{Hazy sunshine over the hill

[deadlycurves]

WHO: Hargreeves + YOU

WHERE: Krakoa; various

WHEN: Varies, specified by thread

WHAT: Varies, specified by thread

WARNINGS: Warnings will be updated where necessary

Comments

[deadlycurves]

Breaking out of old routines had been one of the biggest orders of everything between them as a unit when they were first starting out in those earliest days of Krakoa. Shattering the old, hard-wired defaults and shaking up the only norm they had ever known, building a new one that didn't stick to a strict order of any kind. It was awkward in those first beginning stages, sat wrong in the way it filled his chest with tension, forever waiting for a scolding for breaking rank that would never come. Because they weren't in that house any more, and it was honestly the best thing to ever happen to them as a family.

Luther and Allison's feels as much like home as his own not all that far from here, in a different part of the island; as much as the island as a whole itself. It was the central hub for all things Hargreeves, in a way that felt right, somehow. Tension becomes a sharp knife-cut into the thread of the family when it shows up this harsh, this choking in this house. Impossible to ignore. Diego hates the way the feeling fills him up, carves out a space in his chest and burrows down to make a home there. He understands why, and knows what it's from, but it's a discomfort he doesn't like.

At one point in the evening, Diego's broken himself away from the huddle of his siblings in the living room, opting instead for a chair in the backyard. He's leaned forward against his knees, head tucked down, fingers laced at his neck, trying to breathe. He's more used to it now, all these years into owning the power, but sometimes empathy at the level he feels it, is still too much. Some emotions are stronger than others, and tonight, everyone's is like cymbals clashing in his head.

There's a shift, subtle, but there; it's familiar, the low, steady drum that always surrounds his brother. It's comfortable, more than the cymbals from inside the house, and he can't stop the slight quirk of his mouth at the familiar, steady feeling that takes root just at his presence somewhere behind him.

"Luther." His voice is a little thick, still trying to shake off the stray remnants of all that tension inside. He doesn't lift his head yet.