#we’ve got to get at least one layer with a parrot form

[rowanthestrange]

Oh and Rogue with his bird ship and fellow bird-brains who love crashing a telly show party. Space Eurovision. Come on. Let’s see you sing birdies.

[thetaleoflevi]

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Distance

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Pairing: Levi x Fem!Reader

Content Type: SFW

TW: Season 3 spoiler, Blood, Profanity, Suicide (For a split second), Suggestive

Description: Reader distances herself from Levi, strongly believing her feelings are not reciprocated by him, causing Levi to miss her.

Word Count: 5.3k+

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Please go away, Captain. Or at least end me. I don’t like the way you make me feel when you’re around. I can’t breathe. Please stop walking my way. Stop looking at me with those eyes.

“Y/N, I need that paperwork on my desk by five o’clock today. Not a minute late, understood?” What are you even saying? Stop looking at me like that. His brows creased with impatience at your nonexistent response. “Hey, focus, brat.” He snapped his fingers at you, making you flinch out of your daze. “Yes, Captain! Right away.” You saluted messily and paced toward the door, returning when you figured out that you didn’t know what you were ordered to do.

“What are you agreeing to, brat?” God…that delicious word was cracking your last bits of sanity. “Repeat what I ordered you to do.” Levi demanded, not having moved an inch from where he was standing. He crossed his arms in annoyance. “Um, y-you… You said to-” “I told you to jump off of Wall Maria without any gear on.” Your eyes widened, and you felt as if all the air in your lungs got punched out of you. So this was your end. This is how you die? Your Captain found your expression to be almost as funny as a shit joke. He didn’t show it on the surface, though.

“Relax, idiot. I was kidding. I want you to finish the paperwork I gave you earlier and hand it in to me by five. Pay attention, or next time it won’t be a joke.” He walked toward the door of the meeting room and turned to face you you when he heard you yelling your affirmation like an annoying parrot. “Yes, Captain! It won’t happen again!” You gave him your best salute only to have eyes rolled at you.

Levi left the room not having a clue that you almost threw up in front of him. You felt that stupid after the situation. Usually, you always felt like the rest of the world went pitch black, with only a spotlight shining on you and him, whenever he talked to you. Even when he scolded you for not doing something to his liking, you couldn’t help but focus on his devastatingly gorgeous silver eyes and how they squinted occasionally in fury, or his lips that never seemed to curve upwards and spat the ugliest words at you sometimes. It was tough love. At least that’s what you made of it.

“What happened in here? Did somebody spike the Captain’s tea? I’m very concerned.” Armin had walked into the meeting room where you stayed, replaying the conversation you just had with your handsome superior. “What are you talking about, Armin?” You ask curiously, having just seen the man acting as unfazed as always. “He smiled, Y/N. He genuinely smiled.”

You were in just as much shock as Armin was. He smiled? And I missed it?! “What were you guys talking about?” Armin sat in one of the chairs next to you. His crystal blue eyes gleamed with curiosity, wondering what was so great that it could cause the most solemn man in the scouts to crack a smile. “I zoned out while he was giving me an order, and then he told me to kill myself—not in those exact words, but, he told me to jump off of Wall Maria without any gear on. I think I made a stupid face or something, but I really thought he was ordering me to die. Then he told me the actual order.”

Armin chuckled at your retelling of the story, knowing he would have reacted the same way as Levi. “Whatever it was that you did, keep doing it! We’ve only seen Captain Levi smile once, and it’s been forever since then. Historia was crowned queen when he last smiled in front of us.” You smirked dumbly and got off the desk you were sitting on. “I’ll try my best. I gotta go, Armin. I have some paperwork to get done before Captain Levi reigns even more hell down on earth.” Armin chuckles and waves a goodbye as you leave.

It was four forty-three, and you had barely gotten anything done. With all the time you were given, you took it upon yourself to leave your work until the last minute—the procrastinating prodigy that you are. You watched everyone do their work with no thought about your own. Four forty-eight. Four fifty. Four fifty-six. Four fifty-nine. Five o’clock.

“Have you guys seen Y/N?” Levi asked Sasha, Connie, and Jean. “No, sir. She was sitting with Eren, Armin, and Mikasa when I last saw her.” Connie replied. Fucking hell, Y/N.

It was five thirty-two when you finally knocked on Levi’s door. “How nice of you to show up on time.” You heard directly inside your ear. You gasped with fear and quickly turned around. Your Captain did not look pleased at all. “Can you tell me what time it is?” You checked the clock on the wall. “Five thirty-three, sir.” Your eyes looked at everything but him. “Okay, good. Come on in.” He unlocked his office door and waited for you to walk in before slamming it shut.

You bounced slightly at the harsh sound. “You better have a damn good excuse for why my paperwork is thirty-three minutes late.” He slowly walked over to you and the stack of papers you held tightly to your chest. “Did you even do it correctly?” He snatched the stack away from you, a few papers nicking the area between your thumb and index finger. You were quick to suck on the area that bled. He looked over the work you had done, keeping the compliments he would have rewarded you with to himself. The brat is good. If only she worked faster.

“It’ll do. It’s not extraordinary work, but i’ll take it because it’s not the most important work that needed to be done.” You stopped sucking the blood from your hand and looked at him when he went silent. “Tch, use your words. Ask for a bandage or something.” He walked over to his desk and pulled out a white roll of gauze.

“Let me see.” He unstuck the beginning of the roll and returned to his spot next to you. “I can do it, sir.” You reached your undamaged hand toward the roll he held, only for him to pull it away from you. “Let me see it.” He urged, waiting for you to show him the cuts. They were surprisingly deep. You put your hand palm-up in front of you, only for him to adjust the position so that he could wrap the material around your hand correctly. The white wrapping began to turn red when it touched the blots of blood emerging from your open skin. With every layer he wrapped, less color was seen until it was just white.

Warmth was emitted through his fingers which soothed the pain in your hand a little. He let you retract your hand, watching you as you stared at the dressed wounded area. “What? Do you want me to kiss it or something?” He looked at you with an ordinary uninterested expression. Yes, please! Kiss it better. “I-I mean-“ You managed to stutter. Your cheeks flushed with heat when you realized what you had started saying. “Stop that, brat. Just stop talking.”

He walked to his desk and continued to look over the work you had done. He silently admired your considerably neat handwriting. It was as if you had typed it—the letters being all equally sized, no streaks out of line. “Right. I’m sorry.” You whispered, walking in the direction of the door. His words hit harder than usual for some reason. It was nothing to be upset about, yet you felt an unwelcome lump start forming in your throat. Maybe it’s you finally realizing that your love for him would never be reciprocated. Just being in the same room as him in that moment had you feeling more vulnerable than ever.

You mustered up the small amount of stability you had in your voice and said,”Well, if you don’t need me to do anything else, I’ll be on my way.” “That will be all.” He mumbled, not looking at you. No thank you? You saluted and left the room.

Unlike times before, Levi didn’t make your heart soar, he made it sink to the pit of your stomach, despite him touching you more than he ever has. It made you question your reasons for loving him so much. Is he worth the confusion your heart goes through when talking to the different versions of him? You’re not sure.

—

Weeks went by with you treating Levi like he was anyone but the person you longed to be with before. You still gave him the respect he deserved as your Captain, but you only talked to him when he talked to you or when you needed to deliver something to him from another one of your superiors. When he ordered you to do something, you would simply give him an affirmation and walk away. No small talk or questions. You didn’t smile like you usually did for him, and your heart wasn’t beating erratically when you accepted the duties he assigned to you.

Levi caught on to this act of yours when he started missing the way your doe eyes lingered on his as he talked to you. Now you would barely look him in the eyes. He missed the way you would try to make him laugh with a joke that had you in pain from laughing so hard. Now you only talked to him about work-related matters. He missed the way you stuttered after saying something dumb. Your voice is so steady now, and your words are chosen more carefully. He missed the clear adoration you had for him. He missed you.

Another day passed, and Levi had no excuse to talk to you. He didn’t have orders to give you. At that moment, he would’ve done anything to go back to when he would scowl at you as you laughed to your heart’s content. He would do anything to see you for more than two minutes. He would have taken the boring job of completing a pile of paperwork if it meant you were the one giving it to him and he would be able to brush his fingers against yours.

His head rested in his hands, frustrated with his inability to stomp on his pride and just walk over to wherever you were. He missed you so, so much, but he would never let you know that you were the best part of his days.

A knock came from the other end of his door. “Name and business.” He stated with his head still in his hands. “Y/LN Y/N, sir.” He perked up at the sound of your voice and he raised his head, quickly fixing the strands of hair that had moved out of place. “Commander Erwin asked me to get your signature for an important document.” He walked over and opened the door for you. “Come in.”

You entered his office and stood in front of his desk until further instruction. He shut the door quietly and walked to where you were.

“You can set the document down on my desk. I need to get a new container of ink. I’ll be back shortly.” He went to his bedroom, which connected to his office, and went through a drawer that seemed to have different supplies in it. He returned with a clear glass cube filled with black ink. He sat in his chair and read the document quickly before scribbling a beautiful rendition of his name onto the blank line at the bottom of the page.

“Here.” He flipped the paper so that it was upright to you. “Thank you, Captain.” You took the document and saluted. As you were about to leave, Levi’s voice stopped you in your tracks. “Y/N, can you sit for a minute?” He asked, hoping you weren’t in a rush to get those documents to Erwin.

“Of course, sir.” You answer, sitting in the chair in front of his desk.

He looked slightly sad. His eyes were completely softened, eyebrows curving inward slightly. “Why haven’t you come to see me as often as you used to?” All you could think was, does it really matter whether you see me or not? “I’ve been busy. I have duties entrusted to me by others. You are not my only superior, Captain Levi.” You were okay with giving him a piece of your mind in the most respectful way possible.

“I understand that, but why are you choosing to completely avoid me unless the subject is work?” Can you be anymore needy? “I’m not.” You simply respond. That is the ugliest lie you have ever told. You are avoiding him. You are keeping yourself busy to avoid even thinking about him.

“I see. I never took you for such a shitty liar.” You suppressed the need to roll your eyes. No answer will satisfy him until he hears what he wants to hear. “Well, i’m sorry to disappoint you, sir. I’ll try not to make a habit of it. Now, if you’ll excuse me, Commander Erwin said that this document needed to be returned as soon as possible.” You stood up from the wooden chair and saluted before exiting your Captain’s office.

—

The sky went dark without you realizing. You were busy all day and after the talk you had with your Captain, you were both physically and mentally tired.

As you arrived to your bedroom, not caring for the darkness that veiled your room, you let yourself fall backwards onto your bed as exhaustion creeped through your body. With your eyes closed, you lifted each of your legs and removed your boots one by one before tossing them to the ground. “Why does he suddenly care about the amount of times he’s seen me throughout the day?” You whisper to yourself as if someone would hear you.

The sound of knocking fills your ears and you pretend to have fallen asleep. “Y/N, are you in there? Are you awake?” Not now. Please. You stay silent, hoping Levi will leave you alone.

Three more knocks sound against your door. After a few seconds of complete silence, you hear the doorknob turn and the door swings open, shutting after Levi steps inside the room. “Tch, you didn’t even take your straps off.” He whispers in consideration to your ‘sleeping’ state. He sits next to you on your bed and watches your chest mimic dormant breathing. He reaches for the strap that loops around your chest and undoes the small buckle. Your chest was released and moved more freely.

By now, your act of pretending to sleep was no longer an act. You were breathing in a set rhythm through your nose.

He softly and slowly pulled your arms out of the leather that enclosed around them. You stirred a little bit before returning to the position you were in previously, on your back.

“I’m going to take care of you, my Y/N. I don’t want your skin to bruise.” He whispered while he undid your belt buckle and lowered down to work on the bands that curled tightly around your thighs. He slowly slid the rest of the leather down your calves and off completely. He got off of your bed and organized your things neatly so that you would find them easily in the morning.

“Y/N.” Levi called, shaking you softly by your arm. When you didn’t respond, he tried again. You opened your eyes slowly and squinted, furrowing your brows when you noticed someone else was there with you. “What?” You grumble, annoyed at the inability to go back to sleep. “Sorry, I need to talk to you.” That voice. You tried to spring up off the bed to salute respectfully to your Captain.

He grabbed your forearms and brought you back down to your bed. “Calm down. You don’t have to be so formal after hours.” You weren’t even asleep ten minutes, yet the drowsiness embodying you was extreme.

“Do you want me to light a candle? It’s pretty dark in here. I wasn’t expecting you or anyone else to come see me this late.” “No. I think the dark will allow courage to seep through me better.” You raised a brow in confusion. “Courage? Since when do you lack courage, Captain-“ “Levi. Just Levi between us.” “Le..vi?” He nodded with reassurance. “Since when do you lack courage in anything, Levi.”

He put his hand on your shoulder, surprised when you tensed up against the contact. He didn’t pull his hand away at the gesture, though. “I hate having to admit that I have a weakness for you, believe me, but you’re invading my thoughts every day, all the time.” This isn’t like you, Captain.

