#kaethan

The attack I meant to do today. Yesterday. The idea's been in my head for a while. When the artist that can't do noses tries to make art of the characters that belong the artist that makes the prettiest noses.

The Urge was gone now and Kaethan was staring into Kelrath’s eyes.

Kaethan wanted to ask him if he was ok, if he had been present for the conversation, but the look on Kelrath’s face killed the words before they could leave his lungs.

He’d forgotten how close they were in age.

It always seemed like Kelrath had everything figured out, like he’d seen so much of the world, that he had so many years on Keathan—he wore that experience in the eyes, in his posture, in a put-together don’t-fuck-with-me attitude. But in this moment there was none of that on his face—eyes glassy, breaths shallow, shoulders shaking—He looked so young.

“W-why would you tell him that?” Kelrath said, his voice almost unrecognizable. He wasn’t speaking to Kaethan. The careless words the Urge had told Kaethan—secrets buried so deep, never meant to be unearthed…

“I know you don’t want me to say anything,” Kaethan said slowly. “So tell me what to do.”

Kelrath’s eyes shifted onto Kaethan, like he was just noticing him.

“Tell me what to do, Kelrath,” Kaethan pleaded.

“Get away from me,” Kelrath said.

Kaethan had barely rolled off of him and Kelrath was already to his feet, buckling his belt, pacing the floor.

“Ah, fuck— fuck, fuck, fuck—” he was saying then slammed his fist into the wall, then his own head, over and over, sick hard thuds.

Kaethan hadn’t felt this familiar panic in a long time—not since he’d lived with his father. The shortness of breath, the too-fast pace of his thoughts. The desperate searching for a solution, anything to stop the situation from spiraling out of control.

Don’t cry. Don’t cry. It’s always so much worse when you cry.

“I’ll just forget I heard it!” Kaethan said desperately.

Kelrath swerved to face him, laughed incredulously. Blood trickling down from his nose and into the curve of his mouth.

“Forget it?” Kelrath asked, pupils unfocused. “You who watches everything I do, parrots everything I say, wears my clothes, sleeps in my bed, remembers I take one fucking sugar in my coffee, no milk? I should just fucking kill you,” Kelrath said. “I’m gonna have to now, aren’t I? Save myself the galling, suffocating humiliation of seeing the pity on your fucking face!”

“It’s not like that,” Kaethan said. “I don't pity you, I promise, it's not like that.”

Kelrath moved toward him, his gait was unsteady. “Or maybe you think we’re alike now—you and I—both victims of violent men with violent hands—maybe you think this should make us closer, that you understand how I feel. Is that what you think?”

Kaethan knew better than to answer.

“The me you think you understand now? I killed him too Kaethan, just like I killed my mother when she figured it out, just like I killed her friends. So there’s no one left for you to sympathize with. He’s dead and I’ll never be him again!”

“Ok,” Kaethan whispered, because he didn’t know what else to say.

“You should really run now,” Kelrath said.

But Kaethan didn’t move. “You can do whatever you want to me,” Kaethan said.

Kelrath laughed again, but it was an awful sound, desperate, fractured gasps.

“You don’t know what I want, Kaethan,” he said darkly.

“I don’t care,” Kaethan said.

A flash in Kelrath’s eyes and then Kelrath had him by the wrist, yanked him in close. Kaethan could feel the other man’s breath on his face when he spoke.

“Don’t you have any self-fucking preservation in that empty little skull?” Kelrath snarled. “No wonder your father kicked the shit of out you—you don’t put up any fight. Or do you like being a vapid little prey animal—dumb and pretty and dead in the jaws of someone stronger than you?”

Kelrath’s grip, tight around his wrist, tight like his father’s, one easy twist away from pain. Kaethan couldn’t move if he wanted to.

Kelrath leaned in closer, nose to nose.

“You don’t get it—You still think I’m nice, that I might spare you. This isn’t an either-or situation anymore. When I say run, I’m giving you a head start. Cause I’ll do worse than he ever did to you, I’ll break more than just your wrist. I’ll do some real fucked up shit Kaethan. So you should run. You should get your shit and leave. Get dressed and go. Right fucking now.”

Kelrath released his wrist, leaned down to pick up Kaethan’s clothes from the floor, shoving them into his chest. “Right now, I mean it.”

Thanks for the tag @citruskushh this was super fun!

First one is mine, can't go anywhere without a pack of gum and a notebook. I'm probably leaving places with at last one cool rock

Thought I'd do Kelrath and Kaethan's next. Kelrath doesn't even carry a bag but I couldn't remove it in this picrew; he just fits everything in his pockets and has a notebook in his car or the tour bus at all times. Not pictured is a pack of Djarnum Blacks and some loyalty card from his local coffee place. Kaethan's bag is just mostly a mess of old receipts and snack wrappers.

And then Travis's and Hunter's. Lots of paper scraps with lyric ideas in Travis's. There was a time where everything he owned was in his backpack. Not pictured in Hunter's is a pocket knife and other supplies, he's ready for anything at a moment's notice lol. Flip phones for both of them since their setting is in the early 00s lol

lots of VIP passes in these since these OCs are all in bands lol

Wanted to make a new cover for my 2 Durges fic "When Madness Comes Knocking" 🩸💀

The Urge was meant to be a gift from Kelrath’s unholy father, Bhaal. Was promised to him, to be borne by him and him alone. So when he comes face to face with a young man also under the Urge’s thrall, another crafted by Bhaal’s hands, it’s a complication Kelrath never expected.

Is it a test from Bhaal? Or merely the god of murder taunting him. Worse still, Bhaal forbids him from killing the boy; Demanding of his chosen to stoop to becoming a teacher instead, to mold this boy into an heir worthy of Bhaal’s gifts.

And all the while, the Urge’s madness claws at Kelrath’s mind demanding the boy’s blood, his death, a boy he’s forbidden to kill…