Remember_NiaClo
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Summary
This is how Kaveh grows up—well-loved and loving, with a pencil in his hand and starlight in his eyes. This is how he grows up, until his father leaves for the desert one day, and never comes back.
kaveh, through the years.
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Tommy was handed a small flyer in printed in black and white, with the words “POETRY NIGHT - OPEN MIC” splayed across the front in bubbled font. He fumbled with his binder as he took it, eyes wide as he said, “are you sure? I mean, I love poetry and all, but I don’t think-I’m not sure—what if I can’t write poetry?”
Mr. Sam’s dark eyes softened, and he reached out to place a hand on Tommy’s shoulder, squeezing it gently. “Everyone has to start somewhere; every poet, from me to Rudy Francisco, started off without knowing a clue about what we were doing. Tommy, it’s not about if you can or cannot write poetry, it’s about if you want to.”
or:
The performance poetry AU in which Tommy joins a slam team and finds a home in the arts. -
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The room is too bright.
It’s quaint, in a nauseating sort of way. Polished floors glint from the gleaming honeycomb chandeliers overhead, make him squint. A few vases sprinkled here and there, filling the room with a sickeningly sweet scent – even a waffle-cone headrest framing the silken sheets of a neatly-tucked bed. Outside, the golden sun gleams, the gentle rays of light spilling past curtains that waver in the afternoon breeze.
It's meant to be beautiful. Luxurious. Welcoming.
With one sweep of his cane, Shadow Milk tears it apart.
[[ Completed ]]
Series
- Part 1 of Jamma Jambound's SDVN works
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"So, what great building did our master architect work on this time?"
Nothing. Four days ago, Kaveh thought he would never work on anything again.
"Where were you when Sumeru needed you most?"
Dying.
(Or: the one where Kaveh was born with Eleazar)
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Jack groaned and threw his hands out in exasperation. “Did you hire this guy just to piss me off or something? Is this about last week's token incident? Because I swear it wa—"
“—First of all, not everything’s about you,” Steven butted in, shutting Jack up. “And second, you could use the help— I could use the help.”
And before Jack could even get a word in edgewise, Steven rattled off, “You’re always talking to yourself, the kids don’t like your attitude, and you don’t even know our token to dollar exchange rate.”
Jack didn’t see his point. “So?”
Steven did not dignify him with a response. “His name’s Dave. Dave Miller. And he’s coming in later today, so be nice.”
or,
Jack Kennedy finds himself reluctantly holding a soft spot for his weird, new, purple coworker.