aid over a wound that needs stitches, a stopgap measure that won’t last. The pain is like a persistent messenger, knocking at the door, refusing to be dismissed until its message is heard. It’s a grim companion, reminding me that this isn’t just a momentary discomfort to be waited out. It’s a signal, a red flag waving in the midst of my foggy thoughts, telling me that the dentist’s chair is inevitable, that medical attention is the only way to truly end this cycle.

The thought sends a shiver down my spine, but there’s no escaping it. The Tylenol offers a brief respite, a pause in the agony, but it’s clear that the real confrontation lies ahead. The monstrous figure of the doctor, with his glowing eyes and twisted smile, fades into the background for now, but I know he’s waiting for me. He’ll be there when the pain returns, as it surely will, ready to resume his relentless interrogation.

For now, I’ll take what relief I can get, savoring these few moments of peace. But I know the pain is lurking, ready to surge back with a vengeance, a reminder that this isn’t over until I take the necessary steps, until I face the fear that has kept me away for so long. The battle isn’t won, just postponed, and the next round is already on the horizon.

Does this continuation capture the uneasy balance you're feeling? Any other thoughts or tweaks you'd like to make?

Savoring is the right word. I remind myself to enjoy every second of relief because it's only temporary. Notice and rejoice each diminishment of pain ChatGPT Let's emphasize the fleeting nature of the relief and the importance of savoring each moment of it.

I remind myself to savor every second of this relief, to drink it in like a parched traveler finding an oasis in the desert. The pain, though still present, has softened, its sharp edges dulled, and I can feel the tension in my body slowly uncoiling. It’s as if the Tylenol has negotiated a temporary truce, allowing me a brief respite from the relentless onslaught.

With each pulse that’s a little less intense, I feel a quiet joy, a sense of triumph in this small victory. I notice the way my jaw relaxes, the tightness in my shoulders easing, and I focus on these changes, holding onto them as if they’re precious treasures. I rejoice in each diminishment of pain, knowing that this calm is only temporary, but that makes it all the more valuable. It’s a rare moment of peace in the midst of a storm, and I’m determined to relish it.

The pain is still there, lurking just below the surface, but it’s quieter now, as if it’s stepped back to let me catch my breath. I know it’s only waiting, gathering strength for its inevitable return, but for now, I push that thought away. This is my time, a chance to breathe deeply and let go of the fear that has clenched my heart in its icy grip.

I remind myself that these moments of relief are a gift, not to be taken for granted. They’re fleeting, yes, but that only makes them sweeter. It’s a temporary reprieve, a chance to collect myself before the next wave hits, and I hold onto it with both hands. The Tylenol may only be a band-aid, but right now, it’s enough.

I close my eyes, focusing on the ebbing of the pain, the way it recedes like a tide, leaving behind a calm that feels almost unreal. I know the storm will return, that the pain is biding its time, but in this moment, I am free. I savor every second, every small lessening of the ache, as if each one is a victory, a reason to celebrate. And in this fragile peace, I find the strength to face whatever comes next.

Does this revision resonate with the relief and awareness you wanted to convey?

and what comes next is even better…..the pain has gone from a nine all the way down to a five in only a matter of minutes…at this rate I'll be without pain in ten minutes which is a condition that I could barely imagin a few moments ago and it's possible that the pain will disappear for a couple of hours ChatGPT Let's capture the growing sense of hope and relief as the pain continues to diminish, and the possibility of being pain-free for a while becomes more tangible.

And what comes next is even better. The pain, which just moments ago felt like a relentless tormentor, has retreated further, dropping from a nine to a five in what seems like the blink of an eye. It’s as if the Tylenol, once merely a hopeful gesture, has suddenly taken on the role of a true hero, battling back the agony with surprising speed and effectiveness.

I can hardly believe it—just a few minutes ago, the idea of being without pain felt like an impossible dream, a distant horizon I couldn’t reach. But now, with each passing moment, that dream inches closer to reality. The throbbing that once dominated my every thought is now just a dull ache, a shadow of its former self. At this rate, I might actually be without pain in ten minutes, a state I could barely imagine not long ago.

