#kinds of dental implants

[dramarnathandentalcare]

What are the different types of dental implants?

Dental implants have become a popular and successful way to replace missing teeth. They offer a durable, natural-looking alternative to standard dentures and bridges.

Choosing the proper type of dental implant is essential for getting the best outcomes and maintaining your oral health. In this post, we will look at the many types of dental implants available and help you make an informed decision about which one is suitable for you. 

What are dental implants?

A dental implant is a small metal post that is surgically inserted into your jawbone to replace a missing tooth. Once in place, the implant functions similarly to the root of a natural tooth, giving a solid basis for a replacement tooth (such as a crown) to be fixed.  

Who needs Dental Implants? 

Have lost one or more teeth due to an accident, decay, or gum disease.

Looking for a longer-lasting choice than dentures or bridges?

Have good overall oral health and adequate jawbone to support the implant.

Strive to improve their ability to chew and talk correctly.

They want a natural-looking substitute for lost teeth that will boost their looks and confidence.  

Benefits of Dental Implants:

Dental implants offer several advantages, including:

Natural Look and Feel

Improved comfort

Better Eating and Speaking

Durability

Bone Health

Convenience

Oral Health

Different types of dental implants

Endosteal implants:

Endosteal implants are little titanium screws that dentists insert directly into the jawbone. They are the most common form and work well if your jaw has adequate healthy bones. These implants provide a stable foundation for prosthetic teeth (crowns).

Subperiosteal Implants:

Subperiosteal implants are placed under the gums, but above the jawbone. They consist of a metal frame that sits on the jawbone and behind the gum tissue. These implants are used when there is inadequate bone height for endosteal implants or when bone grafting is not possible.

Zygomatic implants:

Zygomatic implants are longer than other types and connect to the cheekbone (zygomatic bone) rather than the jawbone. They are used when there is significant bone loss in the upper jaw and traditional implants or bone grafts are ineffective.

All-on-four implants:

All-on-4 implants support an entire arch of teeth with only four implants properly implanted into your jawbone. This technique is excellent for individuals who wish to replace all of their upper or lower teeth but prefer a less intrusive alternative.

Mini Dental Implants:

Mini implants are smaller in diameter than regular implants and are frequently used to support dentures or those with low jawbone density. They require fewer invasive treatments and provide support for detachable dentures.

Finally, understanding the different types of dental implants will allow you to make an informed decision about which option is ideal for your specific dental needs. If you need to replace a single tooth or a whole arch, there is a dental implant option for you. Consult your dentist to determine which type is ideal for restoring your smile and improving your dental health.

For more information read the full blog here :  https://www.dramarnathansdentalcare.com/types-of-dental-implants

[swappetf11]

Undercover Process

The physical and emotional transformation of an FBI agent going undercover is both drastic and deeply affecting. Here’s how the transformation unfolds:

Physical Transformation

1. Hair Transplant Surgery: Initially bald, the agent undergoes hair transplant surgery. This involves harvesting hair from other parts of his body or from donors, and meticulously implanting these hairs onto his scalp. Over several weeks, this hair begins to grow, providing him with a completely new look, featuring long, perhaps wavy hair that starkly contrasts with his previous baldness.

2. Body Enhancements: To fit his new identity, the agent receives body enhancements. This could include muscle implants or liposuction to alter his body shape to better blend into the environment he is infiltrating. These changes are not only visible but are also felt—a constant, new weight and shape to his body that he must grow accustomed to.

3. Tattoos: The addition of tattoos is crucial for his undercover persona. Each tattoo is carefully selected to add depth to his backstory. Perhaps a sleeve of intricate designs that speak to a fictional past, or specific symbols relevant to the group he is infiltrating.

4. Dental Work: His teeth undergo significant changes, maybe through caps, veneers, or even dental implants. This not only alters his smile but also affects his speech and eating habits, adding another layer to his new identity.

Emotional Transformation

As the agent wakes up to his new body, there's a profound emotional journey that accompanies the physical changes:

1. Initial Shock: Upon first seeing his transformed self, there is a moment of disorientation and shock. His reflection in the mirror doesn't align with his internal image of himself, causing a surreal feeling.

2. Acceptance and Adaptation: Gradually, he begins to accept his new appearance. This phase involves a lot of self-relearning as he adjusts to the weight of his new muscles, the feel of hair on his head, and the sight of tattoos that now mark his body.

3. Integration of Identity: An emotional challenge arises as he must integrate these physical changes into his sense of self. He needs to adopt the mannerisms, speech patterns, and behaviors that match his new look, often leading to moments of self-doubt and internal conflict.

4. Complete Transformation: Eventually, as he grows into his role, there is a merging of his old and new selves. The physical changes cease to feel alien, and he begins to think and act as his undercover persona, sometimes struggling to remember where his real persona ends and the undercover one begins.

Title: Underneath the Skin

Chapter 1: Awakening

I awoke with a start, a dull throbbing pain emanating from every corner of my body. The room was dimly lit, the light casting long shadows across the ceiling—a ceiling that wasn't mine. My mind fought through the fog of anesthesia, trying to piece together the remnants of my old self with the pain of the new. My hand instinctively reached for my head, feeling the unfamiliar sensation of stubble where there once was nothing. It was the first sign of my transformation.

The next few days were a blur of white coats, hushed voices, and the incessant beeping of machines. Each morning brought a new kind of discomfort as my body adjusted to its enhancements. Muscles ached in places I didn’t know could ache, the result of surgical enhancements designed to bulk up my previously average physique. My jaw felt tight and sore, a constant reminder of the dental work performed to alter my smile and bite—no longer would I see the familiar teeth that had grinned back at me for decades.

Chapter 2: The New Reflection

The first time I saw myself in the full-length mirror, I didn't recognize the man staring back. He was broader, his hair—though still short—was darker and thicker. Tattoos crawled up his arms, intricate patterns that told stories of a life I had never lived. Each inked line a fictional history etched into my skin, preparing me for the underworld I was about to infiltrate.

I touched the glass, half-expecting it to ripple under my fingertips. But it was solid, as was the stranger before me. My handlers briefed me daily, weaving my backstory into the fabric of my mind. I rehearsed names, places, events—memories that were not mine yet felt increasingly familiar.

Chapter 3: Integration

Living with my new identity was like walking a tightrope. I had to learn how to carry my enhanced body, how to move with the calculated confidence of a man who belonged to the criminal echelons. I practiced my new dialect, my voice slightly deeper due to the dental adjustments, each syllable a conscious effort.

The tattoos became my script, each one a cue for a story I might need to tell. I spent hours crafting tales around each one, my mirror the audience to my one-man show. Slowly, the reflection began to merge with my psyche, and the line between the agent and the persona blurred.

