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wolfpawn · 4 years

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I Hate You, I Love You, Chapter 156

Chapter Summary - Danielle needs to give Tom and answer.

Previous Chapter

Rating - Mature (some chapters contain smut)

Triggers - references to Tom Hiddleston’s work with the #MeToo Movement. That chapter will be tagged accordingly.

authors Note - I have been working on this for the last 3 years, it is currently 180+ chapters long. This will be updated daily, so long as I can get time to do so, obviously.

tags: @sweetkingdomstarlight-blog @jessibelle-nerdy-mum @nonsensicalobsessions @damalseer @hiddlesbitch1 @winterisakiller @fairlightswiftly @salempoe @wolfsmom1 @black-ninja-blade

Danielle stared at Tom for a moment, trying to comprehend what she was witnessing. Her next reaction was to look around.

“We're alone, it's eight am on a Sunday on a cliff walk, it's just us.” Tom smiled, knowing that her mind would think of such a thing.

“Tom…” Danielle shook her head slightly. “I...You…” Looking at him, she could see this wasn't a simple joke by him as her brain was telling her it was, he genuinely looking hopefully at her, still on his knee in front of her rather than getting back to his feet and laughing it off. “Yes.” She nodded.

“Yes?” Tom asked again, getting to his feet again, a hopeful smile on his face.

“Yes.” Danielle confirmed, her eyes welling tears as she smiled, nodding again. “Yes.”

Tom leant forward and kissed her passionately before laughing slightly with relief at her acceptance. “I love you so much.” He beamed before pulling back slightly and looking at the ring box in his hand. “This...this was my great grandmother's ring.” He explained. “She was married for twenty-four years before she gave it to my grandfather, who gave it to his wife and they were married fifty-two years. Because of that, it was not given to my father and sadly his marriage didn't last but he gave it to me to give to my future wife when the time came, in hopes of…”

“I...my hands are…”

“I know.” He looked at her shorter fingers that she joked were too wide and short for piano before. “I need to confess I did something bold, I borrowed your mum's ring that you said fit that finger to size it right.” He took it out of the box and showed it to her. “It's not very fancy, I know. If you want something else, I understand and we will get you one when we go back to London, but I gathered…”

“No, Tom. It's is beautiful and it means something. You know me and what I like and this proves it.” She smiled, tears coming to her eyes as she looked at the beautiful antique piece of jewellery with a small stone in a twisted gold design.

Tom felt his chest swell I'm the knowledge that he was entirely correct as to her tastes and took her hand, sliding the ring onto her fourth finger, relieved to see it fit perfectly.

Danielle looked at the ring and felt herself almost bubbling with excitement. “It fits.”

“It looks as though it was meant to be there.” Tom grinned with pride. He looked at Danielle's face again to see an elated smile on her face. “You have made me the happiest man alive.” He declared.

“You? You have no idea how happy you have made me. I...I never...I know we spoke about it, but…” She giggled and stepped back, her hand to her face before looking at her ring again and smiling. “We're engaged.”

Tom felt himself fill with more pride as she made the statement. “Yes, we are.” He smiled. When she leant up and kissed him again, cupping his face as she did, he smiled into the kiss as he reciprocated.

When they stopped, they looked to the side and could not prevent themselves from laughing. Mac looked unimpressed by their shows of affection, while Bobby had his head cocked, uncertain as to why his humans were exhibiting such excited behaviour. “It’s confusing for you, isn't it?” Danielle laughed, bending down to play with him. “You two have no idea what this means and as we will go back home and just be incredibly excited but everything else will remain the same, you won't know what that means.” She scratched his ear. Mac immediately came for attention too, as Tom had his lead while Danielle held Bobby's.

Tom joined the fun then, having been busy smiling like a fool at the elation that Danielle had said yes, knowing her hesitation was not a slight on him, merely a lack of comprehension by her mind at what was going on. She had said yes, she wanted to marry him, something he knew meant something important to her, not something she would ever consider lightly.

He looked at the ring on her finger as she rubbed the dogs. He remembered the day it had been given to him. He was too young for it ever to be given to a girlfriend at the time but it had been left to him in his grandfather's will and so, after he graduated Cambridge, it was given to him by his father. He had given it back to him that same day and asked him to mind it for him, knowing that he would keep it safe as had before and that he would argue it going to an unworthy candidate ardently. When he asked for it just before Christmas, James gave it over with a consenting smile, nodding and telling him to get a good box for it while sizing it.

It was not much of a ring really, plain by most people's standards. It would rise comment, he knew, from the internet and media as regards frugality and lack of size but that, he knew, was not what mattered, what mattered was Danielle, his Elle, liking it and he knew it to be authentic joy she had displayed. She loved antiques, she did everything to bring her parents nicest furniture to Britain with her on her leaving Ireland and the slight alterations she made to their home in London were all to add more antique furnishings that somehow blended well into the place.

