#soot shaw

[utencils]

she will NOT leave him alone

[mages-pandoras-box]

The Final Item (Starter)

Wilbur was minding his own business, out of his village collecting resources for his people. Even though his people were mostly hunters and gathers, there were some things even they needed from modern society and the people of The Origin were not that stuck-up that they couldn't admit it.

Wilbur sighed as he looked at his list; the last thing he needed was a single vile of Compound V. Wilbur's people used it in potions to make them more potent in case of emergencies. Wilbur makes his way to the coordinates his pal Scott Smajor gave him to find more.

Wilbur wasn't looking where he was going and cursed as he bumped into a woman with red hair wearing odd-looking armor.

Wilbur was currently invisible, so to the woman it felt like she hit a invisible wall. Wilbur sighs and blinks back into existence to avoid her freaking out.

"Please don't freak out," he says, hands only made of bone raised in a peaceful gesture, "I didn't mean to bump ya! You okay?"

@empress-of-the-other-world

@out-of-touch-and-out-of-time

[us3rnam3-r3dact3d]

the world (it burns through me)

Chapter 13: Darlin’

Ao3 | 3.3k words | Darlin’s POV

Milo has a bad feeling. Engine One is docked for New Years. Angel throws together a party. Darlin’ and Sam ring in the new year. Sam opens up.

TW: descriptions of injury, discussions of amputation, discussions of car accidents, discussion of a toxic relationship, discussion of injuries, discussions of past sexual encounters.

Milo came out of the whole affair with a concussion and three broken ribs. After of such a close call, it wasn’t that bad of a shake. You had seen worse in your time with the 10-19. You’d had worse yourself. You’d all been on scene when Asher’s father had been pinned in a similar fashion during a house fire. That particular incident led to the amputation of his left leg and his early retirement.

Everybody seemed to carry the weight of how bad it could have been around on their shoulders. Asher had a haunted look about him whenever conversation lulled, his cheery disposition disappearing from his features as soon as he was no longer focused entirely on it. He tagged along to pick Milo up from the hospital, and he hovered like a mother hen while Milo carried out his Department mandated desk duty shifts.

Christian filled in Milo’s spot on Engine One, and his nervous energy could have fueled a small town. He jittered about the rig and station, seeming as though he was aching to do something, to help, but unsure how. David kept him moving, gave him busy work that you knew he would usually groan about, put him on hoses on calls, didn’t give him a moment of down time on the job to manifest that anxiety into something dangerous.

David stopped having Asher run scenes. He took over as I.C. on every call, put himself back in control. He stalked around the station on and off shift, body tense, posture strained. He stared down the entrance to the bunk room at night, Little Shaw curled against his chest, like he was waiting for it to burst open under heat or flames or heavy boots. He had stopped sleeping.

You interrogated Milo as soon as it was appropriate in regards to the mystery vic on the charlie wall. He looked rough, even scrubbed down from the soot that had clung to his skin in the hospital, even made up perfectly in his uniform. He had been back on the job for three days, most of that time spent on one of the lounge’s plush couches running expense reports you both knew David had already looked over and approved. A blotchy, dark purple bruise had bloomed across his right temple, swelling around the three, neat stitches that held he delicate skin together. He moved slowly, tenderly, and you knew from experience that every shift and jerk hurt like all hell.

“He was tall.” Milo mused, rubbing at his eyes. “Near as tall as you. I couldn’t make out details through the smoke, but he was on his feet. Don’t know how, and I don’t know why the fuck he hadn’t tried to get out yet.”

“Some people freeze.” You offered, perched on the ottoman next to his seat on the couch. You didn’t dare to sit next to him, to risk him moving in any way that would hurt him. “Shock and all of that.”

“Yeah…” Milo relented, but his face was still screwed up, unconvinced.

“What is it?” You asked. Milo had a way with people, an understanding of those around him that you and your very shitty judgement couldn’t touch. Milo knew before anybody else when a new boyfriend was secretly an asshole, when somebody on a call was going to freak out, when a disagreement was about to devolve into an all out fight. It was like he could smell it on the air. If he thought something was fishy with that vic, even from the split second look he got at him, you trusted that feeling implicitly.

“Something felt off.” Milo shrugged, wincing a moment later. “I don’t know what but… Jesus, something about him made me… shiver.” You met his eye steadily, waited for him to go on. When he didn’t, you nodded and stood.

“Thanks.” You murmured. You had more questions than you had before the conversation.

The week between Christmas and New Years always felt strange and liminal. It was packed with calls. You figured it had something to do with the cold and dark. People went a little crazy when the sun went down at six and the temperature refused to let up. California was pretty temperate most of the year, but this stretch was the worst of it. Fights brewed when people couldn’t escape their home or families for fear of the cold. People didn’t know how to drive when the roads went slick and icy in the early mornings.

By some miracle or the grace of whichever god kept an eye out for first responders, Engine One docked at eleven-forty-five on New Years Eve and the lines went quiet. Usually, dispatch kept buzzing through holidays with little care. Emergencies had no sense of decorum, and they didn’t just stop so you could ring in a new year. You were fairly certain that you’d spent every New Year between eighteen and twenty-five pulling people from mangled cars, pounding CPR into crumbling chests, putting out fires in dormant office buildings. You’d spent the last two alone.

Ash clapped his hand across your shoulder as he swung down from the rig, a smile spread across his face. Christian jogged after him, his voice high and whining. You watched as they raced to the lounge, stopping only long enough to drop their turnouts.

“Fucking kids.” You grumbled. David snorted over your shoulder as he ran through the docking checklist quickly.

“Go eat something, please.” He said. You thought about snapping back, something sharp about him mothering you. You decided against it. You hopped down and dropped your turnouts, set them up carefully on the ground beside the rig just in case you had to get back into them quickly.

The lounge was lit up and loud, voices intermingling and bouncing across the cozy space. You stepped in, ran your eyes across the room. The big screen tv had the ball drop in Times Square blaring. Ryan Seacrest was interviewing some cookie cutter pop star you couldn’t name with a gun to your head. Little Shaw was in the center of a group of firefighters, passing out disposable champagne flutes full of something sparkling. It certainly wasn’t alcoholic, since Milo was sat on the couch nearby with a glass in hand, smiling as his partner gingerly sat next to him, a hand on his thigh, sharp eyes scrutinizing his features for any pain. Asher was hanging over Amanda, singing Aud Lang Syne at the top of his lungs. Vincent was in the corner with his pretty partner, whispering something in their ear that made them blush. They whacked him in the chest, laughing high and light, head tossed back.

Anxiety bloomed in your chest. It was a small gathering, an intimate one. You felt your rough edges grind strangely against the full room. The prey animal in your chest ached to turn tail, to retreat.

Little Shaw grinned, wide and bright as you stepped in. They raced across the room to you, a flute sploshing dangerously in their hand as they held it out to you.

“Trouble!” They laughed, toasting you with their own flute as they bounced on their toes in front of you. “Happy New Year!”

You smiled, clutched the glass to your chest as they smiled up at you.

“Happy New Year.” You replied. “You trying to get me drunk?”

“Oh yeah,” Little Shaw replied, face suddenly serious, “I’m being very irresponsible with Dahlia’s firefighters.”

“Did you plan all of this?” You asked, taking a look around the room. Most of the 10-19 was present and quite a few of their partners were trickling in as midnight ticked closer. You watched as Asher fished his phone from his pocket, his face lighting up as he picked up a call. He bounced on his toes, tugging Amanda along with him as he spoke animatedly to whoever was on the other end.

“More like… threw it together.” Little Shaw said, surveying the room. “I thought it would just be me and Milo here at midnight so we were gonna have some sparkling grape juice and call it a night. But when we heard over the radio that you guys were heading back in…” they shrugged like it was nothing, but you could see how pleased they were with their own work.

“How’d you get everybody here so fast?”

“I have my ways.”

You watched as their face melted when David stepped into the lounge. Their conversation with you forgotten, Little Shaw pulled David down into an unabashed kiss. He grumbled softly into their lips, but one of his hands fell to their waist as the other steadied the champagne flute they were swinging around like it was empty. David had never been one for PDA, but you watched as he chased their lips when they pulled away.

“Angel,” he breathed into them, relief spreading across his features as he got a good look at them, as though he’d been afraid something would happen while he was gone, “it’s not midnight yet. You’re cheating.”

“Oh, he’s got jokes now?” Little Shaw giggled as they leaned into the hand on their waist, trusting that he would hold their weight.

“You’ve got a bad sense of humor if you think that’s a joke.”

You turned away as Little Shaw basked in David’s arms, uncomfortable with the intimacy, warm inside at the idea of David sounding so fucking happy.

You retreated, stepped out of the lounge and into the quiet of the hall outside. You walked away from the noise until all you could hear was the gentle impressions of voices through the walls. You breathed out as you entered the kitchen, alone.

Alone except for Sam, who was leaning against the counter, staring down at his hands where they were planted on the speckled granite. He looked tired, wrung dry. He had a pair of glasses perched on his nose. You didn’t know he needed them.

You didn’t know a thing about him, really.

“Don’t like parties?” You asked. Sam jumped, looked up at you, surprised. He let out a shaky breath. “Sorry.” You said softly, lowering your voice. “Didn’t meant to-”

“No,” Sam shook his head, an unsure smile breaking out across his features, “no, you’re fine. I’m… yeah. I’m not the biggest fan of parties.”

“Me either.” You supplied, setting down your grape juice and leaning against the counter next to him. “It’s hard to get a good buzz going around those losers.”

“They ain’t so bad.” Sam snorted, nudging you with his elbow. He rested back against the counter, one palm spread right next to your hip, his pinky brushing against you. He was close enough that you could smell his woody cologne. You could smother yourself in that scent. “And you ain’t so bad yourself.”

You could hear chanting from the lounge, muffled and indiscernible.

“What, you like me or something?” You asked, smile pulling on the scar through your top lip. Sam laughed softly, his face flushing. God, you loved it when he blushed, as subtle as it was against his skin. You looked away. You couldn’t take it when he looked like that, smiling and blushing and unburdened. It was like staring directly into the fucking sun. One strong, calloused hand met your cheek and turned your gaze back to meet his. Those fucking brown eyes. You could drown in them.

“Darlin’,” he drawled, his voice deep and edged with something hot, something dangerous, “if I liked you, you would know it.”

“Oh yeah?” You snorted. You tried to look away, but he wouldn’t let you. You could break away if you wanted to. His touch was light and gentle, just barely firm enough to direct your movement. You shuddered under his control, but didn’t pull away. “How?”

Sam considered you for a moment, his lips quirking at the corners. You watched your own face, bright red and barring all, reflected in his fancy glasses. Cheers broke out in the distance, echoes of Happy New Year bouncing through the otherwise deserted house.

His head bobbed towards yours, lips a breath away. He hesitated, just a moment, just long enough for you to protest if you wanted to. And then he was kissing you.

Warmth blossomed in your chest, squeezing out your breath until your stomach burned. It was a chaste press of lips against yours, plump and soft, before Sam pulled back, his hand still cradling your face gently. Nobody had ever touched you like that before. You didn’t know what to do with that, with him, with his soft caresses and innocent kisses.

You chased him instead, threaded your fingers into the collar of his uniform shirt and pulled him back to you. You were stronger than him, and you pulled him towards you until he had to brace himself against the counter, a hand on either side of you, his hips pressing against yours.

This you were familiar with. His body bucked into yours, his want painted across his every movement. The next time your lips met, it was all tongue and teeth and unfettered need. It had been months since anybody had fucked you.

It had been Quinn. That was only a few days before-

You planted a hand against Sam’s shoulder and pushed him back, not hard enough to fully separate you, just enough to slow him down. He let out an unsteady breath as his shaking right hand landed on your hip.

“I’m sorry-” he sighed, his head dipping low.