Chapter 4: Complete Transformation

Months passed. The hair on my head grew, flowing into the persona I had adopted. With every new inch, I felt less like the agent who had entered the surgery and more like the character I was meant to play. The emotional transformation was the most disorienting of all. There were moments when I found myself thinking like him—reacting, deciding, and feeling like the man whose identity had been crafted in an FBI lab.

The ultimate test came when I walked into a meeting with the targets of my investigation. They scrutinized me, searching for any sign of deceit. But all they saw was one of their own. The tattoos, the hair, the new physique—it all played its part perfectly.

Chapter 5: Underneath the Skin

As I became entrenched in my role, the fear of losing myself to this character grew. Each night, I looked in the mirror, searching for any trace of the man who had sworn an oath to protect and serve. What stared back was a mix of fabrication and flesh, a hybrid of necessity and invention.

Yet, underneath the skin, the core of the agent remained. It was this core that kept me anchored, a silent whisper of my true purpose amidst the cacophony of my constructed life. In the end, it wasn’t just about surviving the physical transformation but preserving the integrity of the self that lay beneath.

As I continued to play my part, I held onto the hope that when the time came to shed this identity, the man underneath would emerge unscathed, ready to reconcile the fragments of a life paused by duty and disguise.

[wickedsmille]

broken and still breaking

uhhhh, this is a little fic technically titled Angsty McAngst Pants Angst in my notes because Jason goes to his Re-Welcoming/It's A(n Alive) Boy! gala then gets triggered into a PTSD episode of dying which Tim helps him through. It was SUPPOSED to be gen but then they started flirting and bantering so. Welp.

Buyer beware cause I haven't beta'ed this, aforementioned PTSD episode, mild depictions of blood and injuries and what nots.

Alright then *thigh slap*

If it weren’t for the overwhelming feeling of being settled in his own skin, Jason would’ve told Bruce to fuck a cactus for offering to make Jason Peter Todd a real boy again. On principle alone he nearly said no. Besides, creating aliases is fun. James Austen, John Red and, to be nothing if not a mature adult with refined tastes, Dick Dickins. So many others, too. He could get the utilities at a new safehouse hooked up under Stephen Wolfe’s name then turn right around and renew Emmerson Bronte’s license at the downtown DMV.  

See? Being legally dead has allowed him room to express himself creatively in a way that has nothing to do with experimental ammunitions and testing the limits of the human body. One might even say it’s a healthy passtime. Sort of. Relatively speaking, okay. He’s not a perfect person, wouldn’t even dream of entertaining the thought. Not when he’s had so much practice turning the inside of someone’s skull into a modern day Picasso. 

But he’s been trying. Is trying. 

So, rather than testing the integrity of Bruce’s dental implants, Jason bit his cheek so hard it bled, swallowed back every bitter, snide remark dancing along his tongue and nodded tightly. He can’t think about the way Bruce deflated after. How his eyes went soft and the weight of the cape and cowl fully slipped off to reveal an infinitely exhausted but relieved Bruce Wayne, Failed Father Extraordinaire. If Jason does, he might ask himself what it was all for anyway and if any of it really ever mattered. Those kinds of thoughts lead to nothing but self-imposed isolation and self-destruction. 

He’s definitely regretting his decision as his gaze scans over the crowded ballroom of the Grand Hotel in downtown Gotham. A sea of opulence swims below the upper landing he has stalled out on. Men and women stand around in circles, chatting one another with plastic smiles etched into their faces. The sound of faked laughter grates, making his jaw clench and his teeth grind together. Wouldn’t it be just his luck that the food tables are all the across the room.

“Ha, ha, ha. Oh my, this little thing?” a woman simpers loudly at the bottom of the stairs. “Why, it was my mother’s.” She fingers the delicate gold chain around her neck. On the end is a diamond large enough it could feed a family of four in the Alley for a couple years.

A man across from her, entrenched in his own conversation partners, tips his head back and holds his belly as he chortles. “Mr. Campbell, you’re in luck! I have a penthouse in uptown and a condo on the westside and they’re alright but, if you’re looking for a sound investment, I suggest getting a cabin or three in the Northwest. Best decision I ever made!” he says blithely like there aren’t families and children sleeping in their cars because every apartment building is leased up and the list for voucher programs are thousands long.

Jesus fuck, he did not miss this.

Being a Wayne again means he gets the horrific honor of taking a half-step into the limelight. At first, Bruce wanted to do a full spread. Interviews and press conferences, staged sightings by the paparazzi and several welcoming events. Jason promptly shut him down by threatening to find every copy of his adoption papers and burning them. He’d rather chew off his own arm and beat Bruce with the appendage than do any of that. The compromise? A single gala as a re-introduction then Jason could fade into the background once more. 

So long as you don’t cause a scene, Bruce had said sardonically, knowingly. Bastard.

With the implied threat to his privacy, Jason has smartly decided to be on his best behavior. Even though the simple, black suit he’s wearing feels too tight and too hot. Though his hair is stiff from all the product in it. Despite the shiny leather shoes pinching his toes. No matter the way he feels like everyone is staring at him even if they’re not. 

Sure, quite a few of the guests are surreptitiously staring, thinking they’re oh so clever with the way they side-eye him before quickly looking away. They’re subtle, or so they think. It’s not like everyone is facing him, gazes boring into him. He almost thinks that would be better. At least he’d have a good reason to sneer and dip out scot free. Would it really be a scene if he were to loudly trip coming down the stairs? He’ll feign embarrassment at drawing attention to himself if it means he can back out. 

An elbow bumps into his side, making him jolt. Jason’s head whips around, intending to give whoever has invaded his personal space a thorough tongue lashing until he sees Tim. Calm, cool, collected Tim holding two champagne flutes, one held towards Jason. He’s smiling softly with his head tipped to the side in an unspoken question. The gold and white of his corset vest contrast well with the black of the rest of his suit and make the blue-gray of his eyes pop without washing him out. Tim would look right at home if he were down on the floor swimming with the other sharks. Goddamn him for fitting in so well.

“I’ll back you if you want to leave,” Tim tells him. “Due to your violent bout of diarrhea and uncontrollable gas.”

Snatching the offered glass out of Tim’s hand, Jason drains the entire thing in one go. “I hate you,” he murmurs miserably, only partly meaning it. Then he snags Tim’s own glass and downs that as well. 

A thoughtful frown makes its way onto Tim’s face. “I’d be careful. Getting tipsy won’t actually make this any easier to navigate.”

“Stop talking like you know me.”

Tim shrugs amiably. “I might not know you as well as I’d like to but I know them.” 

