#toothbrush for implants

[precioussmiles12]

Can I Use an Electric Toothbrush with Dental Implants? The Ultimate Guide by Scottsdale Dentist

Introduction:

Dental implants have become a popular choice for replacing missing teeth, thanks to their durability and natural-looking appearance. However, maintaining oral hygiene with dental implants can be tricky, especially when it comes to choosing the right toothbrush. In this article, we will answer one of the most common questions asked by patients - Can I use an electric toothbrush with dental implants? Our Implant Dentist Scottsdale will provide you with all the information you need to know about dental implant electric toothbrushes, toothbrushes for implants, and how to keep your dental implants in top condition.

What are Dental Implants?

Dental implants are an effective and long-lasting solution for missing teeth. They are artificial tooth roots made of titanium that are surgically placed into the jawbone. Once they fuse with the jawbone, they provide a strong and stable base for replacement teeth. Dental implants Scottsdale can last for many years with proper care and maintenance.

Can I Use an Electric Toothbrush with Dental Implants?

Yes, you can use an electric toothbrush with dental implants. In fact, many dental professionals recommend using an electric toothbrush as they can remove plaque more effectively than manual toothbrushes. However, it is important to use the right type of electric toothbrush and brush head.

Toothbrush for Implants:

When selecting an electric toothbrush for dental implants, it is important to choose one with soft bristles and a small brush head. This will help prevent damage to the gums and the implant. Look for a toothbrush with a pressure sensor that will alert you if you are brushing too hard.

Other Features to Consider:

Some electric toothbrushes come with additional features that may be helpful for implant patients. These include:

• Timers to ensure that you are brushing for the recommended two minutes

• Multiple cleaning modes for different levels of sensitivity

• Bluetooth connectivity to track your brushing habits

Scottsdale Implant Dentist:

To ensure that you are using the right electric toothbrush for your dental implants, it is important to consult with a Scottsdale Dentist. They can provide you with personalized advice and recommendations based on your unique situation. They can also monitor the health of your implants and ensure that they are properly maintained.

FAQs:

Q: Can I use a regular toothbrush with dental implants?

A: Yes, you can use a regular toothbrush with dental implants. However, it's important to choose a toothbrush with soft bristles and to brush gently.

Q: Can I use a water flosser with dental implants?

A: Yes, you can use a water flosser with dental implants. It's an effective way to remove plaque and food particles from hard-to-reach areas.

Q: How often should I replace the brush head of my electric toothbrush?

A: You should replace the brush head of your electric toothbrush every three months or sooner if the bristles become frayed.

Conclusion:

Using an electric toothbrush with dental implants can be an effective way to maintain good oral hygiene. Choose an electric toothbrush with soft bristles, a small brush head, and adjustable speeds. Brush for two minutes twice a day, angle the brush head towards the gum line, and floss regularly. With these tips, you can keep your dental implants healthy and shining. Visit our Dentist Scottsdale for any further questions about dental implants and implant dentistry Scottsdale call (480) 607-0498 today.

[ichverdurstehier]

I hope a communist steals all your toothbrushes for the rest of your life.

Me and my liquor store blues 🎶

[happyteethcare]

Fun Facts in Dental Care: Surprising Insights for a Healthier Smile

Maintaining good dental health is an essential part of overall well-being. While brushing, flossing, and visiting the dentist regularly are well-known practices, there are some lesser-known facts about dental care that can make the topic even more intriguing. In this blog post, we’ll explore fun and surprising facts about dental care that not only enhance your knowledge but can also motivate you…

[capturelifedental]

5 Fun Ways to Teach Your Kid to Brush Their Teeth

5 Fun Ways To Teach Your Kid To Brush Their Teeth

Teaching your kids to brush their teeth can be a daunting task, but it doesn't have to be! 

At Capture Life Dental Care, we believe that making oral hygiene fun and engaging is key to developing good habits that will last a lifetime. 

In this blog, we'll share our top 5 fun ways to teach your kid to brush their teeth, from silly songs to interactive games.

1. The Brushing Boogie

Who says brushing teeth has to be boring? Create a fun and catchy song to sing while your kid brushes their teeth! You can make up your own lyrics or use a popular tune and adapt it to fit the theme. 

For example: "Brush, brush, brush your teeth, get those cavities to retreat!" Singing and dancing while brushing will make the experience more enjoyable and create a positive association with oral hygiene.

2. The Toothbrush Treasure Hunt

Turn brushing teeth into a treasure hunt! Hide your kid's toothbrush in a different spot each day, and give them clues to find it. 

This game not only makes brushing teeth more exciting but also encourages problem-solving and critical thinking. You can even create a treasure map to lead them to the hidden toothbrush!

3. The Brushing Buddy System

Assign a brushing buddy to your kid, such as a stuffed animal or favorite toy. This buddy will "brush" their teeth alongside your kid, making the experience more enjoyable and interactive. You can even create a backstory for the buddy, such as "Mr. Whiskers loves to brush his teeth to keep them strong and healthy!"

4. The Timer Challenge

Make brushing teeth a challenge! Set a timer for the recommended 2 minutes, and challenge your kid to brush every tooth before the timer goes off. 

You can even offer rewards for completing the challenge, such as stickers or small treats. This game teaches your kid the importance of brushing for the full 2 minutes and makes the experience more engaging.

5. The Storytelling Session

Create a story while your kid brushes their teeth, using their imagination to explore different scenarios. 

For example, "You're a brave knight, and your toothbrush is your trusty sword. You must defeat the evil Plaque Dragon and save the kingdom of Healthy Teeth!" This game encourages creativity and makes the brushing experience more enjoyable.