Danielle only wore small pieces of jewellery, he never saw her wear anything extravagant and knew a more flamboyant ring was not her style. The only jewellery she was prone to wearing frequently was the love knot he had gotten her their first Christmas and the bracelet that Emma had gotten her, which now boasted a few more charms including the harp he had gotten her as well as a couple of others that were as a result of him also. Other than that, she never wore much. The ring was in keeping with her love of smaller jewellery.

With the dogs excited by their owners' excitement, they made their way down the walk again.

“Call me curious, but how long have you been planning this?” Danielle asked, looking at the ring.

“For some time, I will confess. I got the ring sized a few months ago but as for when I planned to ask you, that was more than once considered.” Tom explained. “My original plan was to bring you to that lovely B&B in Wales again and go to that lake above it, but then your grandmother passed away so I delayed it, obviously. Then with this and seeing the cliff the first day, I knew it was the best spot.”

“Have you been carrying this thing around the whole time?”

“I have.” Tom confessed. “Give or take. I mean, it hasn't always been in my pocket but I have had it close and safe, awaiting my opportunity.”

Danielle looked at it again and smiled. “Is this why you didn't want to drive today?”

“I was shaking.” Tom laughed. “I was trying to act normal and think of how to bring it up in a nice way. Ironically, you made the comment about where our lives are heading and that was my opening. I knew then I could bring it into the discussion.” He smiled. “And you really like the ring?”

“Tom, you know I love it.” She looked at it again and smiled. “So it lasted two marriages?”

“Until my great grandfather died and then until my grandmother passed, it's seen as one of the most prized Hiddleston possessions. My father, as you know is not from a wealthy family, and my great grandfather saved and slaved for that ring and going by the design, the jeweller said it seems to be a mid-nineteenth-century design, meaning it is older than our ownership of it.”

“And you think me worthy of it?”

Tom took her hand and kissed it. “I think you to be the only one worthy.”

“I will have to call it Mjolnir if that's the case.” She joked, earning a chuckle from Tom. “Your mam is going to lose her life, or have you told her you were planning this?”

“Tell my Mum? Are you mad? She'd have let the cat out of the bag weeks ago.” Tom declared. “Though, I have an idea…”

“If you suggest something that ends with you declaring ‘Loki'd’ at some point, I am giving you this ring back now and refusing point-blank to marry you.” Danielle stated sternly.

Tom placed his hand in hers and walked happily back the car. “Nope. You said yes, you can't back out now.” He jested.

“I immediately regret this decision.”

#i hate you i love you #chapter 156 #tom hiddleston #tom hiddleston fic #wolfpawn

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midas-or-khaos · 4 years

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Spirit, Chapter 1

The journey down to the University of Falmouth had been a bloody road trip, rather than the drop off it was meant to be. Getting up at around the same time you’d usually go to bed, the two of them were at wits end, bags under their eyes so deep and purple you’d have thought they were weighed down by boulders to get so large. So to say the mother/son duo were at snappy was...

“Fuck me that was a lot of boxes.”

“Stop swearing!”

...A gross understatement.

Not for the first time that day did Bill wonder how his mum was able to hear what he thought were comments under his breath, when most of his life spent back at home she couldn’t hear his bellowing from inside their thin walled, two story house for a towel when he inevitably forgot to get before showering every. Single. Morning. Sod’s law.

Taking a deep sigh, both mother and son looked down the 3x2 meter room, floor littered with boxes of all sizes, and the boy couldn’t help but cringe. This was supposed to be his room for the next year. His home for god sake! Most dog kennels were probably bigger than this. Better furnished too.

“How much was this place?”

“I’m not cheap.” How did she always know what he was thinking?

Still trying to cover his bare arse, the exhausted boy quickly fumbled together an excuse, “I’m just asking for next year so I know what to expect when I have to pay for my own apartment.”

“Don’t lie to me, I know you think this place is awful. My first year, the halls I stayed in were so poorly insulated the toilet water-“

“-Froze over, I know. I’m not taking for granted the insulation, it’s just you can’t deny there’s enough dead skin on that mattress to say there’s probably a colony of something growing in there. Maybe Botulism.”

A light smack hit the back of his arm, turning the peach skin rosy. Ok, he was being too cheeky now, and she wasn’t impressed.

“I’m going to look at the kitchen, start unpacking now so I know it’ll be done before I leave ‘cause I know you won’t do it unless I make you.”

