#tw: teeth pulling

[xamaxenta]

SABO BEING KNOWN FOR INTERREGATIONS AND HAS A TEETH NECKLACE basically his go to move in interrogation is yanking teeth and he always keeps them in his stash and has a necklace of all his favorite victims teeth-

i am becoming unhinged WHAT HAVE YOU DONE TO ME?!

OH? ????Hello anon you’d like to discuss the intricacies of my favourite whiteboy bastard !!!

Perhaps not a necklace thats crude even for Sabo, would you be open to considering his toothy trophy being a decorative piece like artfully laid out he has charts… data if you will on which ones prompt the most interesting results (information)

tooth pulling imo plays off better as a psychological tactic more than a guarantee, i love the idea of Sabo utilising it as a threat more so than an act he particularly enjoys

But hes not just a barker hes got the bite and the grip strength to prove it, so imagine him getting chummy with his target

Hes been seated beside them for a while now, no amount of banter or threats to their family or personal general safety is budging them so he stands up with a crisp sigh and strides off stage right to return wheeling a very

Ominous steel cart, you know the one those surgical trolleys

And laid out are his tools, most are just medieval barbaric imitations of generic forceps which is all hes really gonna need tbh but its about PRESENTATION

And beneat the tray of tools is a neat velvet display of all the past teeth hes harvested

He smiles, not a single. Tooth of his own missing oh hes fucking rubbing it in isnt he? Gets personal again like ah, Major corporal blahblah was it? You know ive dabbled in minor surgery before and suturing isnt really my thing, field medicine is guerilla warfare in of itself, medically speaking and im better at fishing than casting heh.

Hes so funny lol laughs at his own joke as he busies himself with the trolley

So theres a choice here, game start! You could pick the easy way out sell out, save yourself your bonney lass and the baby youve got on the way or we can do this the less than profitable way which is i gather some down payment but trying to hear you through the snot, blood and tears will be excessively annoying and taxing for me yknow?

Mismatched eyes crinkling up hes really a devil in disguise 🥰

[combeferres-mothematics]

Day one of @ailesswhumptober, alt prompt, Pulling Teeth.

Edited to add the fic 😭😭ME WHEN I FORGET TO CLICK INSERT ON THE LINK

[frownyalfred]

Batfamily fics need to start including all the times the Batkids would absolutely bust their teeth on something.

Goon hit you wrong? Cracked tooth. Face planted on that last flip? That’s a knocked out tooth for sure. One bad kick across the face during a spar and you’re spitting blood on the mats with your front teeth shoved the wrong direction back into your gums.

Bruce avoids this by having no real teeth. The Batkids learn about the benefits of mouth guards via trial and error.

[greenleaf4stuff]

Of Convenience 7.1

(all previous parts of "Of Convenience")

Adar x Celebrimbor (silverscars) political marriage AU, 7th snippet, part 1. Once the shock from his previous stroll through the camp has worn off, Celebrimbor risks another attempt. This time, he gets to see one of the uruk forges.

Celebrimbor is finally going to have a chapter in which he experiences no drama. He deserves a break. I have wanted to write about Celebrimbor’s reaction to the (no doubt) much more ‘improvised’ forges of the uruk for a while now, so this is a bit of self-indulgence in that regard. (Also this was supposed to be one part. How does this keep happening to me?!) Enjoy!

Despite how shaken Celebrimbor had been by his encounter with Damrod, he only needed a day to recover enough to chance another excursion into the camp.

He had Adar to thank for that, at least in part – the uruk had stayed in their tent for the rest of the day instead of running his usual errands and engaged the smith in plenty of conversation as he cleaned his sword from Damrod’s black blood. The uruk asked what Celebrimbor had seen of the camp and enquired after his thoughts, but also told him about how the day’s negotiations with Galadriel and Elrond had gone.

This was clearly done to put Celebrimbor at ease, and the elf was grateful for the consideration – even more so because it actually worked.

Still, Adar didn’t seem the least bit surprised when Celebrimbor announced that he would like to explore the uruk camp again by the following day, and sent him on his way with a nod and Glûg by his side.

"Be back by midday," was the uruk’s only request. "So that we may continue our conversation. And so that you might avoid unneccessary danger, perhaps."

Celebrimbor knew Adar’s words for what they were – concern, which also reflected in the tightness of Adar’s mouth and the way he intently stared at Celebrimbor as he spoke. The smith smiled at the uruk. "Of course. I’ll make sure to ask Glûg to usher me back here in time."

Glûg, for his part, appeared almost as if the confrontation with the hill troll had never taken place – he didn’t seem overly cautious or fidgety, and didn’t protest his task to chaperone the elf across the encampment once more. He was, however, quick to ask about Celebrimbor’s wellbeing. Which was surprisingly touching, the elf had to admit.

"I think I’ve recovered quite well, thank you," he replied, and got a nod from Glûg in response.

"Let us walk a different path today." A suggestion which the smith readily accepted.

"Could you perhaps to lead me to one of your people’s forges?" If Glûg thought Celebrimbor’s request to be odd, he didn’t show it – the elf had mostly been referred to as the Lord of Eregion or an ‘elf from a noble house’ in his time here, so he wasn’t sure just how much the uruk as a whole would know about his family history or profession.

"Sure. I think I’ll take you to Gurlak’s – that’s the closest one," the lieutenant pondered, and then jerked his head in the direction they would be heading. As they started to walk, he continued, "Do you want to see how the blacksmiths made the armor Adar gave you?"

"Something like that," was Celebrimbor’s response, coupled with a self-deprecating smile. "I’m actually a smith myself, moreso even than an elven lord I believe."

Glûg raised his hairless eyebrows, then hmpfed. The elf could tell Adar’s lieutenant was skeptical of his claim, but didn’t comment. "In that case, you’ll have to direct your questions at Gurlak herself. I know very little about forging."