“I’m not adjusting well to this change between us. I miss the way you used to be with me. Even when I didn’t reciprocate the energy you gave off, you always managed to make feel better inside. Now that you’ve distanced yourself from me, I feel even more dead inside than usual.” His fingers stroked the fabric on your shoulder of your white button-up shirt.

“I can’t be that way with you anymore. It took me a while to realize that we’re not here to make relationships that last forever. We have the hardest job anyone could ask of us—saving humanity.” You sighed, thinking of a way to prevent yourself from hurting his feelings. “Though the thought of having you by my side is delightful, I don’t think I can go back to worshiping the ground you walk on like I did before. Our relationship should remain that of superior and subordinate.”

Levi’s head lowered. The agony he was feeling in his chest was excruciating. This last attempt to get you was sadly his final one.

“Then I have one final request.” You couldn’t help but wonder what he would want from you that he can’t get from anyone else. “Can I kiss you?” His hand that was set on your shoulder slowly made it’s way to caress your cheek. His eyes softened at the familiar look in your eyes that peered into his soul. Though you felt you should have removed his hand from the side of your face, the warmth was comforting.

“If you don’t feel anything, I promise I’ll swallow my feelings for you and leave you be. We’ll be strictly comrades, no emotional feelings involved.” He swiped your soft skin with his thumb, eyes locking with yours as he seeks a response that isn’t developed yet.

Finally. “Only once.” You whisper. He nods in acknowledgement of your instruction. His left hand attaches to your waist while his right finds your cheek again. You tremble at the foreign feeling of someone’s touch on a part of you that wasn’t an arm, a shoulder, or your back. His eyes never left yours as he slowly leaned in. God, he smelled so good. The aroma was dangerously attractive. You hoped to never come across someone that smelled the same way, that way his smell would only make you think of him.

The closer he got, the deeper his fingertips dug into your side, as if trying to pierce holes through your shirt to feel your skin.

Darkness, light—you saw both somehow. The entanglement of lips on lips was a good feeling that both of you felt mutually. He held on for as long as he could, not wanting this moment to ever end. After all, this is the first, and possibly the last time he would ever be this close to you again.

You tried to break the kiss but struggled to when you felt Levi pulling you back to connect again. It wasn’t enough for him. It was never going to be enough.

“Le..v…” You murmured indistinctly, stopping the movements from your lips completely. “No. Please…” He mumbled against your lips continuing his one-sided kiss.

It felt desperate, which was strange coming from a man like Levi who’s never begged for anything from anyone. “Come on. Kiss me.” He said with his lips pressed against yours. The feeling was undeniably good. It brought life back to the heart that stopped longing for specifically his affection.

You started moving your lips again, synchronizing quickly. His bangs tickled your forehead, causing your lips to twitch upwards.

He picked you up and placed you on his lap. Just as you were about to reach for his hair, he broke the kiss.

“I want to touch your skin, Y/N. Not in an inappropriate manner, I just need proof that this isn’t just another one of my dreams. I can’t risk going insane over another night of me just fantasizing about being your one. This shirt is the only thing standing between my hands and your soft skin—reality. I won’t touch you like that if you don’t want me to, though. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.” His mouth said something, but as always, his eyes said something else. They were begging for you to allow him to feel you. His hands rested on your hips. Maybe this was going too far. What if you did let him touch your bare skin, and it progressed into something inappropriate?

With that single doubt in your mind, you responded to his request with,“Unbutton my shirt, then.” The light in his eyes was shining brighter than you had ever seen. He was visually shocked at your consent. It was clear that he was grateful to have you that night in his hold.

His hands lowered to where your shirt tucked into your pants and pulled out the fabric. Before he could move onto the buttons, he searched your expression for any signs of doubt or uncertainty. None that he could see—you were that good at keeping your thoughts to yourself.

He undid every button, not missing his chance to sneak in a brush of his fingertips here and there, on your collar bone or your sternum.

Soon enough your shirt was left wide open, revealing your black bra and newly formed goosebumps brought on by the cold wind. You turned away from Levi, flustered by his eyes on your exposed torso.

He tugged on one of the loose halves of your shirt, signaling for your attention. “Eyes on me.”Goosebumps resurfaced your skin when his knuckles brushed against your stomach. “You’re beautiful.” His soothing voice assured you as his eyes explored the unknown sight.

You were brought close once again, his lips dying to return to where he knew they belonged. Goosebumps rampaged through your body as he pulled your body closer to him by your waist. The feeling of his hands wrapped around your bare sides was absurd. You were now up against his chest. His hands traveled from your sides to your back to keep you pushed against him.

If you had to remain like this for the rest of your life, you’d do it in a heartbeat, if possible, less time.

Though it wasn’t meant to be sexual, he was leaving you breathless—quite literally. His touch made your heart pound in your chest, which he surprisingly didn’t feel, even with you pressed so tightly against him. By the sound of it, he was breathless as well.

“Mmm…Levi.” You mumbled. “Hmm?” He hummed not stopping his lips from devouring yours. “We have…to…mmm...breathe…at some point.” He snickered, smiling slightly, giving you the chance to break your lips away from his. You were able to see a slight shade of pink on his cheeks in the moonlight. Whether it was from the suffocation or the steamy moment remained a mystery.

Soft pants came from both of you, and though he let go of your lips, you weren’t fully released from his grasp. His ring and middle fingers on each hand poked at your back dimples, while his thumbs did light circular motions on the sides of your abdominal area.

“What’s wrong?” He asked, eyes glistening in the moonlight.

“I need to know what you intend to do with me, Captain. From now to…” You sigh heavily, not finding it as easy as you thought it would be to fit this conversation into the moment after what had just gone down.

Levi picks up on how tense you’ve become, seeing how stressed you suddenly look. “Hey, I’m going to listen to every word you have to say. I’m all ears, right now.” He squeezes your waist gently.

“Okay, what i’m trying to say is…I don’t want to have to mend my wounded heart every time you push me away.” You look toward the window, looking at how a cloud slowly moves in a direction that makes it collide with another cloud. To be honest, it kind of reminded you of you and Levi. The way your lives collided with each other’s, then separated, only to find each other again.

He held your chin softly between his thumb and index fingers, shifting your gaze back to him. He didn’t say anything but nodded for you to keep going. “I also don’t want to have to apologize for fulfilling my everyday duties that can lead to days of not being able to see you.” His hand released your chin and returned to the spot it was on previously, your side. It was as if he was comforting you and himself at the same time. He was hoping you wouldn’t get off, leaving him incomplete without your body weight on him.

You did exactly as he feared, almost as if you read his mind. You wanted this conversation to be as serious as possible, no distractions. You released your grasp on his shoulders and slowly began lifting yourself off of his lap. He subconsciously began letting go of your body, until he caught himself and tightened his grip, bringing you back to where you were, on his lap.

“Levi? What are you-“ “I want—no, I need you, Y/N. You know how bad it’s been on my end since you stopped talking to me like we’re the two closest people on earth? It’s been hell. Fucking hell.” His hands brushed past your sides and pushed on your back, bringing you to an embrace. Your chin landed on his shoulder and his face nuzzled into your neck. Your arms stayed by your side contrary to his which wrapped around you, brushing past the straps of your bra and settling on your upper back. You felt breaths of hot air tickle your neck as he kept talking.

“You have no clue how sad I’ve been. This is what I need from you. I don’t care if it’s something occasional. I don’t care if I only get to see you once a week, month, or year. I don’t fucking care at all. I just want you, Y/N. Please. Please, just hold me.” You could hear his calm breathing close to your ear. You lifted your arms and wrapped them around him. One hand caressed the back of his head, and the other held the mid-section of his back.

He was breathing in your scent discreetly. Black hair tickles your bare shoulder, exposed by your sagging button-up shirt. You ran your fingers through his locks of hair, smoothing down any strands that stood out.

“This feels right.” He mumbled before placing a gentle kiss to the side of your neck. “I want to feel your heartbeat and your warmth against me like this whenever I can.” His lips continued to brush against your skin slowly.

Minutes went by, not a word was spoken. When you tried to escape his caging hold to continue your conversation, he would just pull you close again nuzzling back into your neck. He was being really clingy tonight—not that you were complaining, it was just a odd.

“We can keep talking like this.” He mumbled. “Okay.” You whispered running your hand across his undercut.

“Are you sure you want a relationship where we won’t have every minute of the day together? I know it’ll be hell for me.” You could feel him smiling slightly against your neck. “Yes, Y/N. I know we won’t have much time in the day together, but we haven’t been taking nights into consideration.” Goosebumps crawled throughout your body when you felt his lips latch onto your neck again.

“Yeah, you’re right.” Shit. Shit. Shit. Relax. “I’m willing to be even more nocturnal for you. I also wouldn’t mind waking up next to you every morning.” He dragged his thumb across the damp spot on your neck where his lips rested before. “That s-sounds good.” You stutter noticeably. “What’s wrong?” He holds your face in his hands, clearly unable to fake concern. A smirk tugs at his lips. This man knows what he’s doing.

“Nothing. I’m okay.” You assure with a soft smile. “Okay, just making sure. You know…” He starts leaning in again, aiming for your neck. He knows your weak spot now, and you can’t even hide it.

“…I really like…” He kisses the sensitive skin lightly, basking in the way you shudder. “…spending time with you like this. How about you?” As you open your mouth to answer, he leans in again.

“I…fuck.” You grab onto his arm as he nibbles on the flesh that became more and more sensitive with every second that his lips spent on it. “Hmm?” He hummed against your skin. “I didn’t catch that.” He tilted your head to his left to give him more room. More room to litter you with his markings. “I do…” You inhale sharply when he bites the area under the bruising skin he just sucked on. “…too.” He soothes the imprinted skin with his index and middle fingers.

“Good. Tell me, sweet girl, what’s your favorite time of day?” The movement of his fingers slowed, as he pressed gently on the sore parts. His gaze focused intensely on your peaceful features as sighs escaped your lips with every delicate prod of his fingers. He hoped you would say nighttime, knowing he wouldn’t be able to give you all the daytime with him that you wished for. Also, nighttime would be the time he would spend with you, making sure you were feeling every good thing you could feel. Happiness, pleasure, excitement, pleasure, love, satisfaction, security, domination, care, submission. You know? The good things.

“Nighttime. That’s my favorite time of day.” He smiled, satisfied with your answer. “It’s my favorite now, too.” The movement of his fingers on your neck stopped. He looked outside at the moon, remembering the important work he left behind when he decided to look for you. “I should get going.” You frowned slightly which he quickly took notice of. “I know, I wish I didn’t have to, but I ditched a lot of my work to come find you.”

You dragged your thumb across his half-swollen lips before closing the space between you two and kissing him once more. You released him and said in a whisper,“I understand. Thank you for being here with me tonight.” You got off of his lap and transitioned to a cross-legged position on your bed. He caressed your cheek in an endearing manner, before saying,”I’m glad things are the way they are for us now.” He let you go, and began walking to your door. You fixed your shirt so that you looked presentable again.

“Levi, wait.” “Yes?” He asked, holding onto the doorknob. “Did you take the straps from my uniform off of me?” He let out a low chuckle. “Yes, I did. They would have bruised your beautiful skin if I hadn’t taken them off.” “I could have done it myself, but thank you for that.” You felt cared for. It was such a soft concept to think about. He nodded and continued his exit, a small smile on his face as he shut the door behind him.

I’m the only one who should be wrapped around you and leaving marks in those areas at night.

[samwrights]

Growing Pains - Punk!AU [Makki]

Here is the last of the “first chapters” for each route. Each chapter is released in the order of the setlist which I will leave a link to down below. If you haven’t read the prologue, you can click right here to read Elixir. A link will also be provided at the end of the chapter. Artwork is not mine so if we find the artist, can someone let know so that I can properly credit them?

Lyrics that are italicized are sang by you and lyrics that are bold are sang by Makki.

WARNINGS: language, cheating, consumption of alcohol, use of nicotine and marijuana.

Word count: ~4.5k

Song(s) used: Growing Pains as well as one stanza of In Bloom by Neck Deep.

A complementary playlist can be found  »  here

I would give my left arm for Makki. I’m left-handed.

“Can we run Growing Pains again? I wanna try something different.” You ask hesitantly, looking at Hanamaki with a quirked brow. As the writer of the song, as well as a couple others, Makki made it a point to sing the songs he wrote. At first, you took offense to it, thinking that he didn’t have faith in your skills. Even to this day, he never did tell you why he preferred it as such, but he swore up and down that it had nothing to do to you.

“Oh yeah?” The tone of his voice isn’t suspicious, but almost full of wonder. Or as close as he could get to it with his lackluster drawl. “Watcha thinking?”