Taking her leave, the boy kept looking at the room, swaying between both feet, a sigh huffing out like like some overworked Victorian steam train as he let his brow hang heavy over his eyes to shade the shitty bleak, full-screen bright sky that dominated most of the year in dreary, coastal areas like his uni. The low ceiling only came to around 6’1/2ft tall, fitting the overall feeling of ‘Sardine tin’, though for the first time in probably forever he was happy to only reach 5’3ft. If he’d been reaching 6ft like most of the people his age, Bill was sure he would’ve been feeling claustrophobic. Still didn’t mean he enjoyed the room, though.

Working up the energy, the smallest box was taken into hand first, and began the tedious process of open, pick out, place, repeat. Contrary to the usual, the whole apartment wasn’t too overheated, and made the work more manageable, meaning once all the clothes were pulled out and hung up, he didn’t have to change out of his long sleeve t-shirt or baggy jeans.

With a smile pulling at the corner of his mouth and a hand scratching cherry, buzzed hair to brush out the accumulated dust, the last and second largest box pulled open held all his art supplies, from a bag of coloured pencils to a tray of oil pastels, seven clean canvases and bottles of acrylic paint (all in different stages of use and decay, the white nearly out) to sponges, rollers and brushes. If you’d heard of it, he probably had it. These were his pride and joy, the reason behind his whole relocating. These next 3 years, he was going to learn how to illustrate professionally. It’d been a pain in the arse to get here, having to do an extra foundation year just to earn the correct amount of points to get in anywhere, but to finally be where he wanted to be (excluding this flat), was a dream come true.

Kneeling down and using care he hadn’t bothered using with his other bits and bobs, each item was lifted out and slid into the square cabinet just under window along the back wall, slotted in together. Silent work, with upmost precision. No more irritating unpacking after this. Just a well needed nap maybe.

The door threw open unexpectedly, slamming into the wall, sending the poor boy up in shock, only to knock o into the unforgiving block of wood making up the overhanging window cill.

“FUCKING HELL!”

“STOP. SWEEEEAAARRRRIIIINNNGGGG!!!!”

Swerving round, venom charged by the unexpected and unnecessary pain, alongside the lack of sleep spat out, “Well maybeeeee if you had KNOCKED like a NORMAL FUCKING HUMAN BEING I wouldn’t have swore when I HIT my HEAD!”

No reply, just the sourest notes pinching her brow and nose. Now she’d fully lost it. Just great. Always quick to offend, painfully slow to forget. She wasn’t going to let this incident go any time soon. The thought clogged his throat and pinched the flame of rage, till all that was left was guilty silence. He’d fucked up.

“...some...of your flat mates have arrived.” Muttered out. Turning round, she briskly left without another word, her footsteps echoing down the stairwell just outside the thin apartment door.

“..,I’m sorry.” Whispered out dejectedly against the silence. Too late, as always. Why couldn’t he control his anger and just hold his breath? So much impulsiveness was becoming irksome even to himself. He didn’t think about swearing negatively, it’s offensiveness never really made sense to him he never directed at anyone. But her constant nagging and his irritability made for dynamite. He’d have to make up for that before she left. God, she was leaving properly today! For months! Was he really prepared for life on his own?

No, he couldn’t think like that, this is what he had worked for. Getting up, giving few quick assuring leg rubs, Bill shook his head to get out any unwanted thoughts and to go find the kitchen. He wasn’t really in the mood to have awkward stranger conversation, but ‘first impressions are always important’ as his mum would say. He supposed she was right, he needed to at least make some friends. The cramped corridor outside only had 5 doors, so it was easy to find luckily, and already there were a couple people and residents hanging around chatting.

“OH! Hi, which are you in?” FUCK, where the hell had she been hiding?!

A regally tall girl sporting the single most neon make up I’d ever seen came unseen from my right, and stood close.

Poor idiot couldn’t help but stare up in awe at the whole display of cyan shadow circling almond eyes and mint lipstick offsetting her natural tan skin and jet black swath hair. She must’ve be studying as a make up or fine artist to have that much knowledge on colour theory and pattern. Shit, shouldn’t stare.

“Oh, sorry, ugh... which room was it...I can’t remember the number but the one just by the entrance to the apartment.”

“That’s room 7.”

“Thank you.” The conversation died. There was a social queue here wasn’t there? Conversations usually carried on longer than this, what was it?

The girl smiled politely, but turned and left to talk to another girl. Bill let out an irate huff. Damn it, once again, a failed attempt at human interaction.

Never mind, try again.

Taking the initiative this time, he walked up to a lone boy this time. Ginger, riddled with freckles, slightly chubby. Tapping his shoulder, the boy turned and Bill tried to give his best realistic smile: eyes crinkled, cheeks full.

“Nice to meet you, I’m-“

“I’m a bit busy, can we talk later?”