The smith hummed and nodded before he answered. "Fair enough."

It didn’t take them very long to reach the forge – Celebrimbor could hear the sounds of large bellows and multiple hammers hitting metal on various anvils from a distance. Sounds that made his heart ache for his own smithy back in Eregion.

He didn’t often allow himself to ponder that which was lost to him – temporarily or permanently. But it was difficult not to think of his apprentices during the quieter hours of the night, or whenever he caught a glimpse of his city through the trees of the surrounding forest.

Working in his forge had been an integral part of his everyday life before he’d fled Ost-In-Edhil. Dare he say it, it had been a part of his identity. And yes, perhaps of his self worth as well. The prospect of getting to witness the craft being performed again, the possibility of maybe even being allowed to perform it himself, eased his heart - at least a little.

He and Glûg finally arrived in front of a ramshackle shed that had obviously been hastily built from scavenged and improvised materials, as seemed to be usual for the uruk. Celebrimbor himself couldn’t find any rhyme or reason to how it had been constructed, just that it would ‘do’ to hold all the neccessary parts of a forge inside.

A group of uruk was scattered around it, working on different anvils. Some halted in their movements as the elf and his guard approached, while others seemed content throwing questioning looks in their direction.

"By the way," Celebrimbor turned to Adar’s lieutenant as they came to a stop, "Adar requested that you bring me back to our tent in time for supper."

Glûg tilted his head, then nodded. As the smith turned back to the shed, he heard the other faintly mutter "Our tent, huh?" under his breath in a tone Celebrimbor couldn’t read, and the elf fought hard not to fluster – or show that his hearing had picked up on the words in the first place, for that matter.

Before the elf could work up the courage to approach and talk to the working uruk around the smithy – most of which were still watching him skeptically –, Glûg raised his voice and bellowed. "Gurlak! Come out, I’ve got someone out here who wants to talk to you!"

Celebrimbor and his guard crossed looks as they heard loud swearing and then heavy footsteps from behind the shed. The smith had no idea whether the way of greeting would prove to be in his favor or not, but he nodded at his guard in thanks nonetheless. The other threw him a grin - not a mean one, but certainly one of humor. Which did not exactly bode well.

The uruk who came around the shed was not at all what Celebrimbor had expected; the one who he suspected to be the aforementioned Gurlak was a tall woman, and built in a manner that would have made some dwarves jealous. ‘Barrel-chested’ seemed like a rather tame way to describe her, with a back as broad as a closet and arms so thick the elf wasn’t sure he could circle them even with both of his own hands. As well as the most ill-tempered expression Celebrimbor had seen that day.

The smith had a hunch that he knew why Glûg might have smirked the way he’d done. He also had a sneaking suspicion the apprehension he felt might be showing on his face.

The uruk, Gurlak, came to stand right in front of Celebrimbor. She was only slightly shorter than him, and unafraid to meet his eyes. Faintly, the elf registered how tiny the smithing hammer she held looked in her hand.

Perhaps that was the reason Glûg had been so skeptical of Celebrimbor’s claim to be a smith, come to think of it – the uruk woman certainly fit the preconceptions people seemed to hold of smiths much more than a tall-grown, comparatively slim elf. Though, to be fair, it had been some time from when he last had to forge things that were as big and heavy as the armor and weapons he could see the other uruk work on behind her.

‘Maybe I should change that,‘ Celebrimbor thought. ‘When I am back in Eregion.‘

Meanwhile, Gurlak was eying him up and down, and then turned herself around to Glûg. "That Adar’s elf?" she asked bluntly. For some reason, Celebrimbor focused far less on the way she was talking about him as if he wasn’t even there, and more so on the fact that she referred to him as ‘Adar‘s’ elf. Huh. "What does he want here?"

Glûg shrugged. "He says he’s a smith. Wanted to see your forge, so I brought him here."

Gurlak turned back to Celebrimbor. "Smith. That one," and then she barked a laugh loud enough to startle the surrounding uruk, before her focus returned to Glûg. "That elf looks as if he’d cough himself to death next to the fire. Noble breed this one, huh?"

"My name is Celebrimbor," the aforementioned elf spoke up, and made it a point to hold Gurlak’s gaze when she turned sharp eyes on him. "And yes, I am the Lord of Eregion. A descendant of a noble elven house. And, in fact, a smith."

He let his words sink in for a moment, before he bowed just a little and continued. "I take it you must be Gurlak? Pleased to make your aquaintance. Glûg said you are a local blacksmith, and knowledgeable when it comes to forging-" a risk, but perhaps it would pay off, "at least more than him, anyways."

For a brief moment, the elf thought he had misstepped as Gurlak narrowed her eyes at him, before she snorted and jerked her chin in Glûg’s direction. "Not difficult to know more than that one. Burned both of his hands when I tried to teach him."

Glûg made a dismissive noise and rolled his head skywards when Celebrimbor peered at him, before he waved the two of them off. "I’ll sit myself down over there, where I keep an eye on you. Have fun," and with that, he wandered over to an empty chair – or whatever counted as one in this camp – next to the shed.

"So, what brings you here, then?" Gurlak asked, drawing Celebrimbor’s attention back to her. There was still something mocking in her stance and tone, which only made the smith more determined to state his intentions.

"I...have not been able to return to my own forge in some time. For obvious reasons," he paused and drew a breath. "I wanted to ask if there was- if I might- could I offer you my assistance in your smithy in some way?"

He was aware that his expression likely held at least a hint of pleading in it – though frankly, he didn’t care. He was itching with the need to do something other than sit around all day and consider his past failings, or withstand the terror that was the immediate, unknown future. He’d go mad otherwise.

Gurlak blinked and stared at the smith for a long moment. "You sure you want to get those fancy robes of yours dirty?" she snarked, and this time it was obvious she was mocking him. Though her tone wasn’t as harsh as Celebrimbor had expected. "I’m afraid our forge is not as pristine as the one you are used to."