He inclines his head towards the dodos guffawing over their latest insider trading power plays and gossiping on whose husband is sleeping with which of the help. Or lamenting on how finicky children can be, not realizing their kids aren’t really the problem because they’re capacity for introspection matches the frigidity of their hearts somewhere below absolute zero. Jason tries very hard to not bite and snarl at Tim since he’s one of the blue bloods. Born and bred for the hoity-toity bullshit with a silver spoon shoved so far down his throat he must’ve been gagging on it. 

Tim isn’t like that and never has been, he reminds himself. In fact, for all the ways Jason had to show Tim how to effectively coupon stack and explain why he microwaves his sponges, Tim is as far removed from the vultures and roaches and leeches they’re surrounded with as he could be given his upbringing. For one, Tim isn’t a total douchebag. Unthinking at times and eccentric, but not outright malicious. He can be surprisingly sweet like when he requests Alfred make one of Jason’s favorite foods when he knows Jason will be coming over for dinner or upgrading Jason’s helmet when his own tech know-how fails him without Jason ever needing to ask. 

The guy is a squishy ball of good intentions wrapped in a deceptively tiny package which has never, not once, held him back from putting dusty, crusty board members and hardened, violent crooks in their place. Once he’d had a chance to actually get to know Tim, Jason found himself feeling grateful. Bruce didn’t concede to just anyone stepping into Jason’s pixie boots. At least he went for the best. 

“If you knew me any better you’d have a key to my apartment and a drawer in my dresser,” Jason drawls, steering the conversation away from the swarm of jewels and silks he wants to pretend doesn’t exist.

“I already have a key to your apartment,” Tim points out. 

Rolling his eyes, Jason stuffs his hands in his pockets. “Yeah, but you come over so I can make you buy pizza and kick your ass in Mortal Kombat. Not fucking you into the mattress and making you breakfast in bed after.”

“You never asked, did you?” Tim asks him slyly.

Just about every coherent thought in Jason’s mind fucks off into some deep, dark hole. Leaving him a flustered mess with vague recollections of waking up sticky and wanting. So his witty, top of the line comeback is, “Nope.”

“Eloquent as always,” Tim laughs, patting Jason lightly on the shoulder like he didn’t just break Jason’s brain. “We should get down there before they start chattering about how egregiously anti-social we are.”

All the clamboring what if’s and could be’s get ruthlessly, shamelessly smothered and die a quick and violent end so he can get himself back on task. “I don’t want to,” Jason says petulantly to drive the conversation back to safer, calmer waters.

Now it’s Tim’s turn to roll his eyes. Huffing, he points at Damian to the far left where he’s leaned against a pillar with his arms crossed tightly. “Suck it up. If he can do it, so can you. Now come on.” 

Tim holds out his elbow which Jason bats away with a scowl. He can make his own way down the stairs, thanks. Telling Tim as much, Jason nearly trips over himself when Tim challenges him to put his money where his mouth is. There’s a reason Tim is his favorite because it’s just the thing he needs to unstick his feet and get him moving despite the way his skin prickles the closer they get to the main floor. Although Tim had been joking when he volunteered to escort Jason down, he finds himself wishing he’d taken Tim up on it if only for the grounding comfort of a familiar touch as the smooth soles of his shoes land on the polished floors. 

Graciously, Tim does see him through the crowd to the food tables Jason had been eyeing up. As a kid, they were an oasis. It’s hard for others to talk to you when you’re stuffing your face as fast as you can while chewing as slowly as possible to delay and discourage conversation. Plus, it’s good. A little bland because the chefs have to cater to the tastes of so many, watering down their usual Michelin star flair to a point that probably pains them. But still good in spite of it being pretentious.

Once satisfied Jason can be his own keeper no longer in need of a handler, Tim drifts off. He switches over from the insufferable geek Jason has come to like to the smoothed, glacial veneer of a corporate socialite. The totality of the shift leaves Jason reeling. One thing he’s never understood, no matter how much he puzzled through it and tried to emulate it, is how Bruce and Tim can switch between the two extremes so flawlessly. It’s like trading out coats for them. A flick and a swish then, poof, like magic they’re entirely new people. What that says about their psyches and the inherent fault in their neural wiring is something he shies away from.

Jason tucks in with gusto when an older woman in an inappropriately low cut halter dress and coiffed hair sets her sights on him and starts striding over. With nimble fingers, he loads up the plate his grabs and shoves whatever in his mouth, hoping the age-old trick still works despite being over a foot taller and a hundred pounds heavier. 

Score because it totally does. She wrinkles her nose at his puffed out cheeks and actually sniffs haughtily when he chews purposefully with his mouth open. He even smiles, masticated mush on full display, and waves cheekily. The woman redirects her steps to take her closer to where Dick is holding court about twenty yards out. She joins the gaggle of women and men magnetically drawn in by Dick’s natural charm. He doesn't quite fit like Tim and Bruce do but he has his natural personality to make up the difference.

Unlike Jason. Which he has no problem with. He’ll take himself, authentically cynical and caustic and brutally honest, over being a fake fuck any day. 

The bacon wrapped, maple seared figs don’t settle well as more people attempt to approach him. Even for him, there’s only so much he can eat. Rapidly, he’s reaching his limit. The twisting viper pit turning his stomach inside out isn’t helping his appetite either. So far he’s been successful in warding people off but his stomach flips, signaling his need to find a new method to avoid unwanted advances and carelessly hurtful words. 

Setting his plate aside, Jason casts his gaze out across the crowd once more. Being tall does have its advantages. Like being able to pinpoint where exactly the rest of the family is and relatively what they’re up to. Dick is wholly unaccessible with the amount of attention he’s getting. He can keep the center stage, Jason is trying to move behind the curtains. Bruce is similarly front and center with his own gathered horde so that’s a no go even if he thought he could handle it without fisting Bruce’s collar and dunking him into the champagne fountain in the corner. 

Damian is somewhere. It’s a toss up whether Jason just can’t see the shrimp or he’s faded into the shadows to either eerily stare out at the crowd from a corner or making his way towards a Bat bothole to go on an ill-advised patrol. As helpful as it would be to have Cass, she’s no better handling these things than Jason so Stephanie has been guiding her. Her attempts at bumbling but Stephanie is nothing if not determined and relentless. It’s why Jason likes her even though he hates those qualities, a reflection of his own, weaponized against him. Duke, the lucky duck, got to skip.

Then, there’s Tim. He’s making amiable small talk with a couple to Jason’s left. They’re too far for Jason to make out the words but close enough Jason feels comfortable weaving between bodies to reach him. So what if it makes him needy or weak. Everyone has to take a knee from time to time and he doesn’t need anything more than a temporary crutch to get him through the next hour or two before he can leave without causing a fuss. Tim is crutch-shaped. It makes sense. 