Conclusion

In conclusion, teaching your kid to brush their teeth doesn't have to be a chore. By incorporating fun and interactive elements, you can make oral hygiene a positive and enjoyable experience. 

At Capture Life Dental Care, we're dedicated to helping your kid develop good oral hygiene habits that will last a lifetime. 

Contact us today to schedule a consultation and learn more about our pediatric dental services!

[elioratechnosblog]

Dental Care Products at Kidloo: Dentist-Approved Brushes & Paste

Discover the best dental care for kids at Kidloo! Explore a range of gentle brushes and pastes designed just for children. Shop now for healthy smiles!

[eliorateachno]

Dental Care Products at Kidloo: Dentist-Approved Brushes & Paste

[fitjohns]

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Inside every tablet of "DentiCore" you'll find:

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DON'T MISS HOT DEAL 🤝

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[silence-ofthe-llamas]

More TexAid Mecha AU-AU stuff!

No warnings for once - Vortex doesn't get to mangle anyone. Poor boy...

Also the Combaticon playlist is here; https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3pyBRAuoKYDEpAFaTm9j5j?si=bf63cc6e018d4ab9 It's very nostalgic to me so it was fun to make!

He got what he wanted. He thought. That’s what he was telling himself, at least – he got Vortex to stop fucking killing people.

The pilots uniform sat awkwardly on him. He didn’t have the muscle the other pilots did, the bulk to their frame that made it sit handsomely on them. He’d always been described as a twig of a boy growing up, and he didn’t fill out much as he grew into his skeleton. Stood in front of the mirror, he missed his medics uniform. It really didn’t suit him.

The back of his head hurt. The surgery had been quick – he had a suspicion Pharma didn’t use as much anaesthetic as he should have, he felt every movement of the scalpel, every connection of the nerves. He tried hard to ignore it and not inspect the swollen, angry flesh with his bare hands.

Spiteful bastard. He hadn’t spoken to him since he’d thrust his transfer documentation into his hands. His lips had been pressed tightly together, locking in the words he was desperate to say. First Aid thought it might have had something to do with the fact that Fortress Maximus was right behind him.

The other pilots treated him like a pariah. First Aid supposed that he was – the mech he piloted was reported to be haunted. The aftermath was graphic. He had been tasked with cleaning it, and now he was the next sacrificial lamb. There was no point in breaking bread with him – he’d be a dead man soon enough. Every time he stepped out whole was pure luck – he didn’t have the training, there was no skill involved. It was only a matter of time until the hourglass ran out and he’d be scrubbed from the cracks with a toothbrush like everyone else was.

Lunch was a lonely affair. Dinner was even lonelier. He ate breakfast in his room on his own – a benefit of being a pilot was having your own room, but he wished more than anything that he had a roommate. Someone who would be forced to talk to him, to take the edge off the loneliness.

The only social interaction he had was Vortex, and even that was limited. Nobody liked for anyone to get too close to him unnecessarily, First Aid included – but for fucks sake it was his mech, who were they to tell him that he wasn’t allowed to go near it?

The exception to the apathy was Perceptor. Every time he saw him, the man was studying him from afar like he were an animal at a safari. The confrontation would come soon enough – he had been the only one to notice that he was there that day he’d stolen the uniform. He must have known what he’d done, put the pieces together with ease. It wasn’t hard – he’d caught the medic red handed in the pilots quarters, and then not long after he’d mysteriously been in possession of a pilots suit and had been dragged by the cuff out of Vortex upon return to the Shatterdome. Honestly, it was childs play.

Dinner that evening played out as usual. First Aid sat down as far away as he could from everyone else, and not long after the other occupants of the table started to leave like he was diseased. He poked at his dinner – apparently, pilots received meals that were far more varied and clearly had a bigger budget than the ones served in the medics quarters did, but still pretty dire and bland – and wondered what he’d read that evening. His legs still hurt from training, and as his implants were still healing he wasn’t allowed to get back into his mech yet, so he’d had to ignore the sirens – his name was still popping up on the board of pilots being summoned, and he could see an aura of rage simmering around Vortex every time. He’d made a point to look apologetic at the cameras and vaguely gesture to the back of his head – connecting now would fry him to the point where they’d never connect again. There wouldn’t be enough time in the drop for him to show him everything he wanted to – Vortex would run out of fuel and he’d die of dehydration before they got to the point of being satisfied. He would have to be patient.

A tray clattered down opposite him. First Aid flinched, and looked up in surprise.

Perceptor.

He subtly glanced around them – nobody was paying them any attention. They were in their own bubble of privacy in the crowd, their words obscured by passing conversations.

“Felix Anwyl, correct?”

“Uhm. Yes? Can I help you? Do you require medical assistance?” He grimaced as his training kicked in – the wrong training. He wasn’t allowed to be a medic any more. Pharma had been extremely clear about that.

“I didn’t think you functioned as a medic.” Perceptor sat down opposite him, neatly folding his hands down on top of the table.

“Force of habit.”

“I see.” His eyes were intense, and First Aid felt like a mouse under the gaze of a hawk. Suddenly, he realised why he was the only ultra-long distance pilot.

“I was a big fan of you as a kid. Collected all the trading cards and stuff.”

Perceptor ignored him. “I was curious about what kind of person you were. Sneaking into the pilots quarters, stealing a suit just to get into a mech. At first I thought you were just some gullible young fool who fancied themselves a hero, that you’d bought into the idea of piloting being some glamorous lifestyle, but that’s not quite it, is it?”

