A bratty teenager who refused orthodontic treatment, now in her early 20s was required to have full treatment with headgear and a bluegrass appliance 20 hours/day, electronically monitored, with weekly visits to the orthodontist, all as a condition of collecting a fairly sizeable inheritance, after the orthodontist is satisfied her treatment is complete. She is given an adequate allowance as long as she kept with the program. A lot of blanks to fill in here.
It's an interesting premise that makes it fun to see what ChatGPT comes up with. Rather than cutting and pasting its results here, go to chatgpt.com and give it a prompt like"
"Write a story outline based on: ..." or even "Write a story based on: ..."
The implication of the original message is that you'd like a story written for you, which is both fine, but a little forward at the same time, especially such a relatively new member. Equally, chatGPT is all well and good, but prompts starting "write me a story..." rarely have enough for the AI "bot" to come up with something useful.
I don't have much (actually: any) interest in writing a story with a female character, so I added a male interest, but I wrote it a decent prompt, and with a little refining (I asked ChatGPT to do it - not a single word of the story is written or adjusted by me manually), here's what it came up with before I exceeded the limit for a single response. Hopefully this gives the OP somewhere to carry on from:
The prompt:I am a writer of orthodontic fiction. Because it is fiction, the scenarios can have elements of fantasy and although grounded in the real world, do not have to follow modern morals, understandings, and attitudes.
Character 1: A female in her early twenties. She needed orthodontic treatment as a teenager, but behaved like a complete brat and refused to have it at a more optimal age.
Appliances Character 1 wears: Fixed metal braces, headgear and a bluegrass appliance. The removable appliances must be worn at least 20 hours a day. These are monitored electronically via an app, and she must visit the orthodontist's office weekly for review and potential adjustment.
Reason for treatment now: A deceased relative made comprehensive orthodontic treatment a stipulation to receive a large inheritance. The satisfaction of the orthodontist that treatment is complete will secure the payout.
Character 2: A male of similar age to character 1. He also needed treatment as a teenager, but was too heavily involved in sports and thought "boys don't get braces".
Appliances character 2 wears: fixed metal braces, headgear for 18 hours a day, and elastics 24/7, including whilst eating. His headgear wear is also monitored electronically, and he must also attend weekly.
Reasons for treatment now: He started to get jaw pain, and comprehensive treatment was required. He is of average financial means, and there is a heavy financial penalty for him each week if he does not wear his headgear as directed.
Write the opening chapter(s) of a story, of approximately 3000* words detailing these two characters, and how they meet, and their first orthodontic adjustment together. The story must be left open for further development, and with an ending that suggests unhappiness or discomfort in future (for both characters).
* This is actually more characters than it can handle: I got up to about 1800 below.
The result:Chapter One: A Smile Worth MillionsJessica Carmichael stared at her reflection in the orthodontist's office bathroom mirror, her eyes narrowing in frustration. The fluorescent lighting, harsh and unforgiving, made every metallic detail of her braces stand out even more, gleaming mockingly against her teeth. She tugged at the thick cervical strap of her headgear, which dug into her neck with an irritating persistence. Her attempts to make it less conspicuous felt utterly futile; the straps seemed to radiate their presence no matter what she did.
The Bluegrass appliance fixed inside her mouth was another indignity entirely. It pressed against her tongue, making even the simplest act of speaking a clumsy, awkward affair. Every sentence she uttered felt juvenile, her voice distorted in ways that turned heads for all the wrong reasons. Jessica bit back a groan, her reflection staring back with an equal mix of defiance and despair.
“This is ridiculous,” she muttered, though the words came out garbled. Her own voice made her wince. The appliance rendered even her self-pity unintelligible.
The memory of her aunt's stipulation flashed in her mind. Jessica had always considered herself independent, someone who wouldn’t be pushed around—especially not by the demands of a deceased relative. But five million dollars was five million dollars. She couldn’t walk away from that, no matter how humiliating or uncomfortable the process was.
Still, there were moments, like now, when she questioned if the money would truly be worth the months—or years—of this ongoing ordeal. Resigned, she adjusted her scarf to partially obscure the straps and took a deep breath, her hands shaking slightly. She hated how self-conscious she felt, hated how much she cared about what anyone thought. It was as though the appliances weren’t just rearranging her teeth, but chipping away at her pride as well. She swallowed with difficulty, glaring at herself.