Saddling up to Tim’s side, Jason inserts himself into the conversation. The man speaking stutters, words petering out as he looks up, up, up at Jason. Jason flashes what he hopes passes as a polite smile. He’s not sure it works when the guy recoils minutely. The woman, his wife Jason assumes if the three-figure rock on her finger is anything to go by, gives him a flat grimace he assumes is supposed to be a smile.

“Jason, it’s good to see you. Enjoying the party so far?” Tim asks him, voice level and almost serene.

“It’s a blast,” Jason deadpans, bumping his hip into Tim’s as he shifts his weight from foot to foot.

“It is a fabulous venue,” the woman says. “We were delighted to get the invitation and haven’t been disappointed yet.”

Yet. Goddamn. He forgot just how snippy these people could be. 

“I’ll be sure to pass your praise along to our event planner,” Tim replies so Jason doesn’t immediately make an ass of himself. “By the way, Jason, this is John Anders and Mary Ann Anders. They’re the founders and CEOs of Anders Packaging. Wayne Enterprises is lucky to call them partners.”

“Jason Wayne,” Jason introduces himself. He holds out his hand which John hesitates to take but social norms win out. Jason makes sure to squeeze on the side of too tight and doesn’t stop till John winces. He goes easier on Mary Ann though, maybe he shouldn’t have because she digs her nails into the skin of his hand. “Pleasure to meet you.”

When Tim’s hip bumps into him, Jason reads it as the warning it is so he backs off. Tim takes back the reins of the conversation to steer them away from Jason himself. The transition back to dull, unassuming chatter is easy when Tim is the one leading. The tension from John drains away as he falls under Tim’s spell. Jason does feel some small amount of respect for Mary Ann as he notes she isn’t as enamored with Tim’s performance as her husband is. She gives Jason a shrewd look as if to say I see you both, I’m watching you and, yeah, he kind of likes her and hates that he does. But she probably hates him right back since she has to like him. Or pretend to.

Jason rises to Mary Ann’s challenge when she narrows her eyes at him. It becomes a game where they both adopt an air of cordial confidence whenever Tim and John are looking. Then they cast it aside for suspicion and mutual distaste when the other two aren’t. It’s kind of fun. If Mary Ann doesn’t think so, sucks to suck. Jason has had an entire lifetime of pissing people off by doing nothing but existing to hone his craft of being a nuisance without lifting a finger.

Tim looks at him askance, drawing Jason away from his silent feud with Mary Ann and back to the conversation. 

“I thought it would be fun,” John laments ruefully.

“You’re adventurous,” Mary Ann says as she pats his arm. 

“I suppose so,” John replies, giving her a small, genuine smile. “I certainly have a better appreciation for remodelers! Doing the kitchen in our summer house? Never again! I was trying to knock out the cabinets with a hammer for ages until Mary Ann grabbed me a crowbar.”

Jason’s blood runs cold. He abandons the game with Mary Ann in favor of racking his mind for a graceful, or graceless if necessary, way to leave. 

The mention of a crowbar sinks its hooks into his mind, making it run syrupy slow. Too slow to slink away before John keeps going. 

“Now that did the trick! It still took me an hour but, whoo, let me tell you. That is a workout,” John laughs. The arm he has around Mary Ann’s waist unwinds and he takes a step back to give himself some more room. Then he’s miming swinging his arm back and forth. High above his shoulder then down and across, grunting from the effort and smiling from the humor of it all. “You have to throw your shoulder into it. Really get into it. It was fun!”

John laughs again but it’s not John. Not to Jason. It’s too high, too loud. The sound echoes in his head and amplifies with every reverberation. He would cover his ears if he knew it would do any good but it’s all in his head. Now would be a good time to leave, decorum be damned. But his feet feel rooted to the spot and every muscle is coiled so tight he’s shaking with it and immobile. Jason's hands start trembling as John keeps going. On and on and on about his skill with a crowbar. Proud of himself for it. 

In horror, Jason watches as John’s smile keeps curving and twisting into a rictus grin so wide it should be splitting his face but it isn’t. The white straight line of his teeth shift and dull to a pale yellow while all the color of his skin drains away to an unnatural white. The charcoal gray of his suit bursts into color Purple and green and red. So much red. John’s hand isn’t empty anymore either. Now he’s swinging a real crowbar with the end of the metal dented from where he used it to shatter Jason’s femur and tailbone. 

Jason watches as John as the Joker pummels Jason as Robin right there on the ballroom floor. A deep dark red spreads out across the ground. Jason as Robin screams and pleads. Snot and blood and a broken jaw making it difficult to form words but he knows what he said. He was calling out for Bruce. But Bruce never came and the pool of blood has spread far enough he’s standing in it and Jason can’t do this anymore - 

He’s off like a shot. All the restless, animalistic panic inside him zips through his veins. His chest heaves with the effort to suck in as much air as possible but it’s never enough. There’s nothing but the jagged, wet sound of him breathing and the pounding beat of his pulse in his temples. Maybe someone is yelling his name, too, but it’s muffled like someone is holding his head underwater. The elite, esteemed guests gawk at him as he flies by and he doesn’t understand why they aren’t in a tizzy about the dirty warehouse they’re in. 

When he reaches the door, it isn’t locked with a winding length of chain. His hands scramble to clutch the knob of the door but it opens easily under his hands. Over the din of the crowd behind him, Jason can hear the tick, tick, ticking of the bomb. But the door leads to another warehouse so he sprints to the next door, hopping over the puddle of blood on the concrete. The next door opens without issue but it leads into a small, black hole. Yawning and bottomless and hungry.

“Get out!” someone commands from close behind him.

On instinct, he lashes out but whoever it is isn’t having it. Their arm smacks into his wrist, redirecting his punch. Then there’s hands on his chest, shoving him back and into the void. He expects to be falling endlessly but his ass crashes into the ground, arms buckling from the way he catches himself to keep from toppling over completely. He hasn’t even completely settled on the floor before the darkness is chased away by a bright cascade of light from above. Shadows lurk in the corners, wriggling and writhing like a mass of worms and maggots. 

“Jason, Jason,” someone says urgently. They try again gently, “Jay.”

“I need you to breathe with me,” they say, tone brooking no argument. It’s all a serious, low tone Jason can hear clearly over the he ha, ha, HA in his head. “You need to follow me. Fuck. Okay, okay. Can I touch you?”

He wants to understand who it is crouching next to him but the black spots dancing across his vision, the blurry edges of it, keep him from piecing it together. A hand encircles his wrist and he tries to twist away from it. They’re strong though. Stronger than he thought they’d be. His hand is planted firmly on a plane of smooth, warm fabric. The fingers around his wrist pop lose and disappear completely so he moves his head up until the pads of his fingers brush against skin. 