“He was killing them.” First Aid quietly replied. He wanted to look away from the eyes that were looking straight through him, but he couldn’t. “He’d made it clear what he wanted, but nobody would listen – I couldn’t stand any more people dying. Just because they’re cadets, doesn’t make it okay to sacrifice them like that.”

“He?”

“Vortex.”

“You’re talking as if it’s actually alive.”

“Haven’t you heard the rumours?” First Aid quirked a brow. “That he’s haunted?”

“Ghosts don’t exist.”

“You’re not very fun.” First Aid poked at his mashed potato. “Fine. Call it the Tamagotchi effect then, or anthropomorphism. I’m not a trained pilot, it’s different for me.”

“Your colleagues aren’t either, but none of them refer to Vortex as a ‘he’.”

“They’re terrified of… them.”

“And you’re not?”

He was, but not for the same reasons. “Not really.” It was like asking him if he was afraid of his reflection.

Perceptor hummed. He turned to his own dinner – he neatly chopped up his sausage with the blunt knives they’d been provided with and chewed carefully. First Aid felt himself fall into a sense of security, thinking it was over, and took a spoonful of his mashed potato.

“How did you learn to pilot, then?” He suddenly asked.

“Huh?”

“You said you’re not a trained pilot, and I know just by looking that you’re telling the truth. You’re a medic. Your clothes still smell of disinfectant and bleach. But the way your mech moves… That’s a fully trained veteran.”

“The AI kind of just… handles it all.” First Aid hoped his expression wasn’t too awful, he felt his face twitching. “I guess with how many pilots he’s had, he’s had plenty of time to memorise it all.”

“I suppose so.”

Perceptor didn’t ask about it again. He pulled out a paper to read, and First Aid had made the mistake of asking him a question about it in attempt to be polite. Thirty minutes later and he was still talking – the words had stopped making sense twenty-five ago.

One lunch time, he’d had enough of the solitary lifestyle he was being forced to lead and the lack of things to do with his hands since Pharma still hadn’t let him back into the medical bay and the brass had caught him running a clinic from his quarters. He grabbed his portion – it looked like it was some kind of soup today – the accompanying bread roll and fruit pot, filled his flask with coffee and marched down the catwalk, sitting himself directly in front of Vortex before popping the lid off and inspecting what the canteen had served that day. It was bright red. Obnoxiously so. He paused and checked the label again.

Yup. That sure was food, alright. Beetroot, beef, pork, assorted vegetables. The good stuff.

… He didn’t know beetroot could get that red.

Vortex’s cockpit popped open with a hiss. First Aid secured the lid back on and hopped on inside.

[WHAT DID YOU GET TODAY?] He asked. For a man without a mouth, he was always curious about what was for lunch.

“I have no idea what it is, but it is bright red.” First Aid replied, sitting down in the pilots seat and popping the lid back off again. He felt Vortex tremble as the cameras zoomed in on it.

[YOU’RE FLIRTING WITH ME NOW <3]

“You know what this is?” First Aid offered it to the camera. “It’s warm.”

[BORSCHT. YOU DON’T KNOW IT? PILOTS GET IT ALL THE TIME.]

“Medics don’t get fed so well.” First Aid made himself comfortable and took a curious sip. “Oh. That’s something.” He pulled a face.

[NOT TO YOUR TASTES?]

“I hate beetroot.” First Aid stuck his tongue out. He poked a lone piece of pork with his spoon. “It infects everything it touches with mud.”

[CHILD.]

“I would say you eat it then, but…”

The helmet loudly dropped, smacking him in the head. First Aid yelped, narrowing his eyes at the camera pointed at him. “Pot calling the kettle black much?”

[I CAN TASTE THROUGH YOU, YOU KNOW. PUT IT ON.]

The connection at the back of his head was mostly healed. It was safe, they could connect without any issues as of his check-up that morning - but he still hesitated. The marks on his arms felt hot.

[WHY THE HESITATION?]

[DON’T YOU WANT ME?]

“I don’t want to get into trouble again. Pilots aren’t meant to connect outside of combat.”

They’d been very clear to him on that. He’d been labelled a risk, a liability - he was abnormally attached to his mech. Swindle was starting to look at him funny - and if Swindle was noticing…

[PUSSY. I JUST WANT YOUR TONGUE. FINE, HOW ABOUT THIS.] The helmet disappeared up and another panel popped open. The service connection - engineers could connect using similar technology on tablets to diagnose issues with the mech faster. This was much more acceptable. [YOU WERE BITCHING ABOUT THAT PANEL IN MY FOOT. WANNA CHECK THEY DID THEIR JOB?]

“You’re so clever.” First Aid praised him. He hopped over with his soup, sitting against the wall as he let Vortex plug himself in. He had braced himself for pain and a jolt, the cleaving of his awareness in two, but it felt smooth as butter. A brush of fingers along the nape of his neck, the pressure of someone leaning on his shoulders and resting their chin on his head.

Vortex.

… That damn panel still wasn’t right.

“Borscht?” Vortex reminded him. He sounded more like a man than a machine now.

Obediently, he took another sip. He felt Vortex tremble as a memory pushed against his awareness, just out of reach - a vague sense of it ran through his fingers. A wooden table, dried sunflowers in a repurposed jug decorated in bright designs, hands that were clean and unmarked by years of self-inflicted hardship.

“Damn, that’s the good shit.”

First Aid had finished the whole bowl before he realised it, riding the wave of Vortex’s reaction. He hiccuped, firmly putting the lid back over the bowl.

“I still don’t get how you like that.”