In the privacy of his mind, the elf heaved a quiet sigh, and then tried to put on an expression that he had often successfully used when trying to bargain with Gil-Galad. ‘Doe eyes’, was what Mirdania had once called it with a snicker.

"I know it’s likely that I will get ash and soot everywhere, yes. If you could lend me at least an apron or some gloves, that would be wonderful, but I can make do with my bare hands and what tools you have. I just want- need to work."

When it looked like she might hesitate still, he pressed on. "Please, Gurlak."

Celebrimbor could practically see her mind turning his request over, and how slowly but surely, her curiosity won out over her skepticism. "If you insist," she scoffed, and beckoned him to follow her with a wave of her hand. "There’s gotta be something that won’t be too much of a loss if it got messed up. I’ll get you an apron."

The elf’s resulting joy was bright and audible when he said, "I thank you for the opportunity, Mistress Gurlak."

A grunt and a very disbelieving look over her shoulder was his answer, but she did not go back on her word. "Sure. Don’t make me regret it."

[possession1981-moving]

JEON SOMI Fast Forward / Studio Choom

[vxmpyree]

Biting nikto hcs? Would he enjoy getting bitten or bite?

ill try to do some teeth related things etc etc only because biting/hickeys toes the line of nsfw and sfw :'( if u put in a req @puracatt ill probably do some over there

cw // tooth loss, tooth pulling, blood

[ come - adrianne lenker ]

nikto who's missing a few teeth. zakhaev couldn't let him go without plucking a molar or two, then one of his sharp teeth. at first, he relishes in the gaps there. they're another one of his many trophies-- i survived imran zakhaev, and i have the wounds to prove it.

he can't chew rare steaks or the occasional hard candy like he used to. he mourns. he can't eat without having food get caught in the squishy dips of his gums.

his teeth are sharp, like a cat's. they hardly befitting of an omnivore.

when he gets hit in the cheek or upper lip, a shudder rolls through him. that numbing sensation that echoes through his nerves is reminiscent of that empty feeling he had after losing his teeth. everything was dull and bloody.

nikto who gets the cheapest, crappiest implants available in a clinic nearby his place of deployment. he just wants to be able to eat and smile without thinking of the gaps in his grin. regardless, not all of it matters in the face of vengeance.

[cholerascum]

fun fact about me that some of you may have picked up on from my art of myself. I'm missing two teeth.

one broke while I was playing origami king, the other had this huge dark spot on it. got em both yanked out of my skull. but I still have like a billion cavities.

[toothfairyinc]

mink teeth 🦷

(not full set)

[anto-pops]

The Serpent's Paramour CH 26 - Sebastian Sallow x Female!Reader

Summary: Your mental fortitude is put to the test as you're made to endure the presence of the very men you yearn to kill. When Victor finally clues you in on why you haven't left for the ancient magic site yet, hope sparks anew in your heart... though the feeling is short-lived when you realize Rookwood has other motives for taking so long. Your magic intrigues him and he wants to learn more about it, and he's willing to do the worst to trigger it.

Word Count: 6.4k

Warnings: 18+, aged up characters, explicit language, physical/mental abuse/torture, waterboarding, angst

New chapter is up on Ao3 as well :))

It would be inappropriate to say that you fell asleep. You were far too nervous– too on edge to relax enough and let your guard down when you were surrounded by snakes and demons. The rickety cot within the space that had been serving as your room was too uncomfortable, too squeaky, and lacked your preferred amount of pillows for it to be deemed worth sleeping on. 

But seeing as it was either that or laying on the floor, you had laid out on the “bed” and stared up at the ceiling for hours. 

Eventually you had closed your eyes, but your mind was too hyperactive for you to actually doze off. Your senses remained sharp as you picked up on everything happening within close enough proximity to your room; the muffled voices from down the hall, grating laughter that you realized was coming from Henri, and much, much later, the sound of footsteps. Heavy ones.

Someone was coming towards the door. 

Your eyes flew open as you grabbed for your wand immediately– immensely grateful that no one had thought to remove it from your possession. Victor must have thought that since he was safe thanks to his Unbreakable Vow with you, there was no point in disarming you. He evidently didn’t care much for the wellbeing of his associates, because you had no qualms about killing Lincoln or Henri before reaching the site. 

Just as you swung your legs over the edge of the bed to stand, you watched as the doorhandle inched downwards as whoever was on the other side began to open it. You held your breath as the hinges creaked loudly, the entrance to your room swinging open at a nerve-wrackingly slow pace, until finally you were met with the sight of a tall, muscular, broad shouldered individual. 

Sebastian. 

For a fleeting moment, you expected to look into his eyes and find that they were the familiar brown shade you had come to derive warmth from. You wished that he would smile at you– flash you those twin dimples that went hand in hand with the genuine joy he displayed so rarely with others but shared unabashedly with you. You wanted him to rake his hands through the curlier strands of hair at the front of his head as he greeted you with a purred, “Miss me, princess?” before beckoning you forward into those strong, protective arms of his. 

Your heart ached for those things. But the tiny ember of hope that had sparked within you upon seeing him was extinguished the second you took note of the vibrant, green glow emanating from his eyes. He was still Imperio’d. 

And your desires were nothing more than a pipe dream. 

Despite that fact, however, your wand-bearing hand still fell slack at your side, and you exhaled the breath you’d been holding shakily. “Sebastian…” 

You started towards him without a second thought, only to draw up short when you caught sight of movement out in the hallway. From over Sebastian’s shoulder, you spotted Lincoln– his dark, menacing eyes fixed on you as he watched you silently like a ghoul. Of course he would be here. The bastard couldn’t give you a moment of peace. Besides– how else would Sebastian be meandering around the house on his own while still enthralled? 