Then he latches on and squeezes with his teeth bared and all the higher thinking of a cornered wolf spurring him on. 

“J-Jay,” they choke out. “Alright then. Feel that?” 

They draw in a comically large breath around the pressure Jason is putting on their windpipe. The pulse beneath his fingers is thumping hard and quick but controlled. Up and down their throat presses against his hand. Unconsciously, he finds himself mimicking the movement. His focus narrows down to the rhythmic movement of their throat and the stuttering attempts his chest is making to imitate it. 

“Jay,” they say faintly. 

Jason becomes aware of two things immediately. He’s in a spacious store room. It smells like a hodgepodge of herbs and spices co-mingling into something overpoweringly herbaceous. The smell is enough to tickle his nose. Several overhead lights are shining down on the packed shelves of nonperishables and Jason and Tim. Because Tim is there with him, on his knees in front of Jason with his pants rucked up and jacket rumpled. With Jason’s hand around his throat and the pale skin of his face a worrying shade of red.

Like he’s been burned, Jason’s arm snaps back. The dimples from Jason’s fingers fade, leaving red indents sure to turn a nasty purple later. Tim gasps loudly and pitches forward onto his hands. He coughs and sputters, rubs at the tender skin of his throat. Checking for any cartilage damage, Jason realizes.

He did that.

The thought has Jason leaning to the side and emptying the contents of his stomach. It’s disgusting. Everything he ate earlier comes up for an encore but its decidedly less appetizing this time around. The bitter taste on his tongue makes him gag even after he’s done. All he can smell is bile as shame wells up, threatening to muscle everything else out because he was choking Tim. Fuck the food. They can get more food. If he seriously hurt Tim, they can’t get a new Tim. 

“Why didn’t you stop me,” Jason rasps, clearing his throat and spitting it out onto the rest of the mess. Not like it's salvageable anyway. “Why didn’t you stop me?”

Tim looks up at him sharply. He pushes himself back onto his haunches. Defiance draws his shoulders up and back. Out of them all, Tim has never let him get away with shit. The kid spat in his face even after Jason beat him to a pulp. Never once has Tim backed down from Jason’s misdirected anger or shown fear the times they’ve needed to play fight for the villains intent on pitting them against one another. Dick lets his guilt bleed through too much and lets him be lenient with Jason. In contrast, Bruce is as immovable as Tim but where Tim is kind and even sweet at times, Bruce is a complete and utter asshole.

“It worked, didn’t it?” Tim snarks. 

Jason really hates how little Tim values himself sometimes. Especially given Jason’s own high regard of Tim. 

“Never do that again,” Jason orders, whole body quaking with the aftershocks of his episode. PTSD, one doctor had told him. A normal side-effect of The Life, Jason had privately corrected him.  

“LIke to see you try and stop me,” Tim says, cheeky and sharp with a half cocked grin to match. 

This fucking guy.

“Can I hug you now?” Tim asks with a hint of hostility hiding in his tone. 

Jason can appreciate Tim’s innate ability to understand him and all the ways Jason would outright reject him if he were nicer about it. The contrast to Dick’s antsy need to use touch as a comfort is stark and wonderful. Grumbling, Jason nods his head at the nasty puddle of ick next to him. 

Tim rolls his eyes so hard Jason’s surprised they don’t pop right out of his skull. “Oh, yeah, like I don’t deal with worse on a nightly basis.”

“Touche,” Jason mutters. 

He scoots closer to Tim and away from the gross. His palms stay flat on the ground but Tim shuffles to fit himself against Jason, molding them together as he winds his arms around Jason’s neck. One hand buries itself in Jason’s hair. The nails scratching at his scalp break apart the gel in his hair. It kind of hurts but it keeps him present and helps chase away the jittery feeling in his limbs. The other hand splays across the broad expanse of his shoulders. This close, he has no choice but to follow the rise and fall of Tim’s chest so the quickened pace of his breathing slows to normal. 

Jason’s gut says to push Tim away and maybe even kick him in the jaw for daring to touch him. The impulse dies a quick death as warmth spreads out from his center. It’s soft and sweet and gentle. He presses his face hard into the curve of Tim’s neck and breaths in Tim’s overpriced cologne. Although he’s bigger than Tim, he feels protected like nothing can touch him in this bubble of fragility they’ve created. Finally, finally his mind goes blessedly silent and he settles back into his own skin, not the phantom corpse of a boy who lost more than he ever gained and was cut down before he ever really had a chance. 

Shifting, Jason moves so he can wrap his arms around Tim’s torso and cling tightly to the back of his suit jacket. The ribs of the corset vest flex under his hold. Aside from a quiet grunt, Tim doesn’t say anything. To be a shit, Jason makes them flex again. A warning rumble reverberates from Tim’s chest straight down into Jason’s bones, shaking out the cobwebs of memory and making him puff out a breath through his nose in a parody of a laugh. 

“How do you breathe in this thing?” Jason mumbles into the damp skin of Tim’s neck.

“Force of will and spite,” Tim tells him succinctly. 

“Anything for fashion.”

“More like anything to make Mr. Williams as horrendously uncomfortable as possible after he let slip a couple choice words to me at the last gala.”

“Your commitment to pettiness is unrivaled.”

“Have you met yourself?” Tim accuses him incredulously. 

“I don’t have a commitment to pettiness. I am pettiness.”

The sound of Tim’s easy laughter washes over Jason. He can’t help but to join in even if his own is weak and half hearted at best. Things feel less heavy than they did, less inevitable and better. So much better. Tim still hasn’t let him go and he has no intentions of releasing Tim either. 

With the silence comes the realization of what happened and how it must have looked to everyone else. Jason curls into himself, arms tightening around Tim. In an uncharacteristically small voice, he gives life to his uncertainty and shame. “Everyone saw, didn’t they?” he asks. 

Tim shrugs as much as he can in the vice of Jason’s arms. “You were more subtle than you think you were. Nothing a quick cover of explosive diarrhea won’t fix,” Tim tells him lightly. The callback and absurdity of the idea forces a bark of laughter from Jason. More subdued and serious, Tim adds, “Besides, it doesn’t matter. To hell with them. What matters is that you’re okay and everything else we can fix.”

“Trying to say I can’t be fixed?”

Making an irritated noise, Tim bops his head into Jason’s in chastisement. “I’m saying you don’t need to be fixed. You are who you are and we wouldn’t have it any other way. If it means you need more support, we’re happy to give it but you don’t need to be fixed, Jason.”

“Cool it on the soliloquy, Timberly,” Jason teases so he doesn’t start tearing up. “Ain’t nobody wants to hear your bleeding heart.”

