#dental pain is starting to subside can i have a stupid moment

[candyunicornsateme]

anyone else like. like think how intense kysterion could be because like. Kyle could get really invested if not stubborn about doing what he feels is right/helpful and like. they could end up in super dangerous situations. and then barely make it out and be riding an insane adrenaline rush and then where’s all that energy gonna go???

[thesleepiestspiny]

Tempered

 You heard this was the right place. The place people go to for very specific surgeries, nestled in an alley that seemed to exist in most cities in the area, no immediate signage aside from the weirdly hot-pink frame of the door. You tug the hem of your dress down anxiously and take as deep a breath as you can manage before stepping up to the dark red door and push it inward.

It doesn't budge.

 Supid, stupid, girl, you curse to yourself. You pray no one notices as you pull it open and walk inside. The interior is... much the same color as the door. Varying shades of burgondy and crimson. Not dark enough to look like blood, but certainly evocative of it. Not bright enough to sting the eyes, but certainly towing that line. The person at the desk is busy with the printer, but she does acknowledge your presence. "Good evening, miss." she says without looking up, nodding just enough to cause her orange hair to cascade against her shoulders. "Are you here to schedule an appointment?"

"I'm-... I called here a few days ago, actually. I'm here to see a Doctor-"

"-Ah! Doctor Afton, yes."

 As her memory of your voice surfaces, you notice something shift beneath her hair before she swivels her chair towards you to let the pages print off. It becomes immediately apparent to you that she's clearly had a bit of work done here. She pins her hair behind two long, pointed mildly swiveling ears and stares at you with all six eyes, a brief but noticeable pause in what she was doing before she looks back down into her hand and places a clipboard and pen on the desk to sign in with. "Ehm, once you've this filled out, you'll be called in shortly."

 And so you nod, signing the paper with your somewhat shaky chickenscratch and sit down. As you do, you can feel the receptionist's eyes... staring at you, into you, very expectantly. God it feels like the extra eyes are giving her access to exactly how ugly you are, with the brief flash of a smile you catch from outside your peripheral vision hinting she found you amusing on some level only she can truly process. Your penmanship begins to waver near the end from the discomfort of the glare, but it's at least readable. She takes the board and nods as she motions to the small waiting area. There are magazines and pamphlets, but you don't bother to look; the mags are either old or disinteresting tabloids, and you practically memorized the pamphlet when you stumbled across it in the street one day.

 Darkside Aesthetics Clinic. A name more suited for a tattoo parlor than a plastic surgeon. A place that promises an in-and-out in a day guarantee despite even the most extensive of operations. According to what testimonials you could find, they even live up to it. Doctor Harold Afton was said to be one of several people on staff, with his specialty being cases like yours. Not knowing what you want, but knowing you want it, and that it was better than what you had now.

 As you begin to ponder, you hear a door open. You look up to see... a relatively normal man, albeit in something that looked equal part like a surgeon's scrubs and a long robe fitting a religious official. Off kilter, yeah, but surprisingly normal compared to the receptionist.

At least, until you realized you didn't hear shoes, or footsteps of any kind, as he stepped forward. And that you couldn't... really get a good bead on his face. You recognized eyes, a nose, mouth and ears but you couldn't describe exactly how they looked if they tried. It was like he existed in a dream.

"Ah, you must be Ms. Andrews." he says in a low, but almost disarming voice as he offers his hand. You stand up, staggering just a tad from how fast you'd done it, and shake as you say hello. Dear god, his hand feels cold. "Come with me, and i'll talk you through the procedure."

With a hasty 'okay', you follow him into the back. The moment you cross the treshold of the door, you feel your hair stand up on end. All of it, but your own thought processes draw your attention to the hairs on your legs. You always kinda hated thinking about it. The main reason you wore a dress was because it didn't rub up against your legs as much.

"As you saw in the pamphlet, we operate on a very quick schedule, but there is more to discuss past that," the doctor began. "Based on the plan you've scheduled, we may need to keep you for an hour or two for acclimation." 'Acclimation?', you pondered aloud. "Yes. The scale of the changes you've talked to us about seem as if they'll require time to adjust to, and to double check and make sure everything is in order. Weight redistribution can be taxing on the body."

You laugh nervously and nod. Of course.

 The man leads you into the room, looking not unlike a typical hospital patient's room, with a desk, a couple chairs, and a padded bed... chair contraption to lay in. You cannot help but notice, however, that there was a very large bookcase in the corner. next to the medical supplies cabinet, and an ovoid, elaborately-framed fullbody mirror. Dr. Afton pointed towards a folded pile of fabric on the examination bench. "I'll need you to change into those. Knock on the door again when you're ready and i'll come back in to begin."

