#dental splint

[asofspades]

This is a bit out of pocket but I want to rant.

So, I've had a dental splint for like almost 2 years now, I should have got it sooner (like, around 14-15 yo) but honestly I hadn't been to a dentist in like 6 years at that point and the last one had been extremely incompetent.

Anyways, the splint is, for course, to avoid causing damage to my teeth due to jaw clenching and teeth grinding and as such should be used every night (I'm working on being consistent with that) and whenever I'm doing something that requires focus and generates stress, which is basically the description of college assignment and related stuff.

The problem here is that means I should wear it at the library (or whatever space is available for working) when I do college stuff but first of it's definitely not normalised to wear it in public settings (and I have very bad social anxiety), it's also noticeable even with my mouth closed, it's bright green and it gives me a very noticeable lisp when I have to speak while wearing it. Technically I could count on no one speaking to me in the library and some college libraries even have space separators at the desks so I could avoid being seen.

But then I'd have to carry around my toothbrush and toothpaste and the special brush for the splint and I'd have to brush my teeth before using it and then go wash the splint afterwards, which would also be awkward as fuck.

What I mean to say is, if we've normalised wearing retainers and Invisalign (which you have to take off before eating in public spaces as well and brush your teeth before putting it back in) can we please normalise wearing splints at public working spaces because bruxism is a real problem and struggle for a lot of people but I feel like everyone finds the splint too bulky and noticeable and people look at you weirdly for wearing it.

[cherriesandcharms]

me, a person with chronic insomnia, will now be trying to sleep with a mouth guard in bc i can't stop grinding and clenching my teeth during the small amounts of sleep i do get bc im anxious and exhausted from not sleeping

[australiandentallab]

Customized Clear Aligners: Elevate Your Patient's Confidence

In the world of orthodontics, clear aligners have revolutionised the way we approach teeth straightening. At Australian Dental Labs, we offer state-of-the-art customised clear aligners designed to meet the unique needs of each patient. Our commitment to utilising cutting-edge equipment and advanced programmes ensures a streamlined product that not only delivers exceptional results but also enhances your patients’ confidence.

What Are Clear Aligners?

Clear aligners are a modern alternative to traditional metal braces, providing a discreet and comfortable way to straighten teeth. Made from transparent, medical-grade plastic, these aligners are custom-fitted to each patient’s dental structure, allowing for gradual movement of teeth into their desired positions.

Benefits of Customized Clear Aligners

1. Discreet Appearance: One of the most significant advantages of clear aligners is their nearly invisible design. Patients can smile confidently without the noticeable appearance of metal braces, making them an ideal choice for adults and teens alike.

2. Comfort and Convenience: Clear aligners are designed with patient comfort in mind. Unlike traditional braces, which can cause irritation to the gums and cheeks, aligners are smooth and gentle on the mouth. Additionally, they are removable, allowing patients to enjoy their favourite foods and maintain good oral hygiene without restrictions.

3. Advanced Technology: At Australian Dental Labs, we employ cutting-edge technology to create customised aligners. Our state-of-the-art equipment ensures precise measurements and adjustments, resulting in a perfect fit for every patient. This technology also allows for a faster turnaround time, so your patients can begin their treatment sooner.

4. Competitive Pricing: We understand that cost is a significant factor for many patients. That’s why we offer competitive pricing for our Melbourne-made clear aligners, ensuring that quality orthodontic care is accessible to everyone.

The Process of Getting Customized Clear Aligners

1. Initial Consultation: The journey begins with a consultation where we assess your patient’s dental needs and discuss their goals. This step is crucial for understanding the specific adjustments required.

2. 3D Imaging and Treatment Planning: Using advanced imaging technology, we create a 3D model of your patient’s teeth. This model allows us to develop a precise treatment plan, mapping out the movement of teeth throughout the aligner process.

3. Fabrication of Aligners: Once the treatment plan is finalised, we fabricate the customised clear aligners in our Melbourne lab. Each aligner is designed to apply gentle pressure to the teeth, gradually shifting them into the desired position.

4. Regular Check-Ins: Patients will wear each set of aligners for about two weeks before progressing to the next set. Regular check-ins allow us to monitor progress and make any necessary adjustments to the treatment plan.

Conclusion

Customized clear aligners are an exceptional way to elevate your patients’ confidence while providing them with a comfortable and effective orthodontic solution. At Australian Dental Labs, we pride ourselves on delivering high-quality, Melbourne-made products that not only meet but exceed expectations. Our commitment to using advanced technology and competitive pricing ensures that your patients receive the best care possible.

If you’re looking to offer your patients a reliable and effective way to achieve their dream smiles, consider partnering with Australian Dental Labs for your clear aligner needs. Together, we can give your patients the confidence to smile brightly.

[smlglobal]

BENEFITS AND USES FOR CUSTOM-FIT, REMOVABLE OCCLUSAL SPLINTS

Occlusal splints are custom-fit, removable devices crafted from durable acrylic. Designed to fit over the biting surfaces of the upper or lower teeth, their primary aim is to establish a precise bite alignment with the opposing teeth. As versatile tools in dental care, these splints serve several critical functions:

break up doodling patterns and cover any facets of wear

protect the teeth from abnormal forces that may create a tooth fracture or breakage of restorations

protect the bony and soft tissue supportive structures against abnormal forces that would cause their breakdown

introduce an optimum occlusal position

deprogram the musculature and reorganize neuromuscular reflex activity

encourage normal muscle function

alleviate any occlusal stresses to the posterior teeth by providing anterior guidance

establish a new vertical relationship

alleviate occlusal stresses to the anterior teeth by controlling the vertical dimension

provide the teeth with protection from diurnal and nocturnal bruxism

provide a core stable or functional join position

TMJ dysfunction represents a complicated challenge affecting a significant portion of the population. While various treatments and appliance designs are available, occlusal splints remain a fundamental and widely used solution for managing these conditions.

Contact us for more information about dental Splints. 

[dentalprecinct]

Affordable Teeth Grinding Treatments Townsville | Occlusal Splints - Dental Precinct

Our Occlusal Splint Procedures in Townsville aim to be as pain free as possible

Are looking for affordable Teeth Grinding Treatments Townsville? Get a consultation from dental precinct, stop teeth grinding issues once for all. Book Online.

What is an Occlusal Splint?

Occlusal splints, also known as ‘Night Guards’, are removable dental appliances that are customised to fit your teeth either on the upper or lower arch, to treat night grinding (bruxism). Occlusal splints are generally recommended for people who grind their teeth and patients with extensive dental treatment such as crowns, veneer and dental implants.

How does it work?

An occlusal splint is a slim, hard acrylic or polycarbonate guard that is designed to be worn at night and/or during high stress work.

The splint does not stop you from grinding or clenching, but it does guide the lower jaw to a neutral position that relieves some pressure on the joint and protects teeth from destructive forces.

Will grinding my teeth ruin my teeth?

Bruxism is a condition where a person grinds their teeth and clenches their jaw muscles during sleep. This is an involuntary habit. The reason for this condition is unknown, but stress can play a major role. Bruxism is a very common occurrence and often individuals are unaware of their habit.

What is Bruxism?

Bruxism causes upper and lower teeth to wear against each other and leads to gradual shortening and chipping of the biting surfaces of teeth. This is called attrition and can cause sensitivity. Bruxism can also cause damage to gums, jaw bones, soreness of jaw muscles, TMJ problems, headaches and disturbed sleep.