“You’d better be worth it, Aunt Sylvia,” she muttered, the words slurred and distorted by the intrusive appliance.
The terms of her late aunt’s will had been clear: Jessica would inherit five million dollars—but only if she completed a comprehensive orthodontic treatment plan to the satisfaction of Dr. Harper, the orthodontist who had overseen Sylvia’s own dental work years ago. Jessica had scoffed when she first heard it. She was 23 years old, for God’s sake! Braces were for teenagers. But the lure of financial freedom had eventually won out.
“Ms. Carmichael, we’re ready for you,” the assistant’s voice called from the hallway.
Jessica sighed, pulled her scarf over the headgear’s straps, and stepped out. She walked past rows of teenagers in the waiting room, who smirked or averted their eyes as she passed. She told herself it didn’t matter. Soon, she’d be rich, and none of this would mean a thing.
________________________________________
Meanwhile, across the hall, Brian Mallory fidgeted in his chair, staring at the motivational poster on the wall that read, “A Smile Can Change Your Life!” He wasn’t so sure about that. The only thing his braces had changed so far was his diet—soft foods only—and his sleep schedule, thanks to the high-pull headgear strapped tightly to his face for most of the day and night.
Brian’s jaw ached from the elastics crisscrossing his mouth, pulling his bite into alignment. At 24, he was old enough to know better than to ignore the jaw pain that had plagued him since high school. Still, he’d balked when his dentist referred him to Dr. Harper. The financial penalty for non-compliance with his treatment plan had been the final nail in the coffin. Every missed hour of headgear wear cost him $50, deducted from his weekly paycheck at the auto repair shop.
Brian wasn’t new to sacrifice, though. His teenage years had been consumed by sports. A three-sport athlete, he’d dedicated his afternoons and weekends to grueling practices and games, chasing state championships in football, wrestling, and baseball. Back then, he prided himself on his discipline and toughness.
When his parents suggested braces at 15, he dismissed the idea outright. “I can’t play football with a mouth full of metal,” he’d said. His coach backed him up, warning that the appliances could cause injuries. Wrestling was even less compatible with orthodontics—headgear and elastics weren’t just impractical; they were laughable. His focus stayed on sports, and by the time he graduated, braces were a distant memory.
But as the years passed, the consequences of his decision began catching up with him. The once-subtle jaw pain worsened until it became a daily problem. His dentist explained that his untreated overbite and poor alignment were to blame. Brian had resisted treatment at first, but as the pain affected his sleep and work, he finally relented. Now, sitting in Dr. Harper’s waiting room, he wondered if his teenage self would have made a different choice if he’d known what he’d endure now.
“Mr. Mallory, you can come in now,” the assistant said cheerfully.
Brian stood, tugging self-consciously at the straps of his headgear. His reflection in the glass door showed a tall, broad-shouldered man who looked more suited to a football field than a dental office. The incongruity of his athletic build with the juvenile metalwork adorning his mouth didn’t escape him.
________________________________________
Jessica and Brian’s paths crossed in Dr. Harper’s adjustment room, a bright, open space with chairs lined up along the walls. Dr. Harper was already seated at the workstation, reviewing their files on a tablet.
“Ah, good. You’re both here,” Dr. Harper said, looking up with a professional smile. “Jessica, Brian, meet your fellow patient. Coincidentally, you’ll both be coming in for adjustments on the same schedule, so you might as well get acquainted.”
Jessica raised an eyebrow, glancing at Brian. He looked equally unimpressed as his eyes flickered over her headgear. “Great,” she said dryly, her speech still thick with the Bluegrass appliance’s interference.
“Let’s get started, shall we?” Dr. Harper said, ignoring her tone. He gestured for Jessica to sit first.
________________________________________
Jessica reclined in the chair as Dr. Harper leaned over her, examining her appliances. “How’s the Bluegrass working out?” he asked, peering into her mouth with a practiced eye.
“It’s horrible,” Jessica replied, though her words came out garbled by the appliance. "I can’t talk properly, and it’s making me sound like a toddler." Her cheeks flushed as she added, "People laugh at me when I try to have a normal conversation."
