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katphantom69 · 3 years

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Kimera Moth

((So this came to be after some discussion with some buds of mine. Basically the joke is that Moth Man in reality is my sona. She was drunk af one night and shit happened. Thus this is how it went down))

It was a hot summers night somewhere in the forests of West Virginia. Normally filled with sounds of crickets and other nightly bugs and critters. But tonight the peace was interrupted by someone stumbling around bumping into things cursing into the darkness.

Kimera grumbled as she stumbled around in the darkness. Her normal magenta colored eyes had taken a red color, her cape was torn and hood down, hair a mess filled with leaves and twigs from getting snagged in trees. She held a beer bottle in her left hand taking a swing from it as she stumbled through the forest,clearly not her first bottle due to the level of intoxicated she was.

"Dam assholes, fucken taking off without me." She grumbles finally just flopping down onto a random fallen tree.

"Salty fuckers just mad I won the shape shifting contest."

That would explain the different color of her eyes and also the ring of fur that now adored her neck like a big fluffy collar. Kimera groaned as she drank the last of her beer.

"Fuck! That was my last bottle too! Now I'm lost and all out of booze! FML!" she said tossing the bottle aside sliding down the tree a little. She began to try to pick leaves outta her hair, growing frustrated as her claws got snagged in it. As she struggled to detangle her claws, she slipped off the tree and landed head first into a bush.

She huffed and struggled to stand up. Her large mismatched wings being a bit too heavy for her in her drunken state. After a bit she finally managed to get up, nearly falling over again. She rubbed her forehead grumbling as she stumbled out of the bush. Her hair was now even more messy and had 2 leaves poking out of it looking like some insect antennas of some sort. She huffed a bit flicking some dirt on her wings.

"Alright, ya too big for me right now." She said to herself as folded her wings to her body

"I need lighter wings for now, which shall I use?" She thought out loud. After a bit of pondering, she decided to shift her normal feathered and bat like wings into a matching set of moth wings. Easy to fold and light to walk with.

She looks at them for a bit, musing on how silly she must look with them before folding them onto her back and proceeding the keep walking forward... well as forward as she could.

She walked for a while, cursing all the way, trying to find her way out of the forest.

She soon came to a road and walked along it hoping it would lead her out.

What she didn't know was that there was a couple walking up the road twords her.

Said couple were kinda tipsy themselves, and frankly kinda stupid to be this far out in the forest that late at night.

They snickered together, the girl leaning up against the boy as he had his arm around her. He whispered something into her ear which made her giggle and lightly shove at him as they walked.

Suddenly the boy stopped and shushed his partner. They both stayed silent and listened. They could hear some nonsensical gibberish coming from a few feet in front of them. The girl reached for her phone as they saw a shadow moving up the path. With shaking arms she reached for her phone to turn on the flashlight and point it at whatever was inas front of them.

Kimera grumbled having tripped over and fallen once again. She was contemplating just calling it a night in a nearby tree as she got up. Suddenly she was hit with a blinding light. She hissed, flaring up her wings to try and block it. Her eyes scanning around to see the sorce.

But as soon as it appeared, the light disappeared leaving darkness once more and the sound of frightened screams and feet running down the path.

"Fuck it," Kimera grumbled as she walked over a tree and by some miracle managed to get up until she was hidden in its branches.

"I'm just...gonna snooze here tonight." She grumbles dozing off.

The girl had shown her flashlight right into the glowing red eyes of some... something! The creature had let out an unholy hissing noise and raised its monstrous wings at the couple ready to attack them... or a they thought. They froze for a moment in shock, the girl quickly snapping a pic just to make sure she wasn't seeing things before shoving her phone into her pocket.

They took off running down the path, screaming as the creature seemed to move twords them for a second before retreating into the forest.

When they arrived into town, they headed straight for the police station to report what they had seen. The police of course didn't believe them, about to make them leave till the girl showed them the picture. It was a bit blurry but you could see a clear silhouette of something large and moth like. They took down the couples report and had the girl send them a copy of the picture before sending them home promising to look into it. Did

A couple of days later, the whole town knew of the mysterious creature roaming the woods of their small town. They had named the creature... Moth Man.

Kimera found herself, now sober and in her human disguise, in a diner having breakfast. She noticed the town was more busy and excited than usual. She took a sip of her organge juice and stopped a passing waitress.

"Hey miss? What's a the hullabaloo going on these days? Did something happen?" She asked

The waitress blinked surprised.

"Oh you haven't heard?! A couple days ago, a couple was out in the woods and ran into a strange and horrifying creature! Nearly ate them before they managed to run off!" She said

Kimera froze for a bit and gulped. Oh no,had she done something stupid while drunk?

"Ah really?! You don't say!" She said sounded alarmed

"How did the creature look like?" She asked

The waitress handed her a newspaper before heading off to attend another table.

Kimera took a deep breath and lifted the paper up to see. There on the front page was an article that read.

"Moth Man attacks!

A mysterious bipedal moth like creature spotted in the forest of West Virginia near the town of West Point. Witness say-"

Kimera stared down at the blurry yet well taken picture. She could see the silhouette of the creature well and suddenly the memories just came flooding back.

She pinched the bridge of her nose and sighed.

"Aw shit! Observants gonna be PISSED at this one." She grumbled to herself.

Just then her phone rang, signaling an incoming message. She didn't even have to look to know who it was.

She groans putting the paper in her pocket and paying for her food before heading out.

She was in for it now.

#my writings #ghostsona #danny phantom #mothman #the observants

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greenygreenland · 4 years

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crying: 501st x padawan! peader

-platonic

-kinda sad???

-hugs and crying and wishing for better times

Being a Jedi was everything to you. It wasn't like you had a choice to join the cult-like ways of the Jedi, but it was who you were and your only way of life. Despite being a Jedi, a keeper of peace, you were bred and raised to be a soldier as soon as you were deployed.

You weren't a youngling anymore, you were a padawan.

Despite always being on the front lines with your master Anakin Skywalker, you could never get used to the screaming. The dying. The blood. And all the bodies of the men you lost. They were soldiers physically in their late teens and early twenties, sure, but in reality, they were children as much as you. You were only fifteen. The clones usually never made it past fourteen or ten.

"We're clones. We're meant to be expendable."

That was the first thing you heard from a clone. He didn't think of himself as human. He only saw himself as a tool to he used and that hurt. You were always known to be a compassionate and empathetic padawan, but today? More so than others.

The casualties were at its highest and your Master knew. The battle wasn't going to be won in a day or two because we didn't know the enemy as well as they knew us. New terrain had set us up for failite while new weapons created by the Separatist left us surprised and staggering in retreat. You wished the war and bloodshed would just end, but it was fact to everyone that this was only the beginning.

That night you couldn't sleep. How could you? The atmosphere was tense around your boys in blue and it rippled like a drop on the surface of a lake. You were well acquainted with the clones of the 501st now, but never had you actually tried talking to them. You were always too busy helping your master Anakin with his next bogus plan, or ordering the boys to do whatever crazy task Anakin had in mind. You knew knowing them on a personal level would only make it harder on yourself.

Despite knowing that, you decided to sit with them by the fire. The crickets loudly chirped in the background as you sent a small wave to the boys gathered. The moon shone above while the stars broke through the clouds, allowing you to see the faces behind of your men. "Hi." You were scared to talk to the boys and they seemed to realise that (being an introvert sucked). The first one to speak was the one you recognised as Rex. He offered a friendly wave as if to reassure you that you were welcome among them. "What are you doing up so late kid?"

You shrugged and a silence fell over the group like a blanket. When it became so unbearably quiet, you forced yourself to speak. "I...I wanted to get to know you boys." The one you recognised as the medic raised a brow. "'Get to know us'? Why?" he questioned. "We're just clones. Nothing special about us."

"Except our jokes maybe." a clone with a tattoo over his face chimed in. "Shut up Jesse." another interjected. 'Jesse' elbowed hiss brother. "Why're you telling me to shut up? Why don't you shut up?"

"You're being mean."

"'Mean'? Really Fives? How old are you?"

"Nine."

You watched the exchange in great intrest before shifting on the log you sat on. This wasn't something you'd seen before. The fire crackled dimly as if to match the atmosphere, its embers only a flickering shade of red. "You may be clones, but that doesn't make you less than any other person." you bravely said. "And since I'll be working with you, I don't believe it a bad thing to get to know you."

"That won't be long." Dogma, you believed his name to be, said. "We grow up fast and die fast." Rex cast a subtle glare to Dogma. "Shut it, she's a kid."

"And so are you." you countered. Your voice came out in a numb monotone that scared both you and the clones. It was so plain yet filled with pain that you thought you'd begin to cry. What happened to you this week? Why did your heart hurt so much for these boys? You sensed the atmosphere drift further south.

Maybe coming here was a bad idea after all.

"Hey, Kid." the one with the ponytail-man-bun said. "You alright?" You sensed his gentle worry and nodded. "Yeah," you lied, "I'm fine."

"That's an obvious lie." You looked at the clone who said that, a sad look in your eye. "What...what are your names?" you quietly questioned. Maybe you were trying to divert the subject, or maybe you were tired of saying 'this clone with the ____' or that 'guy over there'. You didn't know, but the medic seemed to understand and looked at you softly. "I'm Kix. Those two are Fives and Echo, that one's Jesse, he's Tup, he's Dogma, and I'm sure you already know the Captain." I nodded to show my understanding. "Yeah."

"Hey, why'd you bunch us up like that?" Fives demanded. Kix grinned. "Because you two are obviously a duo." You smiled a little, finding it nice to see people banter and joke around. "You two are practically attached at the hip." Jesse chimed in. This seemed to gather a few smiles, helping to lift the dark atmosphere off everyone's shoulders. They all seemed so nice.

It would be a shame to see them die.

Your stopped smiling. Your shoulders dropped and your expression fell. "Is something wrong Commander?" Rex questioned. The gentle tone and the worried looks on everyone's faces broke you. Your eyes welled up with tears while your shoulders shook. It started off as one tear, then two, them three, and then a whole river. The boys were panicking. Why was their Commander crying? What did they do wrong?

"I-I'm s-sorry." you loudly sobbed. "I-I'm no-not su-supposed to c-cry, right?" You felt like you couldn't breathe. All the emotions you bottled up, all the pain and sadness you tried to suppress, it burst and you knew you couldn't stop it. Kix was the first to react. He stood and took a seat by your side, rubbing your back and offering you comfort. When that didn't help, he hesitantly opened his arms for a hug. You shakily accepted, relishing in the comfort of this new action. This was the fiirst time anyone had hugged you, and it felt great.

"I-it's not f-fair." you cried. Kix rubbed your back as the other boys gathered around. "What isn't?" Dogma questioned. You sniffled. "Everthing. Y-you a-all deserve b-better."

That moved every single one of the boys.

You deserve better.

That was new. They were used to being treated as property by the Kaminoans, or being spat on by citizens and shunned. Sure, Skywalker valued their lives, but never had they ever heard someone, much less a Jedi, admit that they deserved better. Kix was suddenly crying with you. "You really believe that Kid?"

"Yeah." you muttered into his shoulder. Kix cast a look to his brothers and motioned for them to join in a group hug. Now everyone was crying, even Captain Rex.

"I-I don't want a-anyone else to die." You knew it was childish, impossible even, but admitted it regardless. The boys looked really, really sad. "We can't promise you anything," Fives said, "but we can try. I for one don't plan on dying anytime soon." There was a collective murmer of agreement.

#star wars #star wars the clone wars #the clone wars #clone troopers #star wars the clone wars x reader #star wars x reader #star wars x you #star wars x y/n

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sincerelyreidburke · 4 years

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The main question on my mind is: Does Nando immediately squeal to Rhodey and Touille about kissing Quinn or not?

Like a middle school girl, my friend.

Here’s a ficlet that serves as the second part of the question posed in this ask, plus the answer to your question, anon! The entire “Quindo first kiss” saga is in this completed work on ao3, if you’re curious to see the rest.

(Ask me anything about the crickets!)

It occurs to Nando, around the third or maybe fourth time that Quinn presses his lips to his in the crowded lobby at Faber, that he is having a really, really good day.

Like, okay, it was already good because there was a game, and then it was double good when he saw that Quinn was here, and then he scored off the pure adrenaline of that realization, but this— this takes the cake.

Because this is his first kiss with the boy he’s been thinking about for weeks, and it’s. His brain is shutting itself off. And also screaming! At the same time! Because Quinn is here and he’s in his arms and he came to watch him play and now, now he gets to kiss him, and it’s every bit as soft and sweet and good as he could have possibly daydreamed or imagined—

He can barely get a hold on the English language, and when they pull away from one of several kisses, he takes a breather, meets those blue-green eyes. Quinn’s entire face is flushed, and he knows that his is likely the same, or at least that’s how it feels, because this may be a hockey rink, but he is warm from head to toe. “I can’t believe you came,” he breathes, and it’s half a laugh and half a sentence, as he holds him close.

Quinn presses his thumb gently into his cheek, and the gesture is so tender that Nando thinks he might combust right here and now. “I had to,” Quinn says, simply, with a smile to match his easy tone. “For you.”

Nando is definitely going to combust. He leans down to kiss him, then halts for a second, not exactly second-guessing but more just hesitating, because, well, they haven’t really addressed— “Is it, uh. Okay? That we’re doing this?” He pauses just a moment before adding, “In public?”

“Oh, God, of course,” Quinn breathes, and that is every cue Nando needs to kiss him again. If people want to judge, let them. They are having a moment, God damn it!

“Nando!”

The voice is shrill, like a vibe check from God, and Nando jerks out of the sweet kiss at its rude interruption. He grimaces a little, because he knows exactly who that yell belongs to, and he knows what it means, too. He’s about to get chewed out.

Quinn is looking, like he knows, too, and Nando thinks they both spot Ford at the same time; she’s standing by the locker room door, waving her clipboard menacingly. What’ll it be? Stop being obvious and gay in public? Why are you out here before getting undressed? First a penalty and now PDA? He winces in anticipation.