[vertikapargat-blog]

Managing TMJ Pain: Why Is It So Challenging?

TMJ disorder, or TMD, can be a debilitating condition characterized by jaw pain, difficulty chewing, and other symptoms. It arises from issues with the temporomandibular joint, a complex structure connecting the jaw to the skull. TMD's causes include stress, misalignment, teeth grinding, arthritis, and genetics. Symptoms range from jaw pain and tenderness to clicking sounds and chronic headaches.

If you experience similar pain,  please visit the link below to know how to manage your jaw pain: https://www.lakshmedental.com/why-is-tmj-pain-so-difficult-to-manage/

Managing TMD is challenging due to several factors. Firstly, treatment options are diverse and not universally effective, ranging from lifestyle changes to surgery. Secondly, TMD is often chronic, persisting for years and impacting daily life. This chronic nature can lead to emotional distress, creating a cycle that worsens symptoms. Thirdly, the condition's complexity requires personalized treatment plans and a trial-and-error approach.

Managing TMD involves seeking professional evaluation and accurate diagnosis, followed by the development of a personalized treatment plan. This plan may include lifestyle modifications, physical therapy, dental splints, medications, or even surgery. Patients are encouraged to maintain good oral hygiene, manage stress, and actively participate in their treatment. While managing TMD can be a long journey, with the right support and interventions, relief is possible, allowing individuals to regain control of their oral health and overall well-being.

Lakshme Dental 

103 J2, Barani Nagar, North Bypass Road,Vannerpettai (on the way to fx school),Tirunelveli - 627003

Contact: 99425 02110, 89036 63036

https://www.linkedin.com/company/lakshme-dental-hospital/

https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCmydxBsYVmTJzbd2jnIe

[market-insider]

Dental Splints: Global Market Assessment and Growth Strategies

The global dental splints market size is expected to reach USD 693.0 million by 2030. It is generally acknowledged that oral health has a significant impact on general health. Maintaining good oral hygiene is just as important as caring for other body parts. People have recently come to understand the need of maintaining good oral and dental hygiene. The temporomandibular joint function, for example, and other diseases and treatment alternatives are becoming more widely known (TMJ).

Gain deeper insights on the market and receive your free copy with TOC now @: Dental Splints Market Report

This has given way to growth in the global dental splints market. Furthermore, health care professionals are working together in tandem to provide integrated medical, oral, and behavioral health care in community health centers, schools, medical care settings, nursing homes, as well as in dental clinics. They are also trying to improve access to care by creating a more qualified and diverse oral healthcare manpower, expanding insurance coverage, addressing the growing expense of dental qualification, and improving the overall affordability of oral care.

The prevalence rate of TMJ, temporomandibular joint, and muscle disorder is between 5-12%. Uncommon for chronic pain, the prevalence rate of TMJ disease is higher among younger individuals. TMJ disorders are more common in women compared to men, and women using either oral contraceptives or supplemental estrogen are more likely to seek treatment for these TMJ conditions. Millions of individuals globally suffer from temporomandibular joint disorders (TMJ) which are characterized by joint dysfunction and pain. TMJ (ID), internal derangement is the most prevalent kind of Temporomandibular Disorder (TMDs), including 41.1% of patients with TMD. The TMJ condition affects an estimated 10 million Americans, roughly between the ages of 20 and 40 years old - and now those numbers are further growing.

The pandemic has resulted in reduced demand for dental products and equipment which had also impacted the new investment in dental education and the dental healthcare industry. Oral care products such as dental splints, mouth guards, etc. have also faced a low-level of sales and revenue in the first half of 2020 due to the disrupted supply chain of the product and lockdown restrictions in the country. However, in 2021, the market grew at a significant rate due to the covid-19 related stress disorder. COVID-19 outbreak had affected almost every facet of our living hood, and dentistry is no exception. Since stress is one of the leading causes of bruxism, it’s not shocking that it has been on the rise over the last two years. Since the start of the COVID-19 pandemic, it has been noted by the majority of dental practitioners that stress-related oral health disorders have dramatically increased. This has had a favorable effect on the dental splint market in 2021.

[kanehldental]

If you ever wake up with a headache or sore jaw, then you might suffer from bruxism. Learn what bruxism is and how you can treat it with our helpful guide.

[neha24blog]

U.S. Dental Splint Market In-Depth Research On Basis By Mobility Degree, Distribution Channel And Forecast To 2030 : Grand View Research Inc.

San Francisco, 14 Feb 2023: The Report U.S. Dental Splint Market Size, Share & Trends Analysis Report By Mobility Degree (Flexible, Semi-rigid, Rigid), By Distribution Channel (Online, Offline (Through Dental Professionals)), And Segment Forecasts, 2022 – 2030 The U.S. dental splint market size is expected to reach USD 220.6 million by 2030, according to a new report by Grand View Research,…

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

Comet Donati [Chapter 7: Heart Attack]

A/N: Hello all! Only 3 chapters left!!! 🥰 Thank you so much for loving this fic and giving all my eccentric AU ideas a chance. I’m currently in Washington DC visiting one of my best friends, so if I’m a little bit tardy replying to your comments/messages then that’s why. Don’t fear!! I will check in as soon as I can, and I am still amazed by and will forever cherish your support. 💜

Series Summary: Sex, drugs, boy bands. You are a kinda-therapist recruited (via nepotism) to help Comet Donati through a recent crisis. Things are casual with Aegon, very not-casual with Aemond. Loosely inspired by One Direction.

Chapter Warnings: Language, references to sexual content (+18), drugs, alcohol, smoking, Shelby being a bigger plague than the locusts of Egypt, mental health struggles, references to violence and abuse, New Jersey, pregnancy, mini golf, lots of content for the Cregan girlies.

Selected Chapter Quote: “We’re meant to be together. We have so much history.”

Word count: 6.2k.

Link to chapter list (and all my writing): HERE.

Taglist: ​​@doingfondue​ @catalina-howard​ @randomdragonfires​ @myspotofcraziness​ @arcielee​ @fan-goddess​ @talesofoldandnew​ @marvelescvpe​ @tinykryptonitewerewolf​ @mariahossain​ @chainsawsangel​ @darkenchantress​ @not-a-glad-gladiator​ @gemini-mama​ @trifoliumviridi​ @herfantasyworldd​ @babyblue711​ @namelesslosers​ @thelittleswanao3​ @daenysx​ @moonlightfoxx​ @libroparaiso​ @burningcoffeetimetravel-fics​ @mizfortuna​ @florent1s​ @heimtathurs​ @bhanclegane​ @poohxlove​ @narwhal-swimmingintheocean​ @heavenly1927​ @mariahossain​ @echos-muses​ @padfooteyes​ @minttea07​ @queenofshinigamis​ @juliavilu1​ @amiraisgoingthruit​ @lauraneedstochill​ @wintrr13​ @r0segard3n​ @seabasscevans​ @tsujifreya​ 

Let me know if you’d like to be added to the taglist! 💜

You type into Google as you hide in the public bathroom stall, pink tile walls and mint green porcelain, very 1950s, phantom drips of water and humming florescent lights: Can Plan B make your period late?

You scroll through the results, clutching your iPhone with both hands. Faintly, you can hear the rest of the band outside, chattering, laughing, slurping on Slush Puppies, smacking trees and rocks with their golf clubs. Yes, the consensus seems to be; Plan B can delay your period. Incidentally, so can pregnancy.