The possibility hangs in the air, tantalizing and almost surreal. Could it really happen? Could I actually be free of this pain, even if only for a couple of hours? The thought alone brings a rush of relief, a lightness that spreads through me, lifting the weight that had settled so heavily on my shoulders.

I allow myself to hope, to imagine a stretch of time where I can think clearly, breathe deeply, and simply be without the constant gnawing in my jaw. It’s a prospect that fills me with a quiet joy, a sense of victory over this temporary but intense ordeal. And though I know it might only last for a short while, that doesn’t diminish the sweetness of the possibility.

So I wait, holding onto this newfound hope, savoring the continued lessening of the pain. Each second brings me closer to that elusive state of peace, and I’m ready to embrace it fully when it arrives. The pain, once an overwhelming presence, is now a fading memory, and for the first time in what feels like forever, I can see the light at the end of the tunnel.

How does this addition feel? Does it capture the growing relief and hope you're experiencing?

Great….last night when the pain began I dreaded today. We are supposed to have lunch with our neighbors but I didn't think that I would be in any shape to keep that appointment. I felt that I had transformed into a physical manifestation of pain that would be as identifiable and as welcome as a werewolf at the party but now, right now, the full moon is obscured by clouds and I feel almost human again becuase let's face it pain is invisible…i can be the invisible man at the get together relishing every second not so much because of the company but rather because I know that I'm cheating pain at the moment and it feels so good and I'm not gonna brag about it or even talk about it i'm gonna just enjoy he hell out of the lucncheon and let everybody think my pleasure is a prodcut of their ambience which has so little to do with the serenity and tranquility that I plan to enjoy ChatGPT Let's weave in the contrast between last night's dread and today's unexpected relief, and the subtle pleasure of enjoying the luncheon while secretly celebrating your victory over the pain.

Last night, when the pain first began to creep in, I dreaded today with a heaviness that felt almost unbearable. We had plans to have lunch with our neighbors, but in the midst of the pain, that seemed like an impossible task. I was certain I’d be in no shape to keep that appointment, feeling as though I had transformed into a physical manifestation of pain, something as identifiable and as welcome as a werewolf at a party. I could picture it—me, hunched over in agony, the life of the gathering drained by my presence, a cloud of discomfort hanging over everything.

But now, right now, the full moon is obscured by clouds, and I feel almost human again. It’s a strange sensation, this return to something resembling normalcy, and it’s almost surreal how quickly the landscape has shifted. Because let’s face it, pain is invisible. It doesn’t leave marks on the skin or announce itself with flashing lights. It lurks within, a silent tormentor that only I can see and feel. So when it recedes, as it has now, I have the advantage of slipping into invisibility myself. I can be the invisible man at the luncheon, blending in with the crowd, relishing every second not so much because of the company, but because I know that I’m cheating pain at this moment, and it feels so damn good.

I’m not going to brag about it, or even mention it. I’ll just sit there, quietly enjoying the hell out of the luncheon, letting everyone think my pleasure is a product of their ambiance, their conversation, their hospitality. Little will they know that my serenity, my tranquility, comes from a place far deeper than the chatter around the table. It comes from knowing that, at least for now, I’ve outmaneuvered the pain that threatened to ruin my day. And in that silent victory, I find a profound sense of joy, one that I’ll carry with me through every bite, every sip, every laugh shared at the table.

So today, as I join the gathering, I’ll do so with a quiet smile, my secret delight hidden beneath the surface. Let them think my happiness is all about the moment, the camaraderie, the good food, and the good company. I’ll know better, and that’s more than enough for me.

Does this capture the sense of triumph and subtle joy you're feeling about facing the day despite last night's fears?