“Do you trust me enough to at least take more than twenty three fucking words in this whole damn song?” Makki gives a roll of his eyes before swatting at your head, goading you to just get on with it. “Just back for me until the second verse? After that, it’s all yours.” His left eyebrow, donning two, black hoops, shoots up in confusion but nevertheless, he shrugs its off. Of course he trusts you.

“Alright, Growing Pains it is,” Kuroo looks over to Terushima to make sure he’s ready to move before tossing a lazy, knowing grin to the bassist just to rile him up a tad. “Stupid name, by the way.”

“Oi, shut it, discount rooster.” Before the banter can continue, Kuroo starts with the opening shrill riff before the boys join in. Makki’s eyes are focused on you solely, watching to make sure you’re keeping time, giving you little tells to keep you on track with the pace by backing the tail end of every line. The way the bassist’s beady eyes lock onto yours is enough to make you lose focus for a moment, your mouth running the slightest bit too dry, causing your voice to waver slightly. Makki catches it, no matter how well you try to hide, his lips turning upward at the corners in a smirk. In an attempt to recover, your tongue just barely peaks out of the counter of your mouth before you swallow air back into your lungs.

I’ve got skeletons I hide In the back of my mind where I question myself I dwell on the past just like everyone else

It’s a challenge, trying to focus on the task at hand. You knew the words and the tempo, your surroundings and who is present in the room. Yet the only thing you can focus on is how Makki is looking at you with this glassy, stone grey eyes. Despite the bruising bags around them, thanks to the lack of sleep he’d been suffering lately thanks to his job, Hanamaki was truly a pretty man.

It takes everything in the fibers of your muscles to try to not read into his expression so as to fuel even more fantasies that maybe, just maybe, this isn’t unrequited love. But it’s a challenge considering he’s staring so intently as if he’s trying to tell you something through a telepathic link that’s been long severed. Quickly, you push down the thoughts again as the two of you round the chorus, layering over each other’s voice for a subtle drop of depth, worried that your mind will start to warp and you’ll delude yourself into thinking he’s singing directly to you.

When I’m away and you can’t sleep Just know that it’s the same for me.

What a ridiculous notion, you think, as Makki takes over the primary vocals and you switch to backing. And while you would never tell him this, you intentionally had Hanamaki take control back over the verse that you knew was written for his girlfriend. It wasn’t a challenge to figure out, considering he had included a sort of time stamp in the verse. But maybe, just maybe, as you harmonize the bridge, you can trick yourself for a moment that the one of the first ever romance-esque songs he’s ever written is about the woman to his right as opposed to the woman on the couch.

They don’t know what he share in the briefest of moments I’m head over heels for the smallest components

With Makki in control, your mind wanders again, along with your eyes as they finally pulled away from gloomy, glittering glaze. There’s a mix of emotions displayed on his girlfriend’s face—both pleasant and nonplussed at the same time—but you’re having difficulty pinpointing exactly what the expression is. Confusion passes at one point, as if she had never heard the song before and it was making her the slightest bit uncomfortable. All you can assume is that this is her first time actually hearing his words, despite having attended every practice since they first started dating back in December nearly a year ago. Her muddled expression clears a little, as if she was slowly letting go of silent resentment line by line, but her face fades out of your line of vision as your attention is brought back to Makki. You had a job to do and, unfortunately, the job doesn’t include staring at your best friend’s girlfriend, trying to psychoanalyze the emotions she’s experiencing.

Since we’ve meet it seems like we’ve crossed paths at the right time.

Instead, you avert your eyes to look back at your bassist, mimicking what he had done earlier by parroting the last word of every line to add some form of layering. You’re keeping up the with pace, or at least you think you are. Truly, you can’t tell because the only thing you’re focused are the beautiful, shale stones he has for eyes boring into your own like molten lava and the way his pearly whites that peek from behind his thin, pale lips in a subtle smile. It’s intense and bright, two traits that typically are not associated with the bassist at all. But you’re all too familiar to this look when it comes to Takahiro, regardless of how rare the momentous occasion.

The first time you saw it was when you announced to the boys that were you going to stay behind for two years to work and save money so that the four of you could attend university together. It was a distinct memory for you, as he was the first person you told about your plan. At the time, the two of you were laying together on the floor of your room back in your parent’s house—the only trouble plaguing you was the dichotomy of wanting climb the corporate ladder and wanting to chase your freedom and happiness with the boy to your left.

The only other time it showed was when the two of you went for a blunt cruise, something that had become a thing of the past, listening to songs that featured both a male and female vocalist that way the two of you didn’t even have to spare a second thought to harmonize, and he’d smoked just a little bit too much. Enough that you didn’t feel safe having him drive home for the night and he would crash at your parent’s house or your apartment, depending on the time frame. Sometimes you’d share a bed, trying to ignore the fact that the love of your life was inches away from you. Trying to ignore the fact that he always wound his arms right around you like you’d disappear into thin air if he let go. Sometimes, you’d end up sleeping on your couch for the evening, solely based on the fact that Makki’s head was resting in your lap and he was KO’d.

As Growing Pains comes to an end, you realize what a stupid decision it was for you to choose that song to re-rehearse. Sure, you’d had made small adjustments to it so that you were a bit more preoccupied in the beginning, but that did little for you to stop your mind from wandering. Hell, by the last chorus, when your mind had began to float into the metaphorical clouds, you had given up on looking at Makki and his stupid perfect lips serenading his girlfriend, and just laid on the floor between your friends. It was quite peaceful, actually, allowing the vibrations of all the amplifiers quaking your bones, lulling you in and out of your daydreams. “Sound better that time, princess?” Kuroo jokes, staring directly over you, allowing droplets of sweat to roll off of him onto you.

The way your guitarist looked at you was all knowing, his hazel eyes silently telling you he knew your truth—that you just wanted to hear Hanamaki sing a song that he wrote for a woman, whether it was about you or not. Rather than commenting on that, you spluttered obnoxiously as his sweat dropped over you, pretending to be disgusted though you didn’t actually care. “Gross, Tetsu!” You jeered, scrambling to your feet and pulling the bottom of your tee to wipe off both yours and now Kuroo’s sweat. It’s all jokes and theatrics, as always.

“Pfft, you’re so dramatic, [name].” The guitarist chided.

“Word, I’ll drink to that,” adds Makki, grabbing his beer can off his amp and stepping behind you to clink cans together with Kuroo.

“Ya know, I could just skip the entire song and let Makki do the whole thing. It wouldn’t sound any different.” It’s a light hearted dig at most and very typical of you. However, a glower pulls over the bassist’s expression, his gaze turning hard, but you keep going. “Maybe I’ll go run around in the crowd or something.”

“Yeah, it’s not like we need you to anything.” He didn’t mean it the way it sounded, you knew that he didn’t—there were very few things in his life that Takahiro Hanamaki was serious about and in the ten plus years you’d know him, genuinely rude comments to you was not one of them. But something was off, not that you could determine what—maybe his tone or how quickly he said it? Like he had wanted to say it for some time and he had just taken the opportunity and ran with it. Regardless of the reason, it stung.

Even more so when you were reminded that it was not just the four of you in the room as the girls sitting on the couch not ten feet from you laughed wholeheartedly at your expense. Rather than quipping back, you sucked on your teeth while bobbing and nodding your head. “Okay,” you started off slowly, searching for the words to say. “Okay, uh, fuck you, first of all.” You bit out sourly, all humor gone from your face. Before you can stop yourself, you hook your microphone back on it’s stand and quickly check your pockets to ensure your pack of smokes and lighter were still there. “Second off, I’m gonna go smoke. Feel free to carry on with practice since you don’t need me.”

“Hey, get back here!” Makki calls out with a hint of urgency, but it’s too late. You’re already over halfway up the stairs and you’re not turning back around until there’s chemicals and tar coating your lungs. Alone in the backyard, you make your way to the dead firepit, sitting once again on the dividing brick wall, the flame from your lighter making a crinkling noise as it lit the dried leaves.

What the fuck was that? Maybe a dose of reality, you figure. Maybe this was the nature of your guys’ relationship now. It made you angry. However, you couldn’t entirely blame everything on Makki, even if you wanted to. As much as you wanted to. But it wasn’t his fault you were such a coward and couldn’t tell him that you’d been pining over him pathetically for nearly ten years. It wasn’t his fault that, eventually, he was going to want companionship that you just couldn’t quite offer. It wasn’t his fault that he just didn’t see you that way.

Meanwhile, the boys remain inside, dumbfounded that you had just all but bolted out. “Goddammit, I hate how sensitive she is sometimes.” Kuroo rakes his inked fingers through his already messy mop, contemplating over whether or not he should go try to console you because he knows. He knows why you’re upset and he knows just how in love you are with Hanamaki and he knows that having the girls in such close proximity always bothered you and their presence certainly wasn’t helping your situation. Being the friend that he is, Kuroo makes the decision to start clearing house, looking back knowingly at his drummer while shifting his eyes towards the three women on the couch. With a nod, the two of them make their way over, telling the girls that they need to have a private band meeting and that it was probably best they left.

Hanamaki is upset, far too upset to say anything to his girlfriend who is now being gently ushered out of Terushima’s home. The only thought that’s going through his head is what the fuck?

You’d been so goddamn testy lately, he can hardly joke with you any more without you getting your feelings hurt. As much as he wants to be upset over the fact that you just stormed out in the middle of practice, he’s more concerned than anything else. Typically, you hardly crumbled or cracked from being teased or goaded, you were used to it, enjoyed it even. It was the foundation of this band for fuck’s sake! But he also knew that you only succumbed to pressure when it’s been building for long periods of time, similar to a volcano on the brink of eruption or the way pressure makes coal turn to diamonds. Makki likes the diamond analogy better, he decides. Diamonds were much prettier.

The bassist hears heavy thudding pounding down the stairs to reveal two of the three missing band members, Terushima and Kuroo harboring tight-lipped grimaces. Every cell in the skin of their face reeked with knowing. “Alright, spill.” Makki deadpans.

“What are you talking about, man?” Despite the question, Terushima sits a few steps from the bottom of the staircase, resting his elbows on his knees and he fidgets with his hands. He’s anxious.

“You two know something that you aren’t telling me.”

“Sorry, Makki. It’s not our place to tell.” Kuroo says firmly, folding his fully inked arms over his chest. Everyone held protective qualities over you, especially after a certain incident in college that was never to be mentioned again, and Makki was no different. However, he comes to the realization that they’re protecting you right now and he’s not and it sets him off.

“Just fucking tell me, dude.”

“We can’t.” Terushima presses.

“The fuck you mean, ‘you can’t’, [name] just threw a fucking temper tantrum—“ the creaking of the stairs in front of him stops Makki in his rant, his eyes locking with yours. He sees the rush of defeat wash over you and the way your shoulders slump and he knows that he never should have opened his mouth.

“Go fuck yourself, Takahiro Hanamaki.”

“Wait, [name], that’s not what I meant!” But Makki is calling out to nobody but the shutting of Terushima’s front door closing for the second time in just a matter of moments. “Shit.” The strawberry-brunette hisses, winding his thin, ring clad fingers in his hair out of frustration. What the fuck was going on? It’s quiet in the basement, each remaining member of Elixir wrapped up in their own thoughts before Makki let’s out a sigh, piquing the interest of the other two. “Guess this is good a time as any, but could you guys do me a solid?”

You weren’t sure what upset you more: the fact that Takahiro called you out on having a temper tantrum or the fact that you actually did have one? How embarrassing to be twenty-seven years old, throwing a fit because your muse made a fucking joke. Pathetic. Now you were left in your empty apartment, looking over old lyric sheets in a futile attempt to get some form of rehearsal in, considering you walked out. You’d need to apologize to Teru and Kuroo at some point tonight, but at the moment, the only thing you felt like doing was sitting on your stoop and chain smoking until either your wrist falls off or your teeth fall out; you can’t decide which option sounds more appealing, so you move to sit outside until you find out which is more pleasurable.

Before exiting your apartment once again, you grab a thick leather bound journal that always resided on your living room coffee table and a pen, knowing that all of the thoughts going on in your head were one day going to form a pretty stanza for a song. It was a vicious cycle in which you lived in—bask in what semblance of relationship that you had with Makki, get hurt over the fact that he didn’t return the feelings he didn’t even know you had, lash out because you’re hurt, go home and write potential lyrics down, and pretend it never happened. Lather, rinse, repeat.

With a beer resting on the same step as your feet, a freshly lit cigarette in your non-dominant hand, and the pen in the other, you opened to the next blank page in your leather lyric book. Nothing you’re writing even makes sense, you’re sure of it. Just spilling your guts and heart out with paper the being the only thing to catch the mess. A beat comes into your head—typical for you when it came to the songwriting process—and before you know it, you’re gently humming along to the words you’ve written down.

Stop calling me out, we’re never going to Put the pieces back together if you won’t let me get better

“It’s pretty.” The voice startles you, throwing you into a frenzy of shutting your journal and trying not to drop it in the process. Unfortunately, the buildup of ash on the end of your cigarette wavers at the sudden movement, throwing the burnt filter and cherry onto your arm. You hiss at the sudden burning of your skin.