“Fuck,” you whimper. You peer down at your panties, as if you can force bloodstains to appear: sparce rosy threads of warning, dark red splotches like rust, you aren’t particular. You’ll take anything. “Fuck,” you say again, defeated. You get dressed, wash your hands, and head back out into the cloudless afternoon sunshine.

“Stargirl, it’s your turn!” Aegon shouts as you trot over to them: tenth hole, shaped like an L, featuring an intimidating loop de loop. The course is dinosaur themed; Rhaena picked it. Aegon points to Jace. “This deformed bastard wanted to skip you.”

“I told you,” Jace moans. His speech is garbled and lisping, his face comically swollen, bruised yellow-emerald-indigo and drooling blood, stitches above his left eyebrow. He just had his dental implants placed yesterday; the four teeth that he lost at Club Camelot could not be readily located for reattachment. “I can’t keep track of who’s next. I’m on like four different opiates.”

Baela frets over him. “Shh, shh, baby. Try not to talk.” There’s something about watching someone get almost-murdered that makes you want to forgive them, you suppose.

You grab your club and golf ball, dark blue, from where you left them by a tree. Rhaena gives you a covert little thumbs up and raised eyebrows. Everything good? You smile—too widely, insincere, a liar—and nod. Technically, you have yet to obtain concrete evidence to the contrary.

You take your turn, somewhat awkwardly due to the splint that still encumbers your dominant hand. You are thinking about anything but mini golf. Your ball goes halfway through the loop de loop and then comes rolling back. How many strokes? Four, five, you lose count, it doesn’t matter. Aegon is snickering, though not in a mean way, never in a mean way. Aemond is watching you. He does this constantly; you can feel his eyes—river water, otherworldly atmosphere—on you all the time, you can see him on the periphery of your vision. But when you glance at Aemond, he looks away. You’re wearing flip flops, a black NSYNC t-shirt, and bright pink shorts that Baela insists are of the very short variety. Aemond is staring a little extra hard today. Shelby alternates between glaring at him and at you.

Jace putts next. He misses the ball twice. On the third try, he hits it into a nearby pond. Golden koi fish scatter beneath the rippling sheen of the water.

“Loser,” Aegon declares mildly. “Criston, why the fuck are we in New Jersey?”

“Because you’re playing three shows at the MetLife Stadium in East Rutherford,” Criston says as he putts; his green golf ball sails through the loop de loop, bounces off a wall, and then rolls straight into the cup, a hole in one. “One Direction did it, Taylor Swift did it, and now you’re going to do it too. And if you don’t make it too unbearable for me, I’ll even take you to the beach while we’re here. Okay?”

“Okay,” Aegon agrees. He slurps on his Slush Puppie. “Oh, Aemond, I need the Netflix password.”

“You forgot it again?!” Daeron says. Jace, groaning softly, lies down on the ground in a patch of shade. Baela gets a bottle of Orajel rinse out of her purse and starts pouring it into his mouth.

“Get your own account,” Aemond snaps at Aegon. “I think you can afford it.”

“Bruh, that’s not the point! I don’t know where I left off in Grey’s Anatomy!”

They keep bickering. You stop listening. You can only hear the sounds of rustling leaves, squawking seagulls, the whistling of the warm August wind. You can only feel the weight of Aemond’s half-fascinated, half-resentful gaze on you. He wouldn’t believe me, you think. If I really am pregnant, he would never believe that it was an accident. He would never believe that I was that guilelessly, unambitiously stupid. Hell, I did it and I barely believe it.

You steal a glimpse of Aemond—black shirt and black sunglasses, white shorts, Adidas sneakers—and he turns away, pretending to pick dirt off his golf ball. Interestingly, he will talk to you about things not related to that night in Tokyo; perhaps it would be too suspicious not to, a neon sign for the rest of the band to read. But he never allows himself to be alone with you. And he never touches you, not even a grazing of hands or an absentminded bump as he passes you in aisles or hallways.

Bump, you think miserably. An inauspicious choice of words.

“We should watch Se7en,” Aegon is saying now. “Comet fam movie night.”

You mutter: “We’re not watching Se7en.”

“What’s Se7en about?” Rhaena asks.

“You wouldn’t like it.”

“What’s in the box?!” Aegon shouts dramatically—quoting the beautiful yet doomed David Mills, a name he once borrowed to schedule a Zoom meeting with you—and then cackles. It’s his turn. He clobbers his golf ball and sends it flying through the loop de loop; it pops over the barrier and disappears into a bush. Startled squirrels dart out of the leaves.

“Loser!” Jace slurs as he lies sprawled across the ground, vindicated.

“Stop spitting blood everywhere,” Aemond says. He putts next, and badly: poor depth perception. “You’re getting it on my sneakers.”

“Watch it, cyclops.” Jace points to his own stitches, bruises, surgically replaced teeth. “I let you have this one. Now we’re even. But next time I won’t be so charitable.”

“You’re not even,” Aegon tells Jace, abruptly severe. He whips off his aviator sunglasses, crouches over Jace, glaring and thunderous like a storm. Baela observes this warily. “Not even close.”

Jace is intrigued. “No?”

“No. Your face will heal.” Then Aegon pokes him in the jaw and Jace screams, tears slithering down his puffy, mottled cheeks. Cregan yanks Aegon away before Baela can scratch his eyes out. Criston repossesses Aegon’s blue raspberry Slush Puppie as punishment. Luke wins the game, five under par.

Comet’s first shows in the United States this tour start just like the last few in Asia: Jace is iced, painted with concealer, thoroughly medicated, numbed into semi-consciousness. He does lines of coke in the bathroom under Cregan’s supervision. He can’t perform without it. Criston tried to negotiate a month off for Jace, but the label’s message was clear: get him on stage, we don’t care how you do it, we don’t want to know about it, here’s a blank check, figure it out or we’ll find another manager who can. Now Criston watches Jace with his arms crossed over his chest, his dark eyes wounded and anxious, his shoulders slumped beneath the weight of what he believes is failure.

The story released to the press is that Jace fell down a flight of stairs but is recovering smoothly. He can barely sing; his mic is turned up, and during Jace’s verses Cregan or Luke layer their voice with his. He wobbles and flubs his way through Night 1 in East Rutherford. You spend the show staring up at the stage without seeing it. Baela and Rhaena are with you, but you aren’t really with them; you feel like if they reached out to touch you, their hands would find only translucent emptiness like a mirage. Shelby is flocked by fellow influencers that she’s invited in from New York City. Aemond is somewhere, somewhere: lurking in shadows, brooding, avoiding, musing, suffering, jotting down starlight-colored judgments in his black-paged notebook.

Per tradition, the band and their entourage coalesce in Jace’s suite after the show. Jace himself, the gracious host, promptly collapses on a couch and lies there senseless as the party spins around him like the planets of a solar system. Baela is perched dutifully beside him, holding ice packs to his jaw, wiping away drool the color of one of Aemond’s Brambles. A tattoo artist is inking a goldfinch, New Jersey’s state bird, to the top of Jace’s right foot. Criston is across the room and speaking—rather tensely, it seems—with cigar-smoking label executives. Shelby is snapping photos with her friends; they take turns posing each other out on the balcony, adjusting elbows and wrists and knees, swiping away stray flecks of mascara, rearranging hair, recommending plastic surgeons. Aegon is typing WhatsApp messages—mostly emojis, from what you can see—to Miley Cyrus. At Luke’s prompting, Aemond begins sharing his comments to the presently sentient members of Comet. He puffs on one of his Benson & Hedges cigarettes as he reads aloud. He kindly skips over any criticisms of Jace’s performance.