“More for me. I suppose I have a more refined palette.”

“Didn’t you smoke? You probably couldn’t taste anything.”

“Heh. Excuses excuses~ You sound jealous.”

First Aid pouted. “Do not.”

“Do too. Come on, don’t be shy, I like it when you get a jealous streak.”

“When have I ever been jealous over you!” First Aid squeaked in embarrassment. Vortex rumbled, memories pushed against him - his face twisted in a shape he didn’t recognise when other people were cleaning him, other people were inside and scrubbing. He felt his cheeks warm.

“I was only jealous that they got to go near you.” He couldn’t look at him, he couldn’t look at the cameras that were all trained on him. “That was when I wasn’t allowed - remember? Because you kidnapped me.”

“Kidnap is a strong word. I prefer borrowed for a moment.”

“Thank you for not killing me that day.”

“You’re welcome? I guess?”

“Forgive me - you’re dubbed the blender for a reason.” He popped the lid of his coffee and took a big gulp – it had already started to go cold. It was vaguely lukewarm in a way that made him feel queasy, but he needed the caffeine.

“Black?”

“Americano, yeah.”

“I thought you’d have the sugary shit.”

“I saw what some of the other pilots were putting into their coffee and it scared me off of it, honestly.” He shuddered. “Did you know you can fit thirty three creamer pots into a pilots standard issue water bottle? I didn’t until I saw someone do it.”

“… That’s disgusting. Coffee flavoured cream at that point – just drink it from the carton. Doesn’t the shop here sell flavoured milk?”

“They had flavour syrup in there too.”

“Which one?”

“All of them.”

“Fucking hell.”

Swindle had this godawful idea of pilot interviews. The media were interested, and once the investors had caught wind of that their ears had perked up. Swindle saw coins falling from the sky, and had promptly agreed and cleared his diary. Making them seem more human brought in much more attention, and with attention came money and government contracts and more boots on the ground. It also brought in his favourite thing in the world; unpaid interns. The prestige would be enough of an incentive.

And so First Aid found himself with a docket shoved into his grease-stained hands as he worked on clearing out random debris from Vortex’s right knee – the mechanics were still afraid of him, and First Aid had an idea of what it was supposed to look like in there from when he’d been tasked with extracting a pilots thoracic vertebrae (T4 through to T6 only – he wasn’t sure how they’d even gotten there and he had never asked. The rest of her spine had gone missing), he was doing their job for them. Vortex was doing a stellar job of subtly shifting his plating out of the way to give First Aid better access – it was enough debris that it was pissing him off too.

“What’s this?” First Aid asked, putting it down on the table next to him before reaching back into the joint. He could see something in there, hard and transparent and vaguely blue. It was quintesson hard tissue – he’d have to call the hazard team in. What a pain. He gestured for his visitor to take a step back before reaching in and trying to get a good grip on it so he could tug it free.

No dice. He sighed, knowing he’d need to give Vortex some clear instructions on what he needed but not able to do it with an audience - he had left a walkie talkie up in the cockpit for him, but he knew damn well that it would cause a scene if he started nattering away into it.

So they got his attention instead. They were waiting with impatience thinly veiled with a smile and too-wide eyes. Someone from human resources, maybe? Media? Public relations? He didn’t know. They wouldn’t be hanging around long enough for it to really matter.

“It’s some papers for you to sign. For the interviews. So, you’re not on the interview list, but we did want to get some footage of you with your mech. Is that alright?”

First Aid looked up at Vortex as if expecting him to say something. He blinked at him before he realised he wouldn’t be saying a single whisper, and quickly looked back at them.

“I’m not getting interviewed?”

“Instructions from the big brass!”

“Right.” He wiped his hands down on a dirty rag and shoved it into his belt. “Sure. Fine, I guess. I’m just going to be digging around in his joints – he’s got some quintesson guts in there, so I’ll need hazard around. Is this going on TV? It will give a good show at least, right?”

Their eyes lit up. “Oh, that’s perfect.”

The cameras were obnoxious. The people behind them were worse.

Could you do that again? Can we get this person to do it? Turn your face this way, have your hair like that, take your jacket off, can you try it with your jacket on again but your feet like this?

Real fucking irritating. First Aid wanted them to just get lost. The hard tissue was still in there. Vortex was starting to get annoyed, and nobody wanted to find out how far he was willing to go for some peace and quiet. He’d called the hazard team well before the camera crew had arrived – and they still weren’t there. He could hear the creak in Vortex’s joints, the faint rumbling and vibrations of his systems gearing up, the tremors of plating desperate to move.

Solace came with Swindle, the cavalry marching in behind him. The hazard team. Finally. First Aid quickly scuttled up into the cockpit with a walkie-talkie in hand to play pretend at moving the mech so they could extract the hazardous tissue, covering his eyes to block out the obnoxiously bright flash of their cameras, and wondered if they’d keep his footage in. His parents would worry.

It wasn’t the first time he’d had a twink writhing.

If he still had a body, he’d be doing awful things to that man. His screams would be perfect, so loud and like music to his ears. And he knew that First Aid would have been thanking him, begging him for more through his tears the whole time. It was such a shame that the human body was so fragile. All he wanted was to be able to take him apart and put him back together after he was done so he could do it again. Over and over, until he was nothing more than a husk of a man.

And he would still be thanking him.

If god were real, he must have been smiling down at him for such a gift. If he were capable of love, he thinks that what it might be.