“If you don’t put your jersey in the laundry bin in the next three minutes, you’re washing it yourself before next game!”

“Oh.” Nando feels a weight lift off his shoulders. That is decidedly less terrifying than the number of other things that could have come out of her mouth. “I’m coming!” he calls. “Sorry, Foxtrot!” But he can’t even help it; he knows he’s still grinning like a doofus. He turns back to the boy in his arms, raising his eyebrows a little, and remarks, “Uh… we might have a slight interruption.”

Quinn is quiet and contemplative for a moment, then smiles gently again, and asks, “Where do you have to be after this?”

“After I undress?” Nando surveys his gear. It won’t take long. And he likes where this is going. “Anywhere you want me to be.”

“Hmm, I see,” Quinn replies, like he’s really deep in thought about it. When he speaks again, he’s whispering, and his eyes are gleaming like the tropical ocean on a warm day. “Meet me in my room?”

Oh, fuck yeah. Nando kisses him again. “I’m there.”

“Sebastián Hernandez I will fine you.”

Quinn laughs against his mouth, and when they come up for air, looks up at him to ask, “What does she mean?”

But Nando puts him down— that can be a topic for another time. “I’ll explain later,” he replies, then, oh, fuck it, he cannot help it, kisses him one last time.

Quinn rests a hand on his chest. On his own two feet, he is so adorably short that Nando thinks he might actually lose his shit. “I’ll hold you to that.”

“Good.” Nando kisses his cheek before he lets go, then starts to make his backtrack to the locker room; every step he takes that separates them feels way too far. “I’ll see you,” he says, and then promises, “Twenty minutes. Tops.”

Quinn, the cutest thing he has ever seen, folds his arms and tips his head to the side. The little swoop of his hair tosses across his forehead. “I’ll be waiting.”

Nando laughs, winks, and then whips around to make a mad dash for the locker room.

On his way there, he pulls off his jersey, dodging passers-by in the lobby and taking care not to trample their shoes with his skates on the rubber ground. When he reaches Ford by the door, he waves the sweater in her face. “Directly to laundry!” he cries, in a blur by her, and then adds, “I’m sorry!”

But the murderous rage has dissolved, and now that he’s following her orders, Ford is grinning at him. He would feel a chirp coming on if he weren’t running by her so fast.

He drops his jersey in the laundry bin on top of all his teammates’, and then rounds the corner into the actual locker room. The guys are in various states of undress; he left his helmet on his spot and made a break for the lobby to find Quinn right after final buzzer. Now, the only one left in basically full gear, he feels twenty pairs of eyes on him as he comes to a screeching halt in the doorway.

It’s Dex who breaks the silence. “What happened to you?” he asks, with an arched eyebrow and a grin. “You look like you just won the lottery.”

“Yeah,” Touille adds, “why’d you run out of here so fast?”

“I know why,” Rhodey says, all obnoxious, like they’re in middle school. “His boyfriend came to see him.”

A murmur goes around the room, half intrigue and half chirp. “Yoo, Nando,” Nursey asks, shaking out his sweaty curls, “you’ve got a boyfriend?”

Nando takes a deep breath, looks between his teammates, and stays cool for exactly three seconds before he feels his resolve disappear and he breaks out in a shit-eating grin. To Nursey, he shrugs, despite the complete loss of calm, and says, “I think I do now.”

In true Samwell Hockey fashion, the locker room explodes.

“Yoooooooo!” Rhodey literally throws a water bottle at him. “Nanny!”

Nursey is nodding approvingly, which is literally the most validating thing ever. “Dude, major congrats.”

“That’s why you scored, isn’t it?” Louis laughs at the ceiling and squirts Gatorade at him. “You glorious fucking bastard.”

“There should be a fine for that.”

“Foooiiiine—”

“Nando is getting some—”

“Gayest team on campus, baby!”

Nando laughs, darting through the crowd of yelling jocks and back over to his actual spot, where he starts taking his skates off as fast as he can. Rhodey is immediately at his side (in his boxers) demanding details, and Touille appears out of nowhere on the other side. “Dude,” Touille whispers, all conspiratorial. “What happened?”

Rhodey nudges him. “Yeah, spill the tea!”

Nando cannot stop smiling, as he starts to get out of his gear. He takes a deliberately long time to respond, looking between the two of them, and when he does, he shrugs, like the greatest thing in the entire world didn’t happen all of five minutes ago. “May have kissed him.”

“Sebastián Hernandez,” Rhodey cries, with an aggressive slap to his shoulder, “you are my fucking hero.”

Touille laughs. “Get it, Nanny.”

Nando runs his hands through his hair and laughs, pressing his forehead to the shelf on his locker cubby. He allows himself just a second, to bask in the glory, to relive what just went down. Around him, his friends and teammates are still going wild. It is a very fucking good day.

He is going to kiss Quinn so much when he gets back to his room.

But right now, he needs to do the fastest undress and shower of his life.

#oc taddies #crickets #poindextears writes #ficlet #omgcp ocs #samwell men's hockey #quindo #nandoooooooo #mini quinny #rhode island headass #rat boy #ao3 link

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thgfanficinspo · 4 years

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Fear of the Water - Ch. 7

AO3 LINK

Annie + Finnick Origin Story set during/after 70th Hunger Games

masterlist

(ANNIE)

It’s almost impossible to sleep. Not that I normally sleep well anyway. Still.

I have one of those dreams that’s only two minutes long but actually lasts for an hour or two in real life. Finnick’s in it. He doesn’t do anything. Doesn’t even look at me. He’s just there. And it’s nice in the dream but it’s sad when I wake up.

I don’t really know what I’m supposed to do now. Keep moving? Stay put? I unpack my things and lay them out again. I get one deep sip of water cause I have to be careful about saving it until I find a source (maybe that’s what I’ll do today) and I eat one slice of dried apple. And then I notice the dirt and the blood under my fingernails and my hands start shaking.

My mother, she butchered me . . .

Shut my eyes. Don’t want to see the blood, see the boy exploding, feel hot drops of blood splatter against my face. Take deep breaths through my mouth to keep from gagging.

It’s a long time before I feel okay again. I’m just opening my eyes when a cannon goes off. I clamp my hand over my mouth to keep from screaming.

I count the bricks in my little cave to calm down again but I keep losing my place and have to start over.

I don’t think I’ll finish counting before the sun goes down. I’ll have to wait to look for food and water tomorrow.

(FINNICK)

My patron last night bought me and Cashmere as a set; I think it’s easier to deal with when there’s another victor with you. Misery loves company, as they say. But it’s also fucking awkward. Plus, it’s ridiculously expensive to buy a night with one victor, so buying two on the same night practically never happens.

We stay in the lady’s apartment long enough to see our tributes onscreen and make sure they’re still alive before making our way back toward the training center. Shine, Cash, and Piers are sorting out supplies and making a plan of attack. Annie is nibbling at some dried fruit.

We stop off at a coffee place on the way.

“That lady was disgusting,” Cashmere says as we wait for our orders. She pulls two blackberry-flavored cigarettes and some matches out of a pocket I didn’t know she had and lights them.

“Mm,” I hum in acknowledgement. She really was gross but I don’t waste my time thinking about her and what she wanted. I never do. When it’s over, it’s over, and there’s no point in reflecting on the experience.

Cashmere hands me one of the cigarettes. “Thanks,” I say. We smoke silently for a little while, watching all the Capitol citizens walk by. Girls giggle when they see me; men wink at Cashmere. It’s nothing new. “Who’s your favorite to win?”

She taps the excess ash from her cigarette on the ground. “I like my girl’s chances. But that pretty one from District Nine is one to watch. You?”

I shrug. “Don’t know.”

This is what conversations are like the day after you see a patron together. You’re too embarrassed about everything we did to look each other in the eye but we can’t ignore each other without being crushed by the silence. Plus, we have to look fun and flirty for the people that walk by.

My awful attempt at small talk is interrupted when a female tribute gets stuck under falling bricks from a decrepit building nearby. Her lower leg breaks with a loud snap as a particularly jagged stone lands on her shin. She barely has a chance to scream before a larger rock rolls onto her stomach and starts to crush her. It takes about a minute for her to die.

“That’s thirteen gone,” Cashmere says absently. “Eleven to go.”

The Avoxes are the only ones in the common area when I get back to the training center. They’re cleaning puke up off the rug; I assume it’s Broadsea’s.

“Did I miss anything important?” I ask, nodding at the television. There’s nothing interesting going on right now, so Caesar Flickerman is interviewing a Gamemaker named Seneca Crane about the inspiration behind the arena’s design.

It’s more elaborate than usual this year: it looks like an abandoned city that nature has reclaimed. It rains perpetually, and no place is completely dry. There are a handful of high dams, but in heavy rain they overflow somewhat. There’s nowhere to swim, so Annie and Piers don’t have any advantage there.

Somes points at the chalkboard; Girl 10 has been crossed off the list. Greer makes a few gestures to let me know that both Annie and Piers are still alive.

“Thanks.”

I sit down on the shower floor like I always do and lean my head back against the wall.

My arena was a heavy forest dotted with swamps.

There was this endless chorus of crickets and cicadas – it never stopped. Not to mention all the other damn bugs that would fly right into my eye or buzz around in my ear. All the bugs bit, but some of them carried diseases. Tributes bitten by the disease-bugs got sick and a few of them died.

There were these mutts in some of the swamps – gators, I think they’re called – that would come out of the water at night and attack. One of them killed Tethys, my district partner. It took her foot first. I couldn’t get to her in time to stop the bleeding or distract the mutt before it circled back for her. It took a while for the gator to kill her, but I doubt she could feel anything except the cold, dry sensation of losing blood.

Most of the water was unsafe to drink, and a good amount of the tributes died from dehydration or infections they got from drinking the bad water. The Careers and I were sure to boil our water to kill any germs. We didn’t have to worry about whether or not someone would see our fire – no one in their right mind would attack the Career pack.

And then one day at breakfast this enormous parachute came floating down from the sky and landed in front of me. A trident.

I knew in that moment that I would survive. I could use spears and knives as well as anybody, but I grew up with a trident in my hand. I knew I had lots of sponsors – they sent medicine when I was injured, fresh bread when I was hungry, even a sliver of soap to wash myself off – but this told me just how many there really were. But a trident?! Weapons of any kind were unheard of, but this?

It took two days for my allies to turn on me. They didn’t consider me much of a threat at first, since I was only fourteen and no one under sixteen, no matter how skilled or sponsored, had ever won. I defeated them allies fairly easily; I’d been expecting an attack and I knew what their fighting styles were. It only took another two days to find the remaining tributes and kill them.

I had it easy compared to some of the others. Most of the others, actually. I considered myself lucky for the first few days after I won. Thank God I didn’t have to deal with some of the shit the others had to. It evened out in the end, more or less.

Caesar Flickerman is talking as I exit the bathroom. Something menial. “Is she counting?”

“It looks like it,” Claudius Templesmith replies. “But I’m not sure why.”

I start rifling through the clothes in my closet.

“She’s most likely in shock,” Caesar says. “It happens from time to time.”

I don’t really pay attention – why should I? – until I catch a glimpse of Annie Cresta from the corner of my eye. It’s only for a millisecond; the feed switches to more entertaining footage of the boy from District 6 climbing to the top of a massive barebones building at least eight stories high.

“Shit,” I hiss under my breath.

Tributes go into shock pretty regularly; someone cracks up at least once every other year. I’m not surprised that it happened. But it bothers me that it happened to Annie. She was a bit weird to begin with, so I shouldn’t be shocked, but it’s still unpleasant.

Shit.

Piers probably should have killed her at the bloodbath – or at the very least, let the boy from 3 finish the job. The Games have barely started and I’m already so tired; I don’t know if I have it in me to watch Annie get herself killed in some awful way.

I avoid Mags for most of the day because I just don’t want to face her right now.

I eat dinner with Blight and Gloss at a popular restaurant, which we pretty much shut down for the night because so many of my adoring fans would otherwise flood the place. They cluster outside instead; Peacekeepers have to come in to keep them all in line. I’d really rather eat alone in my room but the president likes for his victors to be seen enjoying all the pleasures that the Capitol has to offer. And I hate to admit it but the food is actually good.

Blight brings the new kid with him. Timothy Something-or-other of District 6, victor of the 69th Hunger Games. I feel obligated to make a lot of sex jokes because it’s 69 and I’m the Finnick Odair.

Timothy doesn’t talk very much, nor does he make much eye contact. Blight and Gloss start filling him in on things he doesn’t ask about – the annoying victors, the protocols for being out in public, the politicians and socialites who get handsy when they drink.

“Brutus sucks, Gaius sucks,” Blight says as he pours us each a fresh glass of wine. “They’re both from Two. Actually most of those guys are awful.”

“Broadsea and Eefa fucking suck,” I add.

“And Leetha. Leetha is the goddamn worst,” Gloss says, shaking his head.

Timothy’s voice is scratchy. “Which one is she?”

“The redheaded lady from District Five,” I answer. “Thinks she’s the smartest person in the world. Don’t ever have a conversation alone with her. You’ll try to pull your ears off.”

Timothy swallows hard. He looks twitchy and hungry and tired. Bet he’s already addicted to something – alcohol maybe, or more likely morphling, since that’s the drug of choice for his fellow victors from 6.

The rest of dinner passes without anybody saying anything interesting. I trudge back to the training center and pray Mags has gone to bed already. I just don’t want to see her.

No such luck. She’s sitting on the couch facing the television when I come in. She smiles. “I haven’t seen you all day.”

“Yeah, I’ve been busy,” I mutter. She pats the seat beside her, silently asking me to sit with her. But I don’t want to I stand by the couch with my arms crossed over my chest and my eyes pointed straight ahead.

Then she asks the question I’ve been dreading all afternoon. “Have you seen Annie?”

“Yeah.

We watch the Games in silence for a long time. There’s nothing going on this late; most of the tributes have gone to sleep. But I keep watching.