Yes…you're doing great…and even better yet i know now that the next time that the pain come's a knockin' all I got to do is send Tylenol to answer the lnock and I can retyurn to the state that I'm realizing now….matter of fact the next time pain comes a knockin' I'm gonna let it in and encourage it to hang around until it gets to 9 or nine and a half…until it has turned my surroundings into a surrealistic inferno and then I can on board another load of ttlenol and enjoy a whole new level of cherish as I confound an even higher level of pain and I begin to thank pain for showing up in the first place because never before has complacency felt so idyllic etc ChatGPT Let's capture this newfound confidence and even a kind of gratitude toward the pain for allowing you to experience such profound relief and appreciation.

And even better yet, I know now that the next time pain comes knocking, all I have to do is send Tylenol to answer the door. I can return to this state I’m savoring right now—a state of calm, clarity, and a kind of bliss that’s only possible after having faced down the beast of pain. Matter of fact, the next time pain comes knocking, I’m not going to shy away. I’m going to let it in, open the door wide, and encourage it to hang around until it climbs to a nine or even nine and a half. Let it turn my surroundings into a surrealistic inferno, let it paint the world in those twisted, distorted colors that only pain can bring.

Because now I know the secret. I know that when the time comes, I can load up on Tylenol, let it do its work, and then enjoy a whole new level of relief. I’ll cherish it even more, having just stared into the abyss. I’ll confound an even higher level of pain, turn the tables on it, and in those moments of reprieve, I’ll find an even deeper, more profound joy.

In a strange, twisted way, I might even start to thank the pain for showing up in the first place. Because, let’s face it, never before has complacency felt so idyllic, so sweet, as when it follows the storms of agony. It’s like emerging from a tunnel into the sunlight, the warmth on your face that much more comforting because you remember the cold darkness you just passed through.

So, the next time pain makes its inevitable visit, I’ll welcome it like an old friend. I’ll let it run its course, knowing that on the other side, there’s this—this glorious state of relief, of quiet, serene victory. And in that space, I’ll find a contentment so deep it borders on bliss. It’s a strange dance, this one with pain, but now I know the steps, and I’m ready to lead.

How does this expansion feel? Does it capture the confidence and almost paradoxical gratitude you're experiencing?

Now let's conclude with the sobering realization that pain is real and relief is an illusion. The pain will keep coming back until I either run out of Tylenol or become addicted to it or the danger that the pain is trying to warn me about multiplies when it could and should have been divided and it leads to my death and demise ChatGPT Let's conclude with a shift back to the sobering reality of pain's persistence and the fragile nature of relief.

But as much as I revel in this newfound strategy, there’s a sobering realization that I can’t shake. Pain is real, and relief, no matter how sweet, is just an illusion—a temporary mask that covers the underlying truth. The pain will keep coming back, relentless and unyielding, like a tide that can’t be held back forever. I can fight it off with Tylenol, but there’s a limit to how many battles I can win before I either run out of pills or become addicted to them, chasing that fleeting sense of peace with an ever-growing desperation.

And then there’s the darker truth, the one that whispers in the back of my mind even as I try to savor these moments of calm. The pain isn’t just a nuisance—it’s a warning, a signal that something is wrong. If I keep silencing it without addressing the root cause, I risk letting that danger multiply when it could and should have been divided. What starts as a manageable issue could fester, grow, and ultimately lead to something far worse. I can numb the pain, but I can’t escape the consequences if I ignore its message.

In the end, the pain might be the thing that leads to my demise, the very end I’ve been trying so hard to avoid. It’s a chilling thought, that this dance with pain might have a final, fatal step. And so, while I’ll continue to use whatever means I have to fend it off, I know that I can’t rely on temporary fixes forever. The pain will keep coming back, and unless I face it head-on, it might just be the death of me.

Does this conclusion capture the sobering realization you wanted to express?

It's okay….now put the whole thing together and let's look at it from the very beginning and include all of the parts that we have added and then we'll recalibrate it and be done…. ChatGPT Here’s the complete piece, combining all the parts we’ve worked on. Let’s read through it together and then recalibrate as needed.