Taken aback, all he could say was, “Oh, er, yeah. Sorry.” And he backed off again

2 more attempts and all he was left to do was huff. This was useless! Turning round, the brunette took off with silent footsteps out and didn't look back till he reached his room, sliding the door closed. Hands on the door, Wetness on his cheek. Lifting a hand, he tried desperately to wipe away any sign of tears. This was stupid, why was he so bad at social interaction? All he had to do was respond, like other people normally do... but how do people know what to say when there’s nothing interesting in common? Who talks about the weather and sports as a proper conversation?!

No, he couldn't cry here, anyone could hear him though these thin door. The bed seemed a more inviting place to calm down; covered, warm, maybe decrepit and creaky but it was the best he had, so no time like now to jump in. So that’s what he did, and it took a good hour, but the ache of anxiety that he hadn’t noticed had been building up in his chest earlier, finally drained away under the covers till he could at least stop his tears from falling. A year apart from familiarity and family was more daunting thought than it had been ever before.

A light knock sounded out. Hastily the covers were ripped back and hopefully now enough time had passed that his eyes weren’t puffy from all the rubbing. Mum walked in and a btech version of his earlier smile came out, probably pained looking. She looked slightly less upset than before, but still sported piercing hawk eyes. For all their disagreement, the boy didn’t want his last link to home on a sour note, so took his chance, and spoke up, trying to make amends for earlier, “Mum, thank you for dropping me off. I’m so sorry for acting stupidly, I was tired and in pain, and should’ve been calmer. I’ve unpacked everything and what not so I can take you out for a meal like you said earlier if you want?”

No immediate response, just the same prolonged eye contact, up until she let out a sigh. Was that a resentful sigh or a sigh of forgiveness?Oh how he hated being unable to understand subtleties.

“It’s alright, just please try to understand this from my point of view. Your an adult and people won’t appreciate you swearing around them when you work professionally, so just please try to make an effort to stop. For both our sakes.”

She was being lenient this time. She too wanted to leave on good terms. “I know, I’ll try and stop swearing so much.” A lie, but his swearing was habitual now, so it wasn’t going to change any time soon.

“I’d love to go out, but I’m already meeting a friend in town. You know Sandra right? Well she’s come up from Exeter to meet me, so I can’t miss that. Maybe tomorrow morning before I leave to Manchester?”

Why did it have to be tomorrow?

“Sure. See you tomorrow.”

“Alright see you tomorrow. Try and make an effort to make friends please?”

His Mum blew a kiss and left on good terms, so at least now Bill knew his mind could be at rest not worrying over an awful departure. His whole face dropped at last, overexerted by false emotion. If he hadn’t felt drained before, he sure as hell was now. What the hell his expression must luck like now was unbearable to think about. The covers came back over, but this time it wasn’t coming back off till tomorrow. Screw getting into pyjamas, fuck making friends, piss off outside world. All he needed now. Was rest.

————————————————————————————————————————

...Cold...

...coooolllllddddd???…

...Where were his covers?...

...why could he hear wind?

Head pulled up and eyes forced open, Bill was greeted by a yellowing sea of grass. Only, this grass...was seven times his height..

...what in the actual fuck? Elephant grass?

Shit, a winter gust blew up the back of his shirt and crawled into his skin, the force throwing him face down back into the ground. Shit, he needed to get to shelter. But where the fuck would shelter be in a field of grass?! Isn’t this stuff supposed to be the shelter! And more to the bloody point, where even the fuck was he! Was this some sort of shit joke played by someone in his flat or something?

Getting up properly this time, adrenaline pumped out by his rude and impromptu awakening, the boy grabbed the edge of his shirt to keep it down and hunched over as he began to walk forward. Obviously he was automatically lost, but he was balls deep in this shit show now so nothing better to do. Ughhhh Just one foot in front of the other COME THE FUCK ON. There’ll be shelter at some point. Thank god it wasn’t muddy, otherwise he’d be stuck here forever. Would be like walking through tar. Looking up through the arching tips of the leaves, the sky was the same blinding, blanket white as yestrday, no sun at all. It could very well rain soon if the clouds decided to turn grey. That spurred him onward. The winds kept on beating down, nearly knocking him down without warning at irregular intervals so he was constantly on his toes, and the uneven ground was a bitch to deal with. Ugh, now he understood what his mum was going on about “too much swearing”.

Something felt especially wrong about this situation. Obviously waking up in an endless field of grass was completely out of the ordinary, but the world felt.. out of proportion. The cracks in the earth which should have been minute, barely feel able, yet these were the more like small trenches, the size of gutters. On top of that the elephant grass was decidedly less woody, and reached higher than anything he’s seen before. Was this actually a joke?

Over the gale, was that. It WAS. Murmurs over the utterances of the wind; there were others out here too!

“HHHHHHEEEEEEEYYYYYYYY!!!!!!!!!!”