 You nod to confirm, and he leaves, the only sound he makes being the closing of the door. You take a deep, deep breath as you get yourself into the hospital gown. Despite your best efforts, however, your eyes remain fixed on the mirror for a few minutes. Every time you passed by one, you always, always, felt ill thinking about the trouble people have given you over this body. Noticeably chubby, pearshaped as you've heard yourself described in passing, with visible hair along the arms and legs. If they weren't audibly disgusted, they were usually unbearably disgusting. It just, wore you down over the years. Made you feel small and terrified of other people. You manage to shake off the transfixation on the mirror and finish getting dressed in the gown. You take a second to remember to knock.

 The doctor enters the room again, quiet as a mouse if you hadn't been looking at the door. He motions for you to lay down on the examination bed. Part of you comprehends part of what this is going to require and hesitates for a second, but you do as instructed and tried to mentally prepare yourself for the next step. Dr. Afton glides over to the bookshelf and searches through books until he pulls a specific one from the shelf, and then opens a cabinet on the lower level of the desk. Out comes an air tank, mask, and what appeared to be a heartrate monitor. As he places the monitor's reader on your wrist and turns it on, his next question takes you off guard.

"Now then, would you rather be awake or unconscious for this?"

That. Was a very distressing question to get from a surgeon. And the monitor illustrates that very well as your heartrate goes up.

"You'll still be anesthetized of course! Just think of it more like a dentist's appointment compared to more elaborate procedure in your average clinic."

Less awkward. Kinda. Part of you wants to go under and get it all over with, but the weird adrenal rush has gotten the better of you.

'I'd rather be awake' you tell him.

He smiles, and hands you the mask, hose affixed. "Understood, miss. I'll use a lower dosage." You put on the air mask, and as you hear a hissing noise, you take a deep breath. Your head gets a bit cloudy, but it doesn't worry you. You've gotten dental work done before. You feel a chuckle escape your mouth reflecting back on that visit.

"Alright, Miss Andrews, keep your legs straight, and your arms towards the closest corners of the room."

 You nod, chuckling a bit again, and do as he wishes. With that, he opens the book and thumbs through it. It's kinda weird that the book is a major part of this, but you're not in the headspace to care. Once he finds what you can only assume is the page he wanted, he reads off words you doubt you could understand even if you weren't gassed silly right now. He places a hand gently on each wrist and ankle before stopping with a pair of fingers pressed to your neck. Each limb he touches feels slightly heavy, even after he's removed his hand.

 His reading is spirited as he finishes the incantation. As the final words leave his mouth, you hear something... snap, in the air. You feel a gentle tug at your arms and legs as Dr. Afton taps a finger to your stomach. You let out a soft giggle as it feels like you've just put on a corset. It feels warm. But it quickly subsides as you feel the pressure of your limbs being pulled at harder. Yet, the doctor is in your line of sight, and he's touching none of them. You look down at yourself, and see that the weight you could never seem to lose is getting less prominent. The doctor removes his finger from your stomach and stands back.

That's when things began to go off the rails a bit.

 You feel the tugging get sterner still, and see a touch of blue forming on the skin of each appendage, slowly travelling out and up your body. A dull buzzing fills the air. You start to feel even warmer, sweating as the doctor looks on in amusement. It quickly turns to concern, however, as your sight line begins to travel backwards. You assume your bed is sliding, but you look down and see that no, it seems to be staying just where it is. As you try to piece together what's going on, a piercing CRACK fills the air as your vision shunts itself backwards. Your body feels like you sat in a far-too-hot bathtub, but the gas appears to be dulling any major pain you'd be feeling. Which is good since you're pretty sure the next four POPs and SNAPs were your limbs.

 Each one is startling, but even if the pain is starting to overwhelm the anesthetic, you remain resolute. Your only reflex is to giggle idly even as the heart monitor gets faster. Each arm looked roughly the length of the entire bed now, with each leg following suit. Just as you start to question what's going on, that same CRACK rings out again, clear to you now that it was your neck. As the heat continues to build and the noise gets louder, your skin appears to flake, as if sunburned. Flaking turns into cracking, aches turn into indescribable pain and you feel your heart pounding in your chest like a caged animal. Laughter becomes indistinguishable from screaming. It's not at all funny, you realize. You're terrified this could kill you at any moment. But you're still convinced that it'll be worth the stress, the pain, in this moment. Another part of you says that death would be better if this didn't work, but that part of you feels as if it's melting off of you like ice.