“What do you think?” Mags finally asks.

“I don’t think anything.” I try not to be snappy but it still comes out with some aggression. She must know I don’t want to talk about this. “I’m going to bed.” I give her a kiss on the cheek as I leave to show her that I’m not really mad at her. But she knows that already.

“Good night, Finnick.”

“Good night, Mags.”

I don’t have any dreams tonight.

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noodleswithsoba-blog · 4 years

Text

A Silver Whirlwind.

The Asura's Student.

The street was dark, no streetlights, no anything. A little boy, just edging into his teenage years with silver hair and eyes was scooching along. He heard the sounds of a fight and crouched, peeking out of the alleyway. There was a man wearing a hoodie, facing off against some thugs that were harassing some of the other residents for protection money that tried to shove him around. That was the moment young Ichiban Tokita met his master, fighting some thugs in some dowdy section of the city.

Ohma Tokita started to notice Ichiban following him around, watching his rhythms and movements with shining silver eyes. Of course, Ohma tried his best to ignore him, but there was one night a terrible storm rocked the city. He heard his door open and in an instant, he threw a punch to ward off whatever was there. He felt something shaky, small, and solid. Lightning flashed and there stood Ichiban shakily blocking a punch, standing in a similar stance to Ohma's own, but imperfect and shaky.

His eyes were shining and Ohma felt a small smirk rise on his face, "You have guts, brat," he stated.

Ichiban silently stared at the older man, "How did you block my punch like that?" Ohma asked.

Ichiban sat down and shrugged, he truly didn't know a damn thing about his own ability. Ohma chewed his lip in thought, thinking, and puzzling out how he could've done it. He'd heard of 'actors' before, but not to the extent this kid was acting. It took him years to lock down his movements, but this kid, as immature and inexperienced he looked, copied at least some basics. He was interested in the kid. He'd heard of people copying others, and this kid could be strong one day.

So Ohma Tokita grew used to the little kid following him closely, it seemed the more he saw and took what he dished out the better his style got. Yet he still couldn't figure out a name for the kid. So he sat and pondered that for a while, watching his new pupil mix up his Niko Style into something different. He'd start with basic jabs, sway back, to the sides, blow for blow wearing weights. He heard the kid encouraging himself. He was kicking the air in a heavy rain of hits.

"Come on, Ichiban!" the kid snapped, "Do it for Master Seaweed-Head!"

Ohma chuckled to himself, "Hey, brat, it's Ohma Tokita!" he snapped, the kid jumped, teetering and falling. Ohma strode over to him and helped him up.

"What's your name?" he asked.

"I-Ichiban… Master Ohma," Ichiban answered with a shaking tone.

Ohma plunked his hand on Ichiban's silver mop, "From now on, Ichiban Tokita, try to make your own style," he stated.

"O-okay!" Ichiban exclaimed, continuing on his way. Over the years, Ohma trained the kid with some basic techniques he picked up from the other guys he fought. He'd never give his style to another. His master lost with his Niko Style, and that's why Ohma wanted Ichiban to forge his own variation. Taking the variations into account and encouraging him to work on them. Soon enough… The Chimera Style would be born.

Ichiban was minding his own business walking around with his master when he heard someone calling for help. Ichiban drifted off with Ohma not really caring where his student was going. He followed the screams to an older man with big brown eyes being accosted by a couple of thugs.

He slipped in behind them, "Hey! You put the old man down! I'm your opponent!" he yelled. The man was dropped and he pushed his glasses up onto his face. Seeing a silver-haired boy with dull gray eyes drop into a stance.

The first thug was bigger than him, surely the poor boy would be torn to shreds! The first punch was thrown and the boy nimbly dodged, grabbing the man's arm and ramming his head into the man's nose, bending his arm and hearing an overly satisfying snap. Ichiban smirked, these two-bit thugs were nothing compared to him right now! He could win with thi- he felt the other one kick him in the cheek, sending him careening to the ground with his cheek leaking blood.

Well, that's what Ichiban thought. He got back up, wicking the blood away with a grin on his face. There was something about fights that inexorably wanted him torn up. Something that drew him to be injured. Something that told him to yell that he wanted to be broken again and again. A spiritual thing deep down inside him demanded it. Something built up in his chest, a laugh? A cry? Or a song? He rose and the other thug charged at him.

'Know their patterns, feel their pain!' he thought, 'Strength through a trial! Strength through pain!' He dodged the incoming hit, and in a flurry of bloody-knuckled punches, the boy was victorious. Ichiban cracked his neck and turned to the man with a small smile.

"Hello, are you injured, sir?" Ichiban asked, looking at the smaller man with a soft smile. The man shook his head, being helped up by him and dusted off.

"Good," Ichiban stated, "What's your name?"

"Uhm… Ka-Kazuo Y-Yamashita…" the man mumbled, handing Ichiban his business card. He had a hard day at work, the manager wouldn't stop walking all over him and he didn't have the guts to speak up. Seeing this fifteen-year-old boy effortlessly take down two thugs bigger than him sparked something in Kazuo Yamashita. Something like a small fighting spirit. The boy looked confusedly down at the card.

"Ya-Ya… No… gu?" he vocalized, squinting, "No… gu? Grope? Ehhh…" Kazuo gawked at the boy's inability to read a simple card. Normally kids his age WEREN'T street fighters. The boy pocketed it.

"Eh, whatever… I'll see ya, Kazuo Yamashita!" Ichiban exclaimed with a bright, friendly smile. He walked away, his arms tenting his head and leaning back to look up at the dusky sky. He liked fighting strong opponents… It made his ability better. Not only that but it made his sparring matches with his master a ton more interesting. 'Aw… too bad it wasn't someone stronger… I'd pick up a technique or two that way…' the boy thought, 'Still… maybe I can ask Master Ohma if he can teach me more cool moves…'

Kazuo couldn't believe it. He couldn't believe his eyes. There were TWO people with the almost exact same style?! Not only did he run into the boy with the silver hair and black hoodie, but someone who looked old enough to be his brother showed up to fight someone absolutely massive!

And he WON! The major differences between the two were evident. The brother seemed to just want to fight while the younger one seemed to watch him closely, studying him with those odd silver eyes of his. Now Kazuo was being sent to meet with the Nogi Group's CEO, Hideki Nogi?! What was this world coming to?! He swallowed the lump in his throat and went to the door, opening it and seeing the man with slicked-back graying hair and serious eyes sitting at his desk, watching him.

"Y-you s-sent for me… ulp! S-sir?" Yamashita squeaked, scanning the room, finding Nogi's assistant looking rather indignant.

"Ah yes, come in Yamashita," Nogi said with a smile, "I heard you had quite the night last night, one attempted shakedown thwarted by a mysterious young man and a lost competitor in the Kengan matches?" Kazuo sat down, nervously thinking he'd be fired or worse. Nogi was still smiling as if it was normal. The smaller man looked as if everything could hurt him.

"You do know the Kengan matches, yes?" Nogi asked.

"Ye-yes… aren't they no-holds-barred fights for business deals?" Kazuo guessed.

"Why yes, and hearing about your rather indulgent night put me in contact with the individuals that made sure that you were safe," Nogi stated, hearing quite the commotion from outside. Kazuo then heard voices from outside.

"Awwww! But I wanna fiiiigggghhht!" Ichiban whined.

"Ugh, the more you complain the more exercises you'll have to do… Now hurry up, we have to meet that Yamashita guy," Ohma growled, his brown eyes closing. Ichiban couldn't stop talking about how proud he was to fight. Ohma secretly liked Ichiban when he was happy. Which was often since they met five years ago. The boy opened the door.

"Whoa! Fancy! Look at that! There's a window! Oh! And Yamashita Kazuo! I figured out what your card said! Isn't that cool?!" Ichiban yelled, smiling and pulling it out.

"Ya… Yamashita… K-Kazuo… No… Gi… Gr… Group…" Ichiban recited with a huge smile. Kazuo smiled.

"Haha… how charming," Nogi chuckled, "How do you do, gentlemen?" he asked the pair.

Ichiban bowed, "My name's Ichiban Tokita, it's nice to meet you! This is my Master, Ohma Tokita," Ichiban saw his master nod and popped right back up. Nogi grinned.

"It's nice to meet you both, I'm Hideki Nogi and that lady is Kaede Akiyama," Nogi said. Ichiban flashed a winning smile and Ohma fidgeted a little bit. Kaede was a beautiful young woman with blond hair and brown eyes, clinical and serious, but it hid something. Nogi decided which one he'd like to have as a competitor for the matches. The younger one was too excitable, too green. He liked Ichiban's spirit and his charming attitude, but Ohma was the better pick. He was older, and his eyes and easy smirk showed experience. He turned to Ohma and smirked.

"How would you like to compete in the Kengan matches with Yamashita as your manager?" he asked. Ohma nodded and Ichiban looked a little shocked.

"M-master! Shouldn't I fight?" the boy asked.

"We'll talk later, Ichiban," Ohma coolly stated. Kazuo sighed and looked at the poor boy's beaten-down expression. Still, Kazuo hoped that this wouldn't end badly. Once they left, Ohma took Ichiban back to their home. It was a run-down house in the middle of the wilderness, it was once an opulent place but now was abandoned except for Ichiban and Ohma. Ohma opened the door. The spiders and crickets all scuttled away, feeling Ohma's quiet rage.

"Katas, now," he said.

"Yes, master…" Ichiban sighed.

Ichiban started to shadowbox, left. Right. Left. Right. Sweep. Kick. Kick. Left. Right. Soon his movements flowed into a calm form that was oddly formless. Flowing and calm, instinctual. Sensing and feeling out Ohma's presence. Then, a storm of hits surged out of him like a rushing tide, detecting who he based this oddly formless style off of. Ichiban hopped on the mossy floor, going through his Chimera Style. It was like Ohma's Style, but a lot less rigid, able to be adjusted and molded.

'Am I not good enough?! Is that it?! Is that why Master Ohma doesn't let me fight?!' he thought, angrily punching and kicking the air, 'If he took me in that means he saw potential in me! So why didn't he let me fight?!' Ohma watched his student with increasing concern. Something was wrong, and when he fell to the floor in frustrated exhaustion, Ohma walked over.

"Why… won't you… let me fight?" Ichiban gasped.

"Because you're reckless, you barely know your style," Ohma stated, "It'd be suicide,"

"So why would you… take me in?" Ichiban asked.

"Because I saw that copy ability of yours, you have to experience and see. Experience to improve it, and a sight to learn it," Ohma observed.

"There's still a lot to learn, Master Ohma…" Ichiban sighed heavily, "I barely know why or how it works, but it does,"

"Then those upcoming matches are your opportunity to learn, and our training sessions to improve on what you've learned," Ohma determined, placing his hand on his student's shoulder.

"It's hard, but I know a kid good enough to block one of my punches has got a lot of potential," Ohma stated gently, smirking at his student's bright expression.

"Now get up, Ichiban Tokita, it's time to try again!" Ohma exclaimed.

"Y-yes, Master Ohma!" Ichiban exclaimed.

Kazuo Yamashita had never seen such a derelict house before. It was overtaken by greenery, but he saw Ichiban training hard out front, and the smell of some sort of pork wafting through the air.

"Oh! Kazuo Yamashita! Good morning! Uhmm… Master Ohma's inside, he's cooking something, and I'm out here training!" Ichiban cheered, walking up to him, he was wearing nothing but sweatpants and a headband to keep his hair out of his eyes.

"Can I talk to him?" Kazuo asked.

"Oh! Sure! Hang on," Ichiban jogged inside, "Master! Kazuo Yamashita's here! He wants to speak with you!" the boy called to the inside.

"Tell him he can come in," Ohma said, cooking some pork on a hot plate. Kazuo was shoved in and the door was shut behind him. The man gulped and scooched in.

"Did he…" Kazuo started.

"Already eat? Yeah," Ohma stated, "Ichiban always moves faster than I do in the mornings,"

"A-are you two… related?" Kazuo asked.

"No, he just hung around me and I got used to him," Ohma bluntly said. Then, the door crashed in, with Ichiban skidding back, he was grinning.

"Wow! Man, that kick was… pretty solid!" Ichiban gasped, "Whew! I'm a little… winded… hoooo…"

Two men stepped in, one with a white hoodie and the other with a multi-colored one. The white hooded one flipped back his hood. He had blond hair and odd sunken eyes, he hopped from foot to foot as the other one had his arms crossed.

"Don't worry, I'll take them both," the blond guy stated.

"Fine by me," the other stated, his voice deep and bellowing, making Kazuo shudder just by listening.

The blond stepped forward, "It's nothing personal, just business," he stated.

"Sorry, but I already got my newspaper, and… huuuhh, your aura, it's pretty fierce. Not enough to lay out my protege, but interesting," Ohma stated. Kazuo backed up and sidled over to Ichiban, who was shakily standing and palming his jaw. Ohma weaved through the guy's punches, backing up and weaving.

"That's… Ivan Karaev! Ohma, he's got a vicious hi-" Kazuo was cut off by a high-pitched squeal and a stumbling Karaev. Standing tall was Ohma, smiling.

"The real tragedy is that you leave yourself too open when you kick," Ohma said. Ichiban's eyes shined when there was a sudden tearing and the Russian stumbled, toppling with blood coming out of his mouth.

"Whoa! Now THAT'S A TECHNIQUE!" Ichiban yelled. The man in the multi-colored jacket flipped his hood back, revealing wide brown eyes and a blond, shaggy mullet. He was massive, towering over Yamashita and Ichiban, but at least eye level with Ohma.

"Hah! Good to know somebody knows quality!" the man snapped, "The name's Lithito! An' you must be my opponent, right?" he asked, looking at Ohma.

"Yeah, quite an entrance," Ohma commented. Ichiban was bouncing, trying to copy the slashing, Lihito noticed that and grinned.

"Hey, little man! Your arc's too tight!" He coached a little. Kazuo gulped, watching Ichiban's face go from joyous to determined, slashing, or trying to.

