icy hot-one
cw: VIOLENCE!! if you are weak of stomach you may wanna click off!
lots of said violence is a projection of the writer’s own issues, so it’s very graphic and personal!!
Brainwashing!! ptsd!!! passing out!!!! perceived home invasion!!! Implied but not direct SA mentions!!! Nsfw, it’s violent n stuff
Describing the main character as “thin”, “malnourished”, ect
Blood, gore, character death
-we project on ocs w similar events but worse lives than us n have our fav characters comfort em-
-i don’t make the rules-
not proofed, remember this is the intro all the marvel-y stuff is a bit later, so sorry!
1.2 k words.
Her unexpected strike left your nose bloody and mouth agape. At least your hands were still up, but you couldn’t help as your body folded away in shock. You grunted brokenly and lunged at her, knocking the side of her head with you tight fist.
She kicked back, hitting your knee and effective tripping you up. She stood on the offensive and you took a small step to the side to collect yourself. When recoiling, red hot pain seared you face and flooded all the way to your shoes, pain that had been blocked from adrenaline earlier.
She received quicker than you, and I’m seeing such an opportunity she revealed a small dagger hidden in her bra. Or shirt, it was hard to tell in the dim lighting. Rapidly, she had one gash made in your thigh, just missing an artery but biting with pain all the same. You grappled her neck in defense, albeit with blurry vision, and disarmed her of the knife covered in your thick blood. After several hard punches and elbows to her head, you were about to show her a bit of compassion when she decided to, stupidly, attempt a pendulum teep at your sternum. She’d be out cold just from another kick and it would be near fucking easy. She was on the floor, lying back down, legs sprawled and trying to kick the air.
That kick hurt, dammit, and it got you mad. Filed by a blood rage and almost righteous fury you took both her shoulders and slammed her against the ground, still pissed that she had a knife in the first place. That was out of line, even for this situation. You lowered to her level, getting ready to slowly pinch her throat and hoping karma would do the rest.
Her neck felt smaller than you expected in your hands, almost weak. You had been that weak, fighting like she was and winning. That was no matter to spare her dignity in this cage.
Something in her eyes still stopped you, though. Maybe it was how young she was, or how her brows were raised. She still flinched at your barred teeth though she had clearly fought before; she was no Muhammad. Maybe the fear in her eyes reminded you that she was only fighting for her life, same as you.
Shit. Well, that threw a wrench in your plans, and thinking on your feet was hard when you were profusely bleeding.
“What do you want?” Was whispered to her in a form of grace. Honestly, it wasn’t fair to let her have a say. She had a knife which wasn’t allowed, so the sudden mercy from you was unexpected. She swallowed and kept quiet, unwilling to accept her defeat. You, however, wanted her to have a say in her fate, so she needed to respond quicker.
Another slam to the ground from her shoulders set her teeth to vibrate in her skull, and she barely looked up without engaging a random felling tile. Her focus was slipping.
You glanced at the crowd around you and faced back to her.
“Please tell me! They’re all watching! It’ll be so much worse if they have you after when I win this match. I-I can’t kill you without you knowing why. I can’t kill you and pretend we were fighting.”
And it was true. You had witnessed the thing they’d do to the loser firsthand. In most cases, dying while fighting was better. They wouldn’t have killed you, not quick enough to forget their hands.
Lips parted in a cruel laugh she nodded. Head bloodied she shed a silent tear, glistening in the dingy lighting. You nodded smally and stood up quickly, knowing what she meant.
You didn’t want this, but you did want to let her chose, and her will be done. Using the quickest method, you stood up and hovered over her body, like a vulture cowers over a dead raccoon; void of light, save the headlights of an oncoming car.
The crowd hushed, confused by your actions. Once you raised your foot, however, the cheers rose up. All around you, people watched you fight, only separated by a shitty metal fence that was riddled with holes and stains. They roared, the lot, they didn’t care how she lost the fight or died so long as something happened. Someone lost money on this bet, someone is a new car richer, someone lost a sister years ago.