“Charming as always,” Tim sighs, resigned, but he still hasn’t let Jason go.

So Jason smothers the poisonous voice in the back of his head whispering about Tim backing away to leave him cold and bereft, mocking him then relaxes entirely in the safe space Tim carved out for Jason between his arms.

[blueiscoool]

Dentist Discovers Human-Like Jawbone and Teeth in a Floor Tile

While touring his parents' recently renovated European home, a dentist spotted something unsettling. Embedded in a travertine floor tile along the hallway leading to the terrace was what appeared to be a human jawbone. Sliced diagonally, the tile revealed a cross-section of several teeth. Uncertain of the proper course of action, the dentist turned to Reddit, where the discovery ignited a frenzy of online interest, ranging from enthusiastic curiosity to sheer disgust.

The discovery has captured the attention of an international team of scientists who are eager to examine the fossil. They believe it could belong to an extinct human ancestor.

"If it turns out to be a fossil hominin, which I think it is, it should be studied and placed in a museum," John Kappelman, an anthropology professor at the University of Texas at Austin who specializes in hominid and hominin origins and evolution, said in an email.

Travertine, a type of limestone commonly used in construction due to its aesthetic appeal and longevity, often forms near mineral springs and can contain fossilized remnants of past life. While plant, algae, and even animal fossils like those of rhinos and giraffes are occasionally found in travertine, human remains are exceptionally rare, as noted by University of Wisconsin paleoanthropologist John Hawks, Forbes reported.

In a blog post titled "How Many Bathrooms Have Neanderthals in the Tile?" Dr. Hawks highlights the uncommon nature of this particular discovery.

"I expect there will be many twists and turns in the story of this jawbone," Mr Hawks wrote. "With some teeth preserved and abundant surrounding rock, I expect that specialists will be able to learn a great deal about the life of this individual and when he or she lived."

The European dentist, who specialises in dental implants, told Forbes that he immediately knew he wasn't just looking at stone tile's natural pattern variations when he saw several teeth staring up at him.

"From my dentist's point of view I had no doubt it was some kind of human," he told Forbes. "The teeth distribution and size of the mandible is characteristic. Also, the width of the cortex is specific to ancient humans."

"I don't think it is Jimmy Hoffa," the dentist joked in a follow-up to his original Reddit post. He said he prefers not to reveal his name, or his parents' location, to protect the family's privacy.

When the dentist spotted a jawbone as part of his parents' home upgrade, he was surprised for a different reason.

It is very, very unusual to find vertebrate fossils in processed travertine tile, and hominin fossils 100 times more so," Kappelman said. "We have only a handful."

Mr Kappelman was part of a team that observed the earliest evidence of tuberculosis etched on 500,000-year-old human skeletal remains discovered by factory workers in Turkey cutting travertine tile for commercial use. The scientists published the findings of their research in 2007 in The American Journal of Physical Anthropology.

[anonpolls]

Thanks, Anon!

-submit your poll!-

[ofallthingsnasty]

been thinkin about mouth inspections at the dentist (with our faves). Isn’t there a way to tell if you’ve given bjs before? Like there’s an indent in the roof of your mouth or something? Since you have experience in dentistry, i thought I might ask💀

Perhaps dentist fave pokes around in your mouth and finds that spot, asking all sorts of gross questions, who’ve you done it with? how many have you given? and then forces you on your knees, explaining the whole time what he’s doing to that spot in your mouth as he brutalizes your throat. Law or Doffy would be the worst for it. Doffy wouldn’t be able to control himself and Law would be so calm and collected, it would be scary

Yes, but only hard and recent blowjobs - there can be petechiae on your palate!! (Think tiny red spots) We don't care, though ajsjjksk and as always THIS IS FICTIONAL OFC I DON'T ENDORSE THIS AJSKKS

The mental image of 'big dick Doflamingo's everything but mostly expensive implants mill'-dental office is sending me. Baby 5 not-so-subtly chewing gum behind her mask while she makes you wait in the chair. Him coming in half an hour late (you've been nervous and sweating the whole damn time and the radio is blasting nothing but shitty early 2010s pop which doesn't help), clearly fresh from some break and not a difficult procedure, showing you just how much he doesn't care about you. He fucking reeks of cologne. Light pink scrubs that fit him so well it's not even funny. Has a weirdly delicate gold chain around his neck that really emphasizes the way his pecs puff up before connecting with his collarbone. It kind of makes you want to fall into his... well, his cleavage. (Because of course he chooses scrubs with a rather unorthodox neckline - who's going to tell him off? He's the boss. Sometimes he comes in wearing polo shirts in that same pink tone and they're always, always a little too tight.)

He throws himself into his little chair so hard it skids right up to you and he just smiles as a greeting, porcelain-white veneers blinding you for a moment, before he puts his mask up (also pink, it's a whole fucking theme here). It's all pretty standard, Baby 5's clearly fake nails clicker-clacker away at the keyboard while he lists off your dental status - until he gets to the soft tissue, especially your palate.

tw. crack treated seriously + noncon = the combo from hell, medical malpractice, Law is in here too, as a separate listing (same tags for him + hypnosis), minors dni, don't take this too seriously i had too much fun writing this it's so silly, dental hypno doesn't work like this don't worry lol

Well, that's certainly an eyebrow raiser. Looks like little old unassuming you has a bit of a wild side. He can tell you know your stuff by how big and angry-red the bruise on your mucosa is. You've been a patient of his for a long time now - and other that the fact that you pretty much look like you're about to faint every time your ass touches the chair, you've been rather forgettable (but cute, he has to admit). He can tell you don't like the way he fingers around your mouth one bit - and that you're waiting for his final evaluation, taut like a bowstring. You're probably pissing your pants at the thought of getting some major work done. He knows your type and nudges his fingers just a little farther down your throat, to your uvula, just to see how trained your gag reflex is (and to keep you anxious for just a few seconds longer, it's just too precious).

You don't even blink. Others would have coughed up their breakfast by now but you're sitting there, eyes teary and face worried. Would you look at that. It's good he's wearing his mask or else you'd be able to see that he's poking out his tongue because he's smiling so hard - you're suddenly in his top ten patients, right next to all the big bucks and two or three genuinely interesting cases. And oh, he's getting ideas with the way you fidget under his gaze. You wouldn't tattle. You wouldn't even fight back. My, you're perfect for a little lunch time fun.