“No, I-”

“I need-”

“Sam, I can’t-”

“I just need to take it slow.” He let it all out in a tumble, his words tripping over each other. His accent drawled more dramatically than you were used to. You let out a soft laugh, flexed your hand against his chest. “I’m sorry.” He said again.

“No.” You shook your head, dipping it so your foreheads rested against each other. “Don’t say that. I… me too.”

You were quiet for a moment, tangled together against the counter, breathing the same air in an uneven cycle.

“Come on,” Sam pulled back but his hands lingered on you, moved you with him. “Let’s… let’s go sit down somewhere.”

You let him guide you, pull you along as he made for the bunk room. It was usually full at this time of night, but the lights were off and the beds were empty. Sam led you to one, your hand in his, and sat on the edge of it. He closed his eyes as you settled next to him. That weariness had settled back into him, lining his face with exhaustion.

“I wanna tell you something.” He said. “Why… why I need to take this slow.”

“Sam,” you soothed, your hand tightening around his, “you don’t have to. You don’t owe me anything.” You didn’t want Sam to expose the vulnerable parts of him, peel back his skin and show you his beating heart. Not out of some sense of obligation or equity.

“I know more about your past than I rightly should.” Sam shrugged. “And… I want to. I want you to know.”

His eyes met yours, warm and dark and sure. You held them until that certainty bled into you.

“Okay.” You breathed into the quiet. Sam looked away before he started talking, closed his eyes, like he couldn’t face you when he said it.

“I was a doctor.” Sam said eventually. “A surgical resident at Dahlia General. I was in my fourth year, so I had one more to go before I could get hired on as an attending. I was pulling all nighters, running myself into the ground. It was part of the culture.”

You nodded, scooted closer to him, pressing your sides together.

“I was dating the daughter of the chief of surgery. She’s a cardio thoracic surgeon. Her first year as an attending was my first year as an intern. She… took an interest in me, and not as a student. She was… well, Alexis is intense. She was… more into it than I was. And I’m not the type to lead people on.” He shook his head. “We went to dinner. I broke the news to her. I did it in a public place so she wouldn’t… Yeah.” He smiled a humorless, empty smile. “But I had picked her up, so I had to take her back home too. She was laying into me on the drive. And I hadn’t slept in days. I was… I shouldn't have been driving.”

You could see the weight as it fell on his shoulders, as he shouldered the blame before he could even lay it out in front of you.

“I drifted into the other lane, nearly hit somebody head on. I jerked the wheel, and drove us off the road. We hit a tree. It was… it was a bad crash.”

You blinked away visions of a dark, siren bathed road, of Gabe Shaw’s truck twisted into a ball around his broken body. Sam’s voice took on a cracking, emotional edge. You were terrified that he would cry.

“There was a piece of the car in me,” he hovered his hand over his side, “the seatbelt had broken my collarbone. My hand went through the dashboard. I was in bad shape. Alexis… she moved me. I don’t know what the fuck she was thinking, she’s a doctor and a damn good one. But… she was in shock. She pulled me outta the car, took the shrapnel out of my side. I bled a lot more than I should have.”

You snaked an arm around his middle as he sniffled, pressed his face into your shoulder. He tugged his glasses off and sighed into you, let his weight go. You held him up effortlessly.

“I don’t care about the scar.” He said. “I don’t care about the car or any of that shit… but my hand…” He held his right hand out, and you watched, with patient eyes, as his long fingers trembled. You took it gently in your own and traced your fingers over the concave lines of scars. You’d never noticed them before, but they seemed impossible to miss now. “I’ve got some nerve damage. Can’t feel nothing under the scar tissue. My doctors don’t know if the tremor is neuromuscular or if Alexis fucked something in my central nervous system… either way, there’s nothing to do about it now. I’m likely to have a shake for the rest of my life.”

“So you can’t…”

“I can’t be a surgeon.” He nodded. “Nobody wants shaky hands messing around in their guts.”

You were quiet for a long moment.

“What kind of surgeon were you gonna be?”

Sam ducked his head, let out a quiet puff of air, almost like a laugh, but hollow.

“A trauma surgeon.” He replied. “I could have fixed myself.” He looked up. His eyes were watery. “If I’d had a scalpel and an OR and some good drugs, I could have fixed every bit of damage that wreck did to me. And I wouldn’t have left such a big scar.”

“You were good.” You replied.

“I was good.”

You stayed like that for a long while, curled together in the quiet and dark. You let every tremor that ran across Sam’s nerves echo through your own fingers, up your arm. You held him as he fought tears, pretended you didn’t hear him sniffle.

And then the bell rang, ear splitting in the silence. The code called over the intercom; fire and medical. You sighed as Sam untangled himself from you. His hand lingered in yours for just a moment.

He leaned in to kiss you again, softer, slower. Fireworks broke out in your chest again.

“Happy New Year, Sammy.” You breathed, your lips against his. You felt it when he smiled.

“Happy New Year, Darlin’.”

[pupsmailbox]

STARTING WITH S

MASCULINE︰ sacheverell. sage. saint. sal. salem. salvador. sam. samir. sammie. sammy. sampson. samson. samuel. sandford. sandy. santana. santiago. santino. santos. saul. sawyer. saxon. scot. scott. scottie. scotty. scout. sean. sebastian. sefton. selby. sergio. seth. seven. sevyn. seymour. shae. shane. shaun. shaw. shawn. shayne. shelby. sheldon. shelton. shepard. shepherd. sherman. shiloh. sid. sidney. silas. silis. silver. silvester. simon. sincere. sinclair. sinjin. sky. skylar. skyler. slade. sloan. sly. smith. solomon. sonny. soren. sparrow. spencer. spike. stafford. stan. stanford. stanley. stefan. steph. stephen. sterling. stetson. steve. steven. stevie. stewart. stone. storm. stryker. stu. stuart. sullivan. sully. sunday. sutton. syd. sydney. sylas. sylvan. sylvanus. sylvester. symon. syncere.

FEMININE︰ sabella. sable. sabrina. sabryna. sadie. saffron. sage. saige. sal. salem. salena. salina. sallie. sally. salome. sam. samantha. samara. sammi. sammie. sammy. sandie. sandra. sandy. santana. saoirse. saphire. sapphire. sara. sarah. sarai. saranna. sarina. sariyah. sasha. saundra. savanna. savannah. sawyer. saylor. scarlet. scarlett. scarlette. schuyler. scottie. scout. seanna. sela. selah. selby. selena. selma. september. sequoia. sera. serena. serenity. serina. serrena. sevan. sevyn. shae. shaelyn. shana. shanae. shanelle. shanene. shania. shanna. shannah. shannen. shannon. shanon. shantae. shantel. shantelle. sharalyn. shari. sharise. sharla. sharleen. sharlene. sharmaine. sharon. sharona. sharron. sharyl. sharyn. shauna. shavon. shavonne. shawna. shawnda. shawnee. shaye. shayla. shayley. shaylyn. sheelagh. sheena. sheila. shelagh. shelby. shelia. shell. shelley. shelly. shena. sheree. sheri. sheridan. sherie. sherill. sherilyn. sherisse. sherley. sherlyn. sherri. sherrie. sherry. sheryl. sheryll. shevaun. shevon. shilo. shiloh. shirlee. shirley. shonda. shyla. siara. sibyl. sidney. sidony. siena. sienna. sierra. silver. simone. simonette. sinclair. sindy. sky. skye. skyla. skylar. skyler. skylynn. sloan. sloane. snow. sofia. soledad. sommer. sondra. sonia. sonya. sookie. sophia. sophie. sophy. soraya. sorrel. spirit. spring. stace. stacee. stacey. staci. stacia. stacie. stacy. star. starla. starr. stefani. stella. steph. stephani. stephania. stephanie. stephany. stevie. stormi. stormy. sue. suellen. suki. sukie. summer. sunday. sunny. sunshine. susan. susanna. susanne. susie. sutton. suz. suzan. suzanna. suzanne. suzi. suzie. suzy. sybella. sybil. syd. sydne. sydneey. sydney. sydnie. sylvia. sylvie. symphony.

NEUTRAL︰ saccharine. saffron. saga. sage. saige. sailor. saint. sakae. salem. saline. sam. sami. samie. sammy. sandi. sandy. santana. sapphire. sasha. satsuki. sawyer. saxon. scape. scarlet. scorpion. scottie. scout. scribbles. sea. secret. seer. sekani. semaj. semi. september. serenity. seven. sevyn. shade. shadow. shai. shale. shalom. shan. shannon. shark. shay. shea. shelby. sheridan. shi. shia. shield. shiloh. shiro. shiver. shook. should. sid. sidney. silver. sincere. sincerity. siren. skeptic. skull. skunk. sky. skye. skyler. slate. slider. sloan. smash. sneaky. sniff. snitch. snooze. snow. soap. sock. soda. sol. solace. solo. solstice. soma. sonny. soot. sora. soren. sorrel. soul. sour. south. spark. sparrow. spear. specter. speedy. spell. spencer. spider. spiral. spirit. spot. spy. stab. stacy. stag. stall. star. stark. starling. static. stay. steady. steel. stereo. sterling. stitch. stock. stone. storm. stormi. stormy. stranger. strawberry. stray. stricken. studio. subwoofer. suede. sugar. sulfur. sullivan. summer. summit. sun. sunday. sunny. sutton. sway. swing. switch. sychophant. symphony. syncere. synth.

[aggro-my-beloved]

Angel Face → David Shaw x Reader Imagine

note: i can’t write a grumpy david shaw i’m sorry he’s like .03% tsundere in this re-imagined meet cute between him and angel and his anger isn’t even directed towards them. i’ll be leaving a poll at the end for which paring you’d like me to write for next in this scenario. please like and reblog as it’d really mean a lot!

pairing: david shaw x gn!reader

summary: solstice bar is packed tonight for an up-and-coming performance by a local band, and security guard david is left as a stand-in for the usual bartender. just when he thinks he’s at his wit’s end, a stranger in desperate need of conversation and something to soothe their nerves makes this shifter’s thursday a bit more tolerable.

warnings: mentions of alcohol, mild swearing, damn crew as frat bois and other shenanigans

wc: 2.1k

estimated reading time: 10.5 mins

“Welcome to Solstice!” 

At a certain point in the night, the patron’s slurred chattering morphs into white noise for David’s ears. While manning the bar, beckons and calls for another round are less distinguishable but still audible if he concentrates hard enough. 

“Kitchen’s closed!” 

“Soda or seltzer?” 

“Special is a…” he turns the still full bottle on the center of the bar to face him. “A Port Charlotte single malt whiskey. You in?” Seconds later, he heaves a mix between a grumble and a sigh. “Course not.” 

“I said the kitchen’s closed!” 

“Try saying it louder,” chortles Milo. His dark stature barrels through the swinging door leading to the kitchen, behind the bar. Amidst his rapid collecting of fingerprint-stamped brandy bowls and red-kissed crystal stems, his hand flies up to release his chestnut waves from the hairnet securing them. “Don’t think they heard you the seventeenth time.” 

“Remind me why I agreed to pick up a Thursday for Sam. I never work Thursdays.” David raises his voice the farther Milo retreats into the kitchen. The clinks of glasses tickle his ears but do little to nothing to ease his nerves. The cook returns with a pristine array of cocktail glasses sat on a black tray. If there’s anything David admires more than his colleague’s house-made wings, it’s how he can make the same dingy glasses sparkle night after night with a quick wash. 

“Because…” he sets down the tray carefully on the open bar space perpendicular to David, in between the ripened limes he prepped hours ago, and the beer taps. “Ash and his band finally wrote enough decent songs for a gig here and we agreed to be here tonight to support him.” What Milo didn’t know is that the extra tips made between David and Asher tonight were in contribution to the soot-covered kitchen drawers at their home–courtesy of the main act’s drummer insisting he fulfill his oatmeal craving. There wasn’t a chance in hell those two were getting the security deposit back, not if the cherry-oak wood soaked in gray and smelling of cinder and their landlord’s new vendetta had anything to say about it. The two shifters were already ripped a new one last week for their scratch marks on the recently renovated hardwood flooring, which they credited to “dog sitting for a friend.”

