#more like: emotionally constipated crocodile who thinks his patient is cute and doesn't know how else to approach you other than

[ofallthingsnasty]

may I ask…you to go on about crocodile’s dentist office?? omg, oral surgeon crocodile?!? wisdom tooth removal?! screaming

Haaaa, yes you may 😳 Thing is, I don't write him without the hook/prosthetic hand - and that is tricky in that field. I personally know someone who suffered an amputation injury (idk if that's the correct translation, in German it's Amputationsverletzung, so simple lol) of two distal phalanges of the left hand and he can't practice anymore. He works for a dental implant company instead - that's why I mentioned Crocodile as a sort-of businessman in the tags of that Doffy/Law dentist shitpost. But....

tags: crack treated seriously, suspend your disbelief bc we're turning baroque works into a fucking dental mill in this jdfksjsk, using the german system bc it's all i know (regarding specialist training etc)

He's a little... difficult. He may not be able to practice anymore but he didn't stomp this office out of the ground only to hand it to some greenhorn surgeon with a fresh-off-the-press certificate - after all, he still has the license. He still has that knowledge and experience - and he knows how valuable all of that is. No, he's smart about it: hires a capable team of dentists, oral and oms surgeons - and retains the status of 'boss', expands what he already has and pretty much doubles down on work, only this time around it's more behind the scenes. Oversees procedures, advises his employees, does a whole lot of paperwork (and tax evasion), keeps the place extremely well-running and profitable. His business strategy is to cover all dental fields with his operation, so people can have a one-stop shop for everything they could ever get done... orally. Robin is the newest addition to his little roundelay - she's an oral surgeon, yes, but she has just finished her training. She has learned an awful lot during those four years of postgraduate training, but she still lacks a lot of finesse that comes with age and experience. She's one Crocodile's top-earners and he hovers an awful lot - guiding her, monitoring her surgeries, trying to help her get better - and most importantly, faster. (If you were to ask Robin - it's almost stifling but she appreciates the effort) So when you come in, an uncomfortable case of denitio difficilis with one of your lower wisdom teeth terribly close to the inferior alveolar nerve, of course he'll hold his head right into your mouth next to Robin's. He's intimdating, that's for sure - you had expected the very clinical young woman with the prim hair and cool smile coming in on her own. But there he is, right next to her: taller than average, tired but observant eyes, dressed entirely in white scrubs, with a tilt of his head that just screams 'in charge'. One look at him and you just know he doesn't joke around. You can't glean if his presence means good or bad news - and you don't care, you're in too much pain. In the end, he does very little - him and Robin lord over you from up above, that clinical light shining around their heads like a halo while you sweat and cramp and shake on the chair, the bitter taste of anesthesia on your tongue and the cracking of your own bone in your ears. He mutters instructions to her while she performs a coronectomy on you, holds your tongue to the side with the surgical hook, tells you to 'open' and not much more. It isn't easy - the anesthesia doesn't work well due to the inflammation in the area and the pain mixed with your own anxiety has you crying fat tears while the two labor - but you somehow survive it. Robin delicately weaves her stitches into your flesh and crinkles her eyes at your perseverance, just a tad out of breath. Crocodile leaves the second she's tied her last knot, not even telling you goodbye - you pay him no mind, you're just glad you're finally done with this torture. All that's left is to get the time slot for a follow-up appointment. You shuffle back to the front desk, to the skittish man sitting behind a computer, and slur out your request, tongue still numb and jaw sore. He pulls up your digital file - and almost falls off his chair. You don't quite understand what the ruckus is all about until he tells you you're no longer Robin's patient, at least not when it comes to consultations, that you'll be seeing the boss himself next time around. (And a few days later you get to brave the presence of Crocodile all on your own while he takes a long and proper look at the state of your wound.)