You can’t stand hearing Aemond’s voice; not because there’s anything wrong with it, but because there isn’t, because you can’t stop remembering what he said to you in that florescent-white bathroom at Club Camelot in Tokyo, because he uses his words on so many people who aren’t you, because sooner or later your time with Comet will be over and you’ll only ever hear him again through Spotify songs and YouTube clips from before the accident, because he will one day be a ghost who haunts you, rattling doorknobs and chilling pockets of air but never speaking. You escape to ask the bartender: “Can I get a Coke?”

“A rum and Coke?”

“No.”

“Like…white powder coke?”

“No, a Coca-Cola. With nothing else in it.”

“Okay, whatever,” the bartender says, perplexed. He fills a glass with ice and dark liquid that pops and fizzes with carbonation, then slides it across the counter to you. You meander out into the hallway where you can be alone, where you don’t have to pretend to be okay.

The carpet is gold but frayed, the walls adorned with faux marble columns and scuffs from recklessly handled suitcases. Even the hotels are worse in New Jersey. You sip your soda—nonalcoholic, huh? you think, then push it aside—and roam past suite doors and vending machines until you reach the cove of elevators. There’s a full-length mirror hanging on the wall there, gilded, gaudy. You frown at yourself, a reflection that suddenly looks a bit like a stranger. You’re wearing a short seafoam green dress, gold earrings and sandals, and an eerily vacuous expression. You turn and move your hair aside so you can peer over your shoulder at what’s been indelibly penned there since Rome: the tiny comet, the lyrics that encircle it.

I wanted to remember this band forever. To remember Aemond. You can feel your stomach drop as it grows heavy with dread. The pulsing music from Jace’s suite has followed you down the hall, Sugar by Robin Schulz and Francesco Yates. I think I might just have more than a tattoo to remember him by after all.

One of the elevators dings and opens. A man lumbers out, towering, broad, monstrous. You gape up at him: brown threadbare coat, heavy boots, unruly dark beard, grey eyes like a bleak winter sky. There is a miasma that colors the air around him with smoke and alcohol, sweat and earth.

“Hello there,” he says, politely enough. His voice is such a baritone rumble that it’s difficult to understand. He has a British accent, but not like Aegon’s, not like Aemond’s. He reminds you of someone you can’t quite place. “I’m looking for a certain young gentleman. I’m hoping you can point me in his direction.”

“Sure,” you reply, trying to disguise your shock so you don’t offend him. He could be someone important. He could be an eccentric producer or a consultant. Or a drug dealer. “Who…uh…who was it you were hoping to speak with…?”

He smiles: sharp canine teeth yellowed by nicotine, glinting eyes like silver coins. “Cregan Stark.”

“Okay,” you stammer. Drug dealer?? “Okay, okay, I’ll…uh…I’ll go get him.”

You hurry down the hall and into Jace’s crowded, smokey suite, clinking glasses and flirtatious titters in dim lighting like late twilight. You return your empty drink to the bartender, then tap Cregan on the shoulder and inform him that someone out in the hallway is asking for him. He doesn’t seem surprised to hear this. Drug dealer, you think confidently. Cregan gulps his vodka shot and follows you out of the suite. He steps through the doorway. He turns towards the stranger. And then he stops dead. His eyes go wide. The blood drains from his face. And Cregan—immovable, inscrutable, unflappable Cregan—shrinks until he is a child again.

Immediately, you know you’ve made a mistake. You reach for him. “Cregan, wait—”

“My son,” the monstrous man sighs. And of course now you’ve realized exactly who the mirrorlike grey of his eyes reminded you of. “My son.”

You can’t stop him. How could you stop him? Faster than you can think, he has crossed the space between you and entombed Cregan in a stifling embrace. Cregan stands paralyzed, his eyes shifting, searching for escape. Tentatively, appeasingly, his hands slowly rise to hug the man in return.

“Criston?!” you shout. But within the suite, he cannot hear you over the music and the berating of smoke-veiled, bejeweled label executives.

“Did you forget about me, huh?” the man asks Cregan gruffly. And as he steps back he grips one of Cregan’s shoulders: not like Criston would, not like a father, like a vice, like a bear trap. He shakes Cregan once, not too hard. “You can fly your private jet all over the world but you can’t call your own father back? Huh? Huh?!” He shakes Cregan again, harder.

“Criston!” you scream. “Security! Somebody!”

Nobody can hear me. Nobody is coming.

You sprint into Jace’s suite, seize Criston by one hand, drag him out into the hall. On the blurry periphery of your vision, you can see Aemond getting up off the couch to follow you. The second he spots the monstrous man, Criston is roaring. “No no no, get away from him!” He pushes between Cregan and the giant, terrifying, wrathful. The man dwarfs him. Criston doesn’t seem to know it. “You can’t be here. We’ve been over this, you’re not allowed to be here—”

The man tries to reach around him to clutch at Cregan’s shirt. Aemond pulls you away from the scuffle. Criston hits the man in the solar plexus; he is momentarily stunned, wheezing. By the time he straightens up, Criston—louder than you, bellowing and fierce—has summoned security. They are swarming the man and escorting him back down the hallway towards the elevators. Aemond goes to Cregan. Criston looks at you. You’re quivering, penitent.

“I had no idea…he asked for Cregan…I would never have…I thought maybe he was a friend of the band…”

“He’s on our no fly list,” Criston says. His voice is tired yet patient. “But you wouldn’t know that.”

You try to apologize to Cregan, but he isn’t listening to you. He’s listening to Aemond. Aemond is speaking to him, low and calm, too quietly for you to hear. “I’m okay,” Cregan says unsteadily. “I’m fine.”

“It’s alright if you’re not,” Aemond tells him.

And you know that right now you are unnecessary, intrusive. Criston goes downstairs to figure out how Comet’s security guards in the lobby didn’t catch this and—presumably—to ensure that the invader is properly dealt with. Aemond slings an arm across Cregan’s shoulders and leads him back to the party where he is cared for, welcome, valued, safe. You hide in your own suite and try not to think about the dates on the calendar—missing blood, summer days ticking down towards zero—as you steep in a hot bath and attempt to scrub everything you’ve done wrong, today, yesterday, ever, off your skin. Then you change into an oversized Backstreet Boys t-shirt and your favorite Cookie Monster pajama pants.

You try to sleep but of course you can’t, surrounded by a silence that only gets louder. When you hear the swipe of a keycard and the creaking of your door, you don’t know who to expect: Cregan, Criston, Rhaena, Luke, Baela, Jace, Daeron, Shelby, Aemond, ghosts. The clopping of his Crocs gives him away, neon pink to match his tank top. “I’m really not in the mood for anything resembling sex.”

Aegon replies as he kicks off his Crocs: “Did I ask, succubus?” He crawls into the bed, throws an arm casually across your waist, rests his head on your belly as your fingers thread through his chaotic blond hair, fond and tender. He burrows into you, into your softness and your warmth and your truth and your mysteries. Sometimes you feel like you’ll give until he falls into you like a trapdoor, the bones of his hands tangling around your spine, his blood vessels spilling into all of your rage-scarlet cavities, hollows of the flesh, hollows of the soul. “You’re sad.”

You stare up at the ceiling. “I have a lot on my mind.”