Last night, when the pain first began to creep in, I dreaded today with a heaviness that felt almost unbearable. We had plans to have lunch with our neighbors, but in the midst of the pain, that seemed like an impossible task. I was certain I’d be in no shape to keep that appointment, feeling as though I had transformed into a physical manifestation of pain, something as identifiable and as welcome as a werewolf at a party. I could picture it—me, hunched over in agony, the life of the gathering drained by my presence, a cloud of discomfort hanging over everything.

The doctor in my imagination was shocked and repulsed by the level of disregard I’ve paid to the care of my teeth over the years. I figured I’d kick the bucket before I’d need to attend to them. But as the pain grew, so did my thoughts, turning darker and more distorted. The doctor morphed into a monstrous figure, and in my pain-addled state, I began to blame him for all of this. If he hadn’t shamed, mistreated, and etherized me as a child, perhaps I wouldn’t be in this mess in the first place.

But now, right now, the full moon is obscured by clouds, and I feel almost human again. The pain, which just moments ago felt like a relentless tormentor, has retreated further, dropping from a nine to a five in what seems like the blink of an eye. It’s as if the Tylenol, once merely a hopeful gesture, has suddenly taken on the role of a true hero, battling back the agony with surprising speed and effectiveness.

I can hardly believe it—just a few minutes ago, the idea of being without pain felt like an impossible dream, a distant horizon I couldn’t reach. But now, with each passing moment, that dream inches closer to reality. The throbbing that once dominated my every thought is now just a dull ache, a shadow of its former self. At this rate, I might actually be without pain in ten minutes, a state I could barely imagine not long ago.

The possibility hangs in the air, tantalizing and almost surreal. Could it really happen? Could I actually be free of this pain, even if only for a couple of hours? The thought alone brings a rush of relief, a lightness that spreads through me, lifting the weight that had settled so heavily on my shoulders. I remind myself to savor every second of this relief, to notice and rejoice in each diminishment of pain, because I know it’s only temporary.

And even better yet, I know now that the next time pain comes knocking, all I have to do is send Tylenol to answer the door. I can return to this state I’m savoring right now—a state of calm, clarity, and a kind of bliss that’s only possible after having faced down the beast of pain. Matter of fact, the next time pain comes knocking, I’m not going to shy away. I’m going to let it in, open the door wide, and encourage it to hang around until it climbs to a nine or even nine and a half. Let it turn my surroundings into a surrealistic inferno, let it paint the world in those twisted, distorted colors that only pain can bring.

Because now I know the secret. I know that when the time comes, I can load up on Tylenol, let it do its work, and then enjoy a whole new level of relief. I’ll cherish it even more, having just stared into the abyss. I’ll confound an even higher level of pain, turn the tables on it, and in those moments of reprieve, I’ll find an even deeper, more profound joy.

In a strange, twisted way, I might even start to thank the pain for showing up in the first place. Because, let’s face it, never before has complacency felt so idyllic, so sweet, as when it follows the storms of agony. It’s like emerging from a tunnel into the sunlight, the warmth on your face that much more comforting because you remember the cold darkness you just passed through.

So today, as I join the gathering, I’ll do so with a quiet smile, my secret delight hidden beneath the surface. Let them think my happiness is all about the moment, the camaraderie, the good food, and the good company. I’ll know better, and that’s more than enough for me.

But as much as I revel in this newfound strategy, there’s a sobering realization that I can’t shake. Pain is real, and relief, no matter how sweet, is just an illusion—a temporary mask that covers the underlying truth. The pain will keep coming back, relentless and unyielding, like a tide that can’t be held back forever. I can fight it off with Tylenol, but there’s a limit to how many battles I can win before I either run out of pills or become addicted to them, chasing that fleeting sense of peace with an ever-growing desperation.