The tragedy was that he was being punished by finding First Aid too late. They should have been two ships passing at sea - Vortex knew that if anyone gained a single inkling of what First Aid was into when they should have, they’d have thrust him into the system to get lost and fade away into obscurity. A footnote on the family tree. That uncle that vanished as a child. Or maybe they’d pretend that he’d never have existed at all. But no, Felix had glided by unassumingly, his good nature and kind face a front, a shield against what was straining against the surface, shining through the cracks and splitting his skin.

Oh, what a joy it was to have him there with him. What fun it had been to watch him, to study him. The moment he’d seen First Aid chew his bottom lip, core temperature rising as he stared at the disembowelled remains of the first pilot he’d been tasked to excavate from him, he knew he had to have him.

He also knew this should have been working him up. He should have been whipped into a frenzy, unable to contain himself - but lacking any appropriate organ to produce any of the hormonal response that pushed him over the edge, Vortex was left feeling vaguely hollow and empty.

It really, really pissed him off.

Why had they kept him alive if they were just going to waste him like this? It was torture. It was the worst thing he could ever think of.

And it was, annoyingly, the perfect punishment. He’d begrudgingly give those researchers that – they’d achieved their goals on that front. Creative ways to stretch out death row, Vortex had called it at the time. If you asked him now, he’d say that they just gave him a bigger body to create a wonderful slaughter with, but the anger at the situation would be simmering beneath the surface. It was fun popping someone like a grape, but he couldn’t hear their breath whistling out from what remained of their thorax any more.

All he could do all day in between waiting for fights and splitting alien life forms in half with his bare hands was nose around at the cameras and browse the internet.

For such a high security base, their internet security was pathetic. A couple days of poking around at it and he’d been in, briefly toying with the idea of taking down the base and watching them scramble around like the ants they were, before instead heading over to YouTube and seeing if there was anything worth catching up on.

The news announcements about him and his teams deaths had been amusing. Very, very amusing.

But today, he settled on the cameras. He had fun games he’d made to entertain himself with, creating false stories and dramas – he’d spent a lot of time whilst he was still alive figuring out peoples brains, what made them tick, how to get them to tell you exactly what you wanted without them noticing they were even doing it, so he considered his fantasies to be gospel – and looking for people.

He’d always hunted down First Aid. The man had just the cutest face, and he wanted to see how many different expressions he could make. The bad ones, the good ones, the really good ones – god above, especially the really good ones – everything. It was a fun game to catalogue them all, to guess what had been said or done to him to make him look like that. Thinking of ways to replicate it. He wanted him to look at him like that. He wanted him to just look at him.

It had only been a few weeks and already First Aid was as obsessed with him as he was. Mutual obsession was always the best. Matching the energy was so much more fun than watching them tremble and cry knowing they’d just make the bad kind of fucking mess.

The man was excitedly asking Vortex if he’d seen that, preening at something he’d done on the field, eyes sparkling and wide. Looking at him, you’d have been forgiven for thinking he was talking about seeing something as marvellous as a pod of whales arching out of the water instead of the pristine harvest of an alien organ that he was actually talking about. If he were a dog, his tail would be wagging hard enough to sprain.

God, he wanted to make him his.

He wouldn’t share. He couldn’t. He’d never been any good at it.

First Aid even came to eat lunch with him. Vortex had called him ‘some kind of loser’ the third time he’d done it, and First Aid had looked like such a kicked puppy he’d never done it again.

He’d thought about it, but he wouldn’t. He’d promised, and his little man had made it clear how highly he valued promises. It wouldn’t do to upset him, he’d grown rather attached.

And having something to do that involved someone else for once wasn’t actually half bad.

Being interred into a mech was a strangely lonely existence. His snippets of social interaction had come in the form of the human sacrifices they’d offered up to him, cocky and overzealous and never recognising that they were sat in his jaws and ready to be consumed. He would never ever admit it, but having First Aid there to actually speak to was… nice. It was a break from the monotony of pushing IT’s buttons and seeing how ruffled he could get the brass to be in just a single sentence.

He hated being forced to stay still. He’d had practice at it, sure - their line of work didn’t come without its fair share of hazards and they were no strangers to bed rest. Fuck, the longest he’d had to entertain himself was when he’d been on the bad end of a grenade - Brawl had tugged him out of the wreckage missing a healthy chunk of his face, blood pulsing down in a fiery heat he didn’t soon forget. His poor handsome looks had been destroyed in an instant - at least the nurses had been nice to him. If it was because they were scared of him or if it was because Swindle was paying them handsomely he didn’t know and he didn’t particularly care - it had the same result. Endless telenovelas in a language he didn’t understand, with a TV he wasn’t able to adjust. He woke up to the opening jingles, and he fell asleep to the ending songs.

He took having to find his own entertainment over that. At least he could set the language.

And today’s entertainment: watching Swindle.

It was weird watching him from cameras. Usually it was the other way around - Swindle would work his way up into their security rooms and then watch the rest of them from the cameras, guiding them around and warning them of any danger. Instead, he was a silent witness, watching his every move. He was on his phone, nattering away into it as he walked with his coffee. A fun game Vortex liked to play was voicing over him - the cameras didn’t come with any audio, so he was left to fill the blanks.

He paused when he saw his mouth clearly form the word ‘Felix’.

Huh. What did Swindle have to say about him? Good things, Vortex hoped. They were more alike than Swindle ever liked to admit - surely he had to see the beauty in First Aid too. But actually - he hoped he didn’t. First Aid was his. He found him, he had done all the hard work. Felix wasn’t someone he was going to share. He’d do what it took to keep him forever.