"Well, I jus' thought I'd swing by with a friendly little hello! It was Karaev's idea to punt your protege through the door, I'll be seein' ya, Ohma Tokita," Lithito said. Ichiban followed him out though.

Lithito turned and saw the kid follow him out, "What?" he asked.

"Can you… hit me with that slashing attack? Not too deep or hard, just hit me enough to cut?" Ichiban asked. 'What the hell?! Is this kid a masochist?!' Lithito thought incredulously. He shrugged and saw the kid's dull gray eyes shine silver. He wound back and slashed, seeing a couple of small cuts open upon his skin.

"Hm! I get it now! It's not the nails…" Ichiban mumbled that last part, "See ya, Mr. Lithito!" he cheered, waving and Lithito smirked, waving back. The superhuman oddly enough felt the kid's aura grow stronger from the kick and the slash…

Just what was he?!

A.N: I hope you all liked it! Or not... First fic I’ve posted on here an’ already I’m jittery/nervous/scared that this won’t be well-liked. I mean... I guess it’s brave I’m doing this, but I want you all to know that this little romp is for fun. And I may need some help with later canon.

#kengan ashura #kenganverse #kengan ashura oc #fanfic #oc x canon

9 notes · View notes

therainroguefanfiction · 4 years

Text

🔥 ℝise Ⱥbove I̾t ◈ Chapter 022 [Winchester’s Starting Line]

📑 Table of Contents | ◂Backward

Word Count: 3,282

⊱ ────── {⋅. 🔥 .⋅} ────── ⊰

〈“You know you’re fighting in a losing battle, Making a noose out of your hollow crown. I hold a match up to your paper castle, and watch it all burn down.” Ellie Goulding, “Hollow Crown”〉

⊱ ────── {⋅. 🔥 .⋅} ────── ⊰

The smoke cleared and the boss was on the other end of the room, his body embedded in the back wall. The male standing in front of me was breathing heavily, sword poised in front of him in both hands. Wait, I recognize that mop of green hair!

“Izuku?”

He glanced over his shoulder, giving me a nervous smile. “H-Hi, Jen-san.” He was wearing a long-sleeved white shirt under a green vest. His hands were covered by gloves and he wore a brown utility belt around his waist, legs covered by blue pants. He’s also a swordmaster.

“Deku?! What the fuck are you doing here?!” Bakugo yelled, stomping over to the boy.

“U-Um, I… you looked like… you n-needed help…”

“Hah?! As if I’d ever need help from a nerd like you!”

“You say that, but Winchester would have been a goner if he hadn’t stepped in when he did.” Iida approached the two, dressed in a suit of armor, his helmet tucked under his arm. He’s the knight class.

“That’s her fault for being a fucking weakling!”

“Gee, thanks.” I rolled my eyes, coughing again.

“Don’t worry, Jen, I can heal you!” Ochaco smiled brightly as she kneeled beside me, dressed in a short tan dress with a red hood over her head. Black leggings covered her legs, disappearing into brown boots. She carried a wooden staff, her right hand wearing a red glove. She’s the mage class. Ochaco hovered her hand above my stomach and it started to glow purple before my health shot up. “There, all better!”

“Thanks,” I pulled myself to my feet, dusting off my pants.

Iida snapped his gaze to me. “Why are you here? You’re not even level fifty yet!”

My eyes narrowed. “I’m half a pubic hair from being fifty. Fuck you.”

His cheeks burned. “E-Either way, this area is far too advanced for you! Show some responsibility for your actions.”

“You know, you really fucking piss me off, Prep.”

“P-Prep? My name is -!”

“I don’t fucking care,” I scoffed. “Oi, Bakuhoe. You got five minutes to finish this bitch off before I call it quits. I’m fuckin’ hungry and now in a bad mood.”

“Che, don’t tell me what to do!” He turned his back to me. “Let’s go, shitty hair!”

“Right!” Kirishima blew smoke from his nose.

Izuku and Iida joined the fight, while Ochaco stuck close to me with a magical shield up in case the boss decided to attack me again. Ten minutes passed and Kirishima dealt the finishing blow with a swipe of his clawed hand. Or is it a paw? Dragons don’t have paws right? Feet? But that makes me think of the back legs not the front.

As the boss shattered, an annoying jingling started to go off in my ear like I had just won the fucking jackpot on a slot machine. My level shot through the roof, jumping from forty-nine to seventy-nine. My body feels lighter, stronger, and now I have a shit ton of power points to assign again. For fuck’s sake.

Kirishima’s body started to shrink back to human form and he fell back onto his ass, a bright grin on his face. “I can’t believe we did it! You’re super strong, Midoriya!”

The greenette flushed at the praise, not missing Bakugo’s glare. “N-No, I’m really not -”

“Of course he is!” Iida pushed up his glasses. “Not only is he max level, but he also has the legendary Allmiber!”

Allmiber? What, is that the fucking love child of All Might and Excalibur?

“How the fuck did you hit max level?! And where the fuck did you get the most OP weapon in the damn game?!” Bakugo demanded, trying to grab the front of Izuku’s shirt, but the anti-PVP system prevented him from doing so.

“That’s so cool!” Kirishima jumped to his feet, eyes sparkling. “Only five people in the entire game have managed to find Allmiber!”

“And you, shitty hair!” Bakugo’s vermillion eyes snapped to the red-head, pointing an angry finger at his face. “How the fuck are you a Dragonling?!”

“What’s a Dragonling?” Ochaco whispered from behind me.

Izuku answered, his eyes shining. “Dragonlings are the rarest race in the whole game! They can’t be chosen or even bought, you can only get it as a drop from a powerful boss. The drop rate itself is only .01% and the drop location changes every week. They say that Dragonlings are unbeatable because of their massive health bars and insane defense and armor. They’re also the only race in the game that can change their forms in battle! Their dragon forms have been called the gods of the game! Did you know that the creator -”

I glanced over my shoulder at him, sweatdropping as he continued to ramble on about the game. A simple, ‘it’s rare!’ woulda been fine, ya know. But Ochaco and Iida are listening intently to him, as usual, nodding their head every few words.

Kirishima laughed as he rubbed the back of his neck. “I was just killing some scarecrows for a quest and it dropped.”

“You got a Dragonling from a fucking level five quest?! I’ll kill you!”

My lips tugged down as I watched the two groups interacting with each other. Why do I feel a sudden pang in my heart? I cursed, turning toward the exit portal that had opened up after the boss with destroyed. It took me back to town and I quickly logged out of the game, pulling myself off the wooden floor and turning the console off. I can still hear Bakugo screaming over the phone and I hesitated.

Should I say something? I decided I didn’t want to bother them and just ended the group call without a word, glancing at the clock. Nine-thirty.

The front door opened and closed, Toshi stepped into the living room looking tired and ragged. He smiled when he saw me. “Hello, young Jen. What would you like me to make for dinner?”

I grunted, pushing past him before he could step into the kitchen. “I wanna work on my cooking skull. You don’t mind, yeah?”

He sent me a confused look, but it soon melted to one of warmth. “That’s fine with me. I’m guessing tacos since I lifted the ban?”

“Nah. I’m in the mood for some curry.”

“Oh…” he shifted in the doorway, watching me closely. “Is anything bothering you?”

I sent him a small smile. “I spent all day playing an RPG with Bakugo, so I’ve just got a bit of headache.”

He sweatdropped. “That’ll do it. I’m gonna go take a shower.”

My smile dropped as soon as the bathroom door closed. To be honest, I don’t really know why I’m suddenly feeling so… isolated and down, I guess? I don’t wanna worry him, especially when I don’t even technically know what my problem is. Thinking about it, a lot of time has passed since I came to this world, since I started at U.A.

While everyone else has been forging friendships, I’ve been too damn busy keeping people at a distance. I haven’t made any efforts at all. Bakugo only asked me to play with him because he had no one else, but now he knows that the golden trio and Kirishima also play. They don’t need a low level to babysit that knows nothing about the game.

I groaned, rubbing my forehead in frustration. “Why is this bothering me? Get a grip.”

⊱ ────── {⋅. 🔥 .⋅} ────── ⊰

My phone buzzed for the millionth time and I sighed, opening my messages. From Bakugo:

‘Where the fuck did u go?’

‘Oi, fuckin answer me’

‘…somethings wrong aint it?’

‘Stop fucking ignoring me!’

And from a number I didn’t recognize:

‘Hey Winchester! Got ur number from Bakugo!’

‘This is Kirishima btw’

‘Whyd u log out so suddenly? Everything ok?’

‘That sword u got is really cool btw, it costs a million gold!’

My brow furrowed. Why did he give my number to Kirishima? Why’d he want it in the first place? Are they really worried about me? And that sword… why did Bakugo give me something that’s worth so damn much? I don’t understand anything.

I sighed, throwing my phone onto the couch before plopping down onto the floor so I could put my sneakers on. I heard shuffling behind me as Toshi walked quietly down the hall, pausing when he noticed me.

“Young Jen, you’re up early!”

“Don’t sound so surprised, Toshi.”

“You’re never awake when I leave in the mornings.” He commented, sliding his feet into the over-sized loafers. He suddenly grinned, his body expanding as he took on his muscle form. “Shall I carry you to school today? Ahahaha!”

I rolled my eyes as I pushed the door open. “I’m not a kid, but I’m sure Izuku would take you up on that offer, though.”

He laughed again, closing and locking the door. “I’m sure he would! By the way, I wanted to thank you for befriending young Midoriya. I feel more at ease knowing that you’re there to watch his back.”

“I’d hardly call myself his friend,” I muttered under my breath.

“Hm? What was that?”

“I said you’re welcome.”

He smiled brightly, slapping my shoulder. “Be safe on your way to school, young Jen!” He kneeled down, kicking off the ground as he took to the sky. I waited until he was out of sight before starting to walk, stuffing my hands into my pockets.

It was still dark outside, the neighborhood peaceful as the residents slept. Crickets chirped tiredly in the distance, pausing when the wind blew through the trees. Ever since I was a kid, I’ve always found solace in the darkness. I’ve always been a night owl, preferring to be awake through the night rather than during the day. Maybe it’s because I hate the sun, or maybe it’s because there are fewer people around at night… I don’t really know the reason. This little strip of time before the sun starts to rise makes me feel at peace.

I took my time walking to school and the sun was just starting to glare over the horizon as I walked through the archway, casting shades of orange and purple across the sky. It was beautiful, sure, but I ain’t fond of the sun.

I entered the school building, heading for class 1-A. The room was empty and, for a minute, I just stood in the doorway. It felt weird without the loud chatter of the other students. It was eerie, like I had just stepped into an alternate dimension or some shit.

“Fuckin’ creepy,” I muttered, flicking on the light before heading to my desk. What do I do now? I left my phone behind, so I can’t play any games. I guess I could work on my homework… I started it last night but couldn’t concentrate so I ended up giving up and going to bed. Scrunching my nose up, I grabbed my notebook and the worksheets we had been given and got to work.

The door slid open a few minutes later and I glanced up, meeting surprised heterochromatic eyes. I returned my gaze to my notebook, where I was working on a doodle of Deadpool wearing a taco hat. At least he ain’t glaring at me, but the day is still young.

The legs of the chair scraped against the floor as he sat at his desk. He was quiet for a moment before speaking up, almost hesitantly. “Good morning,”

I raised a brow at him, but he was staring down at his desk. “Uh… sure.”

“Are you all healed up?”

“Yeah,”

“That’s good,” he nodded his head, pulling his notebook from his bag. “Does my voice really keep you calm?”

I nearly snapped my pencil, a bead of sweat rolling down my cheek. Damn, talk about being blunt. I cleared my throat, “Why are you even talkin’ to me?”

His eyes met mine, growing wide. “Should I not be?”

I shrugged. “You’ve always seemed perfectly content just glaring at me.”

Peppermint quickly looked away, his hair covering his eyes. “I’m sorry. You just… remind me of someone.”

“Who?”

He was silent for a moment and I figured he wasn’t going to answer. When he finally did, his voice was like ice. “My father,”

I raised a brow, humming. So a pretty boy with daddy issues, huh? Interesting. “Right. Good to know I remind you of an old man.”

“That’s not what I meant,” he mumbled, his cheeks gaining some color. “Will you answer my question now?”

“Yes, you have a calming voice. Happy?” I sighed, turning back to my notebook. Man, I accidentally stabbed Deadpool in the face.

The door slid open again and Fumi stepped inside, tilting his head as his eyes met mine. He approached my desk with a smile. “Good morning, Jen-san.”

“Sup, Fumi.”

“You’re usually one of the last to arrive. It’s quite alarming to see you here so early.”

“Sheesh, a girl tries to be a diligent student and everyone thinks the world is comin’ to an end.” I grinned, leaning back in my chair. “I wanted to try somethin’ new, but don’t worry, I hate it and won’t be doing it again.”

He chuckled, his eyes scanning my notebook. “You did this problem wrong,”

“Heh?” I glanced at the math problem he was pointing at. “Fuck math,”

“If you’d like, I can give you a hand.”

“For sure, thanks Fumi. The last thing I need is a lecture from Ectoplasm about not paying attention in his class.”

He nodded toward the pencil. “May I?”

“Go for it,” I watched as he scribbled down a number on the corner of the page.

“You can message me anytime you find yourself stuck and I will do my best to assist you.”

“Yeah, I will.” I smiled at him. “Thanks, Fumi.”

He nodded, returning the smile before heading to his desk. I caught Peppermint’s gaze but he quickly looked away. What’s his deal today?

Students slowly started to filter into the room and the silence morphed into loud chatter. In a way, their loud natures is annoying as all hell, but… I think I prefer it over the alternative.

“Wait, who are you?”

I glanced up at the sound of Alien’s voice, seeing Rin standing in the doorway. What’s he doing here?