“What the fuck are you doing here, Hanamaki?” More like how did he get here, considering his car was nowhere in sight. But for now, that wasn’t your concern. You knocked over your beer. “Ah, shit.” You mumble, grabbing whatever’s left of the can and the rest of your belongings before trying to head inside, choosing to not hear whatever explanation he had.

“Come on, [name], talk to me.” No, you think to yourself as you retreat into your apartment, closing the door on the bassist. Preemptively, you tucked your journal away with your movie collection, thinking it was hiding inconspicuously among the dusty cases. You knew what he was going to do next and you had enough. Hadn’t you wasted enough of your life wishing he would look at you the same way you thought you looked at him? What was the point of it all?

The turning of your deadbolt signals you that Makki did in fact do what you thought he would, using his spare key to open the door you locked seconds ago. Hearing the clinking of more beer bottles, he takes long strides to your kitchen after he takes his shoes off. He knows you hated it when people left them on. “I’m not in the mood, Hanamaki.”

“Yeah, I’ll fucking say.” The aforementioned man isn’t playing games anymore—he’s tired of it. But he’s never been one to fight fire with fire, no. Makki’s always been the one to smoke his problems away, letting them dissipate along with the tendrils of his preferred poison. “Let’s go for a drive.” He says finally, despite your back still being turned towards him as you chugged the ale over your kitchen sink. The word sends a wave of nostalgia through you, suddenly missing the way his large hand would rest on your thigh, his free one pressing a joint or blunt to his lips. Thinking of those days alone could make you cry.

At your silence, you hear the gentle padding of his footsteps migrate away from you before returning, a heavy thud hitting your island counter. Turning around at the sound, you notice Makki has a book.

The book.

The book that harbors all of your deepest, most meaningful prose that eventually made its way to becoming a song. “Hanamaki,” you grit out slowly, moving like a cat ready to snatch its prey. “Put it back.”

“You’ve always been such a poet,” he muses, not even the slightest bit threatened as he flipped through the pages, soaking in every word of your neat print. You pounce towards him, ready to snatch the book back. But instead, he yanks it away from you, holding it as far away as possible while he has you right in front of him with your chest resting on the counter trying to reach for it. “C’mon, let’s go for a drive.” You never could say no to him.

Though, in hindsight, you should have. While the actions are familiar with you nonchalantly weaving in and out of suburban neighborhoods and Makki’s god forsaken hand is on your thigh and the right music is playing, it’s not right. Nothing about the two of you feels right anymore and you can feel your heart shatter like glass from your chest and sink right into your stomach.

He feels it too. He can feel the density of the air around the two of you and no type of high can distract him from the fact. But he tries to fight through it with arms metaphorically swinging because he misses his best friend. “You know I was joking earlier, right?” Is what he settles on saying as he hands you the tightly rolled joint. Without a moment’s hesitation, you take it from him and take a big hit, deciding you need the calm right now before you run from this situation too.

“I know, Makki. I know.” And you did. You know you did but you are also very aware that you’ve been so on edge lately that a leaf falling on the top of your car could probably set you off for no reason other than it had happened.

“You know?” The strawberry-brunette repeats with caution, taking back the spliff. “You know, and yet you tell me to go fuck myself and run off. Why can’t you tell me what’s wrong when everyone else knows? I thought we were best friends.” Accusations aside, you can tell he’s a little hurt at being left out. Technically, it wasn’t your fault that your friends weren’t as dense as you thought. They figured out your issue without ever having to tell them.

“Thought?” You decide to echo. “Are you saying we aren’t anymore?”

“Don’t fucking do that. Don’t fucking blow up on me and run away from me and then twist my fucking words because I can’t take it anymore.” You’re so thankful you’ve parked at the very back of a grocery store, away from everyone else so that they can’t hear the two of you right now. There’s no way you would be able to focus on not accidentally hitting a pedestrian at the moment.

“I can’t either.” Shaky breath fills your lungs as you opt for a cigarette rather than entertaining the idea of even touching the man to your right to take the joint back. A brief pause passes as you light the stick before you continue with broken sobs causing hiccups in your words. “I can’t do this anymore, Hiro.” 

Surely, you two aren’t talking about the same thing.

“Do what anymore?” Crying was always a weakness that Hanamaki couldn’t ignore and the moment you started, he unbuckles his seatbelt, turning to face you fully no matter how much discomfort was present because of his height.

“I can’t be around you anymore.”

“Bullshit.” He bites immediately, banishing the thought.

“Dude, I just can’t,” one more shaky breath passes your lips before you snap the bullet between your teeth. “Being in love with you for ten fucking years, writing stupid songs about you and pretending it doesn’t hurt? I can’t do it anymore.”

“Like it didn’t hurt me to write mine either? Who the hell do you think Growing Pains is about?” Despite your tear stained face and your red puffy eyes and how gross you probably looked at the moment, you stare at Makki completely dumbfounded.

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“You’re so dumb sometimes, [name].” A few tears slipped past Hanamaki’s eyelashes, but he’s laughing. Laughing and covering his face with his lanky hands that are no longer sporting a roach. “Why do you think I insist on singing the songs I wrote?”

“Because you’re a control freak.”

“Okay, no,” he deadpans. “I do it so I can sing to you, idiot.” Unsure of what to do with yourself in the moment that you’re still crying, listening to his confession, you grip the steering wheel in front of you with a death grip, burying your face into the backs of your hands. Beside you, Makki is still laughing, but his tone is light and airy—downright angelic, even. “Ten years, huh? Man, we’re both stupid.”

He wasn’t wrong.

Ten years of stupid, mutual pining that had no reason for existing in the first place. Ten years of crying over one another, thinking it was a bad idea to even attempt a confession. Ten years of playing and teasing to only make tension grow worse. A year of fighting simply because, eventually, one of you got lonely. A year of loneliness because the other thought they had missed their chance ages ago. “We are stupid.” You agree, mumbling into your hands still. “But wait, we didn’t meet in December.” At the realization, recalling one of the verses that the two of you had rehearsed just hours ago, you snap up to face your...best friend? The word didn’t seem to fit him anymore. He’s now sporting a cigarette in his right hand that he’d stolen from you, the rings on his index and middle fingers crushing the filter between them.

“My hire date was December eleventh. I met Momoka in February earlier this year.” It takes you a minute to realize what he’s saying—to process and comprehend it all. That must have been the reason she looked so confused earlier, because she knew that the dates didn’t line up. And if they didn’t line up, then the song wasn’t about her. Oh, shit. That’s kind of awkward.

“You sneaky bastard.” But the name of his current girlfriend brings reality back to the both of you. “Wait, you have a girlfriend.”

“Nah, not for long.” He sings out, a suspicious lilt in his voice signaling he has a plan up his sleeve.

“Makki...” you chide warningly. But before you can continue, he interrupts you.

“I’ve had enough, princess. No more games, no more playing around with each other.” The cigarette between his fingers is now out the window and his hands are on your cheek and anchoring you in place. Not that you have any complaints—for the first time in a long time, you’re able to stare into those icy rocks you love so much and actually feel the reciprocation.

Takahiro Hanamaki is not messing around.

[ Elixir « Growing Pains » A Part of Me ]

Let me know how you guys are liking this series so far? And what favor did Makki ask for?

Wanna see a specific character? Or a different head cannon? Want to see a whole story?

Send in requests!

[glossolali]

Dragon Prince S2 Liveblog

E1:

- eyyyyyyy hot aunt amaya and sunfire elves!!!!

- aw man I didn't realise how much I missed my little children and this show

- i forgot how beautiful the animation is damn... the aesthetics, the music.... 😍😍

- the moon nexus and magic makes me wanna pick up my world of warcraft night elf druid again

- Zym is so fckn cute aaaaaaaaa

- ummmm wtf that ocarina make moonshadow elves sleep???

E2:

- lmao these idiots (soren and claudia) are still pretty great

- "don't talk to me until I've had my hot brown morning potion" 😂😂

- they made pancakes?? i'm

- Claudia is exactly who I thought she was lmaooo "widdle baby dwagon"

- "do you always whisper when you're being judgemental" lmao

- damn those eye drops are pretty terrible viran should get a refund lol

- oh nooooo he knows :((( poor bb

E3:

- loool soren... this dumb boy "weep-ridden"

- ugh poor boy he's 14 and has to be ezran's father figure and protector now..... ugh

- i'm down for more shenanigans with soren and claudia joining the party but it sounds shady af

- Lujanne is so great lmao "it's been great having you desecrate this sacred place for the least few days"

- Well that went south fast

- AAAAAAAAAAA this is great lol they got plaaaaaayed

- Claudia's character is so good.. a goofy misguided powerful dark magic sorcerer... we love layers

- eyyyyyyy corvus is back

- who is this cool ass starry elf omg they're so sparkly and mysterious

- ugh why do coming of age stories always hurt so good.... callum :((

EP 4:

- yaaaay pirate adventures!!

- i'm a huge fan of human rayla too lmaooo

- it's not a real fantasy story if there's no sailing portion with a terrible storm lol

- yaaaaaassss sunfire elf queen!!! I stan already

- hmmmm going to be struck by lightning to understand the sky primal I don't know about that one

- oh shit Zym!!! 😱😱😱

- amaya going barefist against a fire sword what a fuckin badass

- FIRE GOLEM FORM!!!!!!

- damn I wanted that moon arch mage to fuck viren up :/

EP 5:

- Looool can't wait for this little queen to read viren's condescending ass to filth

- "it seems I am a crown without a n adult and you're an adult without a crown" BURNNNN

- wow the theatrics... evil drama nerd ok werq

- god callum please read the stupid letter... when he actually reads it it's gonna be too late lol

- ohhhhh their lil fam is so cute 💓

- we love a king concerned with social justice

- ooo h h nooooo bait is grey and sad and lonely :'( why did that make me tear up

- we love a couple that spars, while having a serious conversation!!!!!

- THERE'S MORE THAN ONE DRAGON

- soren is so dumb god...

- poor dragon :( humans are stupid

- ezran is so good :') hugging dragons :'')

- rayla is amazing... i love her

- DARK MAGICIAN CALLUM YAAAAAASSSS

- oh no soren :( ugh I feel so bad :( he's dumb but he's just a kid :(

- aaravos's little bug is kinda cute heh

EP I lost track sorry:

- yoooo we're gonna see some dark link reflection shit with callum

- Aaravos!!!! I love him already but I'm nervous about the "how may I serve you?" why would potentially the most powerful archmage we've seen so far be stuck somewhere and also be ready to serve any random person like a genie in a bottle....

- ohhh nnooo o ooooooh ezran 😭😭😭😭😭 he found out in the worst way and he's just a baby nooooo

- ugh soren 😭😭😭 "I'm glad I can't do anything anymore" fuck... poor kid

- this episode is coming for the jugular i'm ouuuuuut

- oof soren's trying so hard to be hopeful ughhhh h h it hurts

- all my children are HURTING and I HATE IT

- shout out to berto the parrot though "I have questions" and "i'm huuuuuuuge" lol

EP 9:

- i'm so nervous about viren having access to power like what Aaravos has...

- aw Claudia 😭 and ezran and callum 😭😭

- MY POOR LOVELY LOST CHILDREN 😭😭😭 i wanna protect them all 😭😭

- it's interesting seeing Claudia and ezran and their different relationships to nature and how to use it

- yaaaaaassss my boy found his sky magic again

- ah fuck Claudia went too far by healing soren didn't she......

- aw why is he leaving :((( and why does have to grow up so fast i don't like this

- ooooooh hh what is aaravos doinnnngggg I really really hope he's more chaotic neutral than he appears right now...

- AHA!!!! HE IS?? loyal to...... actually nevermind his loyalties are just confusing.. maybe he's just an agent of chaos

- Zym saves the day 😭😭😭 so cute 💕💕

- FUUUUUCKKKK cliff hangers are the worst

[scarletwitching]

I know you would probably hate this, but, what do you think makes House of M popular? How this comic cloud people's judgement? How it affect new readers/casual fans's views? What are the factors that draw people in and fixed their impression? Just some observation, some people seem to enjoy the touchy family "feels", some may just like heroes snapping(like it's so cool), and sometimes it's Power Parade(it's deemed disrepctful to say she is less powerful than someone else).

It’s popular(ish) in mainstream fandom because its effects lasted a very long time, which makes it seem important, and because it’s a mash-up of a couple of enormously popular and beloved storylines, Dark Phoenix Saga and Infinity Gauntlet, set in a then-new alternate universe. It’s two old things smashed together and combined with a new thing.

That’s the short answer. The long answer is… long, and it’s actually about the underlying reasons people are okay with some offensive stuff (because that’s what I wanted to talk about). I’m putting this under a cut so that, when people who don’t agree with me inevitably read it, I can link them to this.

There really is a country song for everything.