[arctic-hands]

I'm am BEGGING you if you're chronically ill or disabled or always exhausted or mentally ill, PLEASE do all you can to brush your teeth every day. Switch to disposable sponge brushes if the texture of even soft toothbrushes are sensory hell. Ask someone to help you if you can't move your arms. Keep an ear out for free or visiting dental care if you can't get dental insurance. Do the bare minimum of brushing your teeth, even if you don't have the stamina to floss after or can't tolerate mouthwash. If you can't stick to a routine then brush your teeth as soon as you remember, no matter the time of day. Keep your toothbrush visible in your bathroom so you remember it's there as you wash your hands. Keep a pack of one-time disposable brushes by your bedside if you're too fatigued or depressed to leave your bed or room. Just find SOME WAY to keep your teeth intact.

Once you lose your adult teeth, that's it they're gone forever. I spent almost my entire life too apathetic or too tired to take proper and consistent care of my teeth, and not even counting my infected and impacted wisdom teeth, I've already had one regular tooth completely removed because it was excruciatingly infected and my meager dental coverage wouldn't cover a two THOUSAND dollar root canal, and now I've got a shattered tooth on the other side with crumbling remains that periodically get infected and I'm going to have to have what left of the roots extracted too. And because of my neurological condition and my intestinal diseases necessitating frequent MRIs/MREs, I can't get dental implants because they use metal screws. I'm only thirty-one and at this rate I'm looking at dentures before I'm fifty.

I know the future often seems bleak for people like us so sometimes it feels liberating to not care about the future or take care of ourselves to see it, but the future IS coming, you WILL find a way to stick around for it, and you ARE going to want your teeth as you make it that far and further.

[giggly-toybox]

Franky tickle headcanons

hello everyone! this is a request from the lovely @aceofspades-doodles, whos ask was unfortunately eaten by tumblr so I’m so sorry that this is so late 😭 I hope you like them and I hope you feel better soon! I’m so happy to be your friend <3

I honestly see him as just a ler

it’s not like he’s not ticklish anywhere, it’s just that he’s so big he’s…hard to catch off guard

and he’s a cyborg so most of him is metal

the only people I see being able to get away with is is Robin and Luffy due to their devil fruits

I say his most ticklish spot is his neck or his chin/jawline

his laugh is pretty deep, but it’s also light too if that makes sense?

a VERY goofy ler, he’s one of those who enjoys verbally teasing you

“What’s so funny huh. Why are you laughing so much?”

Being what he is, he has a lot of different tools at his fingertips

usually he’ll just use his fingers, but sometimes he’ll implant feathers or electric toothbrushes in his hands

He does care a lot about his friends, so if you ask him to stop he will

He doesn’t want to push you too far

he also won’t judge you if he finds out you actually like it

he thinks it’s suuuuper!

[felinefaytale2]

Last week Mom had a very low heart rate while having physical therapy. This led to a lovely 5 star priced hospital stay. This vacation extravaganza came with an excursion to the surgical wing where she received a lovely MICRA pacemaker. I assume it's lovely, you can't really see it. They really should offer you the opportunity to get a tattoo of the item implanted so you can show it off. I'll mention it to patient services when they ask us to fill out the resort survey.

Just like any other luxury resort stay, you get an assortment of parting gifts - toothbrush, toothpaste, mouthwash, lovely colorful non-skid socks (bright yellow!) And this last week had a special souvinier offering. - Covid!

Champaign wishes and caviar dreams!

[inyri]

hey, about your kiddo with the cavities. Genuinely that can happen for any number of reasons, don't feel bad. You can do various preventive things for it but there cash be anything from their individual mouth chemistry to genetics going on. You're an awesome parent just for bringing them in on time! you'd be shocked how many people don't even do that. source: family in dental.

Thank you (and @jadesabre301 and everyone else who indulged my mom guilt pity party) for the kind words :)

My background’s also in medicine, of course, so rationally I know Q probably just inherited her dad’s teeth/saliva chemistry/bad dental luck. I had a lot of orthodontia but no cavities until I suddenly needed a root canal in my late 30s- and even that wasn’t from a cavity, apparently- but my poor husband’s got a mouth full of dental implants after a lifetime of bad teeth.

I do watch her more closely now with brushing, but it’ll be what it is- thankfully I think the experience was Not Fun enough that she understands better WHY we fuss at her so much about toothbrushing now…

[elioratechnosblog]

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[juanabaloo]

So without getting into what a garbage bag of a human Elon Musk is, and also how he isn't smart, doesn't have an engineering degree, isn't an inventor, etc etc...

i see the headline that his neuralink brain chip has been implanted into the first human brain. (NPR) (Al Jazeera)

OK and without getting into the dodgy ethics of this even apart from all the dead monkeys, like a LOT of dead monkeys... (like holy shit it's at least 12 monkeys and over 1,500 animals including sheep, pigs, and monkeys) (like OMG HOLY SHIT they don't even keep precise records on the numbers of animals tested and killed?? this is monstrously immoral) (source)

left unchecked i worry this is going to end like Dollhouse. (a 15 year old TV series you should watch, which doesn't have any monkeys) and why is Musk doing all this? that answer is in The Fall of the House of Usher (a recent streaming series you should watch, although there are definitely monkeys in it).