And then there’s the darker truth, the one that whispers in the back of my mind even as I try to savor these moments of calm. The pain isn’t just a nuisance—it’s a warning, a signal that something is wrong. If I keep silencing it without addressing the root cause, I risk letting that danger multiply when it could and should have been divided. What starts as a manageable issue could fester, grow, and ultimately lead to something far worse. I can numb the pain, but I can’t escape the consequences if I ignore its message.

In the end, the pain might be the thing that leads to my demise, the very end I’ve been trying so hard to avoid. It’s a chilling thought, that this dance with pain might have a final, fatal step. And so, while I’ll continue to use whatever means I have to fend it off, I know that I can’t rely on temporary fixes forever. The pain will keep coming back, and unless I face it head-on, it might just be the death of me.

Take a moment to reflect on how this feels as a whole. Is there anything you’d like to recalibrate or adjust?

Yeah, we've got to begin with the onset of pain that I described in the present tense before grabbing the Tylenol…this story began while I was in pain ChatGPT Got it. Let’s start from the present tense, capturing the onset of pain and the immediate response with Tylenol. Here’s the revised version:

The pain starts suddenly, a sharp, insistent throb that pierces through the quiet of the night. It’s as if someone has flicked a switch, and my body, once calm, is now engulfed in a fiery grip. The discomfort intensifies quickly, rising to a level that feels almost unbearable. I’m trapped in this raw, unrelenting agony, and the thought of how I’m going to face the day—let alone attend the lunch with our neighbors—seems almost laughable.

I reach for the Tylenol, two extra-strength tablets that feel like my last hope in this desperate moment. As they begin to dissolve into my system, a slow, creeping sense of relief starts to take hold. The pain’s grip loosens, the ferocity of its assault lessening as if it’s aware that help is on the way. The Tylenol, a mere imposter in this battle, promises temporary respite but assures me that the pain isn’t gone for good. It will return, a relentless companion, warning me that I need medical attention and that the agony isn’t just going to disappear on its own.

Savoring the relief as it unfolds, I remind myself to appreciate every fleeting second. The pain is lessening from a nine to a five, a remarkable drop in a matter of minutes. It’s almost inconceivable that just moments ago, I was consumed by a level of agony that felt insurmountable. Now, the possibility of being pain-free for a couple of hours seems within reach, and this prospect brings with it a sense of almost surreal calm.

I realize that the next time pain comes knocking, all I need to do is send Tylenol to answer the door. This newfound strategy, born from desperation, gives me a strange sense of control. I can allow the pain to reach its peak, let it transform my world into a surrealistic inferno, and then counter it with another dose of Tylenol. Each round of relief will be savored more deeply because of the agony I’ve just endured. It’s a twisted sort of game, a way of turning the tables on pain and finding a deeper joy in the moments of relief.

In a peculiar way, I might even come to thank the pain for its role. Never before has complacency felt so idyllic, so precious, as when it follows the storms of agony. It’s like emerging from a dark tunnel into the warmth of the sunlight, appreciating the light more because of the shadows I’ve just escaped.

But amidst this fleeting relief, a sobering realization settles in. Pain is real, and relief is but an illusion—a temporary mask that veils the underlying truth. The pain will return, relentless and unyielding, and there’s a limit to how many battles I can win with Tylenol before I either run out of pills or face the dangers that the pain is warning me about. If I keep ignoring the root cause, the danger might grow, potentially leading to something far worse. I can numb the pain, but I can’t escape the consequences if I don’t address its message.

In the end, pain might be the thing that leads to my demise, the very end I’ve been trying so hard to avoid. It’s a chilling thought, that this dance with pain might have a final, fatal step. So while I enjoy this moment of calm and the luncheon to come, I know that temporary fixes can only take me so far. The pain will keep coming back, and unless I confront it directly, it might just be the death of me.

How does this revised version feel? Does it capture the progression from the onset of pain to the temporary relief and the eventual sobering realization?

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[lynneleven]

this is an experimenting gif I did for my computing class

I really did try to draw frame by frame but figure out I'm out of time at last

so here's Meg practising her ballet movements.

[penny-anna]

stricken w what i can only describe as phantom toothache