Even though your mind screamed at you to retreat, you held your ground and scowled. “What the hell do you want?” 

Lincoln continued to watch you through his lashes, a sly smirk pulling at the corners of his lips as he cocked his head to the side. “Why so hostile, little hero? Shouldn’t you be thanking me for bringing Sebastian here for a playdate? The two of you hardly said three words to one another during dinner.” 

Your scowl deepened immeasurably further, and you had to bite the inside of your cheek to keep yourself from stating the obvious. He knew exactly why you weren’t speaking to Sebastian; there was no point. The fact that Lincoln was hellbent on flaunting his mind controlled puppet in your face knowing damn well you could barely stand to look at him… it was cruel. Everything about Victor’s second underling was vindictive and savage. 

Even still, though… you couldn’t help but shift your gaze back to the man you loved. He looked numb– completely out of it as Lincoln yanked on the strings tethering his will to Sebastian’s consciousness. There were no windows in the tiny room you currently inhabited, so the dark shadows streaking across his otherwise handsome face added a degree of inhumanness to his impassive features. The sight of his green eyes glowing ominously as they remained glued to the wall behind you made your heart sink. But it was still Sebastian. It was still the man you adored and treasured. 

Stepping closer to him, you reached down to clasp his limp hand in your smaller one. His skin was cold– so much so that you couldn’t help but cover the back of his palm with your other one to fully cradle it in an attempt to warm it up. Sebastian gave you no hint that he was aware of your presence, however, and in your desperation to derive some sign of life from him, you began tracing your thumb gently over his knuckles. 

It was at that point you realized that they were lightly bruised. When had that happened? 

Lincoln hummed thoughtfully as he stepped into your room, glancing down at where you were looking. His curiosity was evidently piqued in the wake of noticing your frown. “Ah, yeah… the bloke didn’t make it easy to round him up after he stepped through the Portkey. Henri nabbed his wand, but he still managed to land a couple good hits on me. It was nothing we couldn’t handle.” 

Why was he talking? You could feel yourself growing angrier– your dark magic writhing beneath your skin as it festered to life on its own. By now, you had grown used to its sentient nature, all too accustomed to its tendency to seek out the nearest thing you deemed a threat to eliminate it completely. It came as no surprise to you that Lincoln was its target in this case. He was a nuisance that you wanted to burn to cinders. His life essence, his aura… it was all too tangible currently, especially since it seemed to course through Sebastian as well. You could sense it– could almost taste it. 

No, wait… you could feel it. Right there– beneath your fingertips. 

Lincoln’s influence over Sebastian was like a physical thing. Almost in a daze, you reached out with one hand to place it over the man’s chest. You got a stronger feel for the dark magic there, and something else became abundantly clear to you as well. 

His heart was racing. 

Blinking in surprise, you peered up at his emotionless face. He appeared to be calm. Completely impassive as he stood before you with his arms slack at his sides. But despite his outwardly tranquil appearance, Sebastian’s heart was beating insanely fast. 

There was no way it was possible… but then again, it had been for you…

Was he conscious in there? 

The fleeting thought was quickly abandoned the second you heard Lincoln’s grating chuckle again. He stepped frustratingly closer to you– looming within your personal space as though he had every right to– and you almost lost control of your dark magic completely when he smugly perched his elbow on Sebastian’s shoulder. 

“You know, as entertaining as it is reducing Sallow to a drooling idiot, the plan was always for you to touch the Portkey first. Victor wanted you in Sebastian’s position, but I guess this works too…” Lincoln begrudgingly admitted the last part, scowling at the younger man all the while. “Who would have thought you’d both imprint on one another like dogs in heat. ‘Control one, control the other’. That’s what he said after we got here.”

It was a crude, remorseless monologue that you had no interest in hearing. Realistically you should have expected something like this transpiring at the end of the day– Lincoln seemed to really enjoy the sound of his own voice. But despite that fact, all you could truly focus on was the very real feeling of Sebastian’s consciousness lurking deep within him. 

You swallowed thickly as you peered up at him through your lashes, suppressing the wave of nausea that rose up in your throat at the sight of his unnatural green eyes. The hand you held against his sternum spasmed before your nails dug into the fabric of his shirt imploringly, and your other hand slowly crept up to cradle the side of his cheek. The potency of your stare and the minute actions you wordlessly performed were done to urge him with every fiber of your being to look at you– to really see you– but he still seemed as lifeless as ever. “Sebastian?” 

His eyes never wavered from their fixed position on the wall, but his eyelashes– they fluttered. The barely there movement might have been irrelevant, but whether or not it was a mere coincidence, your breath still hitched in your throat. Hope was a dangerous thing to cling to given your current predicament, and yet the tiny spark of it still grew brighter and burned hotter. He might be in there. He might actually be–

Lincoln’s calloused fingers appeared around your wrist in the next second, prying your hand away from Sebastian’s chest as he roughly yanked you away from the brunet. You stumbled back a few steps and managed to regain your balance with your palm braced against the mattress once he let go of you, at which point you glared murderously at him. He had that same smarmy look on his face that he always did, but beneath the confident facade, Lincoln looked… rattled. 

Had he known what you were feeling? How would that even be possible? 

“That’s enough of that,” he mused, patting the spot against Sebastian’s chest you had been touching previously. “Playdate’s over. I suggest getting some rest while you still can. We won’t be staying here for very long.” 

There was a long list of questions you wanted to ask. Why had Victor brought everyone here in the first place? Why was there no one else around aside from the five of you? When would you be heading to the ancient magic site? The unknown aspects of your situation made you nervous, but as much as you wanted to obtain answers, you didn’t want Lincoln lingering in your room for a second longer. The aura he gave off was deeply upsetting, and if he stuck around to push your buttons any more, you couldn’t be held liable for the damage your dark magic might do. 