(semi related on the recommendation of my dentist i bought an electric toothbrush. damn thing wants to be bluetooth paired to its app. an app!! it's a fucking toothbrush it doesn't need to be connected to jack shit.)

anyways, everything Musk touches goes to shit (or goes up in flames) so even if there was some timeline where this is a good use of technology and it helps people - he's going to run the company poorly and it will hurt people. just like it's already hurt a ton of animals. where is the independent verification of their claims that the human is "recovering well?" where is the oversight? JFC

[stevenbasic]

GITJ Post 318: Anderson and the Thugs

“Many men seemed ready to give us control. Many were just confused, or ignorant. But I had heard about others.” - Lakshmi Vallurupalli

…

“These simps are just as big a problem as the bitches,” grunted the buzz-cut ex-coast guard Petty Officer as he pushed aside the phone, the picture he was being shown, and went back to cleaning the tip of his firearm with what looked like an olive-green toothbrush, “fawning over these chicks…”

“...Voting for them, letting them do whatever the hell they want,” agreed the gray man holding the phone, sitting alongside on the threadbare couch in the basement of hi-…well, his wife’s family’s…home. He, also, had been working on a rifle, one of the half-dozen or so he’d started to amass in his downstairs armory. She liked to call it his “Man Cave” but haha she had no clue what they were doing, what they were planning. It was currently “Headquarters” or, as Buzzcut would call it, “HQ”. It had everything they needed: lots of room for physical training, internet, a lockable storage area, a separate entrance. And yeah okay a bar and a leather couch and some Bears posters. But it wasn’t just a man cave anymore. This was HQ for Resistance Cell IL5. The gray man took one last glance at the Senator-elect from California’s ass and put the phone away.

In the meantime, Anderson stood, awkwardly, over by the pool table. He’d only just arrived tonight, after spending the past week “on the run”, moving from location to location, sleeping where he could, laying low in case they were after him. He knew he wasn’t safe at his home any longer; his sister Mary Jane was onto him, and had been trying to lure him back. Life had become hard, he was hungry and exhausted, but the Resistance needed him! After some effort, he’d been able to secure a place to stay, here in the basement of a fellow malcontent/freedom fighter with whom he’d been in contact on the forums. He’d been used to living in a basement, so this would be fine even if it did smell like cat pee.

Boxes of what he figured was ammunition lay aside the scattered billiard balls, along with several greasy takeout bags from The Meat Shack and a pile of laundry. Ned apparently always asked to do laundry, when he came over for meetings.

“NED!! WOULD YOU TURN THAT GODDAMN VIDEO GAME OFF?!?” shouted Buzzcut, “We need to talk strategy!!”

Both Anderson and the fifth member of their little group, a tall, rail-thin man of sunken cheeks, nervous eyes and a full mustache, jumped at Buzzcut’s shout. The grey man on the couch barely flinched - he was more concerned about disturbing his wife upstairs, who had work in the morning. Ned - a large, poorly-shaven lump of male sunk into a huge beanbag chair in front of a huge TV screen - didn’t seem to hear anything at all.

“Get him off that thing,” Buzzcut instructed Mustache, obviously irritated but setting down his M40 gingerly. 

After a polite request, a more insistent nudge and then a slap to the side of the head, Ned was finally pulled from his game - which, he claimed, was actually training for when they finally got pulled into action….shooting chicks would be just like shooting vampires or whatever it was he was doing. The television was changed to one of the 24-hour news stations, at which Buzzcut scoffed, and Ned awkwardly twisted his impressive bulk in his beanbag to face the others. Maybe it was Ned that smelled like cat pee?

The five of them discussed what had recently become the chatter on the resistance forums. Buzzcut voiced it himself, here: now that the elections were over, would something else happen to them? Would these implants they’d all been somehow infected with suddenly activate in some new way?

“It’s not implants, I tell you,” insisted the gray man. Buzzcut was good at karate or jujitsu or whatever it was, but he was an idiot about a lot of things, “It’s some kind of virus.”

“I actually think it’s something called a prion,” Anderson spoke up, trying to sound a little less mousy amidst all this testosterone, “the European cells have people th-”

“Wait wait hold up,” Buzzcut stopped him with a raised hand, turning to the television, “We should listen to these cunts…”

The news commentator, a man of unfortunate facial hair, was interviewing a sitting Senator, the woman from New Mexico who all five men knew to be on the Resistance’s ever-growing “list”. She was a handsome, severe woman, and though he seemed obsequious to her she still did not seem to be suffering the fool’s questions lightly. She was taking the airtime opportunity to laud her gender’s new victories, and announce her switch of parties, from Republican to New Woman.

“They’re going to fucking run everything, aren’t they?” Buzzcut grumbled, again picking up and doing something to his firearm.

“Seems that way,” Gray answered, as the Senator continued to speak, “I mean, even before the election, the House and Senate were fucking majority women, but at least they were two different parties. They still fought, like they always did, right?”

“Yeah,” Ned grunted. He’d picked up his fully kitted-out AR-15 and was looking down the barrel.

“But now, all these goddamn women - Senators, Representatives, Democrats, Republicans - they’re all switching parties to New Woman,” Gray continued.

“Like this broad here,” Buzzcut growled, pointing his rifle at the television, “I’ve been hearing about it all day.”

“So even before these new people get sworn in, New Woman is going to have a majority in the House and Senate. They have it already, as of today,” Gray explained, “and when the incoming new electees take office in January, they’ll have overwhelming supermajorities.” It all sort of made Anderson’s head spin; it was happening so fast, just like they’d all feared. It was one thing to predict it, rant about the possibilities. Now that it was here, and things were going down, it was getting, uh, scary. Some people in the movement had gone quiet over these past twenty four hours, others had seemed newly aggrieved and energized, finally called into action. 

“Fucking cunts,” Buzzcutt muttered. 