“Yeah, but I don’t know what. That’s the strange thing. Usually I can tell.”

“You’ve been gone.”

He looks up at you, confused. “I’ve been right here.”

“You know what I meant.”

Aegon doesn’t argue with you, doesn’t try to defend himself, doesn’t make promises both of you know he could never keep. He only lays his head down on your belly again and pulls himself closer to you, closer, closer, melting into your melancholy, dissolving into dreams.

~~~~~~~~~~

“I was eleven when he broke my arm. Thirteen when he cracked my skull for the first time. Then I got big enough to hurt him back.” Cregan looks out over the waves: blue currents, white froth, sunbeams like glinting blades. As Criston promised, Comet is spending an afternoon in Seaside Heights. You and Cregan are sitting on the sand together twenty yards from the others. “I grew up in a two-bedroom cabin with no electricity or running water. We had a metal wash tub outside, ate deer and squirrels and rabbits, never had clothes that fit, never saw a doctor except when what was wrong might kill us. We had a woodstove and chopped down trees to burn in the winter. I had eight siblings, six of whom are still alive. Barnett overdosed. Courtland drove his friend’s Nissan into a brick wall. I’m not sure it was accidental.”

Your words are soft like a whisper, like gentle hands. “Cregan, I’m so sorry.”

“It’s not…” His voice breaks. He stops for a while, composes himself, begins again. “It’s not something I talk about. Not because I’m trying to forget it. I can’t forget it, I’ll never be able to, I understand that, believe me. There’s just nothing to be gained from talking about it. I never feel better afterwards. I always feel worse.”

“You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to.”

“I know that. Don’t you think I know that?”

You wait, watching him. There’s something he needs to say. Down the beach a ways, Baela is doing yoga, her bare feet sure and agile in shifting sand. Rhaena, Luke, and Aemond are flying kites in the breeze: black dragons, green dragons. Shelby is, predictably, filming them from where she stands on Aemond’s good side. Aegon and Daeron are swimming so far out that you’re beginning to worry about sharks. Criston is parked under an umbrella with an unconscious Jace, reading Memoirs Of A Geisha and eating a sandwich full of something called pork roll.

“After Comet happened, I got all of them out,” Cregan continues. “My mum, my siblings. Good houses in safe neighborhoods. Security in case Dad makes an appearance. He does, every once in a while. He’s locked up, he’s free, he’s locked up again. He has nothing else to do but haunt us. I’ve been waiting for him to die since I was old enough to understand what a graveyard is.” Cregan looks at you. “Does that make me a bad person?”

“No,” you answer immediately.

“The thing is…” He holds out one large hand, palm down, like he’s resting it on a table. Then he shakes it. “Nothing ever feels stable. Nothing ever feels safe. No matter how much money I see stack up in accounts, I lie awake at night wondering what I’ll do if it disappears. So many people rely on me. I can’t stop worrying I’ll end up back in that cabin somehow. I can still hear drops of rainwater seeping in through the gaps in the roof. I can still smell burning wood.”

“The fact that you feel this way, given your history, is completely logical…even if the fear itself is not. Does that make sense?”

“Yeah,” Cregan says. “Yeah, I think so.”

“Do you think it would help if we sat down and looked at the numbers and did some math? Because I suspect that even with a hundred dependents, you’d easily be able to float them for the rest of your lifetime just using the money you already have. And there will be royalties from Comet’s songs forever. Maybe if we can show you exactly how improbable your worst case scenario is, that fear will begin to fade a bit. Not go away, not completely, maybe not ever…but I think you’ll be able to quiet it down.”

“I’ll give it a try. If you recommend it.” Cregan lights a cigarette and takes a drag. Criston glances over and then pretends he didn’t notice. “I have a daughter,” Cregan says; and you can’t stop the shock from hitting your face like a fist. He smiles faintly, wistfully. “I know. I’ve worked very hard to make sure she is kept away from…” He gestures broadly. “All of this.” Fame. Debauchery. Tabloids. Reddit threads. “I was way too young. And her mother and I…we were never really together. It was contentious for a while, but we’ve sorted through things. I support them financially, obviously. And when I’m not on tour or in the studio, I disappear up to Lancaster for a few weeks at a time and no one is the wiser.”

You study him as wind tears in off the Atlantic Ocean, as seagulls swoop and screech overhead. “I’m sure she’ll appreciate how you’ve protected her once she can understand.”

“I don’t know how to be a father. Not a good one. But I try. I don’t just show up for movie nights and birthdays. I take her shopping for school supplies. I put her back to bed when she has nightmares. I take her to the dentist, to the park, to the library. She really likes pigs, so I adopted a few from a farm animal rescue and we learned how to raise them together.”

“You caring about being a good parent puts you ahead of a lot of people already,” you say. “Nobody in Comet knows?”

“Just Aemond. Once, years ago, her mother needed something and I was out of the country. I had to let somebody in on the secret, somebody I could trust. I chose Aemond. I chose right.” Now Cregan is amused. “He’s the one who suggested the pigs.”

“Of course he did,” you say; and you can’t help but smile. “How old is she?”

“Six and a half. Do you want to see a picture her?”

“Absolutely. If it’s alright with you.”

Cregan pulls his iPhone from his pocket, swipes around for a while, and then turns the screen so you can see. She looks like him, a lot like him, but with round cheeks and long dark lashes. And Cregan is beaming as he says: “Her name is Iris.”

“So you didn’t have to do the Maury paternity test thing.”

He laughs, shaking his head. “No. I knew from the second I saw her she was mine.”

“She’s lucky to have you.”

Cregan shrugs, pensive, evasive. “I don’t know about that.”

“I do.” And he believes that you mean it; you can see it on his face. Aemond is watching you and Cregan, you notice now. He glances over, pretends he didn’t, glances again. You gesture to the crashing waves and say to Cregan: “If Aegon gets attacked by a shark, will you jump in and punch it or something please?”

Cregan chuckles. “Yeah. That’s my main job here, I think. Stopping people from dying.” And then, seriously: “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me. I haven’t done anything that warrants it.”

“No. Really.” Cregan reaches out, takes your uninjured hand, squeezes it briefly before releasing you. “Thank you, Stargirl.” Then he stands and walks to the water’s edge, letting the surf rush up over his ankles, for just a moment feeling nothing on his shoulders but the sunlight.

Aemond gives Shelby his kite and, as she glares bitterly, makes his way over to you. He takes off his sunglasses so he can see you better and hooks them on the waistband of his swim trunks: black, of course, his usual color. You’re actually wearing black today too, a flowing coverup over a pink swimsuit. You feel very much like hiding. When Aemond speaks, there is perhaps a hint of envy, green like leaves of poison, gleaming like snakeskin. “What were you and Cregan talking about?”

“Fatherhood.” And then you realize how it might sound.

There is a split second where Aemond looks startled; then he remembers Iris. “Right. Not so easy for people like us to navigate.”

People like us. Celebrities, boy band members, haunted men. You scramble for a nonchalant way to feel out the subject with him. “How does Louis Tomlinson handle it?”

“He’s a saint,” Aemond says. And you think: Patron saint of baby daddies? “Freddie was very, very unplanned. The mother was a nobody, a rebound. And a lot of people assumed she did it on purpose to try to keep Louis. Or to get eighteen years of a luxury lifestyle out of him. Or to just get fame in general. Personally, I believe it was all of the above.”

“Right,” you say, sweating heavily beneath your coverup.