Lincoln planted his hand on Sebastian’s shoulder to twist the Imperio’d man around, then shoved him towards the open doorway. You gasped as Sebastian stumbled blearily, then slowly made his way out the door and into the hallway. “That’s completely unnecessary! You could just make him walk normally–” 

“Don’t presume–” Lincoln growled, stepping so close to you that his face was mere inches away from yours as he finished, “–to tell me what to do.” His dark eyes narrowed with animosity as he glowered down his nose at you, but instead of shrinking in on yourself like instinct demanded, you held your ground and pursed your lips. “I’m getting rather sick of your attitude. Didn’t anyone ever teach you to respect your elders?” 

The dark wizard’s hand came into view then as he reached up– maybe to grab your chin, or maybe to yank on your hair– but whatever his objective was, you didn’t let him see it through. The storm of dark magic that had been looming guardedly at the forefront of your mind punched out sharply, striking Lincoln’s hand with enough speed that the effect was akin to a whip. He swore vehemently and snatched his arm to his chest as he retreated a step, at which point you narrowed your eyes and scowled. 

“Respect is earned, not given,” you spat. “The only thing you’re earning is a thrashing. I’ve told you not to touch me already, so get that through your head.” 

The anger that overtook Lincoln’s face after that was apparent. You braced yourself for him to grab you again like he had following dinner earlier– to strike you, or verbally berate you to make himself feel better for everything you had done to him thus far. But the man simply scoffed, waving off your words and rolling his eyes as he pivoted on his heel to head for the door. As he stalked out of the room quietly seething, you couldn’t help but feel more unnerved by his silence. 

You hated all of the villainous men here, especially Lincoln. But as he crossed the threshold of your room and slammed the door shut behind him, you couldn’t help but feel like you needed to rein in your temper for your own sake. There was a sinking feeling in your gut that you couldn’t shake, and something told you that the worst you could possibly experience here was yet to come. With Sebastian still under Lincoln’s influence, no one would be able or willing to help you when Victor’s underling finally snapped. 

After what had transpired at the manor, the one thing you could say with confidence was that you were done ignoring your intuition. 

—

Two days, seven hours, eleven minutes, and forty-nine seconds. 

That was how long you stayed locked in your room. Or, your closet. The actual amount of time that had passed was open to interpretation, but with nothing else to do aside from count the ticking of the clock hands that sounded from outside your door, you figured your estimate was pretty accurate. 

The only times you had ventured outside into the dining room was when you were left with no other choice. Unlike your time spent at the manor with Sebastian and Devlin, you didn’t have a say in whether or not to attend mealtimes with Victor, Henri, and Lincoln. Every morning, Victor’s deplorable underling would appear at your door to escort you to the table. Lunch was brought to you– which you were grateful for– but when you had inquired as to why that was the one meal you were omitted from, Lincoln had predictably told you to keep your questions to yourself. 

In a much less polite manner. 

Dinner time was always the worst. In the evenings, Sebastian was present at the table, zoning out with his eyes fixed on the far wall behind you, his expression flat and lifeless. It physically and mentally pained you to look at him, so more often than not, you kept your gaze trained on your lap for the duration of your forced attendance in the dining room. The obvious discomfort you displayed seemed to please Henri and Lincoln to no end, but every time you so much as considered snapping at them or getting up and storming back to your room, you remembered your warning to yourself. 

Don’t lose your cool. Don’t lash out. Bide your time. 

You were getting rather sick of waiting, though. After two days of rotting alone in a hole in the wall, you were agitated beyond belief. That was the only reason you deigned to open your mouth and address Victor for the first time all day. “How long do you plan to stall?” 

The sickly man looked up from his plate with a small degree of surprise flitting across his face. Then it vanished– replaced by cool indifference as he plucked up his wine glass and smirked over the rim. “Come again?” 

“The ancient magic site,” you dug your nails into the tops of your thighs as you lifted your chin to glare at him. “How much longer until we go there?” 

“My, if I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were looking forward to helping me claim the relic,” he taunted you dryly before taking a lengthy sip of wine that bordered on impolite. 

Scoffing, you rolled your eyes and shook your head. “Hardly. I’m just wondering why you’re so content to sit on your hands for so long. Are you scared? Nervous? Or is this all some elaborate mind-game you’ve constructed to drive me insane?” 

“You really shouldn’t think too highly of yourself, my dear. Modesty is an attractive trait in a woman.” Rookwood set his wine glass down to drum his fingers on the table, his blue eyes roving up and down your stiff form before sliding over to the giant grandfather clock near the hallway. Around a sigh, he muttered, “I suppose there’s no harm in being transparent with you. We’re waiting until the vermin get flushed out.” 

The– what? “Vermin?” 

“Indeed. Vermin. We’re dealing with a bit of an infestation there at present. Ministry officials have been spotted in the area, and while they’re the farthest thing from a threat, I don’t relish the idea of having my plans interrupted by a bunch of blundering Aurors.” 

It felt like the floor had given out from under you at that moment. Suddenly and harshly, your heart began hammering against your sternum so aggressively that you were certain the men on either side of you could hear it. Aurors. Ministry officials. 

Devlin had done it. 

The elder Ashwinder must have moved startlingly fast in the wake of your departure from Rookwood Castle. He had done exactly what you asked and gone to Ominis, who in turn sent word to London about everything. Merlin. 

But did Victor being clued in on their presence at the site make a difference? Would his men actually be able to “flush out” the people sent to apprehend him? For such a sorry sac of bones, he was annoyingly adept at dealing with things like this. He was like a cockroach; unkillable and scurrying into hiding at every turn. 

You could only hope that Devlin and Ominis remained vigilant. Your Metamorphmagi friend knew better than anyone what Rookwood was capable of, so surely Victor’s efforts at securing the site alongside the appearance of Aurors would be in vain. Somehow, some way, there would be a back-up plan of sorts in place. You were sure of it. 