 You only quiet down after it becomes harder to breathe in general, your chest feeling tight as the skin around it hardens and your internals are jostled and rearranged. But as it flakes away and your ribs shift around, you catch your breath. The doctor looks on in equal parts distress and awe as shining brown patches appear from beneath the shed skin, quickly getting thicker, meeting and fusing, looking as if you're being coated in bronze and crimson armor. You even feel it forming around your head, scalp and cheeks on fire as you hear the rustling of your hair falling out. Your hands ball up into fists, only drawing attention to the fact that your fingers end in long chitinous claws, and let out a loud groan as whatever spell was cast keeps pulling and pushing at your body, shunting your shoulderblades outward and very slightly ripping the gown that now looked more like a hand-me-down shirt on you by comparison. And yet, the pain isn't what's in your mind, per se, so much as unease and uncertainty and the awkward sensation of feeling your bones shift under your flesh and your muscles contracting involuntarily. Something flashes past your eyes with one last POP, too quick to really notice. It knocks the gas mask to the floor. The buzzing dies down and you finally begin to cool off, only barely realizing it still sounded like you're wearing the mask.

The doctor rushes to your side the moment it seems the spell has died down. "Oh LORD, that is not what I'd anticipated at all! Are you well miss? Can you hear me?"

You successfully sit up, though your now-elongated neck makes you a tad dizzy trying to find balance. You turn to one side to look at the mirror.

 Your entire body was... changed. Contorted by that spell. Most would say you were made even MORE unsightly compared to what you walked in as. Your legs were bent like a dog's hind leg, and ended in clawed, still visibly human toes. A shining, bronze-and-crimson-colored exoskeletal hide coated several parts of your being. Your limbs were so long your palms could firmly press against the floor without leaning down much. You bring a large clawed hand to your face, noticing the sky-blue mask over it, locked tight against the helmet-like carapace surrounding your head. Two watery eyes stared back at you from behind it, with purple-stained sclera and yet... your same, hazel eyes.

Looking closer, you notice despite how tightly-knit it appeared to be, there were still seams like the joints in your hide... You wedge a claw gently under the mask, and hear a gentle pop as it comes loose... but also feel a foreign sensation as something near your temple flexes like a muscle. You concentrate hard on that feeling, and see the mask lift up like the visor of a knight's helmet, with all the ease of flexing a finger. It takes up a bit of real estate near the top of your peripheral vision, but it allows you a decent look at your face. You hoped that at least didn't change much; It was one of the things you were most proud of, even if the rest of your body made you feel unwell.

 It... was almost the same, minus being blue. Your nose still had that slight point to it, the mask being juuuust spacious enough to avoid pressing down on it. The combination of your gangly form and the relatively normal face was itself a haunting, yet comforting visage.

"I'm... not sure WHAT happened..." Dr. Afton says, muttering to himself. "It was supposed to tap into your consciousness and arrange things accordingly."

 You realize. You smile, and let your hand fall to your side as the doctor fit that last puzzle piece your brain needed into place. You sort of knew the answer after you felt nothing but elation seeing this gaunt visage in the mirror.

 Everything you hated about yourself, that you had to cover up or alter to feel 'correct'. Gone. Burned away or tempered. Replaced with armor and claws and menace. Your body never felt like your own until now. You always felt as if you were at the whims of everyone else. Meek little Delilah only mattered, was considered worthy of respect, if she looked her prettiest, acted small and stayed out of the way. And if you didn't, you typically got hurt. But now, no one else's fake claims to you mattered. You still had the parts you loved about yourself. And you knew the few people in your life would scarcely care what you looked like even if this would surely turn a few heads.

And if anyone tried to hassle you over it... well, you doubt anyone's pride was strong enough for them to start a fight with you now.

 You stand up, only to feel your center of balance practially scream at you and fall to your knees. Dr. Afton is at your side, an arm barred across your chest to keep you from falling on your face. Right. Acclimation. "Is there anything you need, Miss Andrews?"

 You thank the doctor for the assistance as you steady yourself to find your balance, but let him know not much else will be necessary aside from a bit of time to adjust. 'Your spell worked like a charm, doctor.' you tell him in that same voice you've always had, radiating with a newfound confidence. You see a thought dawn on him, and a devilish smile crosses his face. "You and my receptionist have much in common, Miss Andrews." And you smile back, both of you chuckling as he helps you out the door. It's the first time you've felt a complete stranger of a man smile at you like this and didn't feel like you were going to throw up.