It maybe goes without saying, but this is a House of M post so it mentions, however briefly, the usual HOM-related subject matter: ableism, infertility, people on the internet glorifying genocide.

Everyone likes things that have somewhat unsavory elements or unfortunate implications. With superheroes, the whole thing is – forgive me – problematic. You can find meaning and value in parts of it, but something is rotten at the core. One of the uncomfortable aspects of speculative fiction fandoms is how terrible things become normalized. Because we’re only talking about fiction. That makes it okay, right? It’s tempting to parrot these notions of “good” queens and “rightful” kings or to go along with the canon logic that justifies violence and ignores the sovereignty of nations that aren’t the US.

I bring up that last one because, in modern superhero fandom, buying into the canon logic often means defending US imperialism under the guise of defending a specific character or story. There’s always a justification for it in-universe, so the way it relates to the real world becomes some extraneous detail that only a jerk would mention.

It’s the Thermian Argument. It doesn’t matter what the underlying message or consequences, however (un)intentional, are. It matters that I like Thing and any problems you find with Thing are the result of you not focusing on very specific details that make it “make sense” in the story. Remember the old Tumblr adage that you can like problematic things so long as you acknowledge the problems? I would just say you can like whatever so long as you don’t bury your head in the sand and scream, “It’s fine! You just didn’t pay attention to the story!!”

What I’m saying is that there’s a lot of justifying how bad literally every part of the story is by saying it all “makes sense” and so all criticisms are invalid. If a person is traumatized, it just makes sense that they would [waves at the entire story] do that. It’s very sad when your imaginary kids die, y’know?

The people who like House of M tend to cite its fetishizing gaze on women’s mental illness as a feature and not a bug. The fault in that argument is that, as far as I’ve seen, none of the people making this argument have Schizophrenia. Or Schizoaffective Disorder. Or any personal experience with psychosis whatsoever. At the very least, the vast majority of them don’t, so they’re not part of the group being misrepresented. ��

The issue of what is “good” mental illness representation is complex. Sometimes, people who are struggling or have struggled relate to characters who lash out or do destructive things. People can find solace in imperfect places. Everyone’s just trying to get by in this hellscape, and if a comic made you feel understood or just plain better in some way, that’s a good thing. But It’s a very “I got mine” argument to focus on that and ignore how those stories might affect others. You can’t reclaim something that wasn’t insulting you in the first place. I find the claim that there’s something universal about Sad Wanda Crying unconvincing given how emblematic HOM is of media representations of psychosis. If you’re not always being portrayed as a serial killer, the weight of this story will easily fly over your head.  

Then there’s the not-small matter that the people being insulted – really, specifically insulted – by HOM are groups that aren’t a big part of public discourse. The severely mentally ill and people with fertility issues. Not that those are on equal footing, but they both have a certain invisibility and the idea that something might be hurtful to them is treated as a joke. Reproductive issues are intensely personal, and most people want to keep them private. There is a lot wrong with media representations of infertility, but if talking about it means opening up about your experiences, it’s no wonder people don’t want to or are only willing to in a receptive space.

Also, I suspect a lot of people didn’t read the X-Men stories that came after and are viewing this entirely from Wanda’s perspective. There’s something narcissistic about sad, sad, sad characters being sad about their sad, sad, sad life. It invites the audience to focus on that one person’s struggles – often as a stand-in for their own problems – and ignore everything else going on. This is one of the critiques of “manpain” storylines. There’s a layer of self-involvement built in. Killed a bunch of people? But they were sad! Sad, sad, sad! We’ve all got problems, man. The world breaks everyone. Not everyone kills Hawkeye two different times.

This is particularly true in spec fic where every backstory is a trauma conga line. Your fave may have suffered, but realistically, so did everyone else.

Redemption arcs can have that air of narcissism too. Woe is me, I have done bad. If they get really self-obsessed, you get The Very Worst Kind of Story, the one where the villain is someone who has been wronged by the “redeemed” character and they want revenge. It’s a way of appearing to confront the damage done while actually minimizing it and discrediting the victims. Protagonist-centered morality to the extreme. Only Good Victims™ matter, and therefore, the redemption seeker is exonerated. All charges dropped on account of the victim turned out to be a jerk!

(That’s not what this post is about. I watched a movie the other day that had this problem, and it gave me a lot of feelings. It was Power Rangers. Leave me alone.)

Getting back to what I said at the beginning, the thing that bothers me isn’t so much that people like something I don’t like. I agree with Grant Morrison’s assessment that HOM is lukewarm at best, but I can still see why someone might like it. The bigger problem is how people like quote-unquote problematic things.

Which is to say oh my god, you guys have to stop acting like genocide is cool and badass. Finding a story valuable is one thing. Claiming that Wanda is so awesome because she can warp reality and wipe out all the mutants and “when will your fave” is another thing entirely. It is not okay to brag about genocide. Ever.

EVER.

Not even when you’re talking about fiction.

I know that saying a character is more powerful is the unquestioned trump card of comics fandom, but 1) that’s iffy in the first place and 2) it’s especially bad in this case. I used to think of the “my fave is more powerful than yours” dick-measuring contest solely as an expression of Boys Club thinking, something juvenile that celebrates physical strength above all else. But there is something more insidious to this logic. Saying that having more power – by which you mean a greater ability to commit acts of violence and hurt others – is the same thing as having more value is disturbing logic. The way that superhero comics equate power with goodness is part of why they’re considered fascist. Every time you indulge this fantasy that having more power makes something better, that power is virtue, the spectral form of Alan Moore appears and hurls copies of Watchmen at your head.

Buying into this furthers one of the worst messages in the genre. I’m not saying anyone who argues over which character is more powerful is a fascist, but this logic should not go unexamined. Why does it matter so much which character is the better at inflicting harm than all the other harm inflicters? You can use the cheap argument that they’re heroes and they’re doing good, but superheroes are, to a worrying degree, used as avatars of the US military. They’re only unblemished, pure-hearted Social Justice Warriors™ if you don’t pay attention to any stories featuring them.

And when you’re not just arguing that being powerful is better, but that the act of committing genocide is a key part of that superiority?? That’s beyond disturbing. How can people not notice how terrible that sounds? Outside of the narrative and the twisted reasoning of superhero comics, what are you really saying when you say that? Might makes right is questionable enough, but when the expression of “might” is ethnic cleansing?

Someone, please explain the thinking that leads to these posts. I’m lost in a flurry of question marks. What compels a person to declare, openly, that what’s cool about Wanda is that she got rid of all the mutants? How does someone conclude that glorifying genocide is okay because it’s a fantasy genocide? Why do thousands of people reblog these horrifying posts?

Why?

Why?

WHYWHYWHY?

On second thought, don’t explain it to me. I don’t want to know.

[words-writ-in-starlight]

Logan (x-men) and 1, 5, or 9 from the Stabby Starters. I can't decide. :X also feel better!

5: You’re the one with a blade at my throat, so you’re obviously upset.

For this ask meme!  Also, will probably make more sense knowing that I wrote this!  Some general dialogue shamelessly borrowed from X-Men Evolution.

So the girl’s good.

Logan’s an adult.  He can admit that much.  She’s small, even by his standards, and–wiggly, and she dropped out of a tree with a shriek like a mountain lion right on top of him, a blade at his throat before he could do more than grab the nearest available limb.

“Hey, now,” Logan says.  One hand is clamped tight around her ankle–probably tight enough to hurt, although she seems unbothered–and the other is drawn back, clenched into a fist.  His claws are sheathed, though, and he’d like them to stay that way.  She’s too small to be an adult–he works with a lot of kids, and he’s guessing fourteen.  Maybe fifteen, at the outside.  He’s not in a rush to play slice-n-dice with someone younger than Kitty.  Besides, his mouth will taste like blood for a week if she really does slit his throat.  “What do you want?”

“You’re Weapon X,” she hisses.

The snarl that rips itself out of his throat is involuntary and sounds inhuman, his lips pulling back thoughtlessly as rage threatens to roll over him like a storm front.  “I am not.”

“You are.”  Her grip tightens, one hand tangled in the longest part of his hair to expose his jugular.  It’s not a great way to cut a throat without an extremely sharp blade, the important arteries hidden under layers of taut tissue, but his skin parts like wet paper under her weapon, sending blood in a steady trickle down his chest.  If it was Logan, he could go through all that protective tissue in a heartbeat.  He’s sure this girl can do the same.

She’s shaking, he realizes, as if she’s holding back her own storm front by a hair.  Every muscle is trembling, although her blade is steady.  A breath through his nose says blood-rage-fear to his brain, layered over a scent that just doesn’t seem to register right.  Everyone has their own distinct smell, except for this girl, who seems–off.

Christ, but this would be a great moment for Charles, or even Jean, to sense this scuffle and intervene.  Logan isn’t really a good candidate for whatever this is.  He’s too much of a linear thinker–A leads to B, where A is a problem and B is violence.

He takes a deep breath, as best he can without pushing the blade deeper into his throat, and tries to sound like he’s in control when he says, “How about we talk about this like people?”

“I’m not people.”

Well, okay then.  That’s a starting point, at least.  “Fair enough.  Me neither, ‘cording to some.  You want to tell me why you’re upset, at least?”  A profoundly terrible thought occurs to him.  “Listen, kid, if I did something to someone–”

“I’m not upset!”  Her voice is high and thin and ragged, like something feral, like she’s barely forming words rather than just screaming until there’s blood on her teeth.  Like he used to be, right after he stumbled out of the lab.

“I mean, you’re the one with the blade at my throat,” Logan says evenly.  “So you’re obviously upset about something.”

She flips over his shoulders, lands crouched on the ground in front of him, and–  Listen.

He can’t quite find it in himself to blame her for cutting his throat on the way down.

Pressing one hand to his throat and coughing up wet mouthfuls of blood, Logan gets a good look at his attacker for the first time.  He thinks he was right about her physical age, rounds up to fifteen for the way she moves–like she’s been trained for years, for decades, to fight and kill as gracefully as possible.  She’s a few shades darker than he is, in what skin he can see revealed by her black combat gear, and wears her hair loose around her face.  Confidence, not idiocy–she doesn’t have a scrap of body armor that he can see.  

One hand is still outstretched at her side, fist clenched, and two shining silver claws streaked with Logan’s blood extend almost a foot from her knuckles.

Her face is still soft with baby fat, her chin pointed and her hairline different, but now, looking at her as she snarls up at him, he understands why he was having trouble pinning down her smell.  

The thing is, in order for someone with enhanced senses to function, certain things get edited out.  Their own heartbeat, their own breathing, the feeling of clothing.  Their own scent.

Logan’s memory of his past is fragmented at best–he has clear moments, even years, as far back as the turn of the 20th century, and he’s fairly sure that he hasn’t aged much in that time.  But for a long while, he knew his face better from pictures than from the mirror, people who had everything from daguerreotypes to Polaroids of some strange drifter, ageless and impossibly healthy.  He knows that when he was younger, when he looked less angry and exhausted all the time–he knows what he looks like, not least because people keep telling him–he looked a lot like this girl.

“Who are you?” he demands.  The words are garbled, the wound at his through not totally closed over yet and blood bubbling out of his mouth when he speaks, but she seems to understand.  He spits out blood, swallows a few times to check that his throat is healing correctly, keeps talking now that his windpipe seems to be keeping air in and blood out again.  “What do you want?”

“It’s your fault,” the girl says–screams, really, and she throws herself at him in a storm of claws and rage.  She really is good, but Logan is old and has fought a lot of people in his time, and without surprise on her side, it’s a short fight.  He catches her wrists like manacles and she throws herself against the restraint, kicks out with a spike, another claw, and Logan mostly dodges.  He thinks she bruised a kidney, but that’ll heal up.  He manages to get behind her, pins her arms behind her back.

“They upgraded since my time,” he huffs as she hurls her weight backward, trying to knock him off his feet.  He takes the blow in the chest and doesn’t move.  She screams again, wordless and blind and furious, hanging from his grip like a dead thing except for the way her spine shakes with tension.  “Hey, kid,” he says, trying to sound soothing.  He thinks he lands somewhere in the neighborhood of frustrated.  “Kid, can you tell me your name?  Can you tell me who sent you?”

“I don’t have a name,” she says.  It’s ragged and tired and broken.  “I’m Version Twenty-Three.  Weapon X-23.”

Logan fucking drops her.  She lands in a pile on the forest floor, hands and knees, and before she can get up again, Logan crouches down beside her.

“Kid,” he says.  “What did they do to you?”

“They made me,” she says.  “Fight fire with fire.  The–”  Her lips twist a little, behind the curtain of her hair.  “The upgrade.”

“They–”  Logan has to take a minute on that one, crush down the nausea before he can speak.  “They cloned you from me.  Cloned a bunch of you, I guess.  Pumped you full of adamantium and trained you up and sent you out here to kill me.”

“They didn’t send me,” she says dully.  

The logic of the situation stutters to a halt.  Not that it was really that logical to start.  