The relief you felt following Rookwood’s statement was welcome. For the first time in days, you genuinely believed that even if you were dragged kicking and screaming to the site, everything would be okay. 

“I’m curious, girl,” Victor pulled your attention back to him, and you glanced up to find him studying you with a peculiar glint in his eyes. The dark clothing he wore washed him out completely and made his skin look almost green, and you silently prayed to any higher power that might be listening to make the man keel over and die on the spot. “I’m familiar enough with your ancient magic, but that other kind you possess… how does it work? You barely lifted a finger the other day when you attacked Lincoln with it.” 

The man in question stiffened beside you, sneering at you through the corner of his eye in response to the memory. You ignored him and the inquiry completely, though. The last thing you planned to do was disclose any information about your magic to Victor, Henri, or anyone else. That wasn’t part of your deal with the vile wizard. 

Noting your silence with a humorless laugh, Victor leaned forward to perch his bony elbows on the table, the intensity of his stare making the hair on the back of your neck stand on end. “Is it that you don’t have to think about it? I must admit, it does feel rather lively for magic.” 

Nosy bastard. You bit down on your tongue and looked away from him, fixing your eyes on the scarcely touched sausage on your plate. After a day and a half of not eating, you had relented and partaken in a tiny bit of the food purely to ensure you didn’t faint. Not much, though. You still didn’t know if you would end up sprouting a second head from any of the morsels served, and you didn’t plan to find out. 

“Most curious…” Victor thought aloud, not at all fazed by your silence. “I would love to see you use it in a controlled environment. For academic purposes, you understand.” 

Not a chance, you responded internally. The only time Victor would be seeing you use Isidora’s dark magic would be after he had his damn relic. At that point, your binding deal with him would be null and void. At that point, you would be free to unleash five years worth of retribution upon him without fear of dying at the hands of your Unbreakable Vow. 

As if he knew what you were thinking, the dark wizard grinned at you– all yellowed teeth and chapped lips that brought a scowl to your face. For yourself, Sebastian, Anne, Nora, and everyone else he had hurt in his lifetime, you would bring about a painful demise for the monster sitting at the head of the table. That was your Vow to yourself. 

You would kill Victor Rookwood with the very magic he was so fascinated by. 

—

Your heart nearly burst through your chest when the sound of loud, aggressive banging woke you from your fitful sleep. There was no way to gauge what time it was– no clocks to read in your room, and no windows to look out of. In the end it didn’t really matter, because you already knew you hadn’t rested for very long. 

Being here hadn’t rewarded you with a decent night's sleep once, and you knew it was starting to show. 

Disgruntled beyond belief, you swung your legs over the edge of your shabby bed and padded towards the door, then unwedged the chair you had tucked beneath the handle for extra security. Everything about your presence here was reminiscent of those first few days at the manor with Sebastian, only significantly worse. 

The banging continued at a steady pace as you set the chair aside and unlocked the door before yanking it open, already preparing to come face to face with Lincoln for the third day in a row. It was always him waiting on the other side of the door to take you to breakfast despite your arguments and protests that you weren’t hungry, or that you just wanted to sleep for longer. The wretch never cared.

Your mind snapped into full focus, however, when you discovered that Henri was alongside Lincoln. The Frenchman had never accompanied Lincoln before– had never once thought to show up outside of your door, which was something you found solace in. As intimidating and volatile as Lincoln was, Henri was worse. You knew what he was capable of, and mind-over-matter had yet to work in soothing your nerves when you were in the old man’s company. 

The sight of the foul duo outside your room had you disregarding any semblance of niceties, your grip on the door handle turning white knuckled as you hissed, “Leave me alone. I’m not interested in going to breakfast with you snakes.” 

Henri’s lip curled, but seeing as Lincoln was already accustomed to your particular brand of ire first thing in the morning, he simply huffed before stepping closer. In response, you stepped back. “Good thing we’re not going to breakfast, then. Put your shoes on– we’re going outside.” 

Outside? Why? “Are we going to the site?” 

“Don’t ask questions,” Lincoln snapped, fixing you with a stern look as he rolled the cuffs of his black shirt up to his elbows. Evidently the poor sod didn’t own anything else, seeing as he’d been wearing variations of black shirts and black pants for the last forty-eight hours. “Just do as you're told. I don’t have all day to entertain your attitude.”

That was the wrong thing to say. You made a show of planting your feet stubbornly and pursed your lips in distaste. “Unless we’re going to the site, I have all the time in the world to argue. Why is he here?” 

Henri narrowed his tawny eyes at you when you jerked your chin in his direction, one beefy hand coming up to thoughtfully stroke his beard. “My patience only lasts for so long, chérie. I have no interest in debating with you– unlike some people.” He cast a wicked look at Lincoln out of the corner of his eye, prompting the younger man to turn a shocking shade of red out of indignant anger. “You will either come outside willingly or unwillingly, the choice is yours– but it will be happening.”

“Hah! Your infamous patience,” you smiled knowingly at Henri, though there was no amusement to be found in the expression. “I remember the last time you mentioned it to me. You had me under the influence of an Unforgivable Curse twenty seconds later. You’ll have to forgive me for being skeptical that it even exists in the first place.” 

“That you are not already being subject to such treatment again proves that it does in fact exist.” 

“Go to hell.” 

Unlike Lincoln– who was loud and obvious with his anger– Henri was the complete opposite. His fury was the quiet kind. It was the type of wrath you could feel so strongly that it set your teeth on edge and gave you a sense of foreboding comparable to impending doom. That, coupled with the dead-eyed stare he fixed you with, made you bristle and reconsider being so obstinate. 

But you didn’t get the chance to acquiesce to his demands. Before you could so much as lift a finger from the door handle, Henri was in your face, burying one of his hands in your bed-mussed hair before curling his fingers around the strands tightly. The sting of his grip made you yelp out in pain, but he didn’t spare your discomfort a second thought. Instead, he dragged you out into the hallway, forcing you to put your balance in his hands as your own hands flew to the back of your head to claw at his unyielding fist. 