“But none of that is the kid’s fault, and Louis is a good enough guy to realize it. So he plays nice with Freddie’s mother and they don’t go to war through tabloids anymore.”

“So, uh…” How can I put this? “You’re good with kids too. Cregan told me you had the pig idea.”

And the look that crosses Aemond’s face, the look: caustic, incredulous, night-dark, self-loathing. “Are you insane? Have you met me? I terrify kids. And I should, but not just because of the eye and the scar. What the hell do I know about being a decent father? What do I know about being a decent anything? I’d have no idea where to start. I’d fuck it up even if I tried desperately not to. I’d end up with kids like Aegon: addicts who hate themselves, people who are irrevocably lost.”

You say meekly: “I think Criston is something like a father to you. He could be a role model.”

“I’m not half as good a man as Criston is.”

Change the topic, change the topic, before Aemond gets suspicious. And there’s something else you’ve been meaning to ask him. “Aemond…after you almost murdered Jace…when we didn’t know if or how he was going to be able to perform until he healed…did anyone ask you to come back to Comet and fill in for him?”

“No,” Aemond says. And he’s thunderstruck by the thought, appalled, petrified.

“You don’t think that it might have been a good idea? That it might make sense?”

“No,” he says again instantly.

“But…in Tokyo…when Daeron made that speech at the last show…I think the crowd’s reaction was pretty powerful, don’t you? People still care about you. They love and respect you. And I think…maybe…it might help you with what you’ve experienced. To get back on stage—even just one last time—and prove to yourself that you still have what it takes. To know that if you do leave Comet, it’s your choice, not anyone else’s.”

“They love who I was,” Aemond says. “Not who I am now. And that’s easy to do. They don’t have to look at me.”

“Goddammit, there’s nothing wrong with how you look, Aemond!” you burst out. “You look fantastic. I never get tired of looking at you. I want to look at you all the fucking time. I’d hang life-sized portraits of you on every wall in my apartment in Kansas City. That’s how much I enjoy looking at you.”

He thinks you’re joking, he thinks you’re trying to make him feel better. You can’t stop him from thinking these things. And yet still, as he turns away, he is smiling: just a whisper of a curl at the corner of his lips, secretive, fragile.

As Comet is leaving the beach, you stop at a souvenir shop on the boardwalk to buy your keepsake for this tour destination. You settle on a pink frisbee that has I love the Jersey Shore! embossed on it in large, abrasive letters. You think your parents’ Australian cattle dogs will enjoy fetching it when you get home. Home feels so much closer—both literally and figuratively—than it did just a few weeks ago.

Criston is browsing through the t-shirts. “Hey, what size is your mom, Aegon? Medium?”

“How the hell would I know? Probably.” He holds up a pair of red, white, and blue bikini bottoms that say Firecracker across the ass. “You think my dad would mind if you sent her these?”

Criston is blushing. “Aegon, stop.”

“You could get her a bikini top too. Oh look, that one over there is red, it matches. And it says MILF across the tits. So that’s pertinent.”

“Stop!” Criston cries, distressed, and flees the store.

Halfway through the hour-long drive back to the hotel, Aegon insists that Criston stop the Escalades so he can get a hoagie from a Wawa. Aegon has never had a hoagie before. He says he cannot truly experience America without one.

At the ordering counter, Jace—slightly less bruised and swollen today, and thus in better spirits—taunts Aegon: “Are you sure you need all that bread? You’re going to be wearing a muumuu on stage by the time we get to the Midwest.”

“You know, just because you said that, now I’m going to get two hoagies…”

On the television mounted inside the Wawa, CNN is reporting on a group of tornadoes that just struck Wichita. And it occurs to you that tornadoes don’t have trajectories to calculate like hurricanes or airplanes or comets; they are climatological sharks. They strike quickly, indiscriminately, and then they’re gone again. They aren’t named. They aren’t enshrined. They don’t even have a belly to cut open and retrieve pieces of your loved ones from. If they take someone, they’re just gone.

While the rest of the band is in line to order their food, and Aemond is scrutinizing the dried fruit and nuts selection, you sneak through the other aisles.

It’s time. I have to find out eventually. I have to know.

You pluck a pregnancy test—cute, pink, nausea-inducing—off a rack, purchase it with truly impressive speed at the checkout counter, and race to the bathroom. It’s surprisingly difficult to piss on a tiny stick of doom, especially when your primary hand is in a splint and only partially useable. Eventually, you manage. You put the cap back on the pregnancy test, set it on top of the toilet paper dispenser, and stare at the metal door of the stall. The Wawa speakers are playing The Fray’s Over My Head.

It won’t be positive. It can’t be positive.

You think of pregnancy test commercials you’ve seen: happy couples rejoicing, happy single women getting negatives. How are you supposed to react to bad news? Nobody ever tells you. Do you scream, sob, beg for forgiveness, schedule an appointment at Planned Parenthood? Do you kick the bathroom stall door down in mindless feminine fury? Do you throw yourself off a balcony?

There’s no way it will be positive. It was one time. Just one goddamn time.

And who knows if that will ever happen again with Aemond. This does not improve your mood.

You pick up the pregnancy test. It is unequivocally positive.

You shove it into the small rectangular trashcan for pads and tampons, things you won’t be needing in the immediate future. You get dressed, leave the stall, go to the sink and wash your hands. Then you grip the cool, slick, white porcelain and gaze at yourself in the mirror under nowhere-to-hide florescent lights. What do you feel? Everything, nothing, things you can’t name yet. You’re a raw nerve, you’re completely numb.

The bathroom door swings open. Shelby enters. She squares up with great purpose. Your eyes roll to her, slowly, with no tolerance left, not a drop of it. “Stay away from Aemond,” she demands.

“Make me.”

She is in disbelief. “I’m sorry, what?”

You turn all the way towards her. “Fucking make me, Shelby.”

“I knew you wanted him,” she says, she seethes. “I saw you in those paparazzi photos from Reykjavik and I knew you were already twisting your claws into him.”

You hold up your hands to show her; your thoughts are fuzzy, dazed, without inhibition. “I have no claws whatsoever. If I did, you’d know about it. Believe me. You’d be able to look down and watch your heart beating through the gashes.”

“You don’t belong here. Some Midwestern farm girl running around in flip flops and Cookie Monster pajama pants? You’re trash. You’re a user. You’re a nobody. And if you’re trying to steal a taken man, then you’re a whore too.”

“I’ve been called worse things by better people.”

“I can make them hate you,” Shelby says indignantly. “Comet. The world.”

“Good luck with that, Malibu Barbie. Nobody even knows I exist.”

“Stay away from Aemond,” she says again, trembling with her futile bleach-blond rage. “We’re meant to be together. We have so much history.”

“And yet no future.” You smile sweetly, breeze past her, step on one of her perfectly pedicured feet with a thoroughly unpretentious flip flop. By the time you return to them, the band is almost ready to leave Wawa.

You’re not hungry, but Aegon coaxes you into taking a few bites from his hoagie. You’re not able to focus on what people are saying, but you hear Aemond mention that he wishes Comet had time to visit a planetarium in some nearby town called Toms River. You think about what it would be like to lie side by side with him under the stars, under the sky where comets appear again after vanishing for centuries. You wonder if there’s anyplace where you and Aemond could ever be truthful with each other.

At night you can’t sleep. There is no shortage of reasons why. You wander from your bed to the gold-carpet hallway to the vending machines, where you stare brainlessly at the options. Am I supposed to not be drinking caffein? Did I get any Vitamin D today? How much sugar is too much? You buy a bottle of apple juice—surely a safe bet—and head back to your suite.