Dr. Harper’s expression remained neutral, but his tone held a hint of reproach. “It’s doing its job. Your tongue’s positioning is improving already, which means the appliance is working exactly as intended. And if you’d been more diligent about following advice when you were younger, we wouldn’t need such drastic measures now.”
Jessica scowled, gripping the armrests tightly. "It’s humiliating," she muttered.
Dr. Harper ignored her complaint, shifting his focus to her braces. He adjusted the wires, tightening them with deft hands. The pressure was immediate, and Jessica winced, her fingers digging into the chair’s padding.
“And the headgear?” Dr. Harper asked, his tone sharp. “Have you been wearing it for at least 20 hours a day? Or should I expect the app to tell me otherwise at your next report?"
Jessica hesitated, then reluctantly nodded. "The app monitors it, doesn’t it?" she mumbled, avoiding his gaze. "I don’t have a choice."
"Good," he replied firmly. "Because if I see any discrepancies, we’ll have to increase your office visits to twice a week to ensure compliance." He made a few final adjustments, jotting notes into his tablet. "Remember, this treatment only works if you fully commit. I’ll see you again next week."
Jessica sat up slowly, rubbing her sore jaw, her eyes darting away from Dr. Harper’s disapproving stare. She shuffled to the waiting area, fuming quietly as Brian took her place in the chair.
________________________________________
Brian’s appointment began with the familiar ache of tightened straps. “How’s the jaw pain?” Dr. Harper asked.
“Still there,” Brian admitted. “But not as bad.”
Dr. Harper examined Brian’s braces and the bands connecting them to the headgear. “Your wear compliance has been good,” he said. “The headgear is doing its job, but I’m going to tighten these straps slightly to increase the pull.” He adjusted the headgear straps methodically, his movements firm but precise. The additional tension was immediate, and Brian winced as the pressure radiated along his jaw and into his molars.
“And the elastics?” Dr. Harper asked, glancing at the vibrant web of bands crisscrossing Brian’s teeth.
“I’ve been wearing them all the time, even when eating,” Brian replied, though there was a note of irritation in his tone. He shifted uncomfortably in the chair.
“Good,” Dr. Harper replied, though his expression turned serious. “However, I noticed some wear patterns that suggest you’ve been slacking on keeping your bite centered. If this continues, we’ll need to switch to heavier bands, which I assure you won’t be pleasant. Be mindful of that.”
Brian’s cheeks flushed slightly, and he gave a reluctant nod. “Got it.”
Dr. Harper finished his adjustments and made a note in his tablet. “We’ll see you again next week, Mr. Mallory. Stay diligent. Small lapses now will cost you in the long run.”
________________________________________
As they exited the office, Brian caught Jessica’s eye. “Looks like we’re both stuck in this mess for a while,” he said with a wry grin, though his jaw ached from the newly tightened headgear straps. He adjusted them slightly, trying to find some relief, but it only made the discomfort sharper.
Jessica rolled her eyes, her hand tugging unconsciously at the scarf that barely concealed her own headgear. "Tell me about it. At least you’re doing this for your jaw. I’m only here because my aunt decided to punish me from beyond the grave." Her voice was muffled and garbled from the Bluegrass appliance, which only added to her frustration.
Brian raised an eyebrow. "Punish you? What’d you do?"
“Refused to get braces when I was a teenager,” she admitted bitterly. "Now, she’s made it a condition of my inheritance. No treatment, no money. And trust me, Dr. Harper is loving every second of his power trip."
Brian smirked despite himself. “Wow. That’s intense. Guess you’re stuck with it, huh?"
Jessica sighed heavily, her fingers brushing against the edges of her braces. "Yeah, stuck is the right word. And you? Why didn’t you get them when you were younger?"
Brian hesitated, glancing away as if the answer embarrassed him. "Sports," he said after a moment. "Didn’t want to deal with it back then. Now I’m paying the price with jaw pain and all this..." He gestured vaguely at the cumbersome headgear and elastics.
Jessica gave a half-smile, though her expression was tinged with sympathy. "Well, at least we can commiserate," she said, her words still thick and awkward from the appliance. "Maybe we’ll survive this together—or not."
They walked out into the parking lot, both feeling the lingering discomfort of their adjustments. As they parted ways, neither could shake the growing sense that the coming weeks would only bring more challenges—and pain.