Baby 5 is out of the room with a single gesture, closes the door behind her with a distinctive click. She won't bother him either, she'll just go hide in the break room and text her newest boyfriend until someone scrapes her out of there again. And you? You're already anxiously waiting for his diagnosis, fearing the worst. Oh, he'll give you the worst. It's delicious to see your face go from nervous to absolutely crestfallen as he spins some tall tale about how need to get big work done on two molars, how bad it already is and how you probably should opt for implants (his specialty, after all. And so expensive he just knows you'll do just about anything to save a little money.) Of course, you trust him. And of course, you agree for him to go with the 'best' (and coincidentally most expensive) option, even when you're clearly fighting back tears at the price. He tells you to lay back, brings the chair to the highest, horizontal position and overstretches the neck so that your mouth is in a perfect line with your throat. It's unpleasant how the blood from the rest of your body is cut off from your head in this position, how the whole room is suddenly overhead and that damn light is shining straight into your eyes. It's supposed to give him a better look at your upper teeth - but when you open your eyes to his fucking dick of all things and him telling you that you want that treatment cheap, don't you?, you learn that not everyone has your best interest in mind. (Sadly, you don't even get to answer because he just shoves himself into you and fucks the protest right out of your oesophagus.) When he's done with you, your whole face is full of spit and mucus and you probably lost consciousness at least once - turns out not enough perfusion for your brain coupled with extreme anxiety and someone gripping your throat to fuck it better isn't exactly the healthiest thing in the world.

Honestly, you'll try so hard not to go back after that experience, you really do. Problem is, you gave them your mobile number when you first signed over your data - and just two days later you'll get a barrage of texts in finest text speak anno 2004, with a million of 😜🤞😂🦩 emojis asking you about the state of your throat and if you still want that follow-up. Cheapest set of dental implants you'll ever get, honestly. You only have to sell him your dignity.

Law on the other hand... All prim and proper in starched white, medical professional through and through, yet so gentle - has a whole concept around dental phobic patients, with warm and welcoming treatment rooms, gentle music, offers laughing gas, hypnosis and even general anesthesia if the fear is especially bad. Always professional and never condescending or infanitilizing (like some can be when it comes to phobic patients). He's a dentist, a doctor, the authority in this place but he guides with a gentle hand - and people adore him.

You've been his patient for a while now - and he can't lie, he really likes you. You've been a dream to work with despite your anxiety; have endured every session bravely, you hang onto every word he says with big, wet eyes. He makes a suggestion - you take it. No matter the cost, the time, how outlandish the approach might be, you're always willing, nod your head yes and try to tough it out. You're somewhat soggy, almost whiny but that's okay. It's kind of cute, really. So when he sees those telltale red spots on your palate, he's a little surprised... You come across as so meek while on the chair, it's hard to picture you as anything else outside of it. But clearly, you're either an extremely attentive lover or you're wilder than he thought. Honestly, he's almost pouting over this revelation. Who are you fucking? Even if the sentiment is inappropriate, it should be him - at least that's what his little crush on you whispers to him deep, deep down. He mills over it a little too long, long enough for you to try to speak around his fingers in your mouth - there you go again, asking him (and so politely, too) if there is something, anything? And to his shame, all he can think about is if this is how your tongue feels like when you're using it. The way you slur against his hand, that warm and entirely too inviting mouth so close yet so far - it's giving him some shameful, shameful ideas. What harm is in a little test drive - especially when you've been proven to respond well to hypnosis. He has just enough time to rope you into a little session, as well. So he pulls a face behind the mask and explains that yes, actually, you have a little cavity - a teeny tiny thing that could be filled so easily right now, if you have the time for it. The way you immediately tense up underneath him isn't lost to him. God, you hate surprises, he knows that, and he's being so, so selfish - but it's too late to take back his words now.

He can practically watch the thoughts form in your brain, can see how you valiantly try to fight down the panic over a surprise dental procedure. But, as always, you swallow the lie hook, line and sinker. And when you ask him if he can use hypnosis on you again, he knows he's won this round. It's not ideal - you're already upset over this whole situation and to get you into that relaxed state is going to be a lot of work, but he knows you well enough by now. A sentence here, a soothing word there, gentle encouragement wrapped around it all like a bow - the moment you've let go, he can simply pull his pants down and force himself into your mouth, that's how far away you'll be. Of course, you aren't as active as he wants you to be, but the thrill and novelty of the situation is more than enough for him. The thought of marking you like this, to cum right down you throat without you or the ominous other person fucking you knowing, is more arousing than he'd like to admit. Maybe he has to stroke himself to completion (because your slack lips around him are far from enough) but his orgasm builds up quickly and hits him hard. He can already feel that pesky sense of guilt nagging away at him the moment he collects his breath - but he cleans you up and fixes your rumpled clothes and shoves all those bad feelings into some far away corner of his mind.

Your numb jaw is easily explained away, as is that horrible taste in your mouth - and he did give you a filling, after all, so hey, the lie isn't that bad, right?

(Law totally did his junior time at Doffy's terrible implant money grub mill and then vowed to himself that he'll never ever ever become like that. Well, that kinda sorta didn't work out, huh?)

[wannaeatramyeon]

No no but the question is who payed for Jake‘s teeth implants

Jake Kim x Reader: Dental implants

G/N. Response to other ask in tags heh.

Jake only allowed you to visit him once before he got his implants.

He was already too ashamed at having landed himself in juvie, at dragging you down by association.

And he knows he really shouldn't care about this, but he fears how repulsed you would be by him. By the lack of teeth and the scar, a gruesome outcome of his weakness.

You aren't stupid or naïve enough to expect high spirits when you visit, however you didn't expect to see this shadow of a man. Keeping his lips shut, giving you perfunctory closed-mouth smiles with haunted eyes, fingers subconsciously lifting to his scar every now and then.

.

.

Dental work is expensive and your savings are laughable.

Nevertheless, you approach Jerry to see if there is anything you can do with the street's help. Which is another laughable idea because Big Deal is famous for two things: their passion, and their lack of money.

Jerry's response surprised you. In hindsight you're not sure why; you know you can always depend on him and on the crew.

"Don't worry about it," he gives you an assuring squeeze on the shoulder and a warm smile, "The boys wanted to do something for Jake for his birthday."

It's not your place to deny their kindness, though you couldn't help but feel guilty about them using their own money.

"Oh, they don't have to-"

"Everyone here loves Jake," Including me, including you doesn't need to be said. "We don't do it because we have to, we want to."

[waluigis-biggest-fan]

I am Ahmed Al-Dhani, 14 years old, I was born in Gaza, Palestine, during the 2008 war. My mother was carrying me in her belly, and because of the intense fear and the smell of gunpowder and white phosphorus that the Israeli occupation was firing, I was born with a birth defect. My teeth do not grow, my hair does not grow, and the hair on my body does not grow. I am asking for help so that I can have dental implants and treatment abroad.