As you walk by Aemond and Shelby’s door, your steps slow. Some nights you can hear them in there arguing: Shelby reiterating all the reasons why they’re perfect for each other, clearly a rebuttal to an accusation you weren’t privy to. Some nights you hear muffled casual conversation or episodes of Cosmos. Some nights you hear nothing at all. Some nights your imagination colors in the gaps before you can stop it: his hands on her, his mouth on her, things you know you have no right to dread and yet you do. But tonight, Shelby is momentarily removed from the scene. You can hear the distant pattering of the shower, and then Aemond alone in the living room gathering up plates and glasses. He’s singing something very quietly, so quietly it takes you a while to recognize it. It’s not even a Comet Donati song. It’s Through The Dark.

You sit down in the empty hallway, your back to his door. And you lean your head against it as you listen to Aemond singing softly to himself, doubt sinking into you the same way that trapped blood fills a bruise: Maybe it wasn’t as good for him as it was for me. Maybe he doesn’t talk to me because he doesn’t want to. Maybe I don’t belong here anymore. Maybe I’ve invented a history that we don’t really share. Maybe he didn’t mean it when he said he loves me.

“What am I going to do?” you whisper, scalding tears brimming in your eyes, shivering hands settling on your belly. In a few months, you’ll be showing. “What the hell am I going to do?”

[thewhumpcaretaker]

Whump idea, Vincent gets cavities from eating so much sugar all the time and has to go to the dentist. He’s scared of it hurting so Chidi holds his hand the whole time. Maybe he squeezes so hard he actually breaks a bone in Chidi’s hand, but of course Chidi is too tough to let on…then later Vincent sees a splint on it and says he’ll kill whoever hurt him. And Chidi is just like, well…

I took so long to answer this because I went on hiatus right afterwards, I'm sorry 😭

But I love this ask, it's so adorable and so funny!! I was thinking about it all week. Please do send more if the inspiration strikes you, anon. I can't get enough of HoplesslyDevoted!

-⚜- Sweet Tooth -⚜-

TW: Nothing except dentists for once! This is just fluffy hurt/comfort.

Image Source

The most painful things seemed to happen when it came to Vincent - or rather, Vincent seemed to do these things to himself, and perhaps to bystanders. The toothache was one of many such cases.

He wouldn’t admit it at first, but he was irritable for two days in a row, awoke looking like he hadn’t slept, and when he didn’t even want to eat sweets, Chidi knew something had to be wrong.

“Vous n'avez pas faim, monsieur? [Aren’t you hungry, sir?]” he asked, over a banquet table filled with a positively wasteful spread of breakfast foods, from syrup-drenched crepes to fresh croissants to heaps of jam and berries.

“Non.” But his stomach let out a noise that betrayed him, and Chidi raised an eyebrow. He watched Vincent look away and breathe a little too deeply for a moment, as he did when he was about to admit something. At last, barely above a whisper, he muttered, “J'ai mal aux dents. [I have a toothache.]”

Oh. Honestly, he was relieved it was nothing more serious. “Je parlerai à votre assistant d’un rendez-vous dentaire d’urgence. [I’ll speak to your assistant about an emergency dental appointment.]”

“Non, s'il vous plaît, ne le faites pas. Euh, c'est… [No, please don’t. Er, that is…]”

“…Monsieur, sans traitement, la situation ne fera qu'empirer. […Sir, without treatment, it will only get worse.]”

“Je SAIS que [I KNOW that],” he snapped. But he still did not give permission.

Vincent was toying with his fork, pushing a blueberry around an untouched plate. Chidi watched him fidget for a moment in silence, considering how to approach this. Finally, “Puis-je demander pourquoi pas, alors? [May I ask why not, then?]”

“Juste – tu viens avec moi ? [Just – will you come with me?]”

He was scared, then. Another person might have smiled at such endearing childishness, but that would have been a wrong move. Chidi just nodded, face flat. “Bien sûr. [Of course.]”

He soon realized how much pain the Marquis had been hiding. Once he could complain openly, he admitted that not one, but two molars were aching constantly, sending pain right through the back of his head. Chidi spoke to the assistant, cancelled all the day’s meetings, and spent the morning with Vincent’s head in his lap, massaging his scalp and his jaw while they waited for the appointment.

That afternoon, they found themselves in an office in Paris, with an elderly woman whose kindly demeanor and open face should have put anyone at ease. But she did not look happy to see Vincent. Apparently, she had served the Marquis since he was a child, and Chidi would guess she had quite a few stories she was sworn not to tell.

Vincent didn’t look happy to see her either. He was really pale and stood too close to Chidi in the lobby, keeping their shoulders in contact (though of course he was not made to wait more than a minute).

Chidi didn’t have to be told to take the seat next to the dental chair, though he was a little surprised to find Vincent’s hand catching his in a death grip almost immediately.  He described his symptoms in terse, one or two word responses, clearly fighting back panic. That was probably the only reason he allowed the dentist to lecture him about the amount of sugar he’d obviously been eating. All she got out of him was a glare. Chidi answered on his behalf about his diet, and promised to “work with the Marquis to establish a more rigorous tooth care schedule,” which was the most dignified way he could think to describe forcing Vincent to brush his teeth the next time he ate three chocolate éclairs at 9 AM.

He had multiple cavities, apparently. And despite very liberal use of anesthetic, when the dentist pulled out a drill, Vincent’s already crushing grip became really unbearable. Nonetheless, Chidi bore it. He just squeezed back and ran his thumb over Vincent’s fingers again and again to sooth him. He never spoke a word of protest. Nor did he say anything about it on the car ride back to the palace, nor when seeing Vincent off to a nap to make up for that night of tossing and turning in pain. Nothing except, “Vous avez été très courageux, monsieur. [You were very brave, sir.]”

The next time they saw each other, Vincent had emerged from his room for dinner, which would have to be mostly liquid. Despite grimacing at the creative smoothie blends the chef had concocted, he seemed in better spirits. His eyes fixed on Chidi affectionately across the table. “Tu sais, je pensais à quel point tu étais gentil avec moi aujourd'hui. Quand j’allais chez le dentiste quand j’étais enfant, la gouvernante s’impatientait au bout d’une minute et ne me tenait plus la main. Mais tu l’as fait, même si je ne devrais vraiment pas en avoir besoin. [You know, I was thinking about how kind you were to me today. When I went to the dentist as a child, the governess would get impatient after a minute and wouldn’t hold my hand anymore. But you did, even though I really shouldn’t need it.]”

Chidi smiled back, preening. “C'est ma joie d'être là pour toi. Ce dont vous avez besoin est exactement ce dont vous avez besoin, et je vous l’accorderai. [It’s my joy to be there for you. What you need is just exactly what you need, and I will give you that.]”

His eyes finally lighted on Chidi’s left hand, where a splint wrapped around his pointer finger. “Attends… qui t'a fait ça ? Y a-t-il eu une bagarre pendant que je dormais !? Celui qui a fait ça, je lui arracherai… [Wait…who did that to you? Was there a fight while I was sleeping!? Whoever did that, I’ll tear out their – ]”

“Ah non, je ne pense pas que ce soit necessaire, [Ah, no, I don’t think that’s necessary,]” Chidi said sheepishly.

“Que veux-tu dire... [What do you mean…]” Realization dawned over his face. “Non, je ne l’ai pas fait. Ai-je? [No. I didn’t. Did I?]”

“Bien… [Well…]”

“Oh, Chidi…” He stared at his hand, rueful. “Venez ici. [Come here.]”

Chidi came to stand beside his chair and the Marquis took up his hand, very delicately this time, to plant a small kiss on the splint. “Je suis désolé. [I’m sorry.]”