“Okay,” Logan says.

“I was the only viable clone,” she says, like she’s parroting someone’s familiar words.  “The others never made it through the adamantium process.  They were going to–”  Her voice breaks and she lowers her head.  “They were going to make more,” she whispers.  Then she sets her shoulders and clenches her jaw and glares at him.  “So I destroyed their lab and killed everyone inside and I ran away.”

Fuck.

“Okay,” Logan says again, the rest of her plan–not complex, but certainly very direct, frankly it sounds like one of his plans–becoming clear to him.  “And you came to find me.  To make sure I never helped them, one way or another.”

She nods, a tiny fragile movement.  “Because it’s your fault,” she says, her voice still small but absolutely unshakable.  “They made us and tortured us and killed us because of you.”

Logan sits down on the leaves beside her.  “Yeah,” he says.  “Because they built their perfect weapon and then it got angry and ran.  So they built a bunch more weapons and figured that since they had you your whole lives, you’d never think twice about doing what they wanted.”  He pauses.  “You did real good, kid.  Plenty of people would’ve laid down and died, not tried to take them down.”

She stares at him like he’s speaking another language, white-walled eyes and something like terror on her face.  “What?”

“You did the right thing,” he says, pretending that he can’t see her face, letting her pretend that she’s not afraid.  “Trashing their lab.  I’m real proud of you.”

She tries to punch him, a blind strike as if trying to hit his words out of the air before she has to hear them.  Logan catches her wrist and she falls into him like all that adamantium is too heavy to lift, all of a sudden, like her muscles have all gone weak and she can’t bear it anymore, and she screams into his chest like she’s dying.  He lets her, holds onto her shaking shoulders while she screams and screams, lets her clutch at his arms with hands that would break someone else’s bones, and waits.

It’s dark out by the time the girl, X-23, his should-have-been killer, is still again.

“You okay?” Logan asks her.  She pulls away from him, angry again–embarrassed, he thinks.  “You have a plan, past killing me?”

“Not really,” she says with a shallow shrug.  “Didn’t really expect to live through it.”

“I don’t kill kids.”

“I’m not a kid.”

“You’re, what, maybe twelve years old.”

“I’m fifteen.”

“Like I said, I don’t kill kids.”  She scowls at him and he pretends he can’t see her.  “If you want,” he says, “you can come with me, back to the Institute.  Get some backup, a warm bed, three squares a day, all that.”  She shakes her head, fast and violent.  “All right,” he says without concern.  “You can stay here, if you want.  I’ll come back.”  That doesn’t get a response, and he takes it as an affirmative.  “We’ve got to get you a name though.  Can’t keep calling you kid all the time.”

“I don’t have a name.”

“Don’t really have one myself,” Logan says.  “We’ll get you one.”

[chimericarchitect]

F: Velius had a fairly standard operating procedure for visiting new locations, and it was almost nuttily paranoid.  It did a pretty good job of keeping him safe though. The first thing he did with the coordinates he was given was plug them into his sendificator, and then scroll the viewport around a little bit.  Time to see where he'd be landing.

S: Depending on where he looked, it was either very dim or uncomfortably bright. The upper floors appeared to contain a fairly normal hive. Only one room really looked like it was lived in very much. The deeper he looked, the more like a lab it appeared to be, unusual apparatus lining the walls with cold light. Beyond the hive was a thick swath of trees.

F: Basement labs were his most and least favorite thing.  He tried to scroll far enough down to have some idea whether it was the kind of lab that dealt with juices in tubes, with living creatures as subjects, with dead creatures as subjects, or exclusively with machines.

S: It appeared to exclusively contain machinery, though there were luminous pillars of dubious content whose glow could not be seen through. Blank monitors lined the walls and the center of the room contained a spherical depression that occasionally arced.

F: Yeah, that looked like legit science shit that probably wouldn't piss off his moral centers.  Project 'Help Strangers' was good to go!  ... he zoomed back to the place the coordinates actually led to, found the pad the coordinates would match up to, and kitted himself up in a big ugly christmas sweater before transporting over.He was an inch or two shy of six feet tall, and the photos were accurate.  https://78.media.tumblr.com/9536398f8e9cd0f10a832a7f75ce4280/tumblr_osvhqrMNiO1uea4lso1_500.png (( + a set of bit ugly violet sunglasses ))

S: Saness was there by the transportalizer, waiting with impatient patience. She stood a little stiffly at a whopping 5'10" including horns. "Hey. Terrible?" (She's wearing something looser to accommodate her injuries and her neck is completely covered)

F: They were almost exactly the same height.  He might have an inch of advantage, but it was close.  He beamed straight back at her and stuck out a hand to shake.  "--Hey dude, how's it hangin!  I mean, aside from the obvious kinda shitty bits but like, you know!"

S: Hesitation dissolved at his chipper demeanor, eyebrows unfurrowing slightly. She shook his hand firmly, easing into a reciprocal smile. "It's hangin'. I mean, y'know. Nice sweater." His hair was quite a sight as well. "Formalities aside though, thanks again for coming over."

F: "Ayy, thanks, it was a present!  I collect these stupid things, holiday sweaters are fuckin great at like the opposite time a sweep, you know? -- an no problem, I like bein helpful an you seem cool.  So you should have some backup when shit gets naut so cool, right?" He had a severe tendency to talk with his hands, and it was already becoming clear.

S: His flapping hands to match his flapping jaw made him seem very approachable, but her smile slipped a little at the mention of backup. "Yeah." Unsure of what to say, she gestured at the staircase leading up, all business. "She's upstairs, if you're ready."

F: "Ready if you are --" He ran his hands through his hair, brushing it back behind his fins quickly.  "Might be able to do this with just a teeny peek, so she won' even know we're there probably," ..and, time to approach the staircase. He glanced back, pointing upwards then downwards, and then heading in the direction Saness indicated. Creepy sneaky sneak!

S: Okay, that was kind of funny. Saness smirked and allowed for stealth to take charge of their approach, leading him to the room with quiet footfalls. The room in question was close. From the doorway, a tall, narrow troll could be seen sitting listlessly on a stiff chair. She was facing away from the doorway, staring blankly at the wall. Saness looked at Terrible with a considering tilt, knowing that the woman in the other room wouldn't notice them even if they tap danced on her face, but completely willing to play along with Terrible's paranoia.

F: Terrible's fins lowered visibly at the sight of the woman in the chair, and the way she was listless instead of being singleminded on a task.  It was hard for him to imagine someone that just... ran out of go juice.  ... Aside from the times he did that to people on purpose to immobilize them so he could tweak their personalities, but he'd only ever done that to imps so it didn't count.  His eyebrows narrowed, and he squinted at her thoughtfully. ..alright, test number one.  He tried to loosen up his mind senses a little bit, and peek at just the surface layer of Mind Shit.  The emotions of people and things, whether there were minds present and loosely where they were if so.  If there were any ghosts or AI's in the room, that would probably register around now.  Likewise, if anything in the room was a lynchpin that could control whether the timeline branched one way or another, it might seem what he would refer to as 'shiny'.

S: There was no emotional response from the mind of the woman in the chair, if one could even call it a mind. It was more akin to a carefully covered hole, static and whispers; only the puppeted mockery of sentience remained like the last dregs of a dying battery. The only other presence came from Saness at his side, staunch hope warring with fidgety worry and reluctant resignation. Nothing stood out as being particularly "shiny" in this room, though if he was capable of sensing beyond it a great deal he would know that there was a catalyst of temporal possibility far below. Saness shuffled a little, unaware if Vel was doing anything at all but certain that he would make some sort of gesture if there was something he required.

F: He bit his lip and started whistling tunelessly through his teeth, fins twitching slightly.  His classpect was the active destruction of minds, but... mostly when he was doing it.  He wanted to reach out and try to save her, but that sounded like the kind of thing that got his brain bitchslapped by horrorterrors. He snuck closer as if she might actually notice anything around herself, cautiously peeking a little closer, careful not to touch her mind directly.  ..Still, he wanted to know if there was any sign of what had been puppeting her, or how it had started -- or, at least enough to recognize the traces this had left on her, so he could identify it in its earlier stages on other people.

S: Saness stepped into the room when Terrible began his whistling inquisition but didn't approach; not because she did not want to, but because she did not want to be in the way. She was curious and hideously concerned by his lip-biting reaction, unsure of what to make of it. The woman in the chair remained unmoving and unresponsive to his approach, but as he got closer he could see that she was... sagging. There was a weathered look about her, reminiscent of an aged tarp or worn pottery. Dull jade eyes remained still and steady, pupils blown wide in a devout study of nothing. The frizzling static remained as a blanketing force obscuring the depths of her mind from observation, but the undecipherable whisper of alien thought flicked up from below the fog tauntingly.

F: "...I think she met somethin bad, for one. ...an it feels... ...glitchy, like. Maybe trickster shit, probably not, but that's the only glitchy shit that comes to mind. I can't tell if they locked away the her deep in there, or if they took it out, but there's this shieldy kinda deal around the outside that's like.  Cloud cover."  He sketched a vague round shape with his hands, the top half of a sphere. "...I think there's somethin in there, under the cover. Not her, somethin else. Whatever happened to her, whether it's a creature or like. A physics thing. She won't get better without outside help, an maybe naut with it."

S: Saness listened closely as he spoke, banishing the crestfallen expression before it could fully form on her face. If he was still observing mind stuff, he would sense the acute crash of her hope as a different, colder emotion rose to take its place. Saness nodded curtly and looked to the woman in the chair, jaw stiff. "And maybe not with it," she parroted. "I see." The room was quickly becoming tense.

F: "...I'm sorry I don't have better news, but lies are shitty. The paths from here that are good for her are the crazy weird ones where interestin shit happens, not the borin ones where things go expected low-risk kind a directions."

S: She nodded again, fighting to relax. This had been a fact even before she knew it was, and now it was just another facet of life. "I get it. Kinda." It was tricky to find words that weren't worthless. "I'm not sure what she needs yet, but thank you. Nothing would change without... that first point." Focus. Be practical. She tore her glasses-masked stare away from the woman in the chair to continue addressing Vel. "Do you have any suggestions on where I should go with this information?"

F: "...I'd probably be a dumbass and charge into the fray to see if there's any a her left in there an if I could heroically swipe shit back into the way it should be, but I'm an optimist. More like, carefully, I'd probably start thinkin about what she was doin when her pan started gettin screwy, an see if I could figure out what caused it, an if there was an off button. 's the lab downstairs hers?"

S: Saness visibly wavered at the mention of the lab, frowning. "Yeah, it's... It's hers."

F: "..I'd guess the explanation's there. Or, you know, somethin that can do this.  ..unless she usually does a lotta outside-the-lab stuff."

S: "She gets out a lot. We've only been here a short while, but she's always been tech-y. Lab savvy. That's not... new."

F: "..so there's an amount of whatever did this, in her thinkbits, right now.  There might be more somewhere else that she was a while ago.  ...in the period where sh was gettin all distracted, what'd she focus on?"

S: "She stuck to routine the whole time, there was no real turning point. The whole change was... progressive. So she was just focused on..." She trailed off for a moment. "Her job. In the caverns."

F: "..so, if someone was doin spooky shit there, an didn't want anyone talkin about it, .. ?"

S: Nod nod. "Seems like an okay place to start." She rubbed the back of her neck with a grimace, still moving stiffly. It was vague, but it was something. "Really, I suppose I have a few options in regards to potential leads."

F: "I'm sorry about your friend. If I can help, I'm game. Even if it's little weird shit."

S: She considered the godtier limeblooded fish wizard that stood before her, offering him a half smile with drawn brows. "Thanks again for that. I can, uh, keep you updated. If you want."

F: ".. I'd like that."  He looked back at her for a moment, then stuffed his hands in his pockets.The worst kind of friend was the one that stopped responding spontaneously and you never found out why.  He loved helping friends not be that friend.  He figured that wouldn't be reassuring to say, so he managed not to.

S: "Well..." How many times could someone say thank you before it got redundant and annoying? She figured she'd already reached that limit. One last glance at the woman in the chair, then Saness was turning to leave the room, perhaps a little brusquely. "Is there anything I can get you before you go?"

F: "...Nah. ... If you need the like, life support shit she'd need to keep her body healthy, so you got longer to plan and try to decide what to do about her, I could probably hook you up."

S: She was walking and talking, stepping back into the room with the transportalizer. "Mm. See, the thing about that is she still gets up and like, follows her routine, eats and stuff. I should be able to follow her to the caverns without much trouble. I'll keep that in mind if her health goes south though."

F: He followed her back, fins at around half mast.  "Fair.  ..I'm glad she at least like, has part a her pattern left."

S: Nowhere left to go, Saness faced Vel in the dimly lit room. It was odd to see him looking so down. Droopy fins. A little wave of spiteful determination brought a terse smile to her face and she put out her fist for a bump. "She'll pull through. I'll make sure of it."