As hard and swift as possible, you brought down your foot over her face, crushing her skull in her brain, tearing apart skin and muscles so delicately woven together. It was a miasma grace, killing her instantly.
You wanted to look away, really, but your eyes stayed fixed on her dismembered head. The face that looked made of ketchup, the thick, bubbly blood pooling around her corpse.
It was really the smell that made you sick, throwing up on the spot into the sand pit you’d been fighting on. You didn’t hear your side of the fence roar again when you had been sick. They were calling you a wuss and a weak stomach for being sick.
It was always so new, the numbers after. A physical disconnect made apparent as you tried to move away, you could feel her blood stick to the sand and by extension, your feet. You gagged and wiped your foot on a clean patch of sand, trying to get the sappy texture off your body.
Once you could no longer feel it, you ran outside of the cage and through the back door to the trailers outside.
You soon spotted the place you called home and entered solemnly. Before you entered, though, you wiped off your feet, then felt sweat drip down your face and sink into the corners of your lip.
In a hazed rush you wiped the back of your palm over your eyes and head, but to your horror your sweat had mixed with a vibrant spray of vermillion. Holy shit, it was her blood, not sweat.
You promptly threw up violently outside the trailer for the second time that day, stomach clenching around bile and bone.
The grass scraped your knees pr but you couldn’t care about the all cuts this would give you, not when you had just saved a girl by ending her life. Your knees in the grass felt like jelly and it made you feel so, so weak, sinking to the ground because of feelings. It wasn’t blood that ran down your cheeks now, but salty, thin tears. The girl had been oh so thin and desperate and gray looking. In reality, she was at most two years younger that yourself, but it still hurt your head to think about.
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a/n!!
short intro, not proof read, so sorry!!
hooked yet?
I mention things like “small frame” and such and I only did such to make sense with the plot, my oc is malnourished at this point in their story and it adds to the plot ig, this was written a while ago, I am one million percent in support of the fat awareness movement, ESPECIALLY as someone who had seen the people closest to me be hurt time and time again by such outdated standards! Remember, you don’t know who is on the other side of the screen, but I understand any resentful feelings with some language in my writing. If this isn’t for you please please click off! Love yall stay safe!
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... Which does, in fact, mean she's stuck in a class with Ultimate Martial Artist Kokichi Ouma. (I noticed you already did this one before!) Oh, and Ultimate Soldier Tsumugi Shirogane is there too.
I'm kinda just throwing this out there, but I think I got it: Maki *can* go blow for blow with the other two, even beat them, but she's gotta do it fast cuz this drains her battery realllly quickly and her programming's not used to such strong fighters. It's also recommended she stop at the Ultimate Mechanic's (Rantaro!) before and after, to make sure this won't put her in overdrive, and overall check-up before going into combat. When it comes to the other two talents, I like to put it simple. Disregard canon for a moment: Kokichi > Barehanded Tsumugi. Kokichi = Tsumugi with close-ranged weapons. Kokichi < Tsumugi with long-ranged weapons.
With all of this out of the way, what are they all like with each other? Do they all hate each other enough for fights to just explode out of nowhere? Do they train with each other? Do they view each other with suspicion? I gotta say, these characters weren't exactly saints in canon, nor friends. Now they can snap your spine. Well. Maki even more so.
rip the whole rest of their class
Maki personally didn’t care for any of her classmates, so being expected to get along with Tsumugi and Kokichi because of some slight overlap with their talents was very annoying.
That said, Tsumugi and Kokichi- though especially Tsumugi- could convince her to train with them. Tsumugi and Kokichi trained together pretty often, but Tsumugi could still get fed up with just Kokichi from time to time.
Kokichi likes hanging out with both of them, but training isn’t everything even then. He’ll reach out and see if they wanna hang otherwise, though he usually needs to pester them into accepting.
Maki and Tsumugi only kind of get along, though it’s more like an alliance than anything else. Since they’re both kind of soldiers, they look out for each other as much as they can.
The rest of their class gets really worried about the three of them possibly breaking out into a fight when they’re together, but that almost never happens. Not unless some outside force acts upon them.
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