“They can get some legislation started now, these changes we know they want to make,” the man on the couch continued, “but who knows what they’ll be able to do next year when they have total and absolute control of both houses?”

“And they've got the Presidency, too,” Anderson interjected, as if the group needed reminding that that blonde soccer-mom fitness-chick self-help guru from North Carolina had won in a landslide. 

“Exactly,” Gray agreed, picking up his rifle again and caressing the stock, “they’ve got both the fucking Legislative and Executive Branch. The Judicial Branch…” He looked around; were these people getting it? Ned looked particularly flummoxed. “Like, the court system?” Gray knew that the Supreme Court was already more than fifty-fifty female, and that the men on it were either all very elderly or had been struck strangely frail with recent illness. New appointees would be in the hands of the new Administration, and the lower courts would likely soon follow the Supreme Court into a female-dominated system. It was too complex to explain to these morons here and now, but Jesus these women had it all planned out, didn’t they?!?

“Do you boys want cookies?” came a voice from the top of the basement stairs, “I just made some!”

“Honey n-n-n-not now!” Gray screamed out.

“Okay sweetie I’ll leave them up on the counter if you change your mind!” the woman called, “Have fun with your friends I’m going to bed love you!”

“G-g-g-go to b-b-b-bed!” he yelled. 

Ned and Buzzcut began to laugh. “A-a-a-a-are yuh-you sh-sh-shure?  Y-you c-can h-have muh-milk and c-c-c-cookies?” Buzzcut jided his couchmate, who tended to stutter when speaking to his wife. 

“Yeah you can suck it from her tits,” added Ned, strangely, in his incongruously high voice.

“Don’t joke about that sort of thing,” Anderson muttered, in a quiet aside, horrifying images of what he’d seen at home flashing through his brain. 

Buzzcut was maybe the only one who heard him, and cocked an eyebrow his way but then turning to address Mustache. “Speaking of, we need to know more about this clinical site, this chick in charge - Monroe, is it?”

“Melissa,” added Anderson, feeling his throat tighten. He couldn’t believe they were talking about her, the girl that’d been a really cute freshman, and then THE hot sophomore during his miserable senior year at xxx High. 

“Whatever,” Buzzcut said, addressing Mustache again, “Any more info? You said she’s putting in a pool? In the basement? Hiring more girls?”

Mustache straightened, and brought a nervous comb of fingers through his greasy hair. He’d been working on a construction crew, revamping an office building on the outskirts of the city, and when he’d been told to reach out to and sign up with this group of guys who seemed to think there was some sort of worldwide chick-conspiracy, he was surprised how eagerly they’d taken him in. He was a valuable guy to them, but in his recent state he was a bag of nerves. “Uh….” he stammered. 

“She’s been doing this since high school, I know that,” Anderson interjected, “assembling girls around her, a squad…”

“Uhhh….” Mustache began again, images of the women who’d haunted his dreams and filled his every waking moment with their overwhelming tits ever since…when was it…that party? His memories of these past few weeks were really hazy, to say the least. 

“And now,” Anderson continued, seeing as Mustache was still struggling to find his words, “it sounds like she’s getting her hooks into her boss, the doctor at th-“

“Yeah you’d said that,” Gray stopped him, “And what are you thinking? Can we still get him as another inside guy?”

“I think he’s too brainwashed,” Mustache suddenly spoke up, blurting out what he didn’t know was maybe too much information. Things were so confusing, and he secretly wished he was back at work where it smelled better. 

“Brainwashed, huh?” grumbled Buzzcut, “He’s been compromised? We should do something about that.”

“I..I think he could still be an asset,” Anderson added, nervous that violence was being insinuated, “I’ve been in communication through secure email, and he seems receptive to listening…” He’s actually been ignoring me recently. “I think if we send him some support, reach out to him. There’s two people on the forum who are attorneys who s-“

“Lawyers,” Buzzcut scoffed, echoed by Gray, “I say we go in with guns. He’d listen then.”

“Yeah,” chuckled Ned. 

There was, suddenly, the staccato of rapping on the basement door, the one through which they’d all entered, the one which led to the backyard. 

“Speaking of guns, sounds like the grunts are here,” Buzzcut announced, standing up from the couch as a cocky, satisfied grin stretched across his clean-shaven face. “You turds ready for some Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu?”

============================

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[volpestarks]

V Sato

> Born in Osaka, Japan.

> Raised in NUSA

> Can probably silently hack and kill you with a sonic toothbrush but can’t shoot a gun straight if his life depended on it

> Not a self taught netrunner at all, Actually had a full on education as a programmer after being selected for the Programme by Corp. he’s exceptionally skilled at what he does but secretly always just wanted to design/ engineer motorcycles

> Had a garage with a grand total of 19 motorcycles from all periods known to Man before this was taken away from him along with everything else

> uncle (his only remaining family alive) pushed V to take up traditional martial arts when he was a kid and lived in Osaka

>This resulted in exceptional hand-to-hand combat at present day V but absolutely atrocious gun skill

> A cat person

> Absolutely a Cat Person.

> Pancakes are his favorite food, but he would absolutely never admit to this. Pretends to eat healthy.

> Thinks he knows who his parents were but is in reality a test tube experiment commissioned by one multimillionaire Arasaka corporate

> Cyberpunk’s OWN “MIRANDA LAWSON” 🌚🤔 , if you will

> had an implant of memories that never truly belonged to him

> there’s an entire Backstory pre-CP2077 events that involves him uncovering the truth and learning to come to terms with it

> yes he found out who his “Father” /donor/ original human whose DNA he possesses / is essentially a clone of was

> take two guesses how that turned out