Hey there! I’m reaching out to share my story—at 14, I’ve faced challenges with my teeth due to a birth defect caused by the war in Gaza. Your support, no matter how small, can make a huge difference in helping me get the dental implants I need; if you’re able to, please consider sharing or donating my link. Thank you for your kindness!❤️

https://gofund.me/59b1b3f2

.

[thosernotchos]

I am Ahmed Al-Dhani, 14 years old, I was born in Gaza, Palestine, during the 2008 war. My mother was carrying me in her belly, and because of the intense fear and the smell of gunpowder and white phosphorus that the Israeli occupation was firing, I was born with a birth defect. My teeth do not grow, my hair does not grow, and the hair on my body does not grow. I am asking for help so that I can have dental implants and treatment abroad.

Hey there! I’m reaching out to share my story—at 14, I’ve faced challenges with my teeth due to a birth defect caused by the war in Gaza. Your support, no matter how small, can make a huge difference in helping me get the dental implants I need; if you’re able to, please consider sharing or donating my link. Thank you for your kindness!❤️

https://gofund.me/59b1b3f2

To anyone that sees this please share and if you can donate!

[tinidor-theodore]

I am Ahmed Al-Dhani, 14 years old, I was born in Gaza, Palestine, during the 2008 war. My mother was carrying me in her belly, and because of the intense fear and the smell of gunpowder and white phosphorus that the Israeli occupation was firing, I was born with a birth defect. My teeth do not grow, my hair does not grow, and the hair on my body does not grow. I am asking for help so that I can have dental implants and treatment abroad.

Hey there! I’m reaching out to share my story—at 14, I’ve faced challenges with my teeth due to a birth defect caused by the war in Gaza. Your support, no matter how small, can make a huge difference in helping me get the dental implants I need; if you’re able to, please consider sharing or donating my link. Thank you for your kindness!❤️

https://gofund.me/59b1b3f2

https://gofund.me/59b1b3f2

[captain-of-the-roses]

I am Ahmed Al-Dhani, 14 years old, I was born in Gaza, Palestine, during the 2008 war. My mother was carrying me in her belly, and because of the intense fear and the smell of gunpowder and white phosphorus that the Israeli occupation was firing, I was born with a birth defect. My teeth do not grow, my hair does not grow, and the hair on my body does not grow. I am asking for help so that I can have dental implants and treatment abroad.

Hey there! I’m reaching out to share my story—at 14, I’ve faced challenges with my teeth due to a birth defect caused by the war in Gaza. Your support, no matter how small, can make a huge difference in helping me get the dental implants I need; if you’re able to, please consider sharing or donating my link. Thank you for your kindness!❤️

https://gofund.me/59b1b3f2

Unvetted; Donation Protected; RIS from images on the blog seems fine

Please Consider Sharing And Donating

[ladychandraofthemoone]

I am Ahmed Al-Dhani, 14 years old, I was born in Gaza, Palestine, during the 2008 war. My mother was carrying me in her belly, and because of the intense fear and the smell of gunpowder and white phosphorus that the Israeli occupation was firing, I was born with a birth defect. My teeth do not grow, my hair does not grow, and the hair on my body does not grow. I am asking for help so that I can have dental implants and treatment abroad.

Hey there! I’m reaching out to share my story—at 14, I’ve faced challenges with my teeth due to a birth defect caused by the war in Gaza. Your support, no matter how small, can make a huge difference in helping me get the dental implants I need; if you’re able to, please consider sharing or donating my link. Thank you for your kindness!❤️

https://gofund.me/59b1b3f2

!!

[marble-pop]

I am Ahmed Al-Dhani, 14 years old, I was born in Gaza, Palestine, during the 2008 war. My mother was carrying me in her belly, and because of the intense fear and the smell of gunpowder and white phosphorus that the Israeli occupation was firing, I was born with a birth defect. My teeth do not grow, my hair does not grow, and the hair on my body does not grow. I am asking for help so that I can have dental implants and treatment abroad.

Hey there! I’m reaching out to share my story—at 14, I’ve faced challenges with my teeth due to a birth defect caused by the war in Gaza. Your support, no matter how small, can make a huge difference in helping me get the dental implants I need; if you’re able to, please consider sharing or donating my link. Thank you for your kindness!❤️

https://gofund.me/59b1b3f2

please share and donate!

[smilepilled]

I am Ahmed Al-Dhani, 14 years old, I was born in Gaza, Palestine, during the 2008 war. My mother was carrying me in her belly, and because of the intense fear and the smell of gunpowder and white phosphorus that the Israeli occupation was firing, I was born with a birth defect. My teeth do not grow, my hair does not grow, and the hair on my body does not grow. I am asking for help so that I can have dental implants and treatment abroad.

Hey there! I’m reaching out to share my story—at 14, I’ve faced challenges with my teeth due to a birth defect caused by the war in Gaza. Your support, no matter how small, can make a huge difference in helping me get the dental implants I need; if you’re able to, please consider donating or sharing my link. Thank you for your kindness!

https://gofund.me/59b1b3f2

LINK TO THIS CAMPAIGN HERE (LINK) !!!

[Plain Text: The red, white and green bold-font text reads "LINK TO THIS CAMPAIGN HERE (LINK) !!!" — the parts where it says "HERE (LINK)" are hyperlinks, redirecting to this person's campaign.]

[the-mold-under-your-bed123]

I am Ahmed Al-Dhani, 14 years old, I was born in Gaza, Palestine, during the 2008 war. My mother was carrying me in her belly, and because of the intense fear and the smell of gunpowder and white phosphorus that the Israeli occupation was firing, I was born with a birth defect. My teeth do not grow, my hair does not grow, and the hair on my body does not grow. I am asking for help so that I can have dental implants and treatment abroad.

Hey there! I’m reaching out to share my story—at 14, I’ve faced challenges with my teeth due to a birth defect caused by the war in Gaza. Your support, no matter how small, can make a huge difference in helping me get the dental implants I need; if you’re able to, please consider sharing or donating my link. Thank you for your kindness!❤️

https://gofund.me/59b1b3f2

Please share and donate if u can

[ayten-is-living]

I am Ahmed Al-Dhani, 14 years old, I was born in Gaza, Palestine, during the 2008 war. My mother was carrying me in her belly, and because of the intense fear and the smell of gunpowder and white phosphorus that the Israeli occupation was firing, I was born with a birth defect. My teeth do not grow, my hair does not grow, and the hair on my body does not grow. I am asking for help so that I can have dental implants and treatment abroad.

Hey there! I’m reaching out to share my story—at 14, I’ve faced challenges with my teeth due to a birth defect caused by the war in Gaza. Your support, no matter how small, can make a huge difference in helping me get the dental implants I need; if you’re able to, please consider sharing or donating my link. Thank you for your kindness!❤️

https://gofund.me/59b1b3f2

^^^^^^