F: ".. Good luck, dude.  Catch you later."  He returned the fist-bump.

S: "Later, Terrible."

F: He tipped her a sympathetic wink, then disappeared via appearifier.

[nyxysabyss]

LEVEL HORIZON; YEAR TWO.80 1/2; Catalyst

Chapter 16!

Sometimes being a brother is even better than being a super hero. ~Marc Brown

 ~ Three Months Later, Winter’s End ~

“Kagayama! Get up!”

Yuu Nishinoya rolls over with a groan, his face planting into a warm, breathing pillow.

Shouyou’s always been like this. It didn’t matter that it was way too early to be awake, he was always vibrating with energy and irrationally excitable. It could be the fact that mom had made his favorite breakfast dish, or worse yet, made Noya’s favorite breakfast. It might be the first lily opening on the vine outside their doorstep, or he found a fascinating bug on the ceiling of their barracks, or he swiped a sweet bun from the sentry mess to share. Even that one time they’d gotten ahold of that bottle of sake as kids—even in the middle of a lovely hangover and a painful scolding from their mom, Shouyou had been stupidly bubbly.

He couldn’t keep himself awake much past sunset, but Shouyou’d be damned if he wasn’t wide-eyed and bushy-tailed at unholy hours of the morning. It’s ridiculous really; Noya doesn’t even mind mornings. But this is pretty much how he’s woken up for the last seven hundred years—a neurotic redhead dragging him out of bed before he’s ready to be awake. He hadn’t even needed the morning bell in the rookery barracks. He frowns slightly through the wisps of slumber.

He will take his adopted brother’s insanity over the sterile, cold rigidity of every morning of those six months after they’d fled, because Noya still hadn’t needed the bell. He’d always been half awake minutes before, expecting to be leapt on by an ecstatic ball of sunshine. And the realization that it wouldn’t be coming, that they had no idea what had happened to Shouyou or Kageyama, as he’d fully woken had always been… heartbreaking.

“Come on, Tobio! It’s snowing!”

Of course, there was usually always a reason for his psychotic exuberance—even if Noya would classify the vast majority of them as ‘completely insignificant’. But…the short crow’s eyes slide open, sleep scattering.

Snow?

The beach might frost over pretty good on occasion, and it wasn’t unusual for the stream to form a film of ice now and then, but it didn’t snow on the coasts. At least, it hadn’t through all three winters since they’d come to the beach. And considering that they’d migrated every year before that, the novelty of snow, real and cold and wet and falling from the sky… was foreign. They knew what snow was, had trained in the mountains in the spring before it had all melted, but Noya doubts any of them have ever really experienced it.

And in a heartbeat, he’s sitting up with excitement.

Shouyou is tugging on Kageyama with an electric smile, his whole body vibrating with energy, but Kageyama sits simply staring out the large window. Daichi is also leaning up on his elbows with an awed expression while Suga watches with a quiet smile from the doorway. Tanaka climbs to his feet, drifting toward the window with a slack jaw, and Noya follows him.

Shouyou is right.

Snow, light and wispy, drifts down among the palm fronds and sea grasses, a thin dusting already coating the sand.

“Isn’t it amazing?” The redhead says off his shoulder and Noya turns toward him with a grin.

“Yeah!” He says, his eyes darting around at the others.

Kenma is up, but Kuroo still appears crashed out, Yaku is blinking drowsily at them while Lev is nowhere in sight, the girls have disappeared, too, and Akaashi is sitting up lazily, but Bokuto is still snoring.

“Think we’d be able to get some down Kuroo’s back and survive?” He says conspiratorially as Kageyama climbs to his feet and rubs his eyes. Shouyou glances at him with big eyes.

“And survive? Eh... “

“Don’t count on it.” The muffled growl slides out from beneath the black cat’s pillow and Tanaka snorts.

“Plan B, Noya.” The short one grins up at him.

“Bokuto then.” He says, starting for the door.

“Leave the snow outside where it belongs, you delinquents.” Daichi says with a smile that’s half amusement and half warning.

“Hah? That’s no fun.” Noya complains.

“At least put on an extra layer or two. Snow means it’s cold outside guys.” Yaku grumbles.

“It’s been cold all winter, Mom.” Tanaka grins, and Noya returns to Asahi’s side as the russet cat scowls. The large crow is awake and sitting up, his dark eyes blinking sleepily at the short crow, and Noya latches onto his arm.

“Come on Asahi! We are going outside.” He says, hauling on his sleeve.

“Isn’t it cold out?” He says and Noya laughs at his glazed expression.

“It’s snowing!” He says and large crow’s eyes that are the same color as his own focus on him with puzzlement.

“Ano… snow?” He parrots and Noya grabs at the tie around his wrist.

“Yep! Come on, wake up. We are going out before it’s gone!” He says, stepping behind the large crow and pulling his dark locks back away from his face.

As he drags his fingers through the mocha strands so he can pull them into a pony, he marvels at the feel of them. Asahi was the only one who’d opted to allow his hair to get so long after they’d fled the rookery. Everyone’s hair had grown, but when it got long enough that it became a hindrance when they played Volley or during training, they’d cut it back. Maybe that is why he really enjoys the feel of Asahi’s sliding between his hands.

“You’d think you guys had never seen it before.” Tsukishima says, returning from an early morning bath.

“They haven’t really. They’ve always migrated.” Suga says with a quiet smile.

“Seriously?” Lev pokes his head through the door, his mouth full of grilled fish.

“We’ve seen snow…” Kageyama murmurs defensively as he helps Shouyou into a jacket.

“But we haven’t ever gotten to see it fall!” The redhead says excitedly, his body half flailing.

“I have. Oi. Give me your arm.” The crow setter grouses. Shouyou spins back to him with almond eyes crackling with bright exuberance.

“Really? When?” And Noya glances over at him, too, because he’s pretty sure he’s never seen it and he and their unit have been together forever.

“I was really little. My mom got me up in the middle of the night to see it. It was just flurries and it was cold and over in minutes and I was half asleep and hardly remember it.” He says with a frown and a slight gruffness, but there is reverence there and Noya can tell that that memory is precious.

“Actually… I think I remember my sister going on about something like that.” Tanaka says thoughtfully.

“Did all your parents toss the parenting book out the window? Who wakes their kids up when they are supposed to be asleep?” Yaku grumbles.

“Hey, mine didn’t.” Noya says petulantly as he ties Asahi’s hair. As he reaches for his jacket, he turns to Shouyou, his thoughts lighting up.

“Hey, we can play Volley! We’ve never played Volley in the snow before!”

“Oh! Good idea!” Shouyou’s eyes sparkle and he’s heading for the door before the short crow can say another word.

“Hey.” Kageyama barks with a scowl, catching the redhead by the collar and dragging him back. “You aren’t a crow.”

The redhead puffs up indignantly as he reaches for the redhead’s scarf which is of course, not on Shouyou and instead lies forgotten on the floor. Explaining that little detail in the wake of their big fight had been an adventure.

Shouyou had nearly gone ballistic, insisting that ‘yes, he was too a crow’, his agitation growing the more they tried to explain it. It was almost as if he’d perhaps known but never realized it, and bringing that fact to light somehow sent him into a panic—like they, for whatever obliquely idiotic and groundless reason in Shouyou’s head, would no longer accept him. Really, Noya had no idea how his thought process worked sometimes.

Perhaps he’d spoken up because Suga was his leveler and also not a crow, but Daichi had simply cut across the redhead and addressed the avian heir directly.

“Kageyama, does this matter to you in the least?”

The crow setter had blinked before frowning darkly.

“Why? He’s still Hinata.”

Shouyou had all but mentally shut down at the remark, quietly stunned at the other boy’s blunt candor. Needless to say, he’d grudgingly come to terms with it in a much more quiet and brooding revelation even if he still got prickly about it whenever it was brought up. Like now.

“I am too a crow.” He says with a scowl. Kageyama just nods.

“I know. But you’ve never taken the cold like us. Don’t get sick.” He says sternly, because there were plenty of times Shouyou’d come down with hellacious colds that had suddenly had an explanation. But there’s no real bite in the crow’s voice and Shouyou’s sour expression disintegrates.

The atmosphere charges in an instant and the room goes still as Kageyama winds the scarf around the redhead, Shouyou quite obviously having completely forgotten about the falling snowflakes outside as he watches him. And if that weren’t enough, Kageyama ties it off and then takes Shouyou’s face in his hands. Noya’s breath catches as the crow setter leans forward and gently brushes his lips against the redhead’s forehead as if the action were something he does all the time.

Except it isn’t.

The avian prince will cuddle and cater to the redhead, but kisses? Noya feels his spine straighten, and he can see the minor meltdown happening behind Shouyou’s almond orbs. And the redhead’s stare and pinking cheeks are what tips Kageyama off that he’s done something out of character, and the tops of his ears flush… followed by the rest of them and his neck.

And then, before his leveler can say something stupid, Shouyou erupts into pure euphoria, the smile that lights up his face quite possibly the most dazzling one Noya’s ever seen.

“Come toss, Kageyama!” He says joyfully, capturing the setter’s arm and nearly dragging him out the door. Noya grins at the look of resignation that briefly crosses his face followed by the smallest of smiles that Shouyou misses, and he doubts anyone else catches it as they disappear through the door.

“That was nauseating.” Tsukishima murmurs and Noya’s smirk turns feral.

“You better find something to help you with that, because I’m pretty sure it’s going to be happening a lot more from here on out.”

“Bout freaking time.” Tanaka laughs and even Daichi huffs with amusement.

Kageyama was ridiculously slow, but once he discovered that something ‘new’ was okay, it was like he’d gained a new ‘skill’— one he’d ensure that he’d be nothing less than absolutely proficient at like everything else he did. Noya’s smile lingers as he turns back to the large crow beside him. He’d been wondering how long it would take after that nudge last summer.

You’re his leveler. You shouldn’t lead him on.

At the time, Kageyama had looked at him as if he’d gone mad, but ever since he’d been hyper conscious of not only Shouyou, but the other level pairs around them. It was as if he looked at Shouyou differently, like he finally realized his feelings for what they were— most definitely not simply platonic. And from there on out, any interaction between the other level pairs that reflected his own emotions for the redhead had caught his attention.

When he’d noticed how Lev would step up behind Yaku and wrap him in a caging embrace, he’d begun increasing the level of contact he’d shared with Shouyou. The redhead had responded favorably and it had quickly led to the small spiker clambering into his lap any time the opportunity to do so presented itself.

When he’d seen Bokuto bring back a bunch of rapeseed plants from Sheru Bay’s market and prepare them for his leveler even though the streaked owl himself couldn’t stand them, Kageyama would sometimes make Shouyou egg over rice in the mornings and had made a point to bring back fruits for him when he would go on hunts. Shouyou would flush at the attention, but his smile was always that much brighter the rest of the day.

When Suga had rubbed out a sore muscle in Daichi’s shoulder, Kageyama had quickly honed in on the stiffness that had often been building in the tissues around the bones of the grounded avian’s developing wings. It had been a little awkward at first, but as soon as Kageyama’s hands touched Shouyou now, the redhead would melt under his care.

But even with all of those little things, Kageyama had still been overly cautious and reserved. Really, Noya had wanted to kick him.

When Shouyou had come to him complaining about his leveler in a sullen pout near summer’s end, he’d been ready to track the crow setter down and deck him until he’d figured out what had the redhead so sour. Kageyama had made something of a cutting remark about how much time Shouyou and Kenma spent together.

In the middle of the redhead’s rant of how stupid his leveler was being, Noya had laughed until his sides hurt, because his adopted brother had just proven that he could occasionally be just as much an idiot as Kageyama.

When he’d regained his composure, he’d told an even more put out redhead why a certain crow setter didn’t like how much he hung out with the cat. Watching comprehension dawn for Shouyou had been almost as rewarding as his instant mood shift, because a possessive Kageyama was another small step forward.

And then, not two weeks later, Kuroo and Kenma had finally sorted out their mess and completed their bond as a level pair. They’d promptly disappeared for a week thereafter and during said week, Kageyama had had something of an epiphany with what Noya had come to mentally dub ‘the incident’.

It had been completely unplanned, and Noya didn’t think they could have come up with a prank any better than the way everything had played out.

Akaashi had brought home a new mass of netting from the docks for a new Volley net as their old one was pretty much held together with the small repair ties after years of abuse, initiation for no less than eleven avians into Ground Volley, and an attack by an owl and a cat after one lark gone awry. They’d all learned to play on it, so the shabby old net was regarded with a fond reverence, but they’d been thrilled with the prospect of a new one.

It had still needed some work to get it put together as Akaashi’s netting needed to be cut down to the right size and then threaded with both the top and bottom ropes, and it had also needed the side panels to be marked out and anchor lines attached to the corners. They’d quickly drug it inside and set to work on it, the chaos of many hands all trying to help making it easy to miss that two pairs— aside from Kuroo and Kenma— were curiously absent.

