Cringe Oc - Blog Posts

CRINGE OLD OC REDRAW TIME

THEY ARE ONLY ONE YEAR APART WTF

1. A Dame Walks Into A Bar

Summary: Lori, a wealthy socialite, steps into Mr. Dog’s bar, unknowingly walking into danger. When an unwanted guest makes her uncomfortable, she orders an Angel Shot, alerting the owner. Mr. Dog ensures her safety, but the situation catches the eye of a dangerous man—Sans. Triggers: Harassment, implied danger, intimidation

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The bar was dimly lit, bathed in the warm glow of chandeliers that hung like golden crowns from the ceiling. The air smelled of whiskey, polished wood, and the faintest hint of cigar smoke. Dark mahogany shelves lined the back wall, showcasing expensive liquor in crystal decanters, while the bar counter gleamed from constant care. Small round tables with deep red tablecloths dotted the space, accompanied by plush velvet chairs where figures in tailored suits and flapper dresses whispered deals over glasses of bourbon.

Lori stepped inside, the click of her heels barely audible over the soft jazz drifting from the gramophone in the corner. Her blue dress, a silky number with delicate embroidery, hugged her curves modestly but elegantly, swishing with each step. She was a stark contrast to the rowdy gangsters and socialites who filled the space, but she didn’t care. She approached the bar, keeping her expression neutral despite the tension in her shoulders.

Behind the counter, Mr. Dog stood like a living fortress. Towering and broad, the monster’s brown fur caught the low light, and his sharp yellow star-shaped pupils scanned the room with practiced ease. He wore a crisp white dress shirt, sleeves rolled up to reveal strong arms, a black vest neatly buttoned over it. His presence alone commanded respect, and the subtle twitch of his ears told Lori he had already noticed her unease.

She leaned in slightly and, with a steady voice, said, “Angel shot.”

Mr. Dog didn’t react outwardly, but his grip on the counter firmed slightly. That was a code—a silent cry for help. Without hesitation, he nodded, as if simply acknowledging a drink order, while subtly reaching beneath the counter where his modified shotgun rested. The shells wouldn’t kill, but they’d make anyone causing trouble wish they had taken the hint to leave.

The door swung open with a creak, and the already heavy atmosphere in the bar became suffocating. The chatter quieted just a little, enough for those who knew better to start paying attention. A figure stepped in, broad and imposing, his presence a sharp contrast to the luxurious setting. His black suit, crisp and well-tailored, fit him like a second skin, the crimson vest beneath adding a dangerous edge. A cigar rested between his teeth, curling red smoke from his eye socket like a devil’s whisper.

His sharp pupils scanned the room before landing on Lori. A slow, smug grin spread across his skeletal face as he strolled up, resting a heavy arm on the counter beside her like he owned the place. “Heh. So, ya ran off to a bar, huh?” His voice was low, gravelly, laced with condescension. “Didn’t take ya for the type, doll. Then again, guess I shoulda known ya’d come crawlin’ back sooner or later.”

Lori, without looking at him, sipped the water Mr. Dog had placed in front of her. “Not your doll.”

His smirk didn’t waver, but there was a sharpness in his gaze now, a possessive glint. “Yeah? ‘Cause last I checked, I been real generous lettin’ ya play this little game. But sweetheart, let’s not kid ourselves—you wouldn’t last a day without me lookin’ out for ya.” He chuckled, shaking his head. “C’mon, you gonna make me drag ya outta here?”

Before Lori could respond, Mr. Dog, still casually wiping a glass, spoke up. “Don’t talk to me or my friend ever again.”

Sans blinked at him, then let out a sharp, bark-like laugh. “That so? And who exactly do you think you are, mutt?”

Mr. Dog’s grip tightened around the shotgun under the counter. His yellow star-shaped pupils gleamed like warning lights. “I’m the guy who keeps his customers safe. Now, you wanna leave on your own, or do I need to help you take a nap?”

Sans’s grin twitched, his fingers flexing like he was debating how much of a problem he wanted to make this. Finally, he exhaled, a puff of red smoke curling in the air. “Tch. Fine, fine. Ya got guts, I’ll give ya that.” He flicked a glance at Lori, voice dropping to something almost sickly sweet. “We’ll talk later, babe.”

She didn’t reply, only lifting her glass to her lips as he turned and strode toward the exit. The tension in the bar eased slightly, though Mr. Dog kept his grip on his shotgun until the door swung shut behind him.

Only then did he glance at Lori, his ears flicking. “You alright?”

She let out a slow breath before nodding. “Yeah.” She placed a few bills on the counter. “Thanks, Mr. Dog.”

He huffed, setting down the glass he had been wiping. “Anytime.”

A beat of silence passed before he muttered under his breath, “Next time, I’m charging extra for mafia repellent.”