[August 29, 20XX] [Anytown, USA]
I wake up in the middle of the night to a loud, echoing strike of thunder, my Weezer blue orbs shooting wide open in shock. My name is Y/N, I'm 16 years old and approximately 5'6" & 110 lbs. My hair is long and flowing, but I usually like to put my dirty blonde locks into a messy bun. I dye my hair every week at midnight, when the orphanage owner is asleep. Oh, by the way, I'm an orphan. My electric blue pools dart over to the alarm clock on my counter. 'Exactly 12:00 am...' I think, 'must be a sign.' I hop out of bed, my Never Shout Never shirt flowing off of my thin, pale frame. I rummage through my bags, trying to decide which box dye I should use to dye my hair. I close my eyes and select two (I'm ready to rock a split-dye)....purple and yellow. Complete polar opposites, just like the two sides of my personality: If you're nice to me, I can be sickly sweet and the perfect girl, but if you're mean I can be a total biotch. My skin-tight 2" inseam black shorts are the only thing covering my milky skin as I climb onto the bathroom counter and begin dying my hair as I sit in the sink. After a few hours, at around 3:00 am, the Witching Hour, my hair is fully dyed. As I walk back to my dingy little bedroom, I feel...lighter on my feet. Floating....floating...floating-
"OH MY GOD-" I shout before covering my mouth. I'm floating on the ceiling. Holy shit. I kick my legs, and they don't touch hardwood floors or cold concrete, but rather air. I knew 3 was the witching hour, but I didn't think I'd be interrupted! Before I can reminisce on this moment, I fall to the ground with a loud thud. Ouch.
"Y/N! Y/N, GET UP THIS INSTANT, YOUNG LADY!" A shrill voice calls out to me. "Huh? What's goin' on," I sit up, rubbing my eyes. "Goddamnit, Y/N. Not only have to DESTROYED YOUR HAIR again, but you couldn't even make it back to the bedroom in your drunken stupor!" I look at her incredulously, my brows furrowed, "Drunken? DRUNKEN? Listen up, lady, I don't drink, I just vape and edge to MCR music videos! Gosh!"
That annoying cunt was the orphanage owner, Miss Malicia. She's been on my ass about everything I've ever done since I first came to the orphanage at 6 years old. 10 years of putting up with her bullshit. God, I hate her. She doesn't know it, but I'm a twisted fucking psychopath. A demented bitch who could cut her up with a smile. The only reason I haven't is because all that would happen is me getting put into an even worse orphanage or prison. "Go back to your room this instant, young bitch!"
I sigh, dragging my feet as I go back to my bedroom. This is so unfair, I can't wait until I'm 18. I'm never gonna be adopted because I'm such a weirdo. Have you ever seen me without this stupid hat? That's right. You haven't, because I'm weird. I'm quirky. Fuck you.
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Derecho (A Jatthew x Fem!Reader Story)
RandomDerecho (noun): A widespread and severe windstorm that moves rapidly along a fairly straight path and is associated with bands of rapidly moving thunderstorms. After being cast out time and time again, Y/N finally finds the home of her dreams when a...
