fussiest: (Default)
manic pixie dream architect (it's kaveh, sorry) ([personal profile] fussiest) wrote in [community profile] citylogs2023-09-23 02:09 am

[ open ] kaveh's permanent catch-all

WHO: kaveh ([personal profile] 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



badfeyth: (📚 before our dreams started)

[personal profile] badfeyth 2023-11-12 01:58 am (UTC)(link)
That's a logical fallacy. I know which one it is, I just don't feel like coming up with it right now.

[Thus comes the painfully sweet whalesong of someone determined to die on a figurative hill for literally no reason other than that they want everybody to know they have no intention of leaving it except under duress. Or something. That could be a fascinating metaphor after a few edits and revisions. Maybe some tightening up in the end bits.

It's just uncomfortable, is the thing. Misery is more bearable when you can at least have the consolation of being right. Kaveh wants to take away the part about being right and ask her to roll the dice on escaping the misery. She wants to cling to it like a safety blanket. This stopped being a reasoned and methodical and logical argument a long time ago, and she hates that, too. Hates the way emotions make her feel like she's floundering. Hates the way it feels like he's pried off the guardrails to repurpose them for his bridge, and wants her to drive across without them regardless.]


I don't know — this, what I'm doing right now. What I'm living. This isn't my story. My story died ten years ago.

[She closes her eyes. Shakes her head a little.]

I'm not part of yours, or Netzach's, or anybody's. They didn't name me Ghost because of that but that's what I ended up being. Halfway in-between. Haunting a narrative where I don't actually belong.