He bowed, offering a kind smile. “My name is Hiryuu Rin from class 1-B next door. I’m looking for Winchester,”

Her eyes fell on me, half-hidden behind Momo. I stood up and approached him, grabbing his wrist and tugging him from the room. I could already hear her excited whispers. I swear if she starts spreading some stupid shit… I brought Rin to the stairway, which only had a few students passing by. As soon as I turned toward him, his arms were thrown around my neck, my body tensing at the contact.

“Uhh…”

“I’m so glad you’re okay.” He spoke with a voice full of emotion, his grip tightening around me. I could feel his heart hammering in his chest. “I heard about the attack, about two students being seriously injured along with Aizawa-sensei and Thirteen-sensei. I came to see you yesterday, to see if you were okay, but your entire class was gone. I was so worried about you, Winchester!”

My body relaxed as I wrapped my arms around him, gently rubbing his back. “The faulty thought it would be a good idea if we took a day off after the attack. Me and Izuku were a bit reckless, but it ain’t a big deal.”

“‘A bit reckless’?” He pulled back, eyes narrowed in frustration and worry. “You could’ve been killed.”

“I didn’t think you cared that much,” I muttered, scratching my cheek as I glanced to the side.”

“You’re my friend, of course, I care!” He sighed, letting his arms fall to his sides. “You’re okay, that’s what matters.”

My heart skipped a beat, my chest growing warm as my lips curled up. My hand rested on his head. “I’m sorry I worried you, Rin.”

“Call me Hiryuu.”

“Only if you call me Jen.”

“Deal,” he grinned.

“Hey, Rin! Class is gonna start soon!” An orange-haired girl smiled at us as she walked by with a girl that looked like she just stepped out of My Little Pony.

“Be right there, Kendo!” He called before turning back to me, pulling his phone out of his bag. “Can we exchange numbers?”

“Oh, uh, sure. I forgot my phone at home, though, so I’ll text you back after I get home.” I gave him my number and we parted ways, entering our own classrooms. Two numbers in one day? You’re turning into a player, girl. My good mood fizzled a bit when I entered class 1-A, eyes locking with angry vermillion.

“Morning, Winchester!” Kirishima grinned. “Last night was so much fun, let’s play again sometime!”

“Ooh~ What did you two do last night?” Alien asked, clapping her hands excitedly. “And who was that boy? Is he your boyfriend, Winchester?”

Satan, grant me the strength I need to not kill anyone today. “No, he’s just a friend.” I ignored her disappointed pout as I headed for my desk. I was almost there when a hand grabbed my shoulder roughly. Green met vermillion as we stared at each for a moment.

“You didn’t fucking answer my messages,” Bakugo’s voice was surprisingly calm as he gauged my reaction.

“I fell asleep after getting offline,” I lied, keeping my expression blank.

“Why the fuck didn’t you answer when you woke up, then?”

“Forgot my phone,”

“Stop fucking lying to me!”

I grunted, pulling myself from his grip and plopping down at my desk. Why do I suddenly feel so guilty about lying? Why did I even lie in the first place? It had been an instant reaction, I didn’t even consider it. We’re not even friends. He just tolerates me because I do the same for him.

He clicked his tongue in annoyance before stomping back to his desk.

“Hey, you guys! Did you watch the news?” Invisigirl asked, excitedly. “It was so cool that we got a few seconds of screen time. Though I bet nobody noticed me hanging out in the background…”

“Probably not,” Octo agreed.

Tail sweatdropped. “It is difficult to stand out when you’re just gloves…”

“We’re totally big deals.” Sparky’s voice was full of arrogance. “Those news channels love us, we’re basically celebrities!”

“Yeah, it’s kinda crazy, right?”

“Get over yourselves. The hero course that pumps out pros was attacked and that’s what they care about.”

“Who knows what woulda happened to us if the teachers hadn’t shown up.”

“Death. That’s what woulda happened.” I commented, dryly.

“Why’d you say that?!” Grape freaked out, his eyes full of tears. “I’m gonna pee myself just thinking about it!”

My lip curled back in disgust. Why is this fucking brat even in the hero course? I’ve seen more heroism from a fucking cockroach.

“Ah, shut up! Grow a pair, loser!!”

“Did you guys see All Might fighting the bird guy? That guy was super strong and he still destroyed him!”

“Yes, his strength is truly a thing of wonder.”

“Attention! Homeroom class is about to begin! Everyone stop talking and take your seats!” Iida ordered as he stood at the front of the room.

“Uh, we’re all sitting.”

“You’re the only one standing.”

Iida fell into his chair, body shaking. “Dang it,”

“Don’t sweat it,” Ochaco smiled. She’s honestly too precious for this world.

The door slid open and a heavily bandaged Aizawa appeared. His face was still covered, and both arms were in slings across his chest. “Good morning, class.”

⊱ ────── {⋅. 🔥 .⋅} ────── ⊰

▸ Forward

📜 Read more by checking out my masterlist 📜

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battingonjakku · 4 years

Text

Best England moments of the decade (roughly chronological)

• Winning the World T20 in West Indies. The first ever international trophy for the men. Sidey, Broad and Bres bowling slower ball bouncers.

• The men's Ashes down under in 2010/11. So many highlights here. 517/1 in Brisbane. Australia 3 down in 3 overs in Adelaide. Australia 98 all out on Boxing Day (I'm not sure any England moment in Australia will be as good as that). Racking up a third innings win in Sydney.

• That tour the women didn't win the Ashes, but Charlotte Edwards made an incredible test century.

• The 2011 World Cup wasn't good for us, but in the opening match we tied with India and it was just a really good game of cricket.

• Going top of the world in 2011. And they were just a brilliant test team.

• It may have been around that time that England were also (briefly) top of the world in all formats although that is pretty hilarious all things considered.

• Ignoring all the drama for a second, KP did hit three of the best centuries of his career in 2012. Colombo, Leeds, Mumbai. Just ignore everything else he did that year/ever.

• 2012 the men went and won a test series in India. That and the 2010/11 Ashes are two of their best ever overseas performances. Cook, Panesar, and Swann some standout performers.

• 2013 brought another Ashes win, 3-0 and with a brilliantly close opener at Trent Bridge. And there were no other Ashes series for the men that year, right?

• England won the women's Ashes too, Heather Knight was brilliant with 157 in the test, and then got injured so they wheeled her around on a trolley for the lap of honour.

• 2013/14 was a win for England in the women's Ashes, including one of the greatest ever test matches in Perth.

• Charlotte Edwards was then named as a Wisden Cricketer of the Year, only the second woman ever.

• 2015 NZ tour of England. Brilliant cricket on both sides, Stokes hitting the fastest test century at Lord's, the birth of England's new approach to ODI cricket.

• In 2015 the men regained the Ashes thanks to Stuart Broad's 8/15 bowling out Australia for 60 (including the first Ben Stokes Wonder Catch)

• Ben Stokes hits a ridiculous double century in SA, Bairstow gets his first test century batting alongside him, England win away from home.

• A World T20 that ended in heartbreak for the men and women, but shout out to Joe Root's 80 odd against SA which was fab

• 2016, Bairstow's golden year. I stan so this is a highlight.

• The 2017 WC. Where to start. Taylor's comeback century. That win over Australia, ft Hartley's wicket of Lanning. Excellent batting from so many, Beaumont and Sciver especially.

• THE SEMI FINAL oh my goddd. Screaming at the telly. Jenny Gunn. Anya coming out and hitting the winning boundary straight away no nonsense.

• ANYA IN THE FINAL OH MY GOD MY QUEEN. The whole atmosphere of the final, being there for a sell out at Lord's. Best cricket memory ever.

• Danni Wyatt getting her first international century and bossing it in the T20s down under.

• Tammy Beaumont in the 2018 summer. I love.

• 2019 World Cup. That catch. The semi final. Winning after the super over, by the barest of margins. I'm still recovering.

• The miracle of Headingley. Need I say more.

I'll have missed some of course. But that's my list.

#cricket #ramble on ro

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likesomekindofcheese · 5 years

Text

The Knight of Hallow’s Eve (A Knight!Gwylim Lee Oneshot)

Pairing: Knight! Gwylim Lee x fem! Reader

Word Count: 6,000 (wahoo)

Get ready for some fluuuffff!

Warnings: A mention of sex feat. a creeper, witches, a bit of violence, mentions of violence, Halloween magic, a DND reference, and good ol’ fashioned Urban Fantasy.

Prompts: #10 - “Nope, I’m not scared. Not at all” and #45: “I hate the woods…especially at midnight on flippin’ Halloween! How did we get so lost?”

A/N: This is my oneshot for @forever-rogue‘s 2019 Halloween Challenge! I wanted to get a little more creative this time around. I hope it’s Halloweeny enough for all of your tastes. I hope you guys all enjoy it! (Also tagging @jimmypagesandbrianmayshair, here you go! Knight! Gwilym on the house!)

“I’ll take your dare; I’m heading to the woods,” you said.

Your darer, Carl, smirks with slight disappointment. Alcohol mixed with truth or dare on a Halloween’s night get together made him bold. His leering at you made the chocolates in your stomach flip over.

For your dare, you were given two choices-you had chosen heading to the woods over stripping for him. You’d take anything over that.

Your friend, Erin, runs over to get your arm.

“You can’t! You know that’s where that killer’s been lurking! You’ve seen the news!” she begs. Her black eyeliner is smudged with worried tears.

“I’ll be back in ten minutes. I won’t run into any killer. Set a timer.” You suggest.

You know what the alternative is and so does she.

Erin shoves her purple manicured hand into her black corset. From it, she retrieves a necklace with a simple, dark blue stone.

“Here, take this. For protection” she offers.

You accept it. You know she has always been obsessed with the magical, claiming to be a witch (“but…I’m a different witch…it’s complicated, Y/N!”) and you could accept any possible good luck to get through these next ten minutes. Kindness from her was always a blessing itself, superstition or not.

I can handle this you think.

Crickets chirruped quietly. The trees make the air clean along with the crispness of the breeze. You peek back behind you. You see the back-porch lights of Erin’s house and their faint chatter of what truth to give the next sucker in your group.

An owl swoops over your head. You turn around to look for it, but you only see a faint silhouette and hear its wings flutter away.

You turn your head back to the house. The porch lights are gone.

You take ten steps closer to the house. Besides, if you are still in the woods and can still see them, it still counts as being in the woods. Dare accomplished.

There is no house.

You keep walking, trying to convince yourself that you misjudged your steps. Another turn, and there it will be. Progressing slowly, the night is getting darker and the moon is bobbling in its slow line above.

Trees and darkness is all there is.

You tried to remember what the back of the house looked like. A sign. Anything. But your brain has blanked in panic. You keep walking, almost running, trying to see anything in the darkness.

Reaching down into the pocket of your jacket, you feel the necklace. It’s suddenly hot. Surprised, you take it out and to your shock, it’s glowing light blue. Squinting from the darkness, you see a tree a few feet from you has started glowing bright blue too.

Getting closer, it becomes more beautiful and surreal. It’s a tall willow tree with light blue leaves that seem to swirl as they rustle with the wind. Your eyes blink to make sure it’s real. You have never heard of glowing trees anywhere!

You let the amulet rest on your palm. Suddenly, it floats above your hand. You scream a little in surprise. It’s too heavy for the wind. You feel your head spinning.

A bright beam of light blue light, matching that of the leaves of the tree shoots forth until it meets the dark wood- making a large black hole.

“AAAAGGGGGHHHHHHHH!!!!!!”

Clunk!

A form falls through the hole and lands facedown into the leaf-ridden ground. The colors melt from light-blue to a musty red. Though it is night, there is enough light that one might think it was the early evening.

“Are you alright?” you ask, shell shocked.

“I…hope I am” he answers.

He starts to groan and get up. Two things strike you: first, not only is he incredibly tall with dark brown hair and the most astonishingly blue eyes you have ever seen, but even more so his clothes.

He is wearing a full plate of shining armor.

This is nothing like the plastic knight armor you see in costume shops. It thuds with heaviness and its silver sheen makes him bright amongst the redness. There is a bit of rust and dirt, here and there. But the edges and quality you know would make any cosplayer or costume designer drool.

How rich would someone have to be to buy a full plate of armor that good for only one night?

“Who is that?” The man pecks his head up. You step back a little. He’s a handsome man with high cheekbones, soft lips, and eyes the color of the sky.

He starts to pull his arms down to get up. “I…I’m alright, I think. But may I ask, where am I?”

You tell him the name of the city you live in.

He arches his eyebrows. “What kind of kingdom is that? Do you have a ruler?”

You tilt your head.

“No…uhm…we don’t. Look, are you a part of a live Dungeons and Dragons campaign?”

“I have no campaign; other than slaying monsters I’ve been sworn to slay and protecting the innocent. I made a vow to the king of my land after the dragon attack” he says.

He sounds genuine.

“Well…wherever you are, you must be far from home.”

“As a knight, I must go where I am called to. You see, the good witches gave me this…” he begins.

From beneath the breastplate of his armor, he reveals an amulet identical to yours. You stop breathing until you must take in a sharp inhale.

“The good witches of my kingdom tell me that if help is truly needed, then the amulet will lead me there. I am on a quest to fight the black rider. I have asked the amulet where the black rider is-what I must do, and if someone is in need or in danger. And it glowed to this tree…and now I am here.” He confesses. He straightens his back in a bit of pride.

“Well, uh…let’s make this simple. You see…this stuff isn’t normal where I’m from but, I could use some help. My name is Y/N. Y/N L/N.” you inform.

“I am Sir Gwilym of the Lee house, my lady.” He replies, with a short bow. He grins and stands erect as if saying he won a championship.

“I…I guess you could say I’m not…not a real lady” you stutter, gathering what knowledge you gained from Fantasy books and period dramas. Anything to help him.

“I’m just a humble peasant, according to your world.” You add, turning pink.

“Yet every woman, peasant or none, is a lady and deserves protection when needed. And if no one else will protect and assist them, then I must, my lady.” He responds with a shrug.

Smiling toothily, you remind him “I have a name, it’s Y/N.”

“Lady Y/N then!” he finishes raising his arms a little.

