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@eliotwoah
SO, after a lot of thought (and horrible activity), Iâve decided to move my muses to onemulti-muse blog. This will include Eliot !! If we were doing any threads or plots here that youâd like to continue, just let me know over on the new blog (though itâs been a while so Iâd be just as happy to start over on something too)!! This is where youâll be able to find me now :)
SO, after a lot of thought (and horrible activity), Iâve decided to move my muses to onemulti-muse blog. This will include Eliot !! If we were doing any threads or plots here that youâd like to continue, just let me know over on the new blog (though itâs been a while so Iâd be just as happy to start over on something too)!! This is where youâll be able to find me now :)
soooo -- my eliot muse is kinda not here/feeling discouraged. iâve been trying to focus my mind and figure out if thereâs another muse yelling at me (hence the jump back at my roman blog lmao). so while my eliot muse figures out his identity crisis, iâm going to be working on revamping my gale blog. :3Â
tag yourself iâm the distressingly scenic background
Iâm Jason, avoiding being photographed.Â
Iâd like to be Arjunâs chest hair
a smol update here: i have muse for eliot, but itâs slow coming and fairly particular. memes are a great place, and pretty much anything is up for grabs. however, iâll also be hanging out over here ! :)
               hungry for the kill                      but this h u n g e r,                              it isnât you.
i made eliot a rainbow for pride bc iâm cool too ;)
reblog this if you actually like following me.
vencficas:
reblog this if you actually like following me.
vencficas:
reblog this if you actually like following me.
vencficas:
ok but honestly what if i did make a blog for owen grady... ... ...
aimovoriia ; rabastan
Rabastan moves across from Eliot and presses his back to the other side of the alley, arms crossed over his chest. He feels more solid, and less like the world is being ripped out from under him. âYes,â he answers. He scrubs one of his hands over his face and takes several deep breaths. âIf youâre an imitation, why change it? My brotherâs English, and if someone wanted to make a copy of Rodolphus, why make it so unbelievable?â But of course, that only leads to the conclusion that something else is going on. âAnd it sounds fucking weird. Itâs his voice, his face, but itâs justâŚwrong.â
He shakes his head. âI donât care about your life story, Eliot. I just want to know how old you are and where youâre from. If youâre my brotherâs age⌠Look, thereâs a lot that plays in to this.â He sighs and shakes his head. âI get like this all the time. ItâsâŚ.people. Crowds especially. It makes me sick.â He didnât usually just say it like that, but itâs one of those times he canât bring himself to care about admitting it. âI canât handle being touched. But with you it doesnât bother me, just like it doesnât with him. That makes four people in the whole world who can touch me at all. Thereâs magic involved, has to be.â He canât think what else would be capable of this.
He still feels dizzy, so he leans down and puts his head in his hands, elbows resting on his thighs. âWhat do you care?â he asks, though not maliciously. He simply doesnât understand. âYouâre not him. Iâm nothing to you, as youâve said. Why bother with niceties?â
    Eliot shakes his head, beginning to find the irritation with this whole situation. âBecause Iâm not an imitation.â He takes a breath, an attempt at patience again. Heâs not trying to be curt with Rabastan anyway -- itâs clearly not his fault in any regard (unless it is in fact some asshole prank, in which case, fuck him). He frowns, sighs again, and shrugs. Itâs hardly going to hurt him to tell someone heâs never met? He supposes not. âIâm from Indiana.â As usual, he seems to have some kind of trouble admitting this aloud and pauses. âI currently live in New York. Been there since I finished school. Iâm twenty-three now. Anything clicking for you?â     He frowns, one bit of personal information in exchange for another. âHuh...â He slides his tongue across his bottom lip, imagining for a moment. Eliot would hardly categorize himself as good at comforting others, but when it happens, his typical method is based on touch. Quentin, heâs noticed, is also not exactly a fan of physical contact, but not nearly to the point of becoming ill over a crowded space. âWell that kind of fucking sucks.â He shuts his own brain up before it can start to wonder about how he gets laid.     Eliot shrugs, crossing his arms over his chest. True, he hardly has any reason to be kind. More often than not, heâd be telling this stranger to go fuck himself. âWhy not, I guess. Itâs a weird as fuck situation. Youâre not exactly nothing anymore, are you? Besides, all Iâve got to do is go back to school and drink myself into oblivion.âÂ
High King Eliot ⢠The spectacular
qÂ
    For a moment it feels like the entire rest of the world stops spinning. Eliot isnât shoving him away ( after all, Q seems to always be the one to do the shoving ), and theyâre still â theyâre still kissing even when he thinks the world is going to bitch slap him in the face like it always seems to. Eliotâs nimble fingers tug at his waist and Gods this is literally the closest to Heaven his undeserving ass is ever going to get.