“C'est bon, monsieur. Tu es juste très fort. Je ai été impressionné. [It’s okay, sir. You’re just very strong. I was impressed.]” Chidi’s eyes flickered meaningfully to the butler on the other side of the dining room. The man took the hint and slipped out. Free to be a little more tender, he leaned down to return Vincent’s kiss - on the lips this time, but equally gentle.

Vincent lingered with their faces together, cupping his cheek. “Je ferais mieux de me brosser les dents après. Tu es la chose la plus douce que j'ai jamais goûtée. [I’d better brush my teeth afterwards. You are the sweetest thing I’ve ever tasted.]”

[smlglobal]

DENTAL APPLIANCE SPECIALTIES FOR YOUR DENTAL PRACTICE

In the interest of better serving the various specific oral health needs of the dental patient community, the field of Dentistry is divided into a wealth of specialties. In the interest of better serving the dentists themselves, SML offers a multitude of appliances and appliance therapy options to practitioners in the primary specialty areas.

Orthodontics: Orthodontists specialize in the diagnosis, prevention, and treatment of dental and facial irregularities, primarily focusing on correcting misaligned teeth and jaws using braces, aligners, and other orthodontic appliances.  

Endodontics: Endodontists specialize in diagnosing and treating diseases and injuries related to the dental pulp and root of the tooth. They commonly perform root canal therapy to save infected or damaged teeth.  

Periodontics: Periodontists specialize in the prevention, diagnosis, and treatment of diseases that affect the gums and supporting structures of the teeth, such as periodontal (gum) disease. They also perform procedures like gum grafting and dental implant placement.  

Oral and Maxillofacial Surgery: Oral surgeons specialize in the surgical treatment of diseases, injuries, and defects of the mouth, jaws, and facial structures. They perform procedures such as tooth extraction, dental implant surgery, jaw realignment surgery, and treatment of oral cancers.  

Prosthodontics: Prosthodontists specialize in restoring and replacing missing teeth and oral structures. They design and place dental prostheses such as crowns, bridges, dentures, and dental implants to improve function and aesthetics.

Pediatric Dentistry: Pediatric dentists specialize in providing dental care for infants, children, and adolescents. They focus on preventive care, early detection of dental issues, and treatment tailored to the unique needs of young patients.  

Oral Pathology: Oral pathologists specialize in the diagnosis and management of diseases affecting the oral and maxillofacial regions, including oral cancers, oral infections, and oral manifestations of systemic diseases.

These are just a few examples of dental specialties, and within each specialty, dentists may further specialize or focus on specific areas of interest or expertise.

SML Global offers the dental appliances for dental specialties.

[gemwolfz]

multiple members of the keroro platoon canonically have bruxism. bite splints exist to prevent damage due to nocturnal tooth grinding, but as far as we know, keroro does not have one. Obviously this is because keronian dental medical technology is too strongly focused on shrinking down tiny and fighting cavity-causing bacteria

[simslegacy5083]

NSB (Straud Legacy) Gen 9 Ep 96: The Stressies

The structured class on fatherly responsibilities made Luigi more comfortable about his future, but things soon began to go sideways for the couple.

It started when he clumsily told Noemi about his past relationship with Amaya. While trying to apologize for complicating their lives as they were preparing for the baby, he wound up suggesting that she couldn’t keep hanging out with Amaya because of her history with him.

That sounded far too self-centered and controlling for Noemi to put up with. “Not everything is about YOU, Lu!” she shot back, angrily mirroring Beau’s sentiments. “I’m not giving up a great new friend, just because you had a prior failed claim on her.”

“Suck it up and deal with the awkwardness of seeing her around, because I don’t make friends easily and I really like her!” she said, leaving for class.

Luigi picked up a carton of Noemi’s favorite ice cream that evening as a peace offering, but the chilled treat wound up making more trouble for them.

From the very first bite an issue Luigi had been neglecting came back up with a vengeance. The toothache that had started the day they announced the pregnancy to his family had been getting progressively worse, but he’d been “way too busy” to see a dentist. He’d recently been doing his best to avoid chewing on that side, but the mouthful of melting ice cream hit his sore tooth like a thousand icy, stabbing, needles.

When he cursed loudly, tears springing to his eyes, his startled girlfriend pried the whole story out of him.

“You have to take better care of yourself!” she chided, pulling out her phone to make them both an appointment with the dentist. Her own teeth had been a bit sensitive to their snack, and if she had to babysit him to make sure he got to the clinic, she might as well get checked out too.

At the dentist it was discovered that the couple was, once again, in sync. Both sims had a cavity that required filling.

Noemi’s dental decay had been caught early on and she didn’t even need to be numbed for her quick procedure, but Luigi didn’t get off so easily.

He’d let his issue linger too long, and the erosion of his enamel had reached the nerve, causing his severe discomfort. His filling required a big dose of local anesthetic and a marathon session in the dental chair, during which the dentist told him he was lucky he didn’t need a root canal!

Luigi was feeling quite sorry for himself when they got home, half his face still numb and feeling uncomfortably like a block of wood bolted to his skull. Noemi set aside her irritation to plop down next to him and break his bleak introspection with a joke. “Oh, that’s so much better. Where they really need to be handing out painkillers is in the waiting room! That “couch” was awfully uncomfortable, especially for those of us sitting for two!”

The stress of balancing baby prep and schoolwork came to a head for the pair as finals approached. While Noemi was revising her final presentation for her programming class, racket from the apartment across the hall kept distracting Luigi from the studies he felt way behind on.

Eventually his control over his temper cracked and he stormed out into the hallway, pounding on their door and screaming “Keep it down, some of us are trying to study!” Not wanting her baby pictures to feature a proud papa in a nose splint, Noemi dragged her boyfriend away from their unrepentant neighbor and the couple took a short study break (featuring some VERY loud forest sounds) to recapture their zen.

Things went from bad to worse when Luigi returned home one afternoon to find Chubbs dead on the kitchen floor. Noemi, in the office doing homework, heard him sobbing and came to what to see what was the matter just in time to catch Grim whisking their furry friend away to the nether realm.

She took Luigi into her arms for a comforting hug, her heart breaking for him as he sobbed out that Chubbs had been a present to him from his papa, who’d adored cats. He’d always intended to start doing a better job showing her love and making time for her after graduation, and now it was too late!

That concept of running out of time followed Noemi into her nightmares that night, as she dreamt of literally running from a wave of darkness that was slowly turning her into a withered crone. She jerked awake with the vivid memory of a painful stitch in her side.

Noemi gasped, sitting up and clutching her stomach. The pain had not been her imagination. To make matters worse, the baby was wiggling and kicking like he too was in distress.

Panicked and terrified she woke Luigi. Seeing Noemi’s distress, he kept quiet about his own nightmare, in which he’d went home to visit his father only to find him, like Chubbs, cold and still, a cake to celebrate his grandson’s birth sitting unfinished on the counter.

Instead, he quickly got them dressed and headed for the hospital, hoping fervently as they went that both Noemi and their son would be OK.