The wind picks up speed a little and it feels like a bony finger brushing your necks. Gwil’s armor shivers a little, despite its thickness.

“Lady Y/N, I have been riding and searching for two days. I haven’t rest and ate only grass. Do you know of shelter?” he questions. The dark circles under his eyes and slight weakness in his steps are more obvious.

“Yes. There’s a house somewhere around here…I just have trouble remembering where. I had to go out here and I got lost.” You recall. You start clutching and fiddling with the amulet in your pocket.

“May I accompany you? For your safety?” he asks.

“Sure.”

He takes a branch from the tree full of red and orange leaves. Gwilym notices how your jaw drops a little at the sight of them.

“Trees like these may light our way. They’ve aided me many a time” he explains.

“Ours don’t glow here. They bloom green when it’s warm. And some have flowers. Normal stuff” you explain.

“Ah! That is its own set of magic.”

You walk together for a bit. He lumbers across and you must scurry to keep his pace. His armor clanks a little mixing with the crunch of leaves beneath your feet. Walking alone in the dark with a knight as kind (and handsome, you confess silently) as Gwilym you feel your heart pick up the pace. You distract yourself by looking around for a path or sign of the house. There’s still nothing.

“I hate the woods…especially at midnight, on flippin’ Halloween! How did we get so lost?” you whine.

“We could find the tree and turn around” Gwilym suggests. He waves the branch in the other direction.

But when you try that strategy, the tree is nowhere to be seen. You begin wandering together hoping for any sign of human life. After a few minutes in silence, curiosity strikes you.

“Sir Gwilym, uhm…why have you been traveling in the woods?” you ask.

Gwilym grits his teeth. “There is a foe I have sworn to defeat. A foe that has been preying on the children and maidens of my kingdom and some say of neighboring ones. He has been spotted in these very woods. I must find him and bring him to justice” he says.

You nod. You admire his profile from the glow of the magic leaves.

“That’s very brave of you.” You laud. You can smell the cold air in your throat.

“Especially…since I have a little niece” he sighed. His face tightened. Did knights normally speak of their loved ones? Were they permitted?

“She is so dear to me. If anything were to happen to her, I would never…” he stopped himself.

He grew pale with fear of what could happen. You give him a hopeful smile, touching his arm feels too bold.

“You’ll find your foe.” You assure to him, looking up into his eyes, softly.

“Your niece will be …”

You are interrupted by a horse whinny and the clutter of hooves.

“Looks like you’re right” Gwilym stammers.

Before you stands a huge knight on a white Clydesdale horse, both in full black armor with faint red stains. Blood and dirt reek from them.

You freeze, unsure what to do. Gwilym leaps in front of you, blocking you, and unleashes a gleaming sword from his hilt. But the Knight’s shield, twice the size of your body, smacks him across the jaw and knocks him to the ground. Gwylim’s sword falls to the side with a clatter.

“Gwilym!” you cry impulsively.

The knight turns his head and looks at you. He lifts his visor to reveal big, yellow eyes like that of a piranha. You rush and grab the sword, aiming the hilt at him and circling around Gwilym.

The knight hops off the horse and approaches you, sword in hand aimed at your heart.

“Be scared, little girl” he booms.

“Nope. I’m not scared. Not at all” you half-lie. Anything to stop your shaking grip.

You charge and stab him in the breast quickly. His frightened horse dashes away. The black rider falls to the grass. Black leaves replace his plates of armor until they drift away into eternity.

You run over and lend Gwilym your hand to help him up. He looks up at you in amazement.

In the distance, you hear your friends calling out your name. You can make out the distant lights of flashlights.

Gwilym breaks the silence saying, “Lady Y/N…thank you.”

He kisses your hand devotedly. His lips were so soft that it was not stopping your adrenaline from the fight.

He asks for the sword and you hand it to him. Gwyilm kneels on one knee. His two large hands holding onto the hilt while the sword digs lightly into the ground. He lowers his head.

“I am ever in your debt…though I am not sure yet how I may return home. But I swear, even after I return, you are ever my lady and should you need me, I will always be in your service” he promises.

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cozy-the-overlord · 4 years

Text

Safe and Sound

Word Count: 2836

Summary: Since the war ripped through her village and took her husband from her, Ainsley’s only priority has been shielding her young daughter from the violence. At night, she fears even that is too much to ask for.

A/N: Here’s a story I’ve had in my head for a long time. Again, it’s based on the Taylor Swift song of the same name. Safe and Sound always captivated me because it’s so different from any of Taylor’s other work-- it’s genuinely eerie, and hauntingly beautiful. This is kind of what I always imagined the music video should have been like. That probably tells you something about my mental state, but whatever. Hope you enjoy, and thanks for reading!

The woods were silent and still under the blanket of darkness. Most nights, there was something to pierce the quiet: the rustling of leaves in the breeze, the delicate song of a lonely cricket singing in the distance. But tonight, there was nothing. Midnight smothered the trees with its noiselessness.

Ainsley didn’t like the silence. She sat at the windowsill, absentmindedly looping yarn around her knitting needles as she peered out at the forest. The world was almost never silent, and when it was, it was usually hiding something.

Across the room, Mallory snored softly. It never ceased to amaze Ainsley how deeply her daughter could fall asleep in such a short amount of time. The little girl needed only to rest her head against the pillow and she would be unconscious to the world for the next several hours. Hellfire could be raining down from the heavens and Mallory would still sleep through it.

Something flitted across Ainsley’s line of vision, and her head snapped to the right, half expecting to see a horde of the Liberty Brigade leering outside window, black visors glittering in the moonlight. But there was nothing: just the shadows of trees stretching in the moonlight.

Her heart pounded. She wanted desperately to light a candle, but such a comforting flicker of warmth wasn’t worth the risk of someone noticing the light through the trees. Ainsley didn’t know who was out there, if anybody, but she had heard enough stories from the village to fear what the forest could be concealing.

“We had a rider from a village down south,” Old Norm the shopkeeper had told her a few weeks ago, when she last had to go into town for supplies. “He said the Brigade came at night. Barged into houses and ripped the children from their beds. Blew the brains out of anybody who tried to fight back.”

Ainsley was horrified. “Why? Why would they take children?”

“They need loyal citizens. You know, at their capital,” Norm spat the word as if it were poison. “They like the kids because they don’t fight back.”

“That’s not what I heard.” Norm’s scruffy-haired apprentice leaned over the counter as he handed her the fabric she ordered. “They’re building an army, see?” he said. “They’re using them as kid soldiers. They want to be ready, you know, just in case there’s another war.”

The woman running her hands through the wrapped soap bars had yet another story. “They take them to sacrifice to their heathen god,” she whispered. “That’s how they won the war: on the blood of our babies.”

Ainsley pulled Mallory closer to her waist. “Don’t say such things,” she hissed, covering her daughter’s ears.

“It’s the truth,” she insisted. “They take those from villages that opposed them in the war. They’ll be here for us, sooner or later.” Ainsley shuddered.

To say that her village opposed the Liberty Brigade in the war was to say that a starving man was a murderer for killing a rabbit to eat, but she doubted the Brigade would see it that way. It was all very simple in their eyes: if you supplied men to the old government, you supported the old government. Never mind that the old government sent warlords from the palace to pound on your doors with their rifles, demanding all able-bodied men report for duty immediately.

When they came, Ainsley’s husband had stood from his loom with all the serenity of a man at peace. As she packed his knapsack with shaking hands, he lifted the shotgun from its hooks above the door and blew the dust off the barrel. It was all very quiet, almost like a dream when you’re just waiting to open your eyes and come back to your senses. Ainsley remembered how he knelt next to Mallory, wiping a tear from her cheek with his thumb.

“It’s okay, little dove,” he said, his smile forcefully bright. “I’ll be home in a little while. You won’t even know I was gone.”

When he stood to hug Ainsley, the smile was still there, but only just barely. She squeezed his shoulders so tightly she thought he might break.

“I love you,” he whispered in her hair. Ainsley’s eyes burned. When she repeated the words, her voice was so hoarse she could barely hear it.

He kissed her forehead. “I’ll be home soon. I promise.”

She remembered standing on the porch as he walked down to the truck, cradling his knapsack. The monstrous vehicle was already gorged with young men from the village, and she wasn’t surprised to hear him greet someone good-naturedly as he climbed into the back. She wanted to cry, but Mallory was already whimpering, and so she scooped up her daughter and held her tightly to her breast.

He wasn’t coming back. Ainsley knew it, felt it in the overwhelming emptiness in her chest as she watched them drive away with her husband. She breathed through her mouth, hoping to somehow exhale the lump in her throat. She failed. Instead, she clung to her daughter tighter, hoping that Mallory didn’t notice her tears.

That night, Mallory wouldn’t go to bed until she had lit a candle in the windowsill.

“It’s dark outside,” she told Ainsley solemnly. “We need to make sure there’s light so Daddy can see us when he comes back.”

Ainsley forced a wet smile. “Of course, sweetheart. Of course.”

Two and a half years later, Mallory still insisted upon lighting the candle every night.

“He’s gonna be so happy when he comes back!” she gushed as Ainsley tucked her into bed one night. “When he sees the light, and he knows we’re waiting for him! He’s gonna run in and wake us all up.”

Ainsley said nothing. She had long since run out of replies to her daughter’s unhampered confidence. Instead, she kissed Mallory on the head and snuffed out the candle once she was asleep.

Outside, the silence persisted. Ainsley sighed and tried to throw herself into the knitting with a new fervor. Winter was on its way, and Mallory was in desperate need of a new sweater. She had grown so much in the past year, when she tried on her old one it barely fit over her head…

But the disconcerting hush kept pressing against the cabin’s wooden walls, filling the air with noiseless threats. Ainsley’s movements slowed, her eyes drifting back to the black abyss behind the glass. A shiver ran down her spine.

Shouldn’t the quiet be a sign of safety? Wouldn’t it be loud, if the Liberty Brigade were to invade the village? Their tiny cabin was a few miles away, for sure, but Ainsley felt that she would still be able to hear the sounds of slaughter. Why was she so on edge?

She scanned the trees again, jumping at every odd shadow. They truly were isolated here. During the war, she had been grateful for it: raiding parties attacking the village were unlikely to find their way to her doorstep. Now, the loneliness frightened her.

Something moved. Ainsley’s head snapped to it. For a moment, she forgot to breathe.

There was a light behind the trees. A small, tiny little ball of light, bobbing behind branches, slowly, every so slowly, making its way towards the cabin. Besides it, another appeared. And another. And another.

Soon, the whole tree line was awash with lights.

A beam flickered across the window. Ainsley dropped to the floor, needles clattering on the wood besides her.

The light traveled across the wall behind her, unhurried yet deliberate. Ainsley frantically gulped air underneath the window.

It’s them! Oh God, it’s them!

Snippets of stories flooded her ears, stories of massacre and kidnapping and blood-soaked teddy bears. Ainsley squeezed her eyes shut and forced them from her head. Mallory. She had to get Mallory out of here.

The light cut out suddenly, dousing the room in shadows. Ainsley could hear voices now outside, as well as the angry hum of a motor. She crawled across the floor to Mallory’s trundle bed.

Placing a hand over the little girl’s mouth, she shook her gently, whispering urgently.

“Sweetheart, wake up. We need to go.”

Mallory awoke with a start. “Wha—what?!”

“Shhhh,” Ainsley’s eyes flickered to the door. Nobody had begun pounding on it yet, which had to be a good sign. “Everything’s alright,” she whispered. “We just need to go now. There are bad guys outside.”

“Bad guys like the ones Daddy’s fighting?” Mallory asked, matching her mother’s hushed tone.

Ainsley nodded. “Get your sweater and your shoes. We’re going to the barn.”

As Mallory stumbled to the chair where she had left her tiny sweater, Ainsley pushed up the moth-eaten rug in the center of the room. The trap door underneath was rusty, and it took a good deal of prying for Ainsley to yank it up. It practically screamed as she forced it open. Ainsley fervently prayed that the men outside were hard of hearing.

Underneath, a ladder descended into a dirt tunnel of inky black.

“Hurry, Mallory!” Her daughter hobbled to her, rubbing her eyes.

“This sweater is too tight,” she complained. “It hurts my neck.”

“I’ll fix it later.” There was someone knocking at the door. Ainsley tried to hide her shaking hands as she lowered Mallory into the tunnel. She fumbled for the door handle before she slipped inside.

The knocking grew more insistent. The wooden walls vibrated. “Liberty Brigade!” A deep voice yelled. “Open up!”

Ainsley dropped into the tunnel, closing the door behind her.

“Mommy?” whispered Mallory. “It’s dark in here.”

“I know sweetheart. Just take my hand.” Ainsley pulled her down the path, the thrumming in her pulse only marginally faster than her step.

Her cattle-herder father-in-law had dug out this tunnel ages ago, as an easy method to get to the barn when the blizzards rolled in. She hadn’t known him long before he died, but he had often bragged about it as his proudest achievement.

“Took me four whole summers to clear the damn thing. I ‘bout thought it would never end. When I finally got it done, I’d spent the whole day running back ‘n forth down there just ‘cus I could!”

Ainsley wondered if he had ever pictured this.

When they finally got to the second ladder, Ainsley made Mallory wait at the bottom while she checked the area. Gradually she pushed the door open, just barely enough for her to peer out.

The barn was deserted.

“Okay, sweet, come on!” Mallory was quiet as Ainsley pulled her up through the tunnel.

“Where are we going?” she finally whispered, shivering in the chilly air.

Ainsley hugged her close. “Out the back,” she replied after a moment. “We’ll go into the woods, towards the village. We’ll have to be very, very quiet, but it will be alright. We can hide with the owls.”

Mallory frowned. “I don’t like it out there. It’s too dark.”

Ainsley donned what she hoped was a comforting smile. “I know, darling. We’ll have to be brave.” She nuzzled her hair affectionately. “We just have to make it until sunrise. Once the sun comes up, everything will be okay.” The Brigade, to her knowledge, never raided after dawn. They’d be alright. They just needed to make it through the night. “Come on.”

