[ open ] kaveh's permanent catch-all

[fussiest]

WHO: kaveh (fussiest) & y'all!
WHAT: this is a perpetual catch-all for kaveh because i'm too lazy to make a new one every month. this is for closed starters, tag-ins, visits to kaveh's workshop and the like! be wild! be bold! be free!
WHERE: all around the city, and especially at kaveh's workshop, the pairidaeza architectural design studio in district 1
WHEN: everywhere! everywhen! all at once!
WARNINGS: bickering, probably - everything else will be warned for on a thread-by-thread basis

Comments

[abstractart]

You know I can't be glad it's you, though.

[he shouldn't be ready for this. shouldn't have to be. but a story that's already written has an ending determined for it: in this one, three individuals who care for each other ultimately have to sacrifice one of them to preserve the existence of all else, and in this one, he couldn't kill midnight twice.

in this story, he leans in with his lips already smeared a little bit red, breath warm against kaveh's neck, midnight's hand held tight to keep him grounded. one more time, he reaches for the lines he knows are there.]

...'then give yourself to me, and to the heart of the world. May rivers flow from your blood, forests grow from your body, and life spring from your soul; for I am the conduit of that heart, and through me will you reach it.'

[in this story, the one he plays cannot bring himself to say i love you, i'll miss you, i can't.

the goodbye is only this: his fangs piercing flesh a second time, a little of midnight's lingering blood mixing with kaveh's as he begins to drink, his pace measured despite the struggle of keeping it that way. a steady, easy drain that he'll keep up until he feels kaveh begin to go slack, until he has to work harder at it.]

[unrequite]

[ Midnight does very little from this point. He carries them both well, he keeps them both warm, even when the strength in Kaveh's wings finally fail and begin to lower. He does not let go of Netzach's hand, nails biting into his skin if he sees him falter, thumb stroking tenderly over the back of his fingers. In Kaveh's ear, he hums that song one more time. Young soldier, young soldier, come home.

He is here. There is no past, no future. When the temple crumbles, the sky falls, it's a snapshot of irrelevant beauty that means nothing. There's only this: warmth, hands, his blood and his blood on their mouths, their lips.

He closes his eyes and continues to sing. ]