“And no more animals!” The unempowered and oblivious landlord scolds them, red in the face. 

“Yes sir.” They reply in unison.

Ash tries choking down a smug laugh and fails miserably. David smacks him on his chest. 

Milo grabs a handful of peanuts from a stray bowl set aside to be washed, and pops them in his mouth, savoring the salt dancing on his taste buds. “Also,” he makes out through munches, “Sam’s out tonight from sun poisoning.”

David scoffs at this. “So he says. Tank was flirting with him so much last night, I could hear them from my post at the front giving stamps.” The promises of what his younger sibling would do to the fanged creature behind closed doors cued David to shudder. Before disappearing behind the kitchen door once again, Milo quips:

“Better hearing it than smelling it.” David refuses to ask the cook to elaborate and instead shifts his attention to the front entrance, where drunken yells and chants resound. His lips curl down in a fierce scowl as the melded odor of sweat and liquor becomes six bodies more pungent. Like a cavalry, they march in with arms looped through one another’s to keep stable. If the young faces weren’t already a dead giveaway for what would be in store for David tonight, their tacky shirts did enough talking. Each one color-coordinated for a significance the man was too exhausted to mull over, but all reading: “Straight Outta D.A.M.N” in giant, bold font. 

“You’ve gotta be shitting me–Hey, Milo, were you just not gonna tell me it’s the E and E’s Annual Frat Bar Crawl tonight? Because that’s a pretty fucked up thing to do to a bartending security guard!” 

“What!” Milo’s accented shriek rings through the building, and he peeks his head out of the aluminum swing door to view the staggering group of drunkards for himself. “Ah, fuckin’ hell..” He fully steps out from behind the door and cups his hands around his mouth. “Hey, hammered frat dudes!” A couple of heads from the group turn in his direction. “Yeah, you guys! Kitchen’s closed!” He turns to pat David on the back of his shoulder, over the white rag he’d been drying glasses and countertops with all night. “You got this, buddy.”

“Uh uh, I don’t think so.” The man shakes his head in disbelief, and a chorus of whines echo from the group of empowered frat members. One brave soul steps forward, the beefiest of them all. He dons a shamrock green shirt with the sleeves (poorly) cut off and a pleading set of eyes. His deep voice floats to the bar from where he stands, almost devastated. “Even for fries?” 

Milo is halfway through his strut back into the kitchen but is halted by David’s hand gripping his shoulder. “Even for fries, Milo?” The man cocks his head to the side, jutting out his bottom lip in a pout. They both knew why he was playing so coyly; resorting to the rarely used puppy dog eyes; mimicking the man’s tone from moments before. It was the same reason they consulted Asher’s band to play tonight. As much as either of them try to deny it, the bar needs the business. And if Sam’s claims during their Super Smash Bros tournament from weeks beforehand weren’t all talk, he’d hate to see what the vampire could do with just a walker and pure unbridled rage at tonight’s numbers. 

Through gritted teeth, the shorter of the two mutters something about putting his hairnet back on before continuing his journey to the clean fryers. 

“Come on in, people!” He waves a hesitant arm in his direction, encouraging the clan to venture further. The solemn whines morph into cheers as they proceed their march to the bar.  Though he was dreading it at first, the orders were easy enough. Bud Lite, Rum and Coke, two more Bud Lites, another Rum and Coke, and a Mojito. In addition to this, anungodly amount of fries, but that is for Milo to deal with. 

Halfway through the intoxicated army's orders, he spots a straggler trying to squeeze through the ever-growing crowd anticipating their next round and tonight’s show from the local, up-and-coming Howl’s Highway. Asher thinks the name is awesome. David thinks it’s one step closer to breaching covert to several unempowered beings who may be wandering into Dalia from out of town. They agree to disagree.

“Excuse me,” the voice croaks. “Sorry.” It pipes up every few seconds, complemented by the sight of shuffling bodies. Finally, a face pops up before him, splotched with red and with bloodshot eyes, but not from any addictive or bitter-tasting substance, other than heartbreak. David can sense their aura with the proximity. They are devastated, even more so than the student begging for a plate of fries. 

“Evening, Angel. What can I get for you?” The patron’s mouth falls open, and without intent, David does the same. He was never fond of pet names at the bar, rather he viewed it unprofessional as much as he did embarrassing. This is why Sam mans the bar, and he manhandles the bastards before they can order a drink. But no, tonight he needs to strip off the leather jacket and tough exterior and ask himself: what would Sam do? 

I can name someone. 

Milo, politely get the fuck out of my head and cook your goddamn–

“Uh…” The unempowered stranger gnaws on their bottom lip in thought. 

“Hey man, we weren’t through ordering!” His mouth retraces the snarl from earlier, and he apologetically directs his attention away from the distressed figure and to another fart member. The most inebriated and demanding of them all, if David had to guess from his words coming out like fondue. This one had a red shirt and an overall bad attitude. 

“Ah,” he holds a finger up, allowing the man to pause. “Let me take their order, and I’ll come back to you, okay?” He offers a thumbs up to the man, hoping this will mollify him. 

“No, not okay.” He crosses his arms, a newfound flame lit in his eyes. Oh great, just when I thought I was done putting out fires this week. Now the red shirt makes sense–fire elemental. “We were here first-“

He hopes for his friends’ sakes, he’s much more pleasant sober. 

“Dames,” Greenie butts into the argument. The one in red simmers down at the feeling of the large hand resting on the small of his back and drawing gentle circles. “It’s alright, he’ll only be a minute.”

“Y-yeah, maybe we can go find some uh–some good seats for the band tonight and come back?” A meek voice offers. He’s hidden behind the other members of the group, all that is visible of him is a pair of round frames and a flash of gray on his upper body. Similar to how they breached the entrance of the place, the squad links arms to continue their journey deeper into the crowd.

 

“God, those were some tacky shirts. Straight Outta DAMN? What does that even mean?” The newest customer shakes their head in disgust as they eye the backside of the frat disappearing into the sea of bodies. “Seems like you’ve got your work cut out for you tonight.” 

“Who, the Bud Lite bunch?” He waves a hand nonchalantly. “We get ten of those on nights like these.” 

“Well, I hope that was your tenth and final bunch of the night. I don’t do too well around rowdy people.” 

“So what brings you to one of the most packed bars in town tonight?” David quirks a brow at the stranger. 

“Well, the pictures online made it seem a lot less busy.” They rub the back of their neck with a sheepish smile coating their face. “I just needed to get away from…I got dumped tonight and wanted to drown my sorrows.” David tries not to be offended by how invisible they are to the public and the stranger’s acknowledgment of it. The bigger chains are killing them. More recently, they’re treading on the outskirts of Dalia and monopolizing over each empty plot of land they deem a cash cow.

“Your wish is my command. What’ll it be?” David crosses his arms, causing his muscular arms to bulge against the thin fabric of his white tee. Simultaneously, the hem of his shirt rides up to reveal a very tan, very toned v-line vulnerable to the wandering eyes of the one sitting before him. They try not to make it obvious. Menu, eyes, menu, abs, arms, back to menu. 

“Maybe an Espresso Martini?” They peer up to lock eyes with him again. Truthfully, they hadn’t read a description of any drink on the list and were taking a lucky guess. 

A few seconds of silence transpire before David responds firmly. “No.” They almost choke in disbelief, and their heart rate picks up.  

“Pardon?” 

“You need something stronger.” He decides, ultimately picking up a few bottles that the dejected newbie couldn’t decipher the labels of. Their eyebrows stay furrowed as David fills the cobbler shaker with a handful of ice cubes and a generous amount of liquor. 

“C’mon, trust me. What’s in here,” he shakes the stainless steel vigorously for emphasis, “ain’t gonna kill you.” 

“I think a hole-in-the-wall bar is the last place I should be told to trust  a stranger.” David considers this and hums. 

“I think the alley in the back of this place might take the cake.” Wiggling in the leather barstool from anticipation, their eyes stay concentrated on the clear glass as a slow strain of amber liquid occupies it. Before sliding it to their side of the bar, David is sure to garnish it with some orange zest.

“Go ahead, it’s on the house,” David smirks, before retreating to the kitchen to help Milo plate the heaps of fries. 

“For real? No, I have to owe something.” 

“It’s a new recipe. I wouldn’t even know what to charge you.” The man admits. “Go on,” he insists, prior to disappearing behind the swing door and being greeted with Milo’s sassy commentary on how David’s going to be working overtime to help him clean tonight. 

As the cook is balancing plates onto his arms, he hardly feels the burn of ceramic against his arms. For all his senses are concentrated on his new patron–more specifically, the sound of them sipping his innovation and a delightful hum leaving their lips. 

“Damn, that’s good.” 

He ponders shortly after, amidst delivering fries to the ravenous elemental crew, I think I’ll call it Angel Face.

＊＊＊＊＊＊＊＊＊＊＊＊

[mages-pandoras-box]

Wilbur seemed unbothered by the rain, letting it soak his clothes and hair as he slowly materialized on Maeve's right. The action almost looked like a camera trying to focus on something, the shimmers reflecting the raindrops until he fully becomes corporal.

"What are you doing out here?" he asks softly, "I don't see many humans actively trying to stand in the rain. Supe or not, you'll make yourself sick,"

@empress-of-the-other-world

rainstorm - Mage's Pandoras Box (Wilbur Soot)

After a long evening of pointless meetings, Maeve needed a break. As she made her way to her apartment within the Vought building, she just happened to look out of the big windows for a moment and noticed that it was raining heavily.

Standing there watching it rain for a minute, she made the decision to head back in the direction she'd just come from and pressed the button for the elevator. Once she eventually made her way out of the building, she stood herself by the doors, vape in hand just having a moment to herself.

But it wasn't long before she noticed she wasn't alone...

"Wilbur. What do you want?"

@mages-pandoras-box

[snowfieldstories]

In Life and Death [Chapter 9]

Kim Dokja x Reader/Original female character

<< Series masterlist

a/n: I feel like I say this every time...but this is such an emotional whirlwind of a chapter. It's kind of obscene how much I managed to pack into this one (7.6k 😭)

Warnings: strong language, brief strong violence

Summary:

In which a reader finds herself tossed into the pages of her favorite web novel after her untimely death. A novel of a novel within reality. It's a reader's dream, right? Well, this reader vows to bring the right epilogue to her beloved character, Kim Dokja. She will give him the happiest of endings. Or she will die trying.

⚠️MAJOR SPOILERS FOR ORV WEB NOVEL AND MANHWA!!!!⚠️

Episode V. Chapter 9 — Reapers and Revelations

I walked beside Dokja on the way back, peeking at him every so often. He was deep in thought, but then so was I—or rather, lost in thought because his robe was gaping open at the chest and it was incredibly distracting. I'm swooning over a patch of skin like some medieval male seeing bare shoulders for the first time.

As if hearing my thoughts, Dokja suddenly blinked and tightened the closure of the robe. Damn it.

"You're back!"

A dusty Gilyoung and Namwoon greeted us eagerly, the younger boy bouncing around the returned group like a grasshopper. Namwoon took one look at Dokja and stopped dead in his tracks.

"You." He pointed an accusing finger at Dokja, looking rapidly between the two of us. "What the fuck—"

"Language," I said absently, more confused than anything.

"—the FUCK happened?! Where are your clothes?" he shrieked. Dokja made the mistake of glancing at me, equally baffled by the reaction and hoping that I would have an answer. It was instead a sort of confirmation for the Delusional Demon; Namwoon's expression shifted into horror. "D—did you two really fu—u—?"

The word stuck in his throat, like he couldn't bear to voice the thought aloud. Namwoon ran up to me, lifted my arms, and inspected my clothes, hair, and skin. He prodded a red welt on my arm and cried out, "This—!"

"That's a burn," I said drily. "You fucking bonehead."