“S-Stop! I’ll go! I’ll walk– let go of me!” 

“I don’t think so,” he growled dangerously, chancing a quick look down at your panic-stricken face. “I think you need to cool off before caving to our request, mademoiselle. That temper of yours is running far too hot for my liking.” 

Digging your heels into the ground, all you managed to do was rub the bottoms of your bare feet raw. Henri furiously yanked you along by your hair, leading the way towards the bathroom across the hall instead of the front door like you had expected. You had no clue what he had planned in his corrupted, evil mind, but you didn’t want to find out, so you threw your weight to the side and succeeded in slamming him into the doorframe of the bathroom. Just as you were about to start whaling on him with your legs, he thrust you forward so quickly that all you could do was scream as your arms pinwheeled at your sides. 

You crashed into the bathtub hard, a sharp slice of pain shooting up your spine. The ache was ignored entirely as you attempted to scramble out of the tub, but Henri had already bolted forward, and you only caught a glimpse of Lincoln watching joyously from over his shoulder before the Poacher had moved something and caused a stream of cold, biting water to cascade over your head. 

“Fuck!” you shrieked, clamoring to stand up amidst the slick porcelain. Henri’s heavy hand pressed down on your shoulder, however, holding you as still as he was able as the icy water drenched you from head to toe. “Let me go!” 

The Frenchman said nothing. He just continued to hold you down beneath the faucet, then pushed down harder until the entirety of your face was completely submerged beneath the downpour. Your back screamed in protest at the funny angle you were forced to stay in as Henri restrained you while you simultaneously fought back with every ounce of strength you possessed– which sadly wasn’t much. 

He was going to drown you. That was the only thing you could rationally think as water slipped past your lips and shot down your windpipe in your desperate attempts to break free. Strands of your hair stuck to your cheeks and concealed your vision, and when you blindly reached up to claw at his face, he smacked your hands away with his other arm. 

“Are you feeling more relaxed now, chérie?” Henri taunted from above you, and you could fucking hear the smile in his tone over the rush of water as he spoke. “Shall I stop?” 

“Y-Yes!” Your voice cracked pitifully, your throat raw from screaming and gasping. “Yes! Stop! Please– let me up!” 

Henri’s hands on your shoulders tightened immeasurably further, and for one terrifying moment, you thought he was going to keep holding you under the water. But then his nails dug into the wet fabric of your blouse to haul you out of the tub, letting you go so you could collapse to your knees atop the hardwood floor. Sputtering and wheezing, you couldn’t will your body to do anything apart from breathe. The air you drew into your lungs was inhaled greedily, accompanied by wet coughs that reverberated off the walls of the tiny bathroom. 

Neither Henri nor Lincoln said a word as you heaved violently. Both men just loomed above you– menacing in their own rights as you came to the unfortunate realization that you didn’t stand a chance against them on your own. Even with the repository magic at your disposal, unless you were willing to bring the entire house down on top of everyone– yourself included– you were doomed. 

“Bring her outside,” Henri snapped at Lincoln viciously, wiping the water that had soaked his hands on his trousers. “I’ve had enough of taming beasts for one day.” 

You didn’t have it in you to retort, nor did you have the strength to fight back when Lincoln brushed past Henri to grab you by your elbow and haul you upright. His movements were rushed and jerky, and you nearly stumbled over your feet as he pulled you out of the bathroom and began leading you down the hallway towards the front door. Your teeth chattered uncontrollably the entire time, and it was hard to tell if it was from adrenaline or the cold, but it hardly mattered. The only thing you knew with one hundred percent certainty was that the woman who had the tenacity to spit and hiss at the dark wizards around her had been left behind in the bathroom. 

As Lincoln wrenched open the front door, he exercised more self-control than you’d seen from him thus far as he tugged you down the steps of the porch so you wouldn’t fall. For the first time since knowing the man, you could safely say you were grateful for his caution, because the biting morning breeze made your soaked limbs lock up the second it made contact with your skin. You hadn’t been able to get a good look at your surroundings the night Victor had brought everyone here, so you took care to drink in the area with as much diligence as you were able to muster up. 

The landscape reminded you of the Clagmar Coast; rocky hillsides, overcast skies, and even though your nose was stuffy from your impromptu bath, you could faintly pick up on the scent of sea water. There were no other houses you could see, but that didn’t exactly surprise you when you got a good look at the exterior of the one you had been shut away in for the last two days. It looked rough. Appearance wise, the outside of the abode left much to be desired. 

Lincoln rounded the corner and pulled you away from the perimeter of the house, revealing a large, grassy stretch of land with a group of individuals standing in the middle of it. There were three men you didn’t recognize, and all of them had dark clothes on along with masks. Ashwinders. Sebastian was there, too– still numb looking and planted obediently beside the only man sitting down– and that was only because he couldn’t comfortably stand on his own. 

Victor. 

A tiny, pitiful sound slipped through your lips, but it went unacknowledged as the hound dragging you forward by your elbow made his way towards his boss. Rookwood cocked his head to the side when he caught sight of your drenched, unkempt appearance, then raised a brow questioningly at Lincoln. “Is there a leaky pipe somewhere inside that I should be made aware of? Where’s Henri?” 

Lincoln tossed you ahead of himself and let go of your arm, letting you stumble a few steps and catch your balance by yourself as he snapped, “Henri is the leaky pipe, in a manner of speaking. He’ll be out shortly.” 

“Hm…” Rookwood pursed his lips, swiveling his gaze back towards you to scan your pathetic appearance. “Well, the rude awakening aside, I trust you slept well?” 