The barn wasn’t incredibly distant from the cabin, but it was far enough away to allow for the two to slip into the trees unnoticed by the Brigade. Ainsley cast a quick glance back at the house. The black suited figures surrounded it, guns raised, their glossy helmets glowing in the moonlight. She shook herself and forced her attention back to the task at hand.

Mallory hobbled alongside her, panting softly.

“Are we going to find Daddy?” she asked.

Ainsley forced a smile, although she doubted Mallory could tell in the dark. “Maybe.” She desperately hoped they wouldn’t. Not tonight…

A shout broke through the woods. Behind them, engines revved.

Oh God, they’ve seen us.

Ainsley snatched Mallory’s wrist to yank her along faster. The little girl stumbled, leaves crunching under her feet. Ainsley scooped her up and started to run.

“I’m big!” Mallory protested. “I can walk by myself!”

“Hush!” Ainsley hissed. Trees flew by her head, their clawed branches grasping at her hair. Ainsley ducked down in an attempt to see better. Mallory wailed.

The smell of diesel infected the air, and Ainsley realized with horror that she had taken them far closer to the main road that she intended. Frantically, she cut to the left.

Where was she going? What was the plan? Ainsley could barely see three feet ahead of her, let alone process what was happening. Behind them, trucks rumbled through the forest belching smoke and threats. She gulped air and ran faster, ignoring her burning calves.

Vroom!

Mallory cried out, tightening her grip around her mother’s neck.

Ainsley whipped her head back for a moment. Motorcycles?

Black silhouettes behind white lights weaved in and out of the trees in answer.

She clutched Mallory as close as possible. Faster, run faster! But her legs were giving out, and Mallory seemed to be getting heavier with every panicked step.

The motorcyclists were upon them in a second, zooming by her so fast that she tumbled to the forest floor with a scream. Ainsley curled into the fetal position with Mallory beneath her. Her chest burned with each ragged breath. She was crying, she realized, strangled sobs just falling from her throat. Mallory clung to her shirt and cried too.

The motorcycles continued circling, but their small motors were soon drowned out by the groaning of the big truck pushing its way in from the road. Masked brigadesmen marched forward brandishing their weapons, glossy boots stamping the dirt in unison.

They had never stood a chance, Ainsley realized as the Brigade surrounded them. They had always had the upper hand. She swallowed bitterly. Why did they bother with so many resources on the two of them? Why was it so damn important to hunt down the reclusive single mother and her tiny helpless daughter?

A gun barrel bumped the back of her head. “Sit up.”

Ainsley pulled herself to her knees. She held Mallory as tightly as she could, practically digging her nails into her shoulders. Mallory sobbed quietly into her shirt.

The distortion from the headlights made it nearly impossible to make anything out. Figures moved in and out of focus.

“Hands on your head.”

Ainsley didn’t move. The barrel hit her again.

“Now!”

She couldn’t let go of Mallory. Mallory, who had wrapped her legs around Ainsley’s ribcage like a sloth clinging to a branch and appeared to have turned to stone.

“Please don’t hurt her,” Ainsley whispered.

“No one’s getting hurt. Hands on your head.”

She didn’t believe him, but what else could she do? She raised her hands to her head. Mallory clung to her chest.

The brigadesman behind her called out an order that she didn’t quite understand. Two others appeared in front of her, seemingly materializing out of the shadows.

The barrel smacked her head once more. “Relinquish the child.”

They sacrifice them to their heathen gods….

Ainsley couldn’t remember who had said it, but the words were seared into her brain. Her arms flew to Mallory.

“No, please—”

Something collided with the side of her head. Glossy gloves had Mallory by the shoulders. Ainsley was screaming, thrashing against another pair of arms holding her to the ground. Mallory howled.

“Let her go!” Ainsley kicked wildly. A grunt, and then she was free, scrambling after the man carrying her sobbing daughter away. Somehow, she pulled herself to her feet. “Let her go! Let her go—”

A shot rang through the air, quickly followed by two more.

She didn’t feel anything at first, just a tap on her back, then another, and another. It had been so long since she had heard a gun fire that she didn’t even register it at first.

What she did register was her daughter’s screams.

“MOMMY! MOMMY!”

She had to get up. Wait, she was on the ground? How did she get on the ground? When she tried to move forward her insides burst into flames.

“MOMMY!”

Mallory’s voice was getting smaller now, farther away.

Sacrifice to their heathen gods

No, no, no not Mallory, they can’t take her not Mallory…..

Engines revved. Lights cut in and out. Voices, but they were fading too, fading fast…

She couldn’t hear Mallory any more…

Nonononono……

It was cold here, in the woods. Cold and sticky. Did Mallory have her sweater? She hadn’t finished it yet….

But Mallory was gone. Everyone was gone. It was just Ainsley, laying in this cold, wet, dark wood alone… but it wasn’t that dark. Things were getting lighter, actually. She supposed the sun must be coming up early. Little pinpricks of light pushing through the trees….

That’s why they’re gone, she thought. Everyone knows they don’t raid after dawn.

#taylor swift #the civil wars #my writing #hunger games #original work #writing #ts songfics #still don't know what i'm doing #that's a theme here

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my-funky-little-cowboy · 5 years

Note

[Charthur] Arthur getting back from town all beat up after some odriscolls ganged up on him and Charles takes it into his hands to help clean Arthur up even though it's three in the morning

This took a bit longer than I would have liked, it’s been a busy month. Hope you enjoy!

Warnings: Hurt!Arthur, Gore, BloodCharacters: Arthur Morgan, Charles SmithStyle: Angst and a lil’ FluffWords: 1,335[ Leave a Tip ]

The blood dripped from his brow, stinging his eyes. He pulled his sleeve across his face sending a surge of pain through his ribs. He groans softly and pulled himself up into the saddle. Dutch’s words ringing in his mind, “Don’t draw unnecessary attention, lay low.” All he wanted to do was play some cards while he waited for John. He groaned, it hurt to breathe, he definitely had some broken ribs.

“Let’s go girl” He muttered. His throat was on fire, the bruises already blooming around his throat from where they had tried to choke him.

The ride back to camp was excruciating, He had been careless, won a bit too much at the table and figured the men that followed him out behind the saloon had been just a couple of guys looking to make a quick buck.

It had been a set up to get him alone, God damn O’Driscolls had near 15 men waiting for him. He barely had time to react as the stock of the rifle met the back of his head. The flash of white hot pain as he hit the ground. He got his arms under him and slowly began to push his way up, the boot cracking the first three ribs as it impacted.

Arthur wheezed as he hit the ground, his side screaming out in pain. He clenched his teeth, biting back a cry of pain, the grit from the mud crunching between his teeth. He rolled over, pushing himself to his feet, a hand roughly grabbing his collar pulling him forward as a fist caught him in the stomach. He coughed out the remaining air in his lungs. Gasping a breath he roared out throwing a wild uppercut, his fist connecting with the jaw of the man still grasping his collar.

“So, this is Dutch’s boy. The infamous Arthur Morgan?” Another fist slammed into his jaw. He swung wide toward the voice. He stumbled back, squaring off his feet. Finally taking in his enemies. The men surrounded him, he spit the crimson streaking from his mouth. Wiping the dribble onto his arm he raised his fists defensively.

“O’Driscoll boys!” The red stained his teeth as a smile grew on his face. He shrugged the first hand off his shoulder, ducking and spinning landing a solid hit to the assaulter’s jaw.

The crack makes Arthur’s smile grow more predatory. The man falls to the floor, another taking his place. He felt the hands lock onto his wrist, spinning his arm behind his back. The foot hit the back of his knee dropping his legs out from under him. The gravel biting into his knees. The fist came across his face, he felt the blood drip into his eyebrow.

He pushed himself back, knocking the man behind him off his balance, the pain ripped through his shoulder as his body pressed against this arm. He yanked his arm free, the pain caused him to cry out, scrambling to his feet he used his momentum to tackle the man in front of him.Grabbing him by the hair he slammed his head into the ground.

Arthur stumbled to his feet, his one arm hung uselessly at his side. He turned to face the other men, his eyes wild, pulling his gun from his belt he fired dropping the last of the men. He holstered his gun, grabbing onto his arm, holding it tightly to his body. He looked down at the men on the ground, reaching down he pulled a belt off one and fashioned a makeshift sling.Turning out the man’s pockets he pulled a pack of cigarettes out and some change, pocketing both. He placed a cigarette between his lips striking a match against the saloon wall.

The moon hung low in the sky as he left town, his head swimming in the pain as the adrenaline wore off. He leaned heavily against the mare’s back, the smell filling his nostrils, he drifted in and out of consciousness.

Charles stood among the trees near the outskirts of camp, his gun held loosely at his side, the still of the early morning air calming. No one had passed by the camp in hours, not surprising given the hour, but even the wildlife had been quiet. The crickets surrounding the camp suddenly stopped their song, Charles raised the gun, the trodding of horse hooves becoming audible in the silence.

“Who’s that?” Charles shouted out into the dark, no reply “Identify yourself or I’ll shoot.” Charles raised the barrel toward the sound, a shadow moved. T

he horse snorted through the trees, moving slowly toward Charles, gun still raised. The light filtering through the canopy cast shadows into the trees. A familiar white and brown of the horse’s coat made Charles drop his gun.

“Arthur?!” He moved forward, the horse continuing it’s slow pace toward the camp. Arthur’s form slumped over the horse’s back. “Hey! Wake up, Arthur!” He rushed toward the horse, Arthur groaned, slowly blinding his eyes, the blood and sweat making his eyes sting.

“Charles?” His voice rasped, he pulled himself up in the saddle his ribs screaming in protest.

“What the hell happened?” Charles grabbed the reigns, leading the horse back to the center of camp. Arthur coughed weakly, wincing with each jostle of his arm.

“Got jumped playing cards by those damn O’Driscolls. I’m fine.”

“You look like shit, Arthur. You’re not okay, let me look at you.” Charles said dryly, hitching the horse outside of Arthur’s tent. Arthur swung his leg over the horse, sliding his way down awkwardly. Charles watched him, arms crossed, his expression annoyed.

Arthur dropped himself onto his cot, his breath shallow. Charles followed him into the tent, he stared down at Arthur, turning and grabbing a rag from his shave kit. He wet the cloth in the nearby shave bucket and returned to Arthur, wiping the dried blood and grit from his face. The cut oozed fresh blood, Charles wiped the fresh blood away and cleaning the wound the best he could.

“What’s wrong with your arm?” Arthur didn’t respond, his eyes closed tightly, jaw clenched. Charles reached down, gingerly taking his arm in his hands, he put his arm down carefully at his side. He removed the makeshift sling and unbuttoned his vest and shirt. The bruises blooming on his skin told Charles of the degree of the fight. Charles looked over everything, stopping when he reached his shoulder. Deep purple bruising surrounded his shoulder, the bone sitting awkwardly under the skin, Charles looked back to Arthur’s face, his eyes still closed. He grimaced down at him, he had seen this before, his shoulder was dislocated, it needed to be put back in, it was going to hurt.

“Arthur.” He put his hand onto the front of Athur’s shoulder, pushing back his shoulder blade. Arthur shoulder tensed beneath his hand. “I need you to relax, this is going to hurt a bit, but I need to get your shoulder back in.” His other arm grabbed Arthur’s arm at the elbow, pressing it close to his body and rotating it back and out.

“Charles.” He groaned.

The shoulder relaxed under Charles’s hand and he slowly removed it, gently grabbing hold of his wrist and guiding the hand toward his chest and up in a quick motion. The shoulder slid back into the socket and Arthur shuddered under him.

“Shit! You weren’t wrong!” He croaked.

“Still don’t need help?” Charles chided. Arthur wheezed out a laugh, his good arm grabbing onto his side. Now sure he broke more than a couple ribs.

“I’ll live.” He sat up slowly, placing his arm on Charles’s shoulder. “Thanks though, you’re too good Charles.” Charles shook his head, standing up he moved to pull some bandages from the chest by the foot of the bed.

“And you’re a fool, Arthur. Stay still and let me bandage up that cut.” He leaned over, placing a gentle kiss on the crown of his head.

#rdr2 #hyde tries writing #red dead redemption 2 #arthur morgan #charles smith #charthur #listen these two are terrible at expressing themselves #and i stand by that #charles is big concern #but bad at showing it #hurt!arthur #tw gore #fanfic #one shot #ficlet #anon request #Anonymous

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johnlockedinwarstan · 5 years

Text

Prompt Sports

It was a friendly match for charity. No matter who wins we all win. As if. There was no way Molly was going to lose to those three lackeys. Sherlock was a terrible athlete, John had a bad shoulder, and Greg enjoyed his donuts just a little to much. There was no way she would let her team lose.

Despite everyones best efforts they were tied at the half. 0:0. Sherlock may not know a football from a cricket paddle but he had big hands and could protect a goal. Molly and Mary were able to keep John and Greg on the defensive though. So much so that Sally later bragged that the women could have won without a goalie.

Five minutes to go and still tied. There Mary called the last of their time outs. Quickly whispered strategy that would win or.lose.thia game for them. Either way it wouldnt end in a tie.

Mary faked John out so bad he ended up flat on his back. She faced one way and kicked the other. Molly stares down Greg for a few seconds before darting by him. Once she is past him he can't catch her. It's just Molly and Sherlock now. Molly's foot connects to the ball. Sherlock dives for it but comes up just to short. The ball slams into the back of the net.

Molly ran down the length of the football field into a collision of a group hug. Mary, Molly, and Sally tumbled to the turf with victorious screams. On the other end of the field Sherlock has collapsed by the goal with his head in his hands. Greg and John look at each other in shock. Final score 1:0.

For the @writersmonth prompt sports.

(Full disclosure I know very little about soccer.)