His anger was back on Dokja. "You burned her??"

I forwent the usual forehead flick and slapped his cheek, then grabbed his face roughly. "Kim Namwoon, shut the hell up. We were with a large group of people the whole time and fighting a dragon...do you really think there was time to do something like that?"

There was a silence as he processed my words. His eyes widened in understanding.

"Ohh. Shaw-rry," Namwoon tried to apologize through the squish of his cheeks.

[The constellation 'Demon-like Judge of Fire' mournfully wishes it were true.]

Yeah, I'm sure she did. Once again, I was left questioning the holiness of such a thirsting and voyeuristic archangel.

I looked back at Namwoon. He was closing his eyes in rapid, absurd motions, trying to bat them like some remorseful damsel. It only came across as disturbing.

"I've been too lenient with you," I muttered, and shoved Namwoon away, hopping up onto the platform.

"Angel-noona, I'm sorry!" I heard him wail behind me. Then I heard him say, "I should have known...angel-noona would never get with you."

He yelped as he was, presumably, smacked upside the head.

Delusional bonehead, indeed.

"Sangah!"

She turned. "Yeona-ssi!"

"What the hell happened here?" asked Heewon behind me.

Sangah had dust and soot on her face, and the station was scorched beyond belief; tile was chipped away from gunfire and blood streaked every surface.

While they talked, I miraculously found my backpack under a pile of rubble. I grabbed the pair of men's clothes (of course, I had expected to need them for this very reason) and handed them to Dokja. "Hopefully they fit."

He furrowed his brow. "They're men's clothing," I emphasized.

"...Thank you."

Gilyoung detached himself from Dokja's robe and ran over to me with a smile. Namwoon moped in the back as I inspected Gilyoung for injuries.

When I looked back up, Dokja had already pulled on the pants and shirt. Shit, I missed it. Perhaps I should have appreciated his lack of clothing more when I had the chance.

One of the Dongmyo people pointed at the opposite tracks, trembling. "T—the apostles!"

Four severed heads were lined up like ducks in a row. I curled my hand around Gilyoung's shoulder to turn him away, but he remained unbothered, as if the heads were nothing more than pieces of rubble from the fight.

Another head was kicked into our line of sight. Yoo Joonghyuk emerged from the darkness, propping a boot on top of it.

"It's you! You screwed up my plan, didn't you?"

Han Sooyoung, the plagiarist.

She (or, he, at the moment) began feuding with Dokja over her foiled plans and the Book of Revelations. I watched her and zoned out.

Should I acknowledge that I recognized her? I couldn't see the drawbacks, except it would make her aware of my exceptional knowledge; it might put her more on edge around me, shifting her wary focus off of Dokja for the time being. That would be good.

Yes. Perhaps it was better for Han Sooyoung to view someone as a greater threat.

"Kill him!"

"If you really know the future then let me ask you one thing." Yoo Joonghyuk flicked his blade up to Dokja's neck as he spoke. Dokja held up a hand to restrain our outraged party members. But I was no mere member of the party.

[You have activated the exclusive skills, 'Fleet of Foot Lv. 6' and 'Sacred Light Lv. 6'.]

Joonghyuk's wavy hair rustled as I appeared behind him, holding a dagger of light to the small of his back. Dokja went slack-jawed as he looked at me.

"You had better be bluffing," I spoke directly into the regressor's ear, barely a whisper. "Regressor or not—I will kill you if you maim him."

Too many things from the novel had changed already. I would not take the risk that Joonghyuk's decision not to slit Dokja's throat here was certain, even if it was originally.

"What? What is it? What happened?" Han Sooyoung questioned their sudden silence.

I gave Joonghyuk a prodding poke with the blade's tip, and his exhale was halfway to a growl; from the sudden concern on Dokja's face, the regressor's expression must be approaching murder.

Then, Joonghyuk said stiffly to the head, "I will ask you this. Will I kill this guy or not?"

"Yes, you will kill him! Come on, do it! Kill—"

The sword lowered a fraction. I caught Joonghyuk's ankle just before he stepped on her, and leaned down in a way that my lips couldn't be read. "Listen up. I know you, plagiarist. You can't hide from me even in your stupid avatar."

"Who—?!"

"Hush. We'll see you soon, but until then, behave yourself. Han Sooyoung."

"WH—hmpmph—!" I shoved her face down in the dirt, prepared to crush it with my hand. Instead I tapped the black boot next to me. "Ah, Joonghyuk, would you mind...?"

For a second, I thought he might kick my face into a crater. But then he crushed the plagiarist's head under his boot. "Too mouthy."

Something told me he meant more than just the avatar.

I paused in my glare to process his death date with my shinigami eyes. He had an indefinite line under his name, like Dokja. What?

[The constellation 'Secretive Plotter' is intrigued by your words.]

[300 coins have been sponsored.]

Hm, nice.

I popped up next to Joonghyuk with a sly smile. "Thanks! I didn't want to get brains all over me."

Joonghyuk's jaw twitched. He eyed the bandages around my neck, and his mouth set in a hard line. The next moment, he was gone.

"Yeona—" Dokja blinked "—uh, Yoo Joonghyuk? Hey, Yoo Joonghyuk!"

Dokja ran after him. I inspected the chunks of avatar head. Well, that should be enough to set her on my tail. She hadn't been able to see me, so it would take some time for her to pick me out, but the provocation was there.

"I need to learn that," said Heewon when I rejoined them on the platform. "Is it a skill?"

"What, my 'Fleet of Foot'? Yeah, it is." Though the skill was available for a high price with Platinum access of the Dokkaebi Bag, I had gained it after completing a scenario for Hermes of Olympus in the last round. I nodded my head at the slumped figure propped against a round bench. "Is that Lee Jihye?"

"Yes. She was knocked out during the fight with the apostles," said Sangah.

"Are there any clean blankets we could give her?" I asked. Then I spotted a familiar—unsullied—embroidered blanket now rolled up in Gilyoung's arms. "Why don't we use that one?"

A fire burned in Gilyoung's eyes as he shook his head rapidly. "Noona, no!"

"Gilyoung-ah, why..."

"It's a gift. From you. I won't let her touch it." A gift from me? Is that what Persephone told him?

Well, Gilyoung clearly held a special attachment to the item, so I didn't fight him on it. He grew suspicious as I drew near. "Here, keep it safe in this."

I offered the black backpack, nearly empty save for a few loose items and energy bars. Gilyoung's face lit up as he smiled, stuffing the blanket in and slinging it over his shoulders eagerly. "Thank you, Yeona-noona!"

I smiled as he walked around, testing it out. Sangah next to me, with an air of melancholy, said, "He looks like he's ready for his first day of school."

There was an unexpected prickling in my eyes. Lee Gilyoung should be preparing to go to school; he shouldn't be fighting for his life every day in scenarios, and he shouldn't have to be raised by strangers in a world as ruined as this one.

A lone child amongst mostly adults. We need Shin Yoosung and Yoo Mia with us.

I noticed Dokja return and huddle with the two Dongmyo prophets to discuss spreading the plagiarized novel. Kim Namwoon inched over to me, hovering until I acknowledged him with a raised eyebrow.

"Is that why you made me stay behind?" asked Namwoon. "The dragon?"

I gave him a careful look. "I thought you would be the best form of protection here in Chungmuro."

"Oh, yeah—!"

Namwoon's curiosity was diverted as he began boasting about his "unmatched strength" and "really fucking cool skills." I reminded him about swearing, even though Gilyoung wasn't within earshot.

[The constellation 'Abyssal Black Flame Dragon' complains that incarnation 'Kim Namwoon' is only as cool as his sponsor.]

"Of course, you already know I'm the best, angel-noona!" he said. I gave a noncommittal sound in response, and he rambled out a few more haughty statements before ambling off, satisfied as a cat having just caught a river fish.

"You're very good with children."

I jumped. I hadn't realized Yoo Sangah was still there. "Oh, um, no. Not really."

Sangah pursed her lips in amusement. "Did you care for children before? Your own? Ah," she smacked, "you're pretty young. Perhaps your family, then?"

I felt something within me dim.

"...I don't know." The brutally honest words hung in the air. Sangah's forehead creased, apologetic, but I continued, "It's fine, I just—don't have anyone. No family. And definitely no kids of my own."

Even with my attempt at lightheartedness, the conflicted look on Sangah's face remained. I squeezed her shoulder with a small smile before stepping away.

I was glad that Sangah seemed to be regaining her morale. Odd as it was to say, it was probably leading a battle against the apostles that helped the most.

But...thinking of Sangah and those recent events reminded me of something.

I wandered around the station, between small crowds of people and rows of sleeping lumps against walls, searching. My eyes picked over unimportant names and death dates. And then I saw him.

I set my shinigami eyes on the hook-nosed bastard: 'Kang Doyeon.'

Bingo.

By the way, I wasn't completely lying when I said I wouldn't kill people here. I really wouldn't use names from Chungmuro—except one.

This Kang Doyeon was a piece of shit, a cowardly snake rather than a person, and I was merely disposing of the trash. To be honest, he probably expected it of me. I wasn't going to take the risk that he might attack me himself—or worse, someone else, like Sangah or Gilyoung.

Kang Doyeon had conspired to kill me. I wasn't going to let that slide.

Angels of death deliver vengeance, do they not?

Perhaps I also held a teensy little grudge over his message-reading ability. I was certain it was the same 'Nosey Parker' skill, just like that fucker in the train car of my last round.

This was only a proper retribution, overall.

I hummed as I found my way back to the central platform.

"Yeona."

It was Dokja who called me. I went over to him, glancing at the furiously typing Dongmyo guys. "Yes?"

"Will you read this over once it's finished?" I sent him a questioning look. "You're more of a writer than we are, so it's best if you check it."

My eyes widened, not only that Dokja had assumed I knew exactly what they were doing over here, but because—"How did you know I write?"

"You're always doing it on your phone. You're writing a story, aren't you?"

I was stunned into silence. I didn't realize that Kim Dokja observed me that closely, watching me do trivial things like tapping away at my smartphone every so often.

"Y—yeah," I managed. "I am."

He nodded, fixating on the laptop screen once more. "Good. Then you can improve this one when we're done."

I sat nearby along the wall, unsure of whether to feel flattered or unnerved. Right now there were definitely a bit of both floating around inside me.

One of the Dongmyo men looked over at me with an odd, puzzled expression. Well, I wasn't a character from the original novel. "You...are you a prophet, too? Where did you get off?"

Dokja glanced at us sharply. I smirked at the man. "I didn't get off."

"Whaa—?" The other man paused typing.

"I'm a regressor."

"Huh?!" he shrieked. They were both under Dokja's control anyways, so it didn't matter if they knew. "H—how...?"

"Shut up, we don't have time." Dokja jabbed the loud one and he got back to typing.

The first stared at me, a bit awestruck. "So, are you and Yoo Joonghyuk—?"

"I said shut up," said Dokja fiercely.

They were cowed back into silence, with nothing but the rhythmic sound of typing filling the air.

Eventually, they finished a rough draft and passed along the laptop to me. A seriously rough, rough draft. I cursed under my breath and began correcting, rewriting, and filling in the blanks. God, can they really not spell "regression"?! What happened to autocorrect?

The three began to chat as I worked. I paused at Dokja's sudden muttering.

"Characters..." Dokja looked over at Sangah and Gilyoung for a time. His face softened as he was unable to read their skills. Then he turned to me, unfazed that I was already watching him. He peered into me.

And that cryptic look of his returned. Something cold and hard dropped in my stomach.

But then Dokja smiled—it's too sharp, I thought—and asked me to keep editing the novel so they could release it soon.

After a moment's hesitation, I did. An hour later I passed him the story.

"Wow," he said, eyes roving the text in appraisal. "It's...readable."

"Don't sound too impressed," I grumbled, flexing my aching fingers.

"No—okay—it might even be enjoyable, except it's still an awful plagiarism, even if we wrote it," said Dokja quickly. "But as an homage, you turned it into something remarkable. Your writing is, not the copied story..."