Asshole. You wrapped your arms around yourself and looked down at your bare feet, doing your damndest not to shiver too obviously. You were cold, yes, but you were also incredibly nervous. This was the first time you were seeing anyone with Victor that wasn’t Henri or Lincoln, and the added presence of the masked men behind him didn’t make you feel particularly at ease. You couldn’t help but anticipate the worst. “What is this about?” 

He was quiet for a few beats, drumming his fingers on the armrest of his wheelchair before nodding to himself. “I want to see that magic of yours in action. I want to know what it’s capable of, so consider this–” he gestured broadly to the grassy space, “–your controlled environment.” 

As if you weren’t cold enough already, your blood chilled in your veins. There wasn’t a doubt in your mind that you visibly blanched, your head snapping up to openly gape at Victor. “But I– you’ve already seen it.” 

“I’ve seen your ancient magic,” he remedied slyly and wagged his finger at you. “Not the dark magic.” 

Shit. Shit! You scrambled for any excuse to deny him– any logical reason that might get you out of having to showcase your abilities to the wicked man seated before you. Grasping at straws, you exclaimed, “But you told me not to use any of it here! The Vow–” 

“The Vow maintains the boundary that you aren’t to use your magic on me. There’s nothing stopping you from using it around me. Don’t be coy, dear– I know you’ve thought about it,” Victor smirked wittingly. “Don’t think I haven’t seen you contemplating unleashing your abilities on my associates. Bloodlust is something I’m very familiar with.” 

“No!” Your voice was shrill and tight, the refusal leaving your mouth before you could think better of it– not that there was anything to reconsider. You didn’t want to use your magic here. Rookwood gaining more insight into what you were capable of didn’t bode well for you in the slightest. And out here in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by his lackeys and Sebastian? You wouldn’t do it. Hell no. Firmly, you repeated, “No. I’m not doing this. None of this has anything to do with our arrangement!” 

Lincoln groaned loudly, a loathsome scowl spreading across his face as he glared at you. “Maybe you need another bath.” 

“I don’t care! Torture me all you want– kill me– it doesn’t matter! I’m only here to get you lot into the site and get you that fucking relic. Our Vow said nothing about you using me as some experiment, so the answer is no. I won’t do it.”

Silence once again overtook the outdoor space, the only sound that permeated the air that of the distant rustling of trees swaying in the breeze. You were blatantly shivering now, but it had nothing to do with the temperature. You were scared. If looks could kill, then the glower on Victor’s face would have ended your life on the spot. Whether it was because he wasn’t used to not getting his way or because he knew he would have to force your hand to see your magic, you didn’t know. Either way, you stood your ground and did your best to keep your spine straight in the face of his menacing presence. 

“Very well,” he murmured after a while. Your relief was short-lived, however, when he glanced at his former protege beside him. At that point, unbridled panic began to fester throughout your entire body. “From what I’ve already seen, there are other ways to draw that magic of yours out. Lincoln, if you would.” 

You whirled around to put your front to Lincoln– fully prepared to guard yourself in the event that he attacked you. Because that’s what was happening, right? Victor knew that your dark magic was sentient. He’d figured that much out on his own. He knew that you barely had to think about defending yourself with your abilities in life or death situations, so why wouldn’t he sic his underling on you? 

What happened next was even worse. Lincoln ignored you entirely as he strode towards Sebastian, then reached inside his inner coat pocket to produce the wand Sebastian had been using all this time. The older man squinted as he wordlessly conveyed some kind of order to your lover, at which point the brunet dimly looked down to pluck his wand out of Lincoln’s hand, then shuffled forward so he was roughly ten feet away from you. 

Backing up a single step, you stared wide-eyed at Sebastian as he leveled his wand at you slowly and finally looked at you after days of not being able to. It was ironic; you had tried time and time again to get him to see you despite his Imperio’d state, but your efforts had all been for naught. His thousand-yard stare had persisted no matter what you said or did. 

Until now. 

You couldn’t think. You couldn’t move. You were frozen with fear as you stared back at Sebastian from over the tip of his wand, and your heart plummeted straight through the Earth when his lips parted at a snail’s pace and his deep, familiar voice cut through the air for the first time in days. 

“Crucio.”

[femalefemur]

18+ minors do not interact!

ghost running his fingers along your teeth as you sit open mouthed in the kitchen, the rough pads of his fingers catching on the edges of the teeth before he pulls them out and lifts the forcep from the dining table. clamping down on a molar and pulling until it starts to loosen in your jaw, giving one final harsh tug, ripping it free from your mouth. bloody and glistening as he holds it in his palm, gently gripping your jaw as he praises you for how well you did and how good you were for him as blood pours from the wound

[mod-autumn]

Don't pull away You're making things worse! I should know 'cause I'm the surgeon here! Don't be afraid I've given you everything

[skatankata]

Friend oc!! But kinda spooky Ig and with Cleo De Nile clothes Go follow Robsicle like rn or I will sue

[a-ikus]

whenever i can see calebs teeth in a card i feel crazy

[the-one-and-only-dontron]

Fun fact! When a turtle gets a cracked shell, veterinarians will drill holes into their shells, put screws in those drilled holes, then wrap wire around the screws and force the turtle's shell into place.

He winces ever so slightly.

'Yeah, I know...'

He remembers having to fix up Leo's shell, after the invasion. He doesn't like to think about it.

[dumbnotstupidfuck]

spent hours worrying about going to the dentist and had two nightmares about it this week only for the visit to just consist of her saying ‘everything looks good’

[femalefemur]

18+ minors do not interact!

warnings: teeth, tooth pulling, blood

thinking about simon having pain in one of his teeth. it's been throbbing for a couple days and he just goes fuck it, sets up a floor lamp in the bathroom and grabs a pair of pliers. reaches in and just pulls until his tooth comes out. checks the hole and spits the blood pooling in his mouth into the sink before rinsing off his tooth and putting it away with his other trinkets.