The murmurs stopped, YES they’d heard him.

“HHHHHHEEEEEEEYYYYYYYY!!!!!!!!!!”

“AAAAAARRRRRRGGGGHHHHH!!!!!!!!!”

...who responded to a hey with ‘arghhh’.

But more importantly...how in the hell were they so loud? Would it be a good idea to be found by someone he didn’t know the intentions of? An extra large gush smacked the back of his head, thin, neon red fuzz doing nothing to stop the icy chill gripping his skull and adding to the overall painful exhaustion that was going to take the waning strength of blueing limbs. There was no choice left.

“HHHHHHEEEEEEEYYYYYYYY, I’M OVER HEREEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!”

No shout this time thank god, his ears couldn’t take that again. Legs shaking, feet black and blue in his trainers, Bill was desperate for them to arrive soon.

THUMP THUMP

What was that?

THUMP THUMP

WHY THE FUCK WAS THE GROUND SHAKING?!

The earth tremors kept coming, and the boy couldn’t stand any longer, falling to his knees and gripping the strands around him with white knuckles. They were getting closer. They couldn’t be earthquakes. Something huge was approaching. Nonononononohejustsighedhisdeathwarrentandnowwhateveritwaswascomingtocollect-

The thumps stopped directly in front of him and a shadow fell over. He’d been seen. Looking straight up through the light canopy, staring straight down at him, was a face.

A gigantic.

Bearded.

Middle aged.

Face.

...Not a point of pride. Bill fainted.

(AN:- a repost from my other account cus it isn’t working properly)

#original character #original writing #ocs #my ocs #g/t writing #g/t community #g/t fluff #g/t #gianttiny #gt #giants #tiny #giant/tiny #giant male #giant tiny #g/t oc #g/t story #giant tiny story #gt blog

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stillness-in-green · 4 years

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MLA Week, Day 5: Question

Coming in late because this one was much too short and when I finally figured out what to do with it, it became too long.

A young Re-Destro learns some things about his family. Features my headcanon that “Sanctum” is a title as much as it is a code name, a name that designates a keeper of knowledge and history.

Content Warning: Referenced sibling death, depression, and police raids. Explicit cult dynamics. Rikiya is nine years old and already carrying too much weight, but there’s only more of that to come.

———– ———– ———– ———–

There were certain things that his mother didn’t talk about around Rikiya when he was awake. He had learned that as young as five years old, lying with his head in her lap and listening to her report to the elders on the phone about how she was feeling that day. She often grappled with sadness—turning sadness into power was her quirk, like turning stress into power was his—and it was because he knew of that sadness that he didn’t ask her for answers when she first mentioned missing her brother.

Rikiya, at nine years old, had not grown up knowing he had—or did have—an uncle. His mother had never mentioned a brother before. Rikiya thought about the pictures in the house—the portrait of the great Destro over the door, photographs of Rikiya himself, of him with his mother, of his mother smiling peaceably from the encircling arms of her father, whose brows were always knotted with the anger that had killed him long before Rikiya was born. Pictures taken on holidays, Rikiya’s mother’s graduation photo, her with her companions at some long bygone track and field day. Graceful, lovely watercolor prints and solemn black and white photography—his mother had many pictures.

Rikiya looked through all of them again, in stolen moments over the next few days, in between meals, lessons, training, socializing. He mother had a great many pictures, but none of a strange man who looked like her.

He couldn’t ask his mother, but there was someone his teachers told him he could ask anything—the warrior whose very name meant that she served the Army by knowing its history and keeping its secrets.

And so, the next day, when he’d bade his mother farewell at the door and climbed into the car under Rampart’s watchful eye, he turned to look up at his guardian before buckling the seatbelt.

“Rampart, I’m sorry, but I need to skip school today. I have a question for Sanctum.”

———–

The Meta Liberation Army’s longest serving member lived on the other side of town, in an upscale neighborhood across the street from a large playground. A few people were out already, walking dogs, jogging, playing with children too young for school. He watched their faces, making note of the ones who spotted the car and stopped what they were doing; when Rampart opened the door for him, he met their eyes briefly and mirrored the sign of Liberation back to the ones who gave it before he turned away.

Sanctum answered the door herself, an elderly woman in a gray-green kimono with thin, sharp features on which the softness of age clung like lichen on a cliff face. She still stood as straight as a pine tree, long gray hair swept and pinned up at the back of her head.

“Good morning, Re-Destro.” She greeted him with a salute of her own. “Rampart, I’ll take it from here,” she added, and he nodded respectfully, not even giving Rikiya the usual warning about calling if he had any trouble. Still, his shadow stood vigil against the screen door.