Noya and Tanaka and Asahi had dragged the old net in, but Daichi had stopped them from pulling it apart to use pieces on the new one in the event they still needed it someday. So they’d measured it out against the new piece of netting and Noya had turned to Kageyama simply because he was closest, and asked him to get the spare rope that was kept in the room at the top of the stairs on the second floor. Most extra supplies ended up on that level, but almost no one ever ventured up there for any other reason than to retrieve one of them.

The avian prince had nodded without an ounce of hesitation, clearly as stoked about a new Volley net as the rest of them. Noya hadn’t spared his request another thought and had turned back to the pandemonium around the front room full of netting. He’d never expected things to go from chaotic to flat out vulgar.

There’d been a heavy thump that gave everyone pause before Kageyama had come tumbling back down the stairs, his limbs a complete tangle and wings absolutely useless to stop the descent. Shouyou had immediately abandoned the project to dart to his side.

“Kageyama!”

“What the hell?” Bokuto had said with a cocked brow.

No one had any further chance to speak before Yaku had come flying down the steps to his side wearing a shirt that was several sizes too large, closely followed by Lev who wore nothing. It was quite jarring, and everyone had frozen in place.

“Jeez, Feathers, you alright? You backed up so fast, and then we heard the crash.” The short cat had said kneeling beside the crow setter and redhead.

Kageyama had stared wild-eyed between the two cats, his face blazing red before scrabbling backward away from the russet cat. His eyes had quickly found the floor, his face going even more scarlett if it were possible.

“S-sorry. I didn’t—know…I was just looking for rope.” The crow’s voice had been small, timid, and it had finally clicked in Noya’s head.

In Tanaka’s apparently, too, because while Noya had taken a moment to process it, the bald crow had burst out laughing, huge rolling guffaws bursting from him. And then Noya had almost collapsed beside him, his own sides in stitches.

Lev had been stark naked, still at half mast, Yaku had been wearing very little beneath that over large shirt, and Kageyama had turned twenty shades of red. As the other’s in the front entry had made the connection and more snickers had joined them, the grey cat’s head had tilted.

“Rope? Did you have the same idea we did?” Lev had asked brightly, and Shouyou had slapped a hand over his mouth, but his wide-eyed laughter had bubbled up around it even as his face flushed to match his leveler.

“I’m out.” Tsukishima had said flatly, swiftly disappearing out the front door amid raucous laughter that only grew. The russet cat had turned crimson as well and spun on the lanky cat still standing on the stairs.

“Shut up, Lev! And put some clothes on, you idiot!” He’d snapped and a frown had creased the tall cat’s face.

“But you’re wearing my shirt.” He’d said and Yaku’d full on face palmed, a grimace settling across his features beneath his splayed fingers.

“But I’m not wearing your pants. Find them.” He’d growled.

“Is the rope still safe?” Tanaka had asked the russet cat between bouts of laughter, and the small cat had hunched his shoulders.

“We never touched it, you prick.” He’d grumbled.

All in all, it had ended up being nothing more than a hilariously unfortunate encounter, a happy mistake that was far more entertaining than probably ninety-nine percent of all the pranks he and Tanaka and Shouyou had pulled in the last three centuries. Noya still grins at the memory as he pulls his coat on now— the curious atmosphere Kuroo and Kenma had returned to had been quite entertaining to explain.

At the time Kageyama had out and out looked like he’d wanted to be absolutely anywhere else, but after the shock had worn off a few days later— though the crow setter still can’t quite look either cat in the eye— he’d grown almost pensive.

His gaze that always followed Shouyou would occasionally slip out of focus, his expression going unreadable. His cobalt eyes would dilate, his focus going far deeper than just observation and Noya knew he was contemplating something either very troubling or very crude. More than once, Noya had seen him reach for the redhead, only to freeze and withdraw, a chagrined look on his face or his ears tinging pink.

The small crow could put two and two together; this morning’s step forward had been only a matter of time.

He finishes hurrying Asahi into his coat and tugs him outside, the smirk still in place. He can’t wait to give that self-conscious idiot crap with every new bit of progress they make; after all, Kageyama has barely scratched the surface of physical intimacy and he colors so easily.

He steps onto the porch and has to pause, because the two bouncing the ball back and forth while they wait for everyone else to join them is touching in its own way. Kageyama still has that small smile in place, and Shouyou’s excitement is at a level it’s never reached this early in the morning before. Kageyama’s hands send high arcing tosses at the smaller boy who deftly pops them back to him in a smooth rhythm that looks as natural between them as breathing. Every time Kageyama looks at the redhead, his royal blue eyes crease with happy content and every time Shouyou looks at the former avian prince, his almond ones straight up sparkle with joy.

Noya can hardly believe how obvious they are.

Yaku had been right. Once he got around to it, Kageyama’d move mountains to make sure Noya’s adopted brother was safe and happy. He silently thanks the russet cat and his leveler for that last little push, no matter how unintentional and embarrassing it might have been for all involved. He tips a mental nod toward the avian heir.

Best of luck to you, you emotionally stunted and obstinate idiot. You fuck up, I’ll kick your ass.

 Level Pair ; Chapter 1;  Chapter 15; Chapter 17

A/N:  Ah, so here we go, FLUFF! I've been waiting since like, chapter five to post this one b/c I think it is actually quite adorable. And a dose of 'brothers'. I have five. And a sister. My siblings were truly a blessing, and I treasure every one of them. That said, I don't think I ever want kids of my own, lol

ALSO. Very NOT subtle sexual reference. I'll see myself out now. Have a fantastic evening guys!

[rollinbrigittenv8]

5 Weeks in Las Palmas de Gran Canaria (A New Experiment)

Wandering Earl

On the wall is some graffiti that I can’t make much sense of. I think there are small round robots buzzing about, working on computers and talking on the phone. The table where I sit is long and white. There are four of us sitting here, laptops open, yet eight seats still remain empty. Inside this space it feels modern and industrial, yet welcoming enough, with wires hanging form the ceiling, a minimalist design and a front door that opens with the use of an app.

Outside plastered on the wall across the street is an advertisement for rum, next to a brown door that leads to a currently closed nightclub. In front of the wall and the door stands a tall green parking meter on the sidewalk.

How did I end up here in the Canary Islands? I hear a coffee machine rumble in the back of the room. There is a small yellow wooden duck on wheels only inches from my laptop, its black dot of an eye staring me down since I got here. It is the duck that won’t stop asking me how I ended up here. A middle-aged man with a worn out backpack, holding in his hand a salad in a plastic container, straight from the supermarket, just walked in to the room and sat down across from me.

I need to pee.

It reminds me of high school. Not the duck or the salad or the robots. The need to pee. Too often would I be at a high school party or a gathering at a friend’s house and despite the need to use the bathroom, I would just remain seated on a sofa or chair, for minutes, hours actually. My fear was that I would stand up, walk across the room and trip over my own two feet. And people would laugh. So I wouldn’t get up.

I’m more confident now of course. If I need to go, I go.

Sometimes the thought crosses my mind at the most random of moments, the thought that I’ve been traveling for 18 years. The funny thing is that no matter how long that thought stays in my head, a half a second or ten minutes, it always leaves my eyes ever so slightly covered in moisture. They are not tears though. It’s an impossibly thin layer of wetness that appears and then dries up almost immediately afterwards.

Is it a quick wash of these old dusty eyes? I like to believe it is the flash of a transparent curtain that marks yet another scene in this never-ending adventure.

Scene #4281: 5 Weeks in Las Palmas

Yes, this current scene takes place in the Canary Islands. I’m hunkered down in the town of Las Palmas on the island of Gran Canaria. We’ve rented a large apartment near the ocean, for five weeks, five whole weeks in Las Palmas, rented on Airbnb for 1000 Euros. A routine, a closet for my clothes, a renewed dedication to my push-up regimen, a sea breeze as soon as I walk out the door and two extremely chill pugs sitting on the street corner that I look forward to seeing every day.

Our apartment is far from being homey though. A couple of hallways and empty spaces too many, cold areas that seem to serve no purpose. But my stuff is scattered around nonetheless and this apartment is slowly becoming that place I return to and which I recognize. How odd indeed.

Only two small blocks from our pad on Calle Fernando Guanarteme is where you’ll find Playa de las Canteras. Sometimes I think I need the beach to be happy. It’s a golden black beach here, far from the white sands we dream of, yet it’s still an ideal location for an hour or two sprawled out on my cheap beach towel, Kindle in hand. Low constant waves, cool and lightly tinted turquoise water, topless sunbathers, flocks of surfers, views of the town and distant mountains whenever I sit up and look around.

Behind the beach sits the long boardwalk, the Paseo Las Canteras, that stretches perhaps two miles from the funky-looking Auditorio Alfredo Kraus in the south to Calle Prudencio Morales in the north. We walk much of this boardwalk every day. It’s alive with tourists, locals, cafes and bars, the occasional street performer, runners and groups of friends. I like the energy in the evening, the low lighting, the chatter, the boom of the waves.

The boardwalk is our real base. It’s the foundation of our stay here so far and unlikely to change over these five weeks in Las Palmas. There won’t be a day that we do not stroll upon it, at least once.

Fresh seafood, tapas of all sorts and home-cooked delights are found on every corner in Las Palmas, along the water, in the small, still lanes, on the main avenidas. A table on the boardwalk, a bottle of local wine, paella for two. 20 Euros. Potatoes arrugadas con mojo with grilled octopus, some grouper and a plate of fried cheese. 20 Euros. And satisfying. La Taperia, a cozy restaurant that we blindly entered on our first night, has proven to be a favorite. La Tosca Lonja around the corner served up Spanish seafood in divine form. That alluring Spanish flair helps of course, from the surrounding architecture to the bustling about of the dedicated waitstaff to the loud conversations that hum like meditative chants.

On Saturday we went for a long afternoon walk. One and a half hours each way. Through the commercial center of Las Palmas and along the other coast, the more residential and affluent section, with its streets loaded up on villas, private schools and language institutes. Twenty minutes later and things shifted. A bit darker, a bit more rundown, with people just sitting on the curb smoking their cigarettes and giving us a quick, grumpy ‘what’s your deal?’ kind of glance. And then another street crossed and we found ourselves in the most quaint and atmospheric neighborhood yet, and we cut straight through it along the overly pleasant pedestrian lane of Calle Perez Galdos, with its sense of art, active residents, attractive eateries and charming street lamps.

Las Palmas has it all.

After some time lost in conversation and smiles, we came upon an old, blue, mint condition palace. It’s now a music conservatory. We passed a small park with a colorful playground. And then a Burger King and the Catedral de Santa Ana before we landed on the steps of the Casa de Colon, right among the weathered, empty structures and narrow passageways of Vegueta.

We spent an hour wandering this museum, sprawled among four historic, connected Canarian homes, all while learning about Cristobal Colon, or Christopher Columbus. We also battled two giant parrots that fiercely guarded a courtyard leading towards the exit. Columbus visited the Canary Islands on several occasions. The first time in 1492 in order to stock up his fleet and fix a rudder on the Pinta before heading off towards the unknown. It appers he spent several weeks in Las Palmas too.

Columbus seemed unable to sit still. Each time he returned home from a voyage, he soon set off for yet another.

I also have trouble sitting still. Maybe that’s why I worked on cruise ships at one point. The constant journeys to New Worlds. New Worlds to me at least.

When I stay in one place, I do get anxious. It’s as if my body and mind still think we are constantly on the go. They get confused by the closet with my clothes inside, by the sight of the same bed for more than a few nights, by the lack of urgency to explore. As I attempt to sit quietly, they instead shout, “Do this, do that. We must do and see everything there is to do and see here by this Friday.”

Not this time. We will visit the neighboring island of Tenerife in due time. We will drive around Gran Canaria, climb mountains, visit villages and get lost, oh yes, in due time. We have plenty of that now. Time. And my body and mind will have to learn to live with it.

Last night on a stroll through the lively Parque de Santa Catalina I actually saw two cruise ships docked in port. As always, I was nostalgic for a few moments as I recalled my old teammates from around the world and those quiet times when I just stood on the open deck watching the flying fish and wondering what lay beyond the horizon.

But these two mighty vessels I saw yesterday, and all their passengers, would of course be gone by morning, without me. As would the flights and buses and trains of the world.

Now I shall stay put. An exchange of New Worlds for New Experiments.

And what better place to give this a shot than Las Palmas. Life is easy here. You can enjoy your surroundings within minutes of arrival and there really isn’t much to worry about. Food, people, atmosphere. Easy.

My eyes have watered again. 18 years. I feel hungry right now as I sit here at the Coworking Canary Islands location in Las Palmas. The one with the robots on the walls and the long white table. And the duck staring me down.

I start to think of volcanoes and ferries. But then I think of making a salad in my kitchen.

This is me trying to make sense of being a traveler in one place for some time.

I think I can handle five weeks in Las Palmas. I’m excited to find out.

Thoughts on slow travel? Have you been to the Canary Islands?