I laughed. "I get your point."

Dokja blew out an exhale, as if relieved. He eyed me curiously. "I'd like to read what you're writing too, someday."

My expression was immediately complicated. I wanted Dokja to read my story one day, but then...perhaps not, if we never reached the assumed point in our relationship that I'd experienced from his visit in the last round. I dug my toe in the ground. "Maybe someday."

Dokja weighed the laptop in his hand. "Thank you for doing this, Yeona. I think it will sell much easier now that you've given it quality."

"You're welcome," I said, my face feeling warm all of sudden.

Now that the most pressing thing was taken care of, it was time for me to finish my own personal challenge.

I passed a still-unconscious Jihye—"Stop balancing rocks on her face, Namwoon."—and now-sleeping Gilyoung, until I was perched against a column in a way that hid me from the general eyes of the station members.

[A constellation that likes to hunt commends your still-hunting method.]

Kang Doyeon was smart. He hovered around groups of people that could notice him, but not include him in their activities so he wasn't forced to interact with anyone. People were leery of him—but also aware.

I was patient.

He finally got up to use the toilet, and I activated my speed skill to zip past him in the empty hallway, snatching him up as I went. I hurled him into an empty room and slammed the door behind us.

"You knew I would come eventually, Kang Doyeon."

Whatever he had been about to say was strangled in his throat as he paled. "How," he croaked, "how do you know my name?!"

I leveled him with a withering stare. "You think even if I didn't know your name, I wouldn't still kill you?"

At the word "kill", his pallor sickened into something grey.

[The constellation 'Abyssal Black Flame Dragon' rubs his hands eagerly at the prospect of blood.]

[The constellations of revenge are delighted at this turn of events.]

[Some constellations are wary of your merciless attitude.]

I clapped a bolt of sacred light over his mouth before he could scream. His limbs were shackled together soon after.

"Alright, let's get this over and done with," I said while typing.

[The individual 'Kang Doyeon' is rejected for reaping.]

[Individual is protected by the 'Guardian Angel']

The rage that took over me was indescribable.

This stupid, fucking little hidden scenario was giving me such ridiculous grief. It didn't even show up in the original novel, nor in Dokja's Ways of Survival; it should not be such a thorn in my side.

How pathetic it would be to die at the hand of a mere hidden scenario before the fifth main one had even begun.

I stepped outside the room to throw my tantrum in solitude, then I went still.

Wait. Even if I died, I would regress, would I not? 'Pinpoint Regression' was different, but no one said I couldn't point my pin towards my own future regression series...

I shook my head to clear the thought. No, it wasn't guaranteed. And worse—Dokja might not exist properly even in future regressions of this world-turn.

Kim Dokja did not exist in any world but this one. Not as he is now, anyways. Omniscient Reader's Viewpoint was pretty clear on this matter (unless I was reading it wrong, which I didn't think I was).

Under no circumstances was I going to risk losing a chance to bring my Kim Dokja his happiest ending. And I didn't want to abandon my people here, either.

Footsteps brought me out of my mind.

Gong Pildu rounded the corner and only needed one look at my current emotional state to understand. "The hidden scenario," he said. "You got a bad message?"

I dragged my hand across my face and grit out, "Today's reaping was denied. I'm getting really fucking tired of that happening."

Gong Pildu stared at me hard, strangely so, and I was immediately on guard. Was, perhaps, Gong Pildu...?

"You really are the Reaper," he said, surprised.

My temper flared. "Of course I am! I declared it yesterday, didn't I?"

"I—well, I didn't know. I thought maybe you were bluffing when you said you were," said Gong Pildu sheepishly. "So I guarded you and that bastard this time. I figured whoever reacted poorly to it would be the real Reaper."

His sincerity gave me pause. I watched as he rubbed his neck in shame.

There was a beat of silence as we both pondered. Gong Pildu's face darkened suddenly. "Choi Yeona, please forgive my actions."

I drew back in shock as he got down on his knees, pressing his forehead to the floor in a bow. "What...?"

"I've wronged you in many ways. I didn't mean to, but now I see that I have." He took in a deep breath. "Hwang Si-woo was part of my Landlord Alliance. I didn't like him, but he did good work for me. I—I shouldn't have told him my role in the scenario. When this whole Reaper business came about, he asked one day if I'd guard him and someone else with my Angel status. I didn't think anything of it at the time, so I did."

"..."

"It was before I thought you might be the Reaper. I've never wanted to harm you, my girl."

I looked at Gong Pildu for a while. I harbored no anger towards him over this revelation—in fact, I felt rather sad for him. It seemed that his mind was still confusing me with his love for his daughter.

"Please stand up."

He lifted his head slowly, and I helped him back up to his feet. I looked him square in the eye. "Of course, I forgive you. I can tell you're a good person, Pildu-ssi."

Gong Pildu, the true Guardian Angel of the scenario, wasn't trying to kill me. He didn't mean any harm.

If only I had trusted Gong Pildu from the start.

I wrapped his hands with mine, acknowledging my mistake. "I should have been more honest with you from the beginning."

"No, I'm sorry. I should have just asked you, Yeona-girl, trusted your words. It was a daft idea; I thought, by knowing the truth, I could defend you better this time..."

Gong Pildu was a good man.

"I'll be sure to include you in my plans in the future."

"Don't worry about it."

Gong Pildu squeezed my hands, the corner of his eyes reddening. Again, I felt he wasn't really seeing me. I wondered if these people would only ever see me as a replacement for someone else: a lost daughter, an absent mother-figure, a failed protector, a helpless younger sister, a sacrificing best friend... There were more than enough possible roles for me to play, if they desired.

Maybe instead of creating my own story, I could never be anything more than a filler in someone else's.

It was a depressing thought.

But, I wasn't one to dwell on such things when there were more pressing issues at hand. After speaking with Gong Pildu, I now wondered something else: if he was the Guardian Angel, then who exactly was the Angel of Judgement?

Hwang Si-woo must not have known, because he had sought to incite the entire station, probably hoping that the remaining Angel would reveal themselves and pass judgement on me.

Actually, I was surprised it hadn't already happened. Dokja's exercise of representative's control (and possible punishment) must be enough to hold them off.

...Until I could figure it out, or tomorrow passed with no issues, I wasn't in the clear.

I conferred with Gong Pildu and came to a solution.

There were sixteen hours left on my daily Reaper timer. Plenty of time—except the actual hidden scenario ended in five. Gong Pildu's Guardian Angel protection over Kang Doyeon and I only lasted for three more hours.

A two hour window wasn't bad, but still close enough to leave me uncomfortable. I was determined to use Kang Doyeon for the final day of reaping, and so I would wait until the protection was lifted, use his name, and be freed of this scenario shackle.

I set an alarm on my phone. Then I opened my Bank of Lady Fortune account and spent 150 luck on my situation. It seemed excessive, but I was a little on edge right now.

[The constellation 'Secretive Plotter' respects your plotting!]

[500 coins have been sponsored.]

We bound Kang Doyeon in regular rope, ensuring his mouth was gagged so he couldn't bite his tongue and suffocate on his own blood before I could use him, and left him in the room. Gong Pildu swore to keep watch over him for the remaining time.

[The constellation 'Abyssal Black Flame Dragon' is greatly displeased at the lack of bloodshed.]

"Oh, go play rocks with Kim Namwoon," I griped at him.

[The constellation 'Abyssal Black Flame Dragon' says that he isn't a child!]

"...You said it, not me."

[The constellation 'Prisoner of the Golden Headband' cackles.]

[The constellation 'Secretive Plotter' smirks at the 'Abyssal Black Flame Dragon'.]

[4,000 coins have been sponsored.]

There was an embarrassed silence from the chuuni constellation, which made me grin.

"...Aren't you taking it too easy?"

"I also need to sleep."

I caught the end of the conversation as I returned; Heewon seemed baffled as Dokja curled up on the ground. Sangah placed a blanket over him and saw me. "Oh, Yeona-ssi. We're going to take turns watching over him, if you want to go first?"

I nodded and settled next to Dokja. He was already fast asleep.

The 'Omniscient Reader's Viewpoint' skill must have already kicked in, because his face twitched. For a time, I rested my chin on my knees and watched him.

But the wait was making me antsy—the hidden scenario still on my mind—so I glanced at my phone. Around two hours left.

Watching Dokja "sleep" helped calm me: his steady breathing, the way I could see his eyes rolling back and forth underneath his eyelids. I brushed a hand across his tensed brow.

Two blue messages stopped my heart in its place.

[You have been judged as the Reaper.]

[You are protected by the Guardian Angel. Judgement will not face penalty unless there is a second input by the Angel after protection has lifted.]

"Oh," my voice broke, frail and quiet.

Truly, I possessed invaluable luck. If I hadn't used my luck, would I have...?

There was a dull, buzzing sensation throughout my body and my head felt light. Already I had come near death twice in this scenario.

"Oi, Choi Yeona..." Heewon stretched her arms overhead as she strolled up to me.

Most of our companions were resting. Jihye was now gone—something about retrieving a precious item from the Daehan Cinema, according to Heewon—and Heewon suggested I rest too while I could. "Hey, you don't look so good. Are you sick?"

"...No." I cleared my throat. "I'm fine, I'll stay up with you."

Heewon shrugged and slid down against the wall. She glanced at my hand, still on Dokja, and I retracted it. Her grin sent shivers down my spine. "What are you two, anyways?"

"We're companions," I said blandly.

"Oho, but you're not companions in the same way as all of us."

"Jung Heewon..."

She held up her hands. "Alright, alright. Say, what did you do before all of this? Your fighting skills are scary good."

I blinked at the quick change in subject. "Data analysis."

"Huh?" Heewon gaped at me. "There—there's no way! You did kendo or something, right?"

"Nope."

"Damn." She blew a piece of hair out from her face. "I'm jealous. Maybe you should teach me sometime."

It made me smile. "That could be fun."

Heewon looked at me for a moment, like she wanted to say something else, but then smiled back and leaned her head against the wall. "This world is batshit crazy now," she mumbled.

I shifted on the ground. "What did you do before all of this, Heewon?"

She took my casual use of her name in stride, and she began telling me animatedly about her bartending job and the nutcase patrons that the place attracted. Heewon had me gasping and giggling at her stories the remainder of the time until Dokja began to stir.

"...and I kept pouring him water shots that he insisted burned worse than tequila—oh! Sleeping Beauty awakens without a kiss. Well, maybe not beauty..."

Dokja's eyes opened and noticed us.

Heewon shot me a sly grin and said, "I'll be going then. By the way, don't come up with any more stupid plans in the meantime, got it?"

"Okay?" I was confused, but waved her off as she left with an air of mystery.

Dokja gave me a long, pensive look as he sat up. Then, it was like something settled in him, a resolve that hardened at last. "Did you cry when I burned?"

What the actual hell?? Where was that coming from?

It was a rather harsh question. Perhaps I hadn't grieved, but witnessing his death again was difficult all the same. Even knowing of his impending revival hadn't been enough to quell the fear in my heart.

I faked nonchalance. "I didn’t cry for you."

"Not even a single tear?" he said casually. "So callous. It's almost like you weren't even surprised at my death."

"Of course I wasn't! I'm an all-knowing regressor."

"…You really are."

His tone dropped, and it made my breath catch. This was—

"Jung Heewon asked me if we'd planned it. My death. She said you seemed ready for it."

There was a ball of anxiety anchored in my stomach. "Well, this isn't my first round."

"But is it really your second?"

I was silenced.

"You knew I would need a solar power bank, and you knew I would get Unbroken Faith, you knew I wanted to take Chungmuro, and you knew I would die, revive, and defeat the dragon." His stare was unblinking. "Yeona, if I wasn't around in your last world-turn, then how did you know all of these things?"

Fuck. Fuck—I did tell him that he had died early on in my last round. Why the hell was I so careless?