    And then it stops again. He should have REALIZED it would stop, but somewhere inside of him he thought that maybe this was where the real world stopped and the dream world began, so Eliot Waugh wouldnât stop kissing Quentin Coldwater. ( then again, heâs the first to remind them ALL that fairytales are no longer a good thing to desire for reality. ) Theyâre back on the bed and this is a GOOD thing, his head spinning as he tries for a moment to go back in for a third time.
           Heâs almost successful when Eliot speaks again.
     Did you actually want to do that? Jesus Eliot can be an IDIOT sometimes. Their hands are still intertwined together, enough so that Quentin thinks maybe he can tug Eliotâs hand back around his waist. To forget the world thatâs trying to kill them. Eliot wants to think of whatâs important â Quentin just wants to forget.
     He keeps talking, and every word makes Quentinâs heart crack a little more. Itâs not shattered â the thoughts of if and maybe still floating there between them. But it is enough to make him swallow back the words his desperate dream world wants to shout and let his hands let go and settle back in his lap. Now his eyes are lowered, flickering to the fidget of his fingertips as they trace circles into his own jeans.
             â Iâll go get us some coffee, â he chokes on the words, â and a couple of books. â
     How can he focus on anything else when each breath he takes is a reminder of what he almost lost? What he might have once had -- he wonât go there. The last thing he wants to do is to shatter Quentin like this anyway. While teasing has been a fun game in the past, Eliot hardly wants to string Q along for any sort of entertainment. He wants to run, to forget that everything else exists. Damn the fucking Beast to hell if it takes this from him.     Eliot nods and takes a deep breath, in and out, attempting to put on a face that represents some sense of normalcy. Like he didnât see their universes colliding. His gaze wanders to the table drawer beside the bed, knowing thereâs at least four different substances that could fuck him up enough to forget his pain and perhaps even let him fall back into those incredible visions. But what good are visions when he can have the real thing?     They kissed, that had happened. Quentin did perhaps want him -- whether it was real or just a subconscious need. His thoughts are interrupted before he can even stretch his fingers to pry open that drawer, hearing Quentinâs promised return.     Few words are shared, the only noise the turning of pages between sips of coffee. It doesnât scream of success, and before heâs even finished his cup, Eliotâs mind has drifted again and heâs lost focus. Maybe he should have grabbed some fucking Adderall. âOh, fuck this...â he shakes his head and shoves the book aside with a long sigh, looking back up at Quentin.     âLook, you know Iâm the last person to make a big deal out of anything like that. Even with you. But while I was out...â He pauses, dropping his gaze, lips parted. âI had these... visions?â Well donât you just sound perfectly normal, Eliot... âOf you and I... It was fucking beautiful. And before I sound any more insane, I just ... You didnât have anything like that, too... did you? Because if thatâs why you wanted to kiss me then, fuck -- we can definitely... continue that.âÂ
*kiss* You have the kissing disease. Pass it along to the first ten people on your dash
THANKS!!
I highly recommend you follow the person I reblogged this from.
magicaladept:
aureavenator replied to your post: SORRY â we were at a convention this weekend and...
Firstly, Happy Birthday. Second. That sounds like fun. I hope you enjoyed your convention!
Haha thank you :)