Sanctum ushered him inside, through a Western-style living room and into a very traditional tea room after that. He looked around in interest, taking in the sunken hearth in the center of the floor and a hanging scroll inscribed with a complex kanji he couldn’t read adorning the wall. Most of the warriors of Liberation preferred more modern styles, furnishings that spoke of the future way, but it felt right, even encouraging, that the woman tasked with witnessing for the Army’s past kept a connection to such things.

She already had a tray with tea supplies set out beside the hearth, so he knelt quietly on a cushion across from her, nibbling on a frog-shaped manju and watching her movements as she whisked the thin tea into a fine green froth. She presented it to him with a bow, watching with a half-smile as he took a dutiful sip, biting the inside of his lip to stop himself from swallowing too quickly, though the heat of it burned his tongue.

“It’s delicious as always, Miss Sanctum.”

She nodded acceptance of the compliment, rote though it was, and waited while he carefully set down his tea bowl. His shoulders drooped slightly once the dish was safely down on the tray and out of his hands. Her tools were very old, his mother had told him the first time he’d been brought to visit Sanctum, and handling them was always a balance of showing proper care without getting so self-conscious that he endangered them with his own worry.

“So,” she asked, hands folded in her lap. “What brings you to me today, my young Commander?”

“I had a question,” he responded. He let his eyes drop down to the half-eaten sweet bun, arranging the words in his head as he’d spent the drive over conceiving them. “What can you tell me about my uncle?”

There was a beat of silence. He went on staring at the frog manju and its missing back leg.

“Your honored mother’s brother? I see,” she said when he nodded. She took another moment to gather herself, during which he chanced another nibble at the sweet. “His name was Kyouyuki. He was four years her elder. You know, of course, that all of your lineage are deeply in touch with their driving emotions thanks to your meta-ability. You have your stress, your mother her sorrow, your grandfather his rage, and the great Destro his sense of purpose. Your uncle was the same, but his manifestation lead your grandfather and the First Families to declare him unsuitable as heir to the position of Grand Commander.”

Rikiya swallowed. He scanned his education for an emotion that could not be turned to the cause and came up empty. “What was it?”

“Joy.” She waited, letting him take in the word, before she continued. “A beautiful thing, but there is so only so much joy to be found in this country when meta-humans still live in chains. While he was with us, though, your uncle was much beloved.” She paused, looking thoughtful. “Would you like to see a picture of him?”

“Yes, please.” Rikiya perked up, picking up his bowl and taking another quick swallow. Sanctum laughed.

“You can take it slowly; the picture’s not going anywhere.”

“So what happened to him, then?” Rikiya asked, cupping the warm ceramic mindfully in his hands. He looked at her over the bowl’s rim as he raised it up to his mouth again, taking a slower sip.

“He went missing one day in college,” Sanctum answered with a sigh. “It was in December, just a few days before the end of term. He went to some campus party and just—never came out. Not as far as we were ever able to determine, at least.”

Rikiya glanced back down at his lamed frog. “…You looked for him?”

“All of us did, for months. There were people tasked with it for years. There’s a young man working in forensics up in Morioka that still makes it a point to check through unidentified bodies once a year, on the anniversary.”

Rikiya definitely didn’t want to finish the manju now. He took another quiet sip of the tea, finishing it off and letting his eyes rest on the lingering foam.

A cold sensation curved down over his cheek, around the hollow of his eye, and he hurriedly set the bowl down and closed his eyes, focusing on inhaling and exhaling, on the sensation of his hands folding together on his lap.

Still kneeling across from him, Sanctum matched his stillness. Not even a rustle sounded from her long, draping sleeves. Even her breathing fell naturally into pace with his own. Silence blanketed the room, no sound from outside making its way to his ears.

Finally, he released a sigh and opened his eyes. Lifting his hand, he brushed his fingers over the side of his face then drew them back down. After particularly bad spells, his fingertips sometimes came back black with residue, as if he’d smudged them over wet ink, but today they came back bare and clean. He sighed again, shorter, more relieved, and looked up into Sanctum’s patient, sympathetic eyes.

“Can we go see his picture now?”

“Of course.” She smiled. “The picture’s in the community center at the playground.”

Rikiya hesitated. The rec center was visible from the house driveway.

“…Can we use your Stride?” he asked.

“Your wish is my command, Re-Destro,” Sanctum chuckled. She stood, bowing as he stood in turn, and ushered him back up to the front.

Outside, Rampart was talking with one of the men who’d been out walking his dog and stopped to salute—which he and Rampart both did again as Rikiya leaned over to offer one hand to the dog, smiling at the wet press of its nose on his palm. He ran his other hand over the thick waves of its fur in long, even strokes, watching its tail sweep excited circles in the air.

“We’re taking a jaunt over to the community center,” Sanctum said above him. “I’d offer to take you, too, but my spine says ‘Only in the case of an emergency, you daft old woman.’ I’m sure you understand.”