"Would you believe me if I said I was also a prophet?" I asked weakly.

The raised brow he gave me was unyielding.

I wasn't ready for this conversation. Not now. Probably not ever.

Honestly…I had suspected this might happen. Perhaps not so soon—but Kim Dokja was not stupid. I had noticed his fleeting suspicion, my other slips of the tongue with information, his previous distance. He wasn't the type to let something like that go forever; I was becoming an increasingly unknown variable, a considerable threat to someone who operated entirely on preexisting knowledge from a book.

I knew this, because I was very much the same.

My heart thumped like a rabbit's as I contemplated. Was I about to have my "Divorce Arc" moment? No, maybe worse than that since I was overdependent and unrequitedly attached to Kim Dokja. He didn't need me in his story the way I needed him in mine. 

Should I lie, and say I had lived countless regressions of this timeline? It would certainly lead to Dokja asking more questions. The web of lies would only grow more tangled and, eventually, I'd still have to tell him about the novel. He might really hate me then for such a twisted betrayal of his trust.

No…I owed him the truth. A companionship with him would never work in the long term if I didn't.

I fisted the material of my pants to stop the trembling in my hands. "I am a regressor now, ever since my last round, but before that I was a reader. And this world was my story.

"In my first life, I found a web novel. O—Omniscient Reader's Viewpoint." Dokja startled at the name of the skill he'd just been using. "It was the story of a 28-year-old salaryman so obsessed with a long novel that he read it through until the end. And then that novel became reality. I read this story. Over and over again—I was rather obsessed myself. Like the man." He listened with rapt attention. "One day, I died in that life. And, somehow I was given a second chance, a fulfilled wish, to journey to the novel that I loved so dearly. To reach the ending with the ones I loved."

"The characters."

Dokja's expression was unreadable. I shook my head. "I don't see you all as characters. I can't."

Well, perhaps I did refer to them as such in my mind sometimes, but only for distinction. In my heart, Kim Dokja, Yoo Joonghyuk, Yoo Sangah, the others...all of them were more real to me than any of those faceless people from my first life.

My nails dug into my palms as I waited. A pressure was building up, but I couldn't tell if it was emotion prepared to burst from Dokja or suffocate inside of me. Dokja crossed his arms and I glued my eyes to the ground.

Then he laughed.

It was a sound of disbelief, a cackle of incredulity, and when I dared to look at his face he was smiling. "So that's why 'Character List' glitches out on you."

That reflective glass I'd sensed, the one it seemed was holding the last of Kim Dokja's reservations about me, shattered.

Breathing became much easier.

"I wasn't expecting—no, I should have. It makes the most sense. And I can't help but believe it." He cocked his head at me with a snort. "All those times I couldn't read someone because they weren't a character…I was a character myself all along."

"Dokja, no! I swear I meant it when I said I don't see you as a character!" I grabbed his hands, urgent. "You must remember, I've spent years in this reality already—a full life-turn. And I can hardly recall what it meant to exist in my first life. This story is my life now. You are my story…or, maybe I've become the story with you."

My cheeks warmed as I realized how romantic the words might sound. I released his hands.

Dokja hummed in thought. "So you're in a similar situation as me. Only you came first."

"I guess?"

"It's a bit confusing. Your novel is of my story, you said? But you regressed here?"

I grimaced. "Yeah. I read the web novel in my first life, then transmigrated into—"

I couldn't reveal the exact turn I came from. Not that I was constantly worried about ripple effects (let's be real, my entire existence from day one caused monsoon waves of repercussions), but I knew that certain vital pieces of information needed to be revealed at critical moments, and by certain people. I was not one of those people.

"I transmigrated into a world-turn not from the novel's main timeline, then I followed Yoo Joonghyuk into his regression here."

"Not your own?"

"My stigma is ‘Pinpoint Regression.’ I can latch onto another regressor and choose to join them in their world-turn."

Dokja was confused. "But, didn't you introduce yourself to him?"

"Ah, yeah," I said. "My stigma retains my own memories of the previous turn together. It doesn't guarantee his."

It wasn't a very solid truth, and certainly didn’t make sense, but the influx of new information must have been overloading Dokja's brain because he only nodded, a bit dazed. 

Then, for the first time, his mouth slipped into a deep frown.

"Yeona, why did you follow Yoo Joonghyuk into his turn? Are you two, perhaps…"

I choked on my own spit. An intense feeling of déjà vu washed over me. "No. We're just old companions." Dokja didn’t seem convinced, so I doubled down. "We weren't like that. Aren't. I...followed him because I knew you would be here."

It was rather embarrassing to say out loud, but I didn't want a single misunderstanding on that front. 

"I told you that you died in my last round, and that's true, but the whole truth is that you don't properly exist in any round but this one. This 'you' is a singularity." He seemed at a loss for words, so I added, "I don't quite understand how it works either."

A thought struck me.

"Dokja, the Fourth Wall…your barrier isn't shaking at any of this?"

"You know—? Right, of course you do." Dokja put a hand to his head. "It's been strangely quiet this whole time."

Interesting. I had no plausible explanation, so I didn't comment any further on it.

In fact, I was relieved. I didn't want to cause him any mental grief just because I had revealed my circumstances.

I remained quiet as Dokja became absorbed in his thoughts. It was a lot to process, and I was grateful that he was taking it so exceptionally well. It took a special kind of person; I was fortunate that that person was Kim Dokja, the sole reader of all of TWSA.

Perhaps he was truly the only person in the world who could.

At last, he looked up at me, as though studying me fresh over. And to him, I was fresh—a new and undiscovered story. An entirely different kind of person than he believed me to be. I only hoped his regard of me hadn't changed with it.

His scrutiny then became too much, and I itched for a distraction.

[Many constellations complain about the filtering!]

[The constellation 'Demon-like Judge of Fire' begs to know what you and 'Kim Dokja' discussed!]

[The constellation 'Abyssal Black Flame Dragon' is bored by all of this talk.]

[The constellation 'Prisoner of the Golden Headband' is wondering about your conversation.]

[The constellation 'God's Lone Soul Courier' inspects the nourished bond.]

What the hell was Azrael doing here? Well, at least he wasn't licking my soul this time.

"The constellations are paying close attention," I commented.

"Too bad for censorship," Dokja responded with a sardonic lift of his mouth. "Bihyung is probably ready to tear me apart for the inconvenience."

"Probably so."

We looked at each other, two readers aware of the other's existence. Then Dokja's smile softened into something genuine.

"Yeona, you're a stereotypical isekai story," said Dokja.

I made a noise in my throat. "At least I didn't reincarnate as a villainess."

Dokja laughed, surprised. "You know those too?"

"I've read other web novels besides yours, you know!"

"Mine," Dokja echoed. "Wait, so did you really read about m—"

Beeep! Beeep! Beeep!

Shit, the alarm. I fumbled to turn it off on my phone. Then I immediately put in Kang Doyeon's name.

[The individual 'Kang Doyeon' is accepted for reaping.]

[You have completed the role of 'Reaper'. Congratulations!]

[Rewards will be distributed upon completion of the hidden scenario's timeline.]

I sagged against the wall. It was nearly finished.

My shoulder was enveloped by a warmth. "Did something happen?"

Dokja's alarmed face hovered over me. Feeling a bit dazed still, I reached up to pat his cheek. "Just some good news with the hidden scenario."

His skin bloomed pink under my hand. "It's almost over. You've taken four names already?"

"Yeah." My voice grew stronger. "I have."

"That—that's good." Dokja stood, then helped me up. "We need to discuss the main scenario with everyone now. I have a plan."

"I know." He shot you an amused look.

"You're going to be saying that a lot, aren't you?" he said, a tinge of exasperation.

"Most definitely."

Dokja shook his head and called over everyone. I gave my input every so often, not changing much of the original plan besides suggesting that Kim Namwoon join him, Gilyoung, and Sangah to Gwanghwamun. I would accompany Jung Heewon on her mission.

In fact, I had my own personal one.

After listening a bit, I wandered off to let Gong Pildu know that his job on guard duty was no longer necessary. He gave me a relieved look. "I'm glad you're in the clear, now."

Nearly so. But I didn't bother correcting him.

We returned to the group.

"First, noona was the Reaper..."

"Unnie was a Reaper, too? That's funny."

I caught Jihye's comment as I walked up to my companions, all of them talking in a group. Gilyoung must have started to catch her up on what she had missed now that she was back.

"Heyyy, angel-unnie!" Jihye waved at me. The grin on her face dropped as shock took over. "What happened to your neck?"

I touched the bandages. "Just a small scuffle."

"Oh." Jihye looked conflicted, but then her eyes lit up. "By the way, did you share your angel status or something?"

My wary expression was reflected in our companions' faces. Jihye frowned at all of us, as if perplexed by our confusion.

"I mean," she spoke slowly. "What's this 'Angel of Judgement' and 'Reaper' nonsense, anyways? Do I have to really put in a name? It's a riddle, isn't it? Do I get a prize for guessing right?"

Her excited questions blew past each and every one of us.

"What exactly did you do, Jihye?" I said hesitantly.

"Well, I was going to guess your name, unnie, but then I thought—hey! Kim Namwoon always calls you an angel of death, so maybe I should try someone else first. So I put in Heewon-unnie because she's kinda like an angel of judgement, with her fiery sword and stuff, right? Right?" Jihye nodded enthusiastically, then rocked back on her heels. "But it didn't work. Then I got bored and forgot about it, because Master needed my care—I mean, help...

"Anyway, I tried you this morning, unnie, but it said a guardian angel was protecting you? Whatever that means," she finished blithely.

Oh my God.

I was utterly speechless.

Sangah sounded faint as she asked, "Did...you not read the scenario rules, Jihye-ya?"

"Nope." She popped the 'p' casually, blinking back at us.

The silence was smothering. Then an impending doom suffocated the heavy air.

"Lee—fucking—Jihye."

Kim Dokja's aura was bathed in darkness as he pierced Jihye with an unspeakable rage. It channeled Yoo Joonghyuk rather impressively.

"Uh..." Jihye's eyes drifted around, reading over the hidden scenario messages to see what she had missed.

"O—oh," she said, scratching her head with a nervous laugh. "I'm the Angel of Judgement...and I had to guess the Reaper's identi—"

She choked.

It seemed she had gotten to the part that described the penalties for failure.

Dokja was shaking. "You almost killed her."

Heewon and I snatched up his arms a split second before he lunged forwards. I let Heewon take over for me, and Dokja allowed her to drag him away and down the hall, heaving.

"What kind of brainless fuck!" Kim Namwoon was writhing and flailing like a rabid dog as Lee Hyunsung clutched his middle. The soldier carried him up to another floor, and Namwoon spewed foul, expletive-laden threats at the high school girl along the way. "You're going to wish you were never born!" he howled.

Gilyoung, Sangah, and Gong Pildu looked at Jihye with disappointed and unimpressed glares.

[The constellation 'Demon-like Judge of Fire' raises an eyebrow at the 'Maritime War God' in judgement.]

[The constellation 'Maritime War God' is embarrassed.]

"I—I'm really sorry, angel-unnie!" wailed Jihye. "I was stupid; really, really stupid! I should have read more carefully!"

I couldn't help but laugh now that it was all over at last. "It's actually because you didn't read carefully that I'm still alive. So...thank you?"

"I'll never read carefully again," she sniffled, teary as she clung to my shirt.

"That's not what I meant..."

Then Jihye began sobbing, and I was stuck reassuring the blubbering, inconsolable girl, despite it having been my own life on the line.

I eventually peeled her off of me to go find Dokja, and spotted Heewon standing through an open door. The moment I entered, Dokja gripped the top of my arms painfully. "Don't piss off a dokkaebi ever again."

"It wasn't part of the plan," I sighed.

Dokja's eyes narrowed—and then I was pulled into a tight, almost suffocating, embrace. It was the first time he had voluntarily hugged me like this (at least in this round), and I was pleased, despite feeling rather like a mouse caught by a boa constrictor.