#molly hooper #sherlock #sherlock holmes #john watson #mary morstan #mary watson #greg lestrade #sally donovan #writersmonth2019 #writers month 2019

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sweetlangdon · 5 years

Text

From Eden: Chapter 5

Notes: Michael Langdon x Reader/OC. Evil Power Couple fic. It’s difficult to write a summary for this one, because I don’t want to give away the twists. (It’ll also include canon rewrite/divergence for the later half of the season.) It has plenty of angst and fluff, and a bit of character study.

Warnings: Swearing, blood, murder, graphic violence, mentions of physical abuse.

Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Also Available on AO3

Her shoulder knocked into Michael’s as they walked, their laughter piercing the quiet of the neighborhood. Crickets thrummed in the grass and somewhere a few streets over a dog barked incessantly. She tried to tell him to keep his voice down when they approached her house, but it was no use—the two of them were caught in a cycle of infectious giggling. It was late and they were tired; so tired that everything became hilarious no matter how little it made sense. She would’ve crashed in the guest bedroom at Miriam’s if it wasn’t a school night. She’d spent the evening in their warm kitchen, the aroma of baking cookies lingering in the air long after she and Michael had finished devouring them. They played cards at the kitchen table for hours, gambling with chocolate chips and stealing the piping hot cookies off the cooling racks when Miriam wasn’t looking. Miriam warned Michael not to cheat while she gathered the necessary ingredients for a ritual that she hoped would cause a nasty septic leak in her aunt’s yard tomorrow night. Miriam had asked her if she wanted to participate and she was practically bouncing at the idea of savoring her aunt’s misery once her garden flooded.

She won a handful of times, but she knew Michael cheated or at least had some sort of preternatural insight that she didn’t possess that gave him an advantage. She wondered if he’d let her win. Michael’s poker face was impossible to break unless she gave him a jab in the shin underneath the table, and then he got downright smug.

The laughter died on her lips. “Oh, shit.”

“What?” Michael’s smile faltered.

“They weren’t supposed to be home.” The porch light illuminated the driveway and the glossy windows of her parents’ car. The front door was open. They’d been waiting up for her. “You should probably go before they see you.”

Michael tensed beside her, then shook his head. He stared at her like it was ridiculous that she’d even considered it.

“No, I’m not going anywhere.”

“Do you have any idea what time it is?”

Their heads turned at once toward the porch from where they’d stopped at the end of the driveway. Her mother barged through the front door with her father trailing behind, both of them playing the part of concerned parents. She thought that maybe they were almost convincing. She wanted to laugh, but her mother’s tone was shrill and hostile and years of shouting matches through thin walls had programmed an automatic anxious response.

“Late,” she answered, stomping up the driveway, trying to stifle the panic that flared at the sound of her mother’s raised voice. Michael followed at her side, the rage inside him beginning to trigger the power he carried. It swept over her skin like fire. “Since when do you care? You’re never home.”

“Your aunt said you never showed up at her house.” Her father planted a hand on his hip as if this happened to be some kind of monumental error on her part, and a reason for them to finally acknowledge that they had a responsibility for her existence.

“I was with Michael,” she answered. “Thought you’d be happy about me making friends—again, not like a single one of you gives a shit.”

“She said this is becoming a habit of yours,” her father continued, conveniently ignoring his sister’s own blatant disinterest. “She’s been worried.”

“Right,” she scoffed. “About losing the bribe money for babysitting me? I could always save you the trouble and just…disappear. Bet you’d love that.”

Michael’s hand clenched into a tight fist—she saw it out of the corner of her eye, felt him quaking with anger next to her as his face hardened and the darkness seeped into his gaze. The rage inside him amplified just before she noticed her father’s grimace. He pressed his fingers to the space between his eyebrows to quell the pain that she imagined had stabbed at him like an ice pick. Blood oozed from his nose and landed on the porch steps, looking almost black away from the light’s reach.

“Enough,” her mother warned. “Inside the house. Now.”

She wrapped her hand over Michael’s wrist, never breaking eye contact with her mother. Her father had already ducked inside, his hands cupped against his bloody nose. “I can handle it from here,” she whispered to him. Michael loosened his hold, and she let go. “I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”

Michael’s fingers brushed against hers. “Be careful,” he murmured. His breath ghosted along the shell of her ear. “Don’t ever let them make you feel powerless.”

She shivered when a cool draft replaced the heat of his body and watched his silhouette disappear into the shadows of their tree-lined street. Once the front door slammed shut behind her, she followed the path to the kitchen marked by droplets of crimson on the hardwood floors. Her father was huddled over the sink, a dish towel pressed to his face, her mother hovering next to him.

“I can’t believe you.” Her mother lifted the hand that had been rubbing circles across her father’s back to point an accusing finger. “Doing that out in the open where someone could see you, hurting your father like this. Unacceptable.”

She accepted the blame only because she didn’t want to give them another reason to keep her away from Michael.

“It’s two in the morning,” she reasoned. “If someone around here noticed anything, it was you screaming at me from the porch.”

Her mother’s jaw dropped. Really, she didn’t know where she’d found that scrap of bravery, but it felt like she’d finally hit her breaking point.

“What makes you think you can speak to me like that?”

She scoffed. “I don’t know, why are you so interested in how I occupy my time?” She was seething, and she could feel it spread through her veins like a wildfire. It was a lot more than just simple anger; it had power behind it. “Why the fuck do you want to be my mother all of a sudden?” You gave up on me a long time ago.

Her father wanted to intervene, she could tell, but the dish towel was working overtime to staunch the flow of blood. She had no idea what Michael had done to him, but the result had yet to wear off. Her mother swallowed hard. She’d been caught, and she knew it. There wasn’t any reason to pretend now, no reason to explain away the fact that she’d always come last in the list of her parents’ priorities. That for most of her life, her mother had been afraid of her.

“I don’t like you hanging around that boy,” she continued. “It’s making your affliction worse, I can see it.”

That was her mother’s name for it—an affliction, a curse, for which there’d been no cure. And for a while she’d believed her mother. For years she thought something had been wrong, broken inside of her. That she needed to run from it, bury it and leave it alone.

Not anymore.

Her knuckles went white, her hand shaking as she finally released the anger welling up. Her mother let out a yelp when she slammed into the cabinets, the dishes inside rattling from the impact. She fell to the floor and scrambled until she backed up against the lower cabinets, trying to put as much distance between them as possible.

“Go,” her mother choked out. Her airway was beginning to constrict, the oxygen forced from her lungs at her own command. “Get out of my sight.”

Her mother clutched at her neck, wheezing, trying to suck in a breath. Veins protruded from her temples with the effort, her face going red, then almost pale.

The whisper she’d heard for so long in the static became a scream, that voice calling to her in a language she couldn’t possibly understand. And yet she did. The power that coursed through her seemed different this time; more immense and much more potent. She saw flashes of fire and the darkness seeping down the walls like black paint blossoming in a pool of clear water. The heady scent of charred wood and brimstone engulfed her senses, connecting her to something far greater than herself.

And then something—someone?—knocked her off course, breaking the link. She returned to herself sprawled out on the kitchen floor on her side, and it felt like she’d just woken up from a dream, taken a breath for the first time. A high-pitched droning sound filled her ears, and somewhere there was a distant echo of her father yelling, her mother sobbing hysterically. She blinked until the room came back into focus. In a daze, she crawled off the kitchen floor and swayed on her feet, her hands braced on walls and furniture as she navigated the way to her bedroom.

Her whole body shuddered, the adrenaline and anxiety still alive in her system.She felt like she couldn’t take a deep breath, couldn’t think, couldn’t remember what had happened outside of herself before the fire took over. Her limbs were heavy and her chest hurt. She collapsed into her mattress, listening to the tones of her parents’ raised voices through the walls until she cried herself to sleep.

***

She fled her aunt’s house in the middle of a downpour.

Water that had already pooled on the uneven sidewalks sloshed up her jeans as she dashed through them, soaking the denim. Pressure mounted behind her eyes and burned down the back of her throat from the tears she tried frantically to subdue. She was too busy running to be distracted by it. The sky hung low, the clouds a muddy gray against the encroaching night. The storm didn’t relent just because she was trying to escape, trying to get a handle on her frayed nerves. She was drenched from head to toe by the time she slipped into Miriam’s backyard, the rain a gusty torrent of freezing water that plastered her clothes to her skin.

She leaned against the closed door once she rushed inside, water collecting on the hardwood floor at her feet as it dripped from her clothes and sodden hair. The tears came then—loud, heaving sobs that left her almost bent double from the weight of them. She reached a shaky hand up to her throbbing head and wept harder when her fingers came away bloody.

“Oh, sweetheart.” Miriam took her bruised, bloodied face between her hands. She hadn’t even heard Miriam come into the kitchen, but she nearly collapsed into her kind touch. “What happened? Poor thing, you’re soaked to the bone. Here, sit down…come sit over here…easy, now, that’s it. It’s all right. You’re safe.”

Miriam eased her into one of the chairs at the table while she tried to catch her breath. She tasted iron on her tongue, her bottom lip split open again from the effort of crying. She could smell it all around her, too—her nose had bled, she was sure of it, but most of the scarlet trickling down her face was from the cut along her hairline.

“That awful woman,” Miriam grumbled. “I’m gonna get you cleaned up, don’t you worry.”

“What did she do to you?”

Michael’s voice was pure steel from somewhere behind Miriam, but through the anger that flashed like a storm across his face, she noticed the deep concern. He was at her side a moment later, taking her chin in between his thumb and forefinger with the lightest of touches. The blue of his eyes glistened with fresh tears, but he didn’t let them fall. His thumb traced along the curve of her jaw, careful of the bruise that had started to blossom there.

“We got into an argument…about my mom.” Michael’s hand wandered into her hair and he raked his fingers through the tousled, drenched strands. She sniffled, then winced. “I threw her into a table…I thought she was going to kill me.”

Miriam returned to the kitchen with a first aid kit and a quilted blanket, which she draped around her shoulders. “Is she still breathing?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s a damn shame.” Miriam settled into the chair opposite and set to work wiping the blood off her face gingerly. “I should’ve poisoned her a long time ago when I had the chance.”

“I’ll take care of it.” Michael was at the side door in a few paces, but Miriam held up her hand.

“You’ll do no such thing.”

Michael turned sharply. “She can’t keep getting away with this.” The dishes in the cabinets and jars on the counter shuddered from the burst of energy.

“And she won’t,” Miriam promised. “Last thing we need is to do something impulsive and foolish. That won’t help the situation at all—not right now, not tonight. I know you’re angry; hell, so am I, but she’ll get what’s coming to her when the occasion arises. We just have to be smart about it and wait.”

“I don’t want her to get hurt again.” She saw the tremor in his lower lip, even if he fought against it. “If something happens…”

“She’ll be perfectly safe,” Miriam assured. She let out a sharp exhale when the antiseptic came in contact with the open cut that edged her hairline. Miriam took her hand. “You’re staying here with us for the night. You’re not going back there, not if I have anything to say about it.”

“My parents are out of town for the weekend.”

Miriam’s face broke into a broad smile. “Even better.”

***

The patter of raindrops against the window coupled with distant rumbles of thunder was enough to soothe her anxiety at last. She found herself exhausted but unable to sleep. Which was fine because Michael couldn’t sleep, either. She’d crept down the hall from the guest bedroom to his room; he’d been awake, and she’d crawled silently into bed beside him. Without a word, Michael pulled her in close so that she was nestled in the crook of his arm, her head tucked against his chest. The painkillers Miriam had given her earlier were beginning to wear off—her cheek had a dull ache, the laceration on her head a mild annoyance—but there wasn’t anywhere else she wanted to be, not right now.

Michael dragged his fingers lazily through her hair, still damp from the shower she’d taken after Miriam patched up her injuries. At least now the metallic odor of her own blood had been replaced with the floral fragrance of shampoo. She’d borrowed a shirt and a pair of pajama pants from Michael—she really needed to start leaving her own clothes here in case of future emergencies—both of which managed to look a few sizes too big on her slender frame given their height difference. Not that she cared, really; she was warm and comfortable, wrapped up in Michael’s scent with his heart beating beneath her ear.

“It’s good that you radiate heat like a furnace,” she told him. Her voice was hoarse and a little sleepy. “Because I’m still freezing.”

That rain had been colder than she thought, leaving her with a chill she couldn’t quite shake.

She felt the soft vibration of his laughter below her cheek. Michael’s hand traced patterns across her back, warming her skin underneath the fabric of her shirt. His other hand still hadn’t left her hair, and she was quickly becoming lulled by the gentle rhythm of his fingertips.

Michael sighed. It sounded long-suffering to her ears; an exhaustion that she couldn’t fully comprehend.

“If something had happened to you, if she had—”

“Don’t, Michael,” she countered. “Don’t go there.” She draped her arm over his stomach. “I wouldn’t have let her kill me, you know that.”

“I know.” He was quiet for a long minute. “I just…don’t want to lose anyone else.”

She could hardly believe this was the same boy who’d nearly brought an entire house down around himself, who’d used his powers in silent rage to inflict pain on people who’d hurt her, who’d been brought into this world just to tear it down.

“You won’t,” she assured when she heard him sniffle. “And I’m not going anywhere.”

“The world will be different someday,” Michael said, and she closed her eyes, conjuring the images of fire that had come to her when she’d lost herself in the midst of her own power. “Something better will rise from the ashes once this one’s done burning. I don’t know how to get there…I don’t know what I’m supposed to do, but I think the two of us were meant to find our way to each other.”

She opened her eyes. “It feels stronger than just a coincidence.” She’d believed that was true for some time now.

“I can’t do this alone,” Michael admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.

“You don’t have to.”

That night, Michael finally told her about the house he’d been born in—a house haunted by too many ghosts, a house where the only family he’d known had given him up to the darkness.

The following weekend, she stole the last breath from her aunt’s lungs with a flick of her wrist after she’d passed out drunk in her bedroom. She and Michael watched the house burn down together, standing side-by-side on the grass, bright orange embers drifting upward to meet a pitch black sky.

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