The neighbor snorted back a laugh and Rikiya looked back up to find Rampart checking his watch.

“Ten minutes?” he asked.

“Probably less,” Sanctum answered, and leaned down, stretching out her arms.

Rikiya stepped gingerly up to her. He kept his hands to himself rather than get dog on her kimono, but leaned his weight in when she scooped him off the ground and straightened back up. She fixed her gaze on the building at the far end of the playground, narrowed her eyes, and took a single firm step forward.

Deep shadows fell over them both. The air felt suddenly closer, filled with the rubbery smell of sports equipment. His head still spinning pleasantly, Rikiya obediently held still as Sanctum set him down.

“Let your eyes adjust for a few seconds while I find the light switch,” she said and shuffled away into the gloom. Sure enough, a moment later an overhead light flickered to life, illuminating a room that was half office, half supply closet. Next to Rikiya, in one corner, a desk and chair sat tucked beneath a small window, a short filing cabinet standing beside it. Plastic bins were stacked up beyond that, and past them, the door to the room. Metal shelving units lined the opposite wall, holding books at the end near the desk and an assortment of games and sports equipment all along the rest of its length. A hefty toolbox and a first aid kit were displayed prominently across from the door.

Sanctum scanned over a row of books on the shelf, mostly titles like “Activities for Children” and “Complete Rules of Classic Baseball,” but at the far end, simply a row of blue photo albums, spines unmarked save for thin numeric inscriptions. With a satisfied noise, she pulled one down and brought it over to the desk.

“May I sit?” she asked, and when he nodded, swept a hand under her kimono before lowering herself into the chair. He closed the distance between them, standing at the arm of the chair and observing as she flipped through the album.

Pages and pages of old photos passed them by, discoloring at the edges. Rikiya frowned—his teachers told him regularly that he needed to be as familiar as possible with the members of the Army, but in those pictures, the best he could pick out was the odd sign of a particularly distinctive meta-ability—Anchor‘s curving horns here, a boy with Aozono‘s bright green skin, a girl with a lightning stripe mark in her hair just like Toryu.

“Ah. Here we are.” Sanctum spread the album wide and angled toward him. The righthand page was covered in handwritten text, words flowing together under his eyes. Opposite it, a large photo, twice as big as the others, took up the whole left page by itself. A boy and a girl in gym uniforms, arms wrapped each other, looked out from the picture. The girl had to be his mother—because who else could she be?—with her dark hair and soft eyes, the mark of her meta ability a dark little blotch at the base of her throat. She was smiling wider than in any picture at home. The boy…

“You have his hair, you know. The color,” Sanctum said quietly as Rikiya started at the bright-eyed boy in the photo, caught mid-laugh, the reddish-brown of his hair vivid even on the faded paper. The dark shell of Destro’s power covered his hands and upper arms, effortlessly holding Rikiya’s mother off the ground. “They’d just won a brother-sister relay race. It was at a family event in the summer, back when he was still in high school. There were some quick people in his generation, but none faster than him when his spirits were high.”

“I guess—you never found out what happened to him?” It didn’t seem likely, but then, even if the warriors had never found him, that didn’t mean they might not have…

“I’m afraid not,” Sanctum said, dashing his small hopes.

“Do you think it was heroes? Could they have found out about us?”

“No.” Sanctum’s voice grew more serious. “When heroes find us, they carry out raids. They break up our communities. They split up families, take children from their parents, send those parents off to jail for years and years, even for the rest of their lives.” She shook her head. “If heroes had found out about us, we would have known.”

“Were you ever in a raid, Sanctum?” Rikiya asked, resting his hands on the arm of the chair and looking up into the old warrior’s eyes.

“Once, when I was very young—even younger than you.”

“How did you get out?”

“Well, I inherited my father’s quirk, you know.” She closed the album and placed it on the desk, then turned to face him. “He had brought me along to a meeting—there were few enough of us in those days that it was hard to spare anyone for child-sitting. I remember that one moment, everyone was talking in hushed voices, and then the window broke and suddenly, everyone was shouting. There were feet pounding on the stairs, a fist punched straight through the door, and then my father was calling for me.”

She paused, then chuckled ruefully.

“You won’t hear me ask you this often, but did you see that news clip going around last week—the one of the hero from America rescuing all those people from a fire?” When Rikiya shook his head, she placed her elbows on the arms of the chair and knitted her fingers together, resting her chin on them. “That’s how I remember Father looking back then. There were people holding onto his shoulders, being carried in his arms. He had to bend over so I could get my arms around his neck, and I remember being afraid that he wouldn’t be able to stand back up. It must have been so heavy…”

She was quiet for a moment, staring blankly over his shoulder, and Rikiya took a breath.