"You aren't leaving this room until you promise," he muttered.

"Haha..." My nervous laughter died out when he squeezed harder in response. "Um, Dokja."

Holy shit, I really needed to upgrade my strength stat. I managed to maneuver in his hold to rub his back, shooting Heewon a plea for help.

She smirked and left. Thanks a lot, you traitor.

"Fine, I'll...do my best." I resumed patting Dokja, it being the only thing I really could do at the moment.

[The constellation 'Demon-like Judge of Fire' points out that you have an empty room now.]

[A constellation that enjoys sex offers to light some candles.]

We sprung apart as if burned, our faces steaming as we looked away from one another. That was not—

"Just," Dokja said tightly," don't die. Okay? You're a reader, so you can't die."

I nodded, my own attention sharpening on him now. "I want to say the same for you, but I know better."

Dokja was dumbfounded. I looked at him, knowing, and we fell into a contemplative silence.

Ah, but anyways...all's well that ends well, right?

Next part ->

A/n: Now the true revelations have concluded. On to the next!

[crystalbeetle888]

Animal Instinct Pt.1

Charles X reader X Erik

In the wake of losing a friend, you seek out revenge on Sebastian Shaw. However, you are not the only one after him, as a team of meddling mutants try to convince you to join forces. Will you give in to these persuasive outcasts, and join their family? or do it alone as you always have?

Master List Pt.1 - Pt.2

Word Count: 2,289

Content: Violence, swearing, sexual references, possible bigotry it’s the 60s, slow burn, some angst, eventual happy ending, maybe smut?

1932, Western Australia

The summer sun beats down on the curious community. A sign, ‘Miss Miracles’ Marvelous Exhibition and Oddities’, stands proudly in the tall, dry, grass. Eleanor, a tall woman with luscious dark curly locks, and an equally well groomed beard, sits idly in the shade of some gumtrees, sipping on a chilled Cola. The sound of a distant cry interrupts Eleanors' peaceful evening. Looking back towards the rest of the circus performers none of them seem to notice. Another cry sounds out over the grassy field causing Eleanor to stand in concern, leaving her Cola on the dirt. Walking out into the grass, she follows the cries until she finds a small wrapped bundle laying in the weeds. Eleanor quickly scoops up the child, cradling them close as she looks around, hopeful to find their guardian. The field around her is empty, without any sign of life. The baby's cries increase in the midday heat. “Oh there you go” She coos, unwrapping the fragile being, the child's arms springing free from their confines in anger. Eleanor gasps in surprise, tracing the birthmark across their little face. “Oh my” She smiles gently “You’re just like us”.

Walking back towards the trailers and tents Eleanors’ body is flooded with love for the child. And in that moment she decides to raise the very special babe as her very own. 

1962, London

You walk through the dark cobblestone streets, the air is crisp and reeks with the stench on alcohol as you weave through the crowd of drunks. You duck down a skinny alley, stopping at a set of large metal doors. Knocking, the door cracks open to reveal a grumpy old man “You’re late Animal” Richard coughs. “Yeah, I know, I had some shit to deal with” you step inside. He scoffs at you, closing the door behind you both “Yeah well don’t let it happen again, you’re up against Bolt today” Nodding, you take off your Afghan coat and place it on a hook “When?” “Now” he replies before walking off. Sighing, you quickly smear some soot across your eyes and bandage your knuckles before stalking down the hallway. The sound of the roaring crowd is muffled behind the large metal door you stop at. Rolling your shoulder and stretching your neck you ready yourself “For tonight's final battle allow me to introduce to you the young and electrifying Bolt!” The crowd bellows and cheers, loud thunderous zaps echo throughout the building, your hair standing up from static. Patting your hair down, you groan allowing your signature wolf tail to extend from your spine, your ears growing long and pointed, covered in fur. “Our next contendant needs no introduction”

Your fingernails stretch into long sharp claws, your hands and feet elongating into a stretched out sort of paw. “She is the undefeated, the unchallenged, the untamable”

Your eyes honed in and teeth sharpened. You’re ready. “Ladies and Gentlemen give it up for the Animal!”.

The door rolls upwards from the floor and you step through into the blinding lights. The people cheer, shaking and rattling the cage in excitement. In front of you stands a tall, shirtless, sandy haired man, with fingers of electricity crackling from his skin. You roll your eyes and snarl at him ‘They can never keep their clothes on can they?’ you think. Crouching down as you leap towards him, he launches several strikes of lighting towards you in retaliation. “And they’re off folks! Animal makes the first move, but Bolt manages to keep this terrible beast at bay!”

You dodge and roll out of the way as he attacks you, running on all four attempting to get close to him. “It seems like Animal can’t catch a break, Bolts got her successfully locked out!” He keeps you back with his consistent assault. “This doesn't look good for Animal, she may have finally met her match!”

Beyond frustrated, you run to the opposite side of the cage and launch yourself off of the chainmail fence towards him. “But what is this? Animal has finally found an opening! Will Bolt survive the Animals' savage attack?”

Landing on top of him you manage to get in several hard punches to his face before he zaps you off, sending you flying across the cage. “Oh and it looks like the little miss wolf might have bitten off more than she can chew!”

Clutching your chest you groan in pain as the singed flesh regenerates, looking down you notice the front of your shirt fried off revealing some cleavage “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me” you growl. A sudden zap to your back snaps you out of your thoughts. “Oo that’s gonna piss her off, watch out Bolt!” 

Turning around in anger you retract your wolf features and replace them with a large set of tan wings, sharper eyes, and razor sharp bird talons. “It seems like the Animal has a few more tricks up her sleeve”

Flapping your wings you fly across the cage, dodging the lighting strikes and jumping off the fence looking for another opening. Bolts’ moves get sloppier as time passes, he’s clearly getting exhausted ‘It’s only a matter of time’ you think. Thanks to your regenerative powers it takes an incredible amount of physical exertion before you become tired. “And it looks like Bolt might be running out of fuel people, what will he do next?” ‘God I wish he would stop commenting on everything’ you think, irritated.

Finally an opening occurs, Bolt throws himself off balance and stumbles. Leaping on the opportunity, you spring from the fence down into Bolt, throwing him across the cage and knocking him out. “Would you look at that! Animal has done it again!” The crowd goes wild hollering and whistling as you throw both fists above your head in triumph. 

“Well done Animal” Richard pats you firmly on the back before shoving an envelope in your hands “Now put your tits away woman, this isn’t a brothel” he grunts before disappearing once again, leaving you alone in the dark hall. The sound of footsteps approaching from behind causes you to turn, a lone pale man with auburn hair approaches. You take notice of his crisp suit and cigar scent. “You’re not supposed to be back here” You watch him with caution. The man smiles gently, yet no kindness can be found. “I’m only here to talk Y/N” he stops a few metres away. You narrow your eyes “How do you know my name?” You ask. “Dear, I know many things about you, I know you were abandoned to the freaks. I know you’ve suffered through great violence. I also know you’ve taken revenge on those who’ve crossed you-” “Yeah I do” He stares at you with an unreadable expression before chuckling “I think we got off on the wrong foot, my name is Sebatian Shaw and I am here with a once in a lifetime opportunity for you” You raise your eyebrow in question “There is a revolution coming when men will no longer tolerate our kind, not even as entertainment. Each of us will make a choice to be enslaved, or to rise up and rule. You are free to choose however know, if you are not with me, you are against me” 

You stare at the stupid man, wondering how someone could be so presumptuous.“With you leading us?” you ask unimpressed, “Yes” he nods, “So I’m still enslaved to a man” you question. Shaw chuckles clearly not expecting that reaction “I’ll take my chances on my own, now get the fuck out of my way before I mince you” The mans smile flattens as he steps to the side of the hall, allowing you to pass. Walking past him, he places a hand on your shoulder “You will regret this Animal” Turing to face him, you jerk your shoulder out of his grip and lean in close “Fuck off” you spit angrily before striding off down the hallway. Shrugging on your coat, you shove your earnings into your pocket and step back out into the cold night “I thought you’d never show up” A woman's voice calls out in the alley. Looking over, Star stands there hugging herself for warmth, a cigarette in hand. Star is a prostitute you’ve become unlikely friends with, her wild orange hair and intensely freckled face reminds you of home. Outcast by her folks for wanting to be an free-loving artist, Star found herself struggling to find work or friends. Something you could relate to. You have always found it difficult to keep a regular job or bond with well adjusted ‘normal’ people. Star reminded you of the carny folk, free-spirited, kind, accepting, slightly deranged and unhinged. Despite being worlds away from family, Star always made you feel at home.

“Had some shit to deal with first”, she smiles rolling her eyes “You always have shit to deal with” Chuckling you offer your arm to her, “Shall we?” “We shall” she giggles linking her arm with yours. Star likes to wait so the both of you can walk home together after work, given that you both live at the same dingy ass motel. Star rambles about her current clients, recent politics and fashion crazes, you nodding along as you walk down the abandoned streets. Your ears prick at the slightest noise. ‘It’s too quiet’ you note to yourself, the hair on the back of your neck stands on end as the air shifts. You stop walking, head swivelling at your surroundings. “What’s wrong?” Star whispers. You sniff the air, turning your back to her, cigars and heavy cologne, your brows furrow. Suddenly, the air flutters behind you and Star lets out a pained yelp. Spinning around, time seems to slow as you see Star gasping for air, a silver blade sticking out from her chest, blood pooling around it. A menacing red man stands behind her with a dark grin. You attempt to reach him but before you can produce your claws, he vanishes. Star stumbles forward and you catch her in your arms, her breath shudders. “It’s alright, you’re okay, you’re going to be okay” You whisper to her panicked. Sliding the both of you to the ground, you press on the wound, fruitlessly trying to stop the blood from seeping out. “Oh no, oh Star please don’t” You plead as her eyes begin to flutter in and out of focus and her breath shallows. “No, please, no, no” You cry, looking at your red stained hands uselessly. Your body shakes, breath lodged in your throat, as you watch helplessly as the light in Stars’ eyes fades and her body stills. You gasp for air, in shock at the death of your only friend.

“I told you, you would regret it Animal” You look up to see Shaw standing a few metres away, the red devil man standing behind him. “Humans are such fragile things really, and this one, well, I don’t think she could have been lower on the food chain if she tried” He chuckles, hands casually in pockets like he didn’t just take away the one person keeping you grounded. Your blood boils at his words, your claws and teeth quickly growing as you stand. “Such dirty business streetwalking, it’s a shame wasting such a pretty face like that-” You lunge at him with a roar, the devil man teleporting the both of them behind you as you fall and roll to the ground. Turning to face them, Shaw wipes his cheek of blood, you just managed to nick him. “Tsk Tsk, you really are a savage animal aren’t you?” He mocks. You snarl at him ready to lunge again “Don’t bother beasty, we could play cat and mouse all night” You bear your teeth, and tense to jump at him “When you’ve come to your senses I’m sure you’ll be able to find me” 

“I’ll fucking kill you Shaw!” You yell, overwhelmed by anger. He smiles “I seriously doubt that” and with that the two of them disappear once more, leaving you completely and utterly alone in the world. You feel empty, looking down at your friend's bloodied body on the sidewalk. Kneeling down, your hands ghost over her skin, almost afraid to touch her. You gently cup her cheek and brush some of her hair away from her face. You softly graze over her face with your hand, careful not to wipe any blood on her, as you attempt to burn the image of her face into your memory one last time. “Okay, it’s time for me to go Star” you whisper to her, leaning down and kissing her forehead. “I’m so sorry” pulling away you cry before grasping a lock of her hair and cutting it with your claws. Stuffing the hair in your pocket, you wobble to your feet and stubble away from her. You fear if you look back that it would somehow make this all the more real, and you might not be able to leave her body until someone made you. You knew you couldn't risk that. And Star would never want that for you anyway. So you stumble through the streets. You can’t tell how long you've walked for but suddenly you're back at the motel staring at your door. Unlocking it, you shakily step inside before closing the door behind you. You let out a shuttered breath, sliding down the door and onto the floor. Curling in on yourself you hug your head between your arms, letting out a muffled whimper. Your mind is numb and your body aches as you continue to lay huddled on the floor all throughout the night.

