#my thought is the two of them exploring Devil's Ridge or whatever their compound was called

[disappearinginq]

For the fic game: 15 for the shared fandom of your choice 😇

This is another one that I typed on my phone (I'm on a mini vacation with my mom) but I think this is 100 words - for Tracker, and while I imagine it's when they're younger, it could be any time.

“Talk to me.”

Colter's teeth chattered. “D-don't feel much like t-talking.”

Russell examined the trap locked around Colter's lower leg, the jagged teeth digging into tender flesh. The release was rusted solid, the metal stiff and unmoving no matter how hard Russell yanked on it.

“You never feel like talking.” Russell looked around for something- anything - that he could use to dig out the anchoring chain. But there was nothing. “Colt…I can't move this. Not without causing more damage. I'm going to have to go get help. Or at least go look for something to dig this out.”

“D-dont l-leave.”

[acapelladitty]

Brochity, for whatever you like 😘

Brochity: projecting or crooked quality of teeth (Scriddler)

Vanity was a sin, but of the many sins which Jonathan Crane couldsign his name to, it was never one which could be found easilyamong them.

Having long come to terms with the fact that his physical body-bolstered by his personality and penchant for inspiring fears in allhe encountered- would never be considered handsome by the populace,he was content within it. Vanity, and the shame which accompanied it,was a foreign concept to him that was better suited for lessor men.

Like Edward.

Their bathroom was a shrine to Narcissus with the various lotions,potions, creams, and serums which Edward possessed to strengthen his,frankly pointless, fight against ageing and time itself. It wasalmost comical when placed against the simple soap and razor whichJonathan himself considered the extent of necessity for his goodhygiene.

Glancing at the small cup which was inhabited by two separatetoothbrushes, Jonathan resented the hint of insecurity which nippedat his thoughts.

“So what plans are you cooking up for today then, my dearestcrooked man?” Edward asked, nonchalant as he shifted his newspaperto expose the crossword to his gaze.

That was a new one. “Crooked man?” Jonathan inquired.

Shuffling his fingers through the paper, Edward explained. “Areyou not the crooked man? Who walks a crooked mile? And welcomeslittle fishes in with his very crooked smile?” Bastardising the twoseparate rhymes, Edward looked far too pleased with himself.

Sniffing in distaste, Jonathan launched himself into a curtexplanation of his plans.

Crooked smile.

Running his tongue along the familiar bumps and ridges of his teeth,Jonathan smiled widely into the mirror as he finished his explorationof his own mouth. Teeth. Often voted one of the most attractive andsought-after aspects of a potential partner, his own childhood spentas a victim of his great grannys’ sadistic whims had left little roomfor some much-needed dental work and as he developed into a young manhe lacked the funds to pay for the work himself.

Now, as an adult, he was far too jaded and disgruntled to care aboutsuch things. However, that did not mean that he was ignorant of thestigma surrounding bad teeth. A fact which would have been irritatingenough if it were not also compounded by the absolute perfectionwhich were Edward’s teeth.

White as a dove and even enough to play host to a spirit-level, theamount of work Edward had seen conducted on his teeth over the yearsmeasured into the thousands in terms of dollars. Vanity was his sinand Jonathan was willing to allow him to fall victim to it withoutever seeing the appeal himself.

But as he observed his teeth, crooked as they were and yellowed overthe years by his constant intake of coffee, he felt a twinge ofdoubt. Edward had never commented on his dental state before and theregularity with which the redhead hounded him for affectionssuggested that he was hardly repulsive in that regard. But still, thecomment had been made.

Eyes locked on the mirror, Jonathan never heard the door swing openuntil the showman voice accosted him.

“Jonathan!”

Speaking of the devil was apparently old-hat, now you apparently onlyhad to think of him and he would appear.

“Yes, Edward?”

“Are you ready to leave?” Lounging against the door frame, Edwardadjusted his tie. “Oswald will punish tardiness by seating us inthat horrible booth near the kitchen and I have a very high socialstandard to keep.”

Determined to prove his own point, Jonathan smiled widely enough toallow each of his crooked teeth to prevent themselves to Edward as heturned towards his partner.

“Ready in one moment.”

Perhaps a little confused by the enthusiastic smile, Edwards’eyebrows knitted together for a moment before relaxing as he shruggedand matched Jonathans’ smile with one of his own.

No hint of disgust.

No obvious recoil.

No problem.

Turning back to his reflection, Jonathan mentally scolded himself forthe moment of weakness and doubt of Edwards’ intentions beforeswitching his attention to the night ahead.

In that regard, Edward was correct.

That booth by the kitchens was atrocious.