“He honored Destro and Liberation with his service,” he recited, as level as he could.

Sanctum’s eyes snapped back to the present and she smiled at him brightly, looking, for a moment, as happy as his lost uncle in the picture. She saluted, the movement every bit as graceful and precise as her movements during tea ceremony.

“Thank you, my young Commander. Do you wish to keep the photo?”

He thought about it—thought about being able to look at it whenever he wanted, then thought about all the pictures his mother didn’t have of her brother, and what might happen if she found one.

“I think—I think Mother is sad enough already,” he said. “But I know where to find it now.”

“That’s very wise, and very kind of you.” She stood and placed the album back on the shelf. “Then we should be getting back. The same way we came?”

He chanced a smile. “Yes, please.”

#MLAweek2020 #re-destro #yotsubashi rikiya #meta liberation army #bnha #boku no hero academia #my writing #cw: cults #my hero academia #ficcing

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a-small-gentleman · 4 years

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Spirit, Chapter 1

“Fuck me that was a lot of boxes.”

“Stop swearing!”

...A gross understatement.

“How much was this place?”

“I’m not cheap.” How did she always know what he was thinking?

Still trying to cover his bare arse, the exhausted boy quickly fumbled together an excuse, “I’m just asking for next year so I know what to expect when I have to pay for my own apartment.”

“Don’t lie to me, I know you think this place is awful. My first year, the halls I stayed in were so poorly insulated the toilet water-“

A light smack hit the back of his arm, turning the peach skin rosy. Ok, he was being too cheeky now, and she wasn’t impressed.

“I’m going to look at the kitchen, start unpacking now so I know it’ll be done before I leave ‘cause I know you won’t do it unless I make you.”

The door threw open unexpectedly, slamming into the wall, sending the poor boy up in shock, only to knock o into the unforgiving block of wood making up the overhanging window cill.

“FUCKING HELL!”

“STOP. SWEEEEAAARRRRIIIINNNGGGG!!!!”

“...some...of your flat mates have arrived.” Muttered out. Turning round, she briskly left without another word, her footsteps echoing down the stairwell just outside the thin apartment door.

“OH! Hi, which are you in?” FUCK, where the hell had she been hiding?!

A regally tall girl sporting the single most neon make up I’d ever seen came unseen from my right, and stood close.

“Oh, sorry, ugh... which room was it...I can’t remember the number but the one just by the entrance to the apartment.”

“That’s room 7.”

“Thank you.” The conversation died. There was a social queue here wasn’t there? Conversations usually carried on longer than this, what was it?

The girl smiled politely, but turned and left to talk to another girl. Bill let out an irate huff. Damn it, once again, a failed attempt at human interaction.

Never mind, try again.

“Nice to meet you, I’m-“

“I’m a bit busy, can we talk later?”

Taken aback, all he could say was, “Oh, er, yeah. Sorry.” And he backed off again

No immediate response, just the same prolonged eye contact, up until she let out a sigh. Was that a resentful sigh or a sigh of forgiveness?Oh how he hated being unable to understand subtleties.

Why did it have to be tomorrow?

“Sure. See you tomorrow.”

“Alright see you tomorrow. Try and make an effort to make friends please?”

————————————————————————————————————————

...Cold...

...coooolllllddddd???…

...Where were his covers?...

...why could he hear wind?

Head pulled up and eyes forced open, Bill was greeted by a yellowing sea of grass. Only, this grass...was seven times his height..

...what in the actual fuck? Elephant grass?

Over the gale, was that. It WAS. Murmurs over the utterances of the wind; there were others out here too!

“HHHHHHEEEEEEEYYYYYYYY!!!!!!!!!!”

The murmurs stopped, YES they’d heard him.

“HHHHHHEEEEEEEYYYYYYYY!!!!!!!!!!”

“AAAAAARRRRRRGGGGHHHHH!!!!!!!!!”

...who responded to a hey with ‘arghhh’.

“HHHHHHEEEEEEEYYYYYYYY, I’M OVER HEREEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!”

No shout this time thank god, his ears couldn’t take that again. Legs shaking, feet black and blue in his trainers, Bill was desperate for them to arrive soon.

THUMP THUMP

What was that?

THUMP THUMP

WHY THE FUCK WAS THE GROUND SHAKING?!

The thumps stopped directly in front of him and a shadow fell over. He’d been seen. Looking straight up through the light canopy, staring straight down at him, was a face.

A gigantic.

Bearded.

Middle aged.

Face.

...Not a point of pride. Bill fainted.

#g/t shitpost #g/t writing #g/t #g/t community #g/t story #g/t oc #g/t art #original writing #original fiction #original story #ghost and spirits #spirit #chapter 1

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kathleenmendez2-blog · 7 years

Text

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