[baarra]

INT.     A  STERILE  HOVEL  MADE  PRODIGAL,  FRESHLY  FITTED  WITH  WONTED,  SOFT  SNORES.  SAFE  IN  THE  CONFINES  OF  KNOWN  AND  ALONE.  THE  WOLF  WATCHES  A  CROSS-LEGGED  GOLDFINCH’S  NEST.  BARE  NOOK  OF  A  CABINET,  SHELVES  OF  LITTLE  MEMORY,  WHERE  DIRT  ISN’T  WELCOME  AND,  THUS,  MAUNDERS  LIGHT-FOOTED. CLOSED  STARTER  FOR  SHOSHANA  ‘SHAW’  LIEBOWITZ.

In this room,   the background surrounds him,   permitting undisturbed sleep and the shadow’s encroach:   whispered turning of year-sullied pages.     You stay your hand,   to feast with gaze and mind.     Something of their slant in this book.     How a fire lingers in its rocked pit.     Soot on your elbows:   angles to their brow and bone,   echoes in their cadence.     A light that can’t predate shadow.     Even in sleep;   especially there,   where I becomes most prominent.     The final sip of oneiric wine:   rind of I and nothing of you.     Reduced to the barest sight,   retaining the strongest tang.     Stiff to the skin.     Pine-needles for pores.     He decides this is enough.     The book   –   inanimate and obliging to hands’ wants,   as such bearing their full name   –   knocks against the gritless shelf’s edge.     There is a sound that he needn’t identify nor entreat.     It is silence and static melded into one.     Bleating peals of morning light that wake and hush at once.     They will be too much,   and then nothing at all.     Like a deep splinter in a severed finger.     Soundless,   like him,   and incensed,   unlike him.     He can already feel a glare in his periphery.     Teeth rolling his bottom lip from left to right and then,   posed sighing,   his train of thought.     ‘   Where did you get that?     Your name,   Lie-bo-witz.   ’     This time,   in their accrual of times,   his voice stays.     Beholden to the quick banquet of syllables,   wherein oblique and errant coalesce into a single name.     Unto you,   the musts fall.     Pearled trinkets for an incarnadine maw.     Nick doesn’t look at   @solidgrovnd,   still tracing the front page with his pointer.     He doesn’t want the book to close.     Yet.     ‘   From your mother,   or your father   ––   or yourself?   ’

[dr-gears-kin]

Greetings.

My name is Dr Charles Ogden Gears, and I am a fictionkin of Dr Gears, so I made this blog to express myself more than I can on my main

I use he/they/it pronouns + occasionally fae/faer (feel free to ask if you are unsure)

I am a minor, any inapropriate acts, asks or comments will be deleted and blocked

I will be writing a lot of posts from my perspective, as it is easier and more comfortable for me

Please do not repost any of my art, reblogging is perfectly fine, however

My kin tag is -⚙️

Please feel free to ask about something if you are curious

My ask box is open, however...

DNI IF YOU ARE:

Racist

Sexist

Anti LGBTQ+

Radqueers of any kind

Ableist

Proship

Anti kin

Anti system

YOU WILL BE BLOCKED

Elias Shaw fans (I have had some unpleasant experiences with plenty of them, and while I know there are a lot of decent ones, please, if you support Elias Shaw, stay off this blog to keep it out of the algorithm of other more aggressive Shaw fans)

Wilbur soot fans/Stans/supporters, he abused someone, get over it, just because he is your comfort doesn't mean you should still support him.

Triggers/Do not mention:

Key:

Ask in DMs First please

DO NOT MENTION/SHOW

Imagery of hospitals/illness

Images that may induce derealization

Existential crisis

Topics of organised/institutionalized religion

Enjoy my blog

[noirstims]

📞 intro / pinned post 📌

hello, you can call me noir.

the main theme of this blog is mostly grayscale / black & white (and to a lesser extent mystery / detectives). requested stimboards will usually be made in full grayscale, but you can request 1-2 highlight colors for them.

banner credit : edited by me, from here

icon credit : edited by me, screenshot from here (timestamp is 2:30)

below the cut is a list of fandoms / music interests i have (plus my blacklist & tag list at the bottom). feel free to ask for things outside of the fandom and music lists (im always looking for new music / songs to listen to), but dni / blacklist still apply.

(anything tagged with a * at the end means read blacklist before requesting)

[dni]

proship, map, anti-semitic, zionist, nsfw / kink blogs, ageplay, petplay, terfs, radqueer, anti-lgbts

[ fandoms ]

problem sleuth

scp foundation*

among us (yes, really)

angel hare

8:11

disco elysium

mystery flesh pit

fallen london

17776

ace attorney

garn47

cookie run

moral orel

the stanley parable

backrooms

five nights at freddys

superliminal (the one by pillow castle games)

minecraft

undertale

the mandala catalogue*

my little pony (g4)

pokemon

lifesteal smp

ena

dream smp*

deltarune

[ music ]

vocaloid

half.alive

vylet pony

underscores

porter robinson

city girl

in love with a ghost

billie ellish

sydney gish

carly rae jepsen

kesha

glass beach

frank ocean

drain gang

miracle musical*

six impala

candy claws

tyler, the creator

liana flores

1 800 pain

femtanyl

jack stauber

100 gecs

owl city

tv girl

pinkpantheress

charli xcx

[blacklist]

dr. jack bright (elias shaw is okay)

hazbin hotel

helluva boss

harry potter

wilbur soot

georgenotfound

dream (the minecraft youtuber)

joe hawley

alex kister

mindless self indulgence

drake

lovejoy

anything on my dni

[tag list]

⚖️ “read my ass. i’m a cop.” - pinned

🗣️ “mister dragon you’re under arrest!” - announcements

🪪 “you’re expecting somebody huh mrs?” - others answered requests

💭 “and aren't all detectives philosophers?” - my requests answered

🗄️ case closed - my stimboards

📁 case files - my gifs

👣 new leads - reblogged stimboards

🖇️ newspaper clippings - reblogged gifs

🌫️ old flames - favs

👥 in kahoots - fandom stims

🃏 red herrings - joke stims

🔍 p.i. (pickle inspector) - detective stims

📽️ silent film - full grayscale

📺 tv color - partial grayscale

👁️‍🗨️ shadow play - silhouette stims

🔦 street light - liminal stims

[utencils]

double posting fr her

[yoursecretsmutblog]

Will Shaw. He’s been on my brain a lot the last few days

*With the words I'm still alive*

I've never written for Will before, but here I go!!

Hearing a car door shut, you jump up, rush to the front and look out the window, excitement bubbling but dying just as quick.

It was just the neighbor.

Sighing, you sit back down, looking around to see if there is anything you can distract yourself from your thoughts.

Where was he?

He should be home already.

What if..

“No. We are not thinking that.” You chide yourself.

A soft knock pulls your attention before the door slowly opens, revealing a tired Will.

Gasping, you jump up and run to him.

“I’m still alive.” he whispers, holding you tight.

Thank you so much for the ask!

Y'all, send me a character and 3 words!

[stachedocs]

Kat's beloved plotbunnies | The Sandman | Introducing JUNIPER SHAW in THE PRECOGNITIONS OF JUNIPER SHAW Sister, whispered a voice, or three voices all at once. Ah, fuck, thought Juniper Shaw. Sister. Oracle, overlapped the voices from the darkness and the point of light behind Juniper's eyelid moved, now shaped like the face of a woman, or the faces of three women all at once. A maiden. A mother. A crone. He's back, said the maiden. Juniper didn't ask who. That was knowledge placed inside her mind a moment and ions ago. Oracle, he's back. He'll be searching. Impossible. Juniper had seen him vanish, then she'd seen him die. The she'd seen him wallow in a silent rage behind a crystal wall. It was them who'd shown her all this and she really wished they would make up their mind, so that at least once to the question 'Where is Dream?' she could answer anything else than 'I don't know'. He's free. We'd seen him. Can't be. He'd been gone a hundred years and still his kingdom was blackened and desolate when she walked through it each night in a search for clarity to the ideas they had put within her, a pilgrim bound to wander until death, and she found nothing but silence and abandonment. Each morning she woke tired, for a hundred and five years, soles dirty with soot that wouldn't wash away and without a single answer to a thousand questions pooling at the back of skull.

[notasapleasure]

Emerald City S01E04 (2017)

We're looking for Jeremiah, but Bix and Maarva seem to be here too, from the 'previously on...' (I knew Adria Arjona was in it but not Fiona Shaw)

I didn't check out any context for this and I know nothing of the Oz mythos (bar obviously the Judy Garland film and.....some anime film with a huge paper crane in it I had as a kid??), so I'm going to be a bit ???? about it sorry

Oh, cold city with burned bodies and knights but I'd recognise those shoulders and that protective stance anywhere!!! (I didn’t screencap the shot taken from behind him)

Captain: "Wizard ordered me to burn down Nimbo"

Presumably Jeremiah and the pregnant lady (wife?) are survivors of the massacre (knight's words), given the blood and the soot (I'm trying not to sound approving sorry sorry)

Ooooh evil Joely Richardson 😍 sjdjdjdjffff she's?? Glinda???? Her sister is like a Death of the Endless comic cosplay, smokey eyes for miles and miles

Adria is a Dark and Gritty Dorothy. Did....did anyone ask for that? Is that a thing? She's...a trigger-happy cop?

The...the Tin Man is a victim of nonconsensual cybernetic steampunk surgery?

I don't understand why they made Gina McKee do that ugly husky US accent :(

This man has a grievance indeed...

OH that's....his daughter? oop. Same L for me that I felt watching Fishermans’ Friends where James Purefoy was the dad of the woman in the romance plot. It is better than perpetuating massive age differences in fictional couples though so ok ok

Anyway, he's the spokesman for Nimbo's bereaved I guess. And that snowflake is stuck on his beautiful long lashes 🥺

The Wizard (Vincent d'Onofrio yes I said what I said imagine him behind a great big bushy beard!) is in Nimbo looking for magic.

The magic is presumably the little lost girl 'Sylvie' with shells in her ears who apparently can just..... petrify people

Is Jeremiah the alderman who must be turned by the Wizard rather than killed and made a martyr?

He IS! Oh dear :')

smh this show is so dark, but I’m doing my best for the sake of that beard scruff :’)

"You're the village alderman."

"I have no village."

</3

Ok so he's a magic believer not a science believer and uhhhh there's some weird cultic sounding shit about how the Beast that came to their village wasn't something they needed saving from because it 'cleansed and purified' then he asks if the Wizard's ""''"SCIENCE""''" can save his unborn grandchild and the Wizard's like: itsfreerealestate.jpg

Maybe it's a good thing? Bringing obgyn to the people?

Uhhhhhh

(whoever shot this scene hates Me personally)

Nope. Jeremiah's conversation to Science happens because the Wizard gets his dudes to hold a sword to his daughter's bump 🙃 while Bill Withers (Dorothy's idea of magic, via her iPod, which she put on in another scene that preceded this one) plays in the background. Surreal. But it gets Dorothy some action, so yay?

And the episode ends with a woad-painted Ólafur Darri Ólafsson slinging a boomerang at Dorothy.

Hm! Ok.

---

Rating

Dead? Nope

Evil? I’ve no idea what the deal with magic vs science is here but I’m going to say no, not evil, because the Wizard is the one threatening people and burning their villages

Affects the plot? Presumably by agreeing to side with the Wizard he has some effect but fuck knows what it is

Look, I can’t deny that I see a character covered in grot and blood and want to lick them (Ironclad awoke something in me), but these scenes were hard to screencap and the character’s not around long enough for anyone to get invested. 2.5/5 because it is a good look still.