[lucxan-deactivated20141020]

↳ The Mask. / Eliot & Lucian

Lucian sighs, draping a hand over his face. He’s sprawled over Eliot’s couch, the aforementioned male in his bedroom doing whatever seemingly tedious task that was taking him such a long time. Most likely ironing his clothes again, Lucian muses to himself, rolling onto his stomach. Or perhaps even picking the find dust from the fabric of his shirt. Definitely the latter. He laughs, although not growing any less impatient. 

They’re going out to eat tonight and Lucian hopes to drag Eliot into a bar afterwards. Drunk Eliot is very, very amusing. 

Lucian stands from the couch, lazily stretching his limbs. The old but, immensely clean carpet of Eliot’s apartment greets his toes before he pads into the kitchen. He attempts to raid the fridge, disappointment twisting his features as he finds a carton of milk to be the only appeal. Lucian continues to pace the kitchen with a glass of milk in hand, inspecting the pantries, cabinets, before finally seating himself at Eliot’s small table.

He eyes the small stack of unopened mail just inches from his cup, perhaps dumped there by Eliot that morning. Lucian really shouldn’t and with that thought he reaches for the varying sizes of envelopes, dragging them before him.

Bills, bills, a subscription from National Geographic, more bills and— oh. Cosmetic Surgery Clinic. Sure, plastic surgery was most common in Korea but, Lucian couldn’t imagine Eliot wanting one or, even needing one. Ripping the envelope open without a single inkling of respect for Eliot’s privacy, Lucian looks over the neatly creased paper. He skims over the pleasantries, and overall body except for a single phrase Lucian reads over and over again. 

We hope to see you soon for your next follow up appointment!

[song-chxnho]

Eliot's fingers pruned the stitching of his shirt, hovering along for any wads of lint stuck to it from the old washing machine. Every now and then the slim digits darted forward, trapped a piece, and let it flutter into the small trash bin placed by his feet. Normally, it took him half the time to get ready, but Lucian wanted to go out. That meant scraping every little fuzzball and ironing every groove until it was perfect. With a satisfied breath of air, Eliot picked up the piece of clothing and pulled it over his small frame, fingers idly playing with the hem before moving to button it up the middle.

"Lucian!" He called, "I'm ready. Sorry it took so long, there were so many of those lint clusters..." Eliot ran a hand through his styled hair and stepped out of his room, his head inclining to a curious angle when he spotted Lucian fondly gazing at a piece of paper. Although-- his eyes seemed engulfed with concentration. The smaller of the two flashed a soft smile and stepped closer.

"What's this, hm? A new piece of writing? Let me see." Eliot was already bent forward and hovering over Lucian's shoulder by the time the words were spoken, eyes scanning the sheet until his friend had pulled it away. Eliot frowned.

"Lou, come on-" He reached for it. Missed. The boy's eyes flickered with passive frustration behind the lenses of his glasses, a quiet breath filtering from his chest as he gave up.

"You don't have to." Eliot was in the middle of scratching his cheek with his palm when he caught sight of the torn envelope, the distinct lettering on the front causing his eyes to swell to the size of bowling balls.

His stomach plunged into a pool of sludge. The heat crept from his chest, all the way up to his ears in a matter of milliseconds, one hand angrily swiping forward to grab the paper and crush it beneath his trembling fingers.

"Why on earth were you reading my mail?!"

[lucxan-deactivated20141020]

"I do read.”

Eliot’s quick to respond to Lucian’s hoarse comment of, “From the lies you’ve been spouting today, I wouldn’t be surprised if you didn’t even read, either.” The male on his knees laughs, briskly wiping his mouth with the sleeve of his shirt. Lucian looks up at Eliot, lips twitching into the subtle hints of a smug smile once his laughter fades. Glancing around and feeling a twinge of disappoint to not have gained any on-lookers, Lucian then pulls the fabric of Eliot’s boxer briefs to it’s rightful place over his hips. He also tugs up at the shorter’s jeans, buttoning at the waist and zipping it’s fly. Lucian stands to his feet, throwing an arm over Eliot’s shoulders and whisking him toward the library exit. 

"Come on, Ellie. I’ve got this bitter taste on my tongue and am in desperate need of a coffee."

[song-chxnho]

The entire ordeal had sent Eliot into a fit of flushed cheeks and accelerated breath, his mind filled with thoughts that ranged from “Oh god, we’re going to be expelled, my father is going to kill me, I won’t have anything left of my life,” to “Oh god, is it supposed to feel this wonderful?”

Of course it didn’t take long for the sensitive boy to finish, but every moment had his teeth mounted against his shirt sleeve and his toes curling into the soles of his shoes. Now it seemed surreal that it had actually happened. And his pride was beginning to resurface once the euphoria had died down.

"I do! Ask me anything, I swear I’ll answer it." He grumbled, almost letting a small noise slip from the surprise of the elastic slapping against his skin. He dug his fingers into Lucian’s hair- the strands that he had sufficiently wrecked from their styled prison- and shot the other an uncertain look that was something akin to infatuation. Before he knew it, Lucian had tugged him close and marked the way toward the exit. Muttering another inaudible phrase under his breath, Eliot adjusted his foggy glasses and followed along.

[simpatie-blog]

[song-chxnho]

ℒucian ≥ ℇliot; Pearls before Swine

[lucxan-deactivated20141020]

“And Brahms,” he repeats, lips itching to widen into a jovial smile (they do, in fact but, Lucian would never admit to so). Lucian’s toast is done with far less finesse than Eliot’s, the liquid sloshes around his glass before he tips the alcohol past his lips. 

"So, my wandering friend," he begins to pace the expanse of his dorm with an occasional sip of whiskey. "What were you searching for before you’d wandered into this waste land?" Lucian’s intrigue for Eliot was multiplying with each glance he’d steal; from the oddly endearing fashion he had cuffed his pants to the thick pair of glasses resting at the tip of his nose. 

The entirety of the situation seemed surreal to Lucian. It wasn’t often that he had visitors, much less visitors he was actually interested in. Yet here he stood, in the company of endless potential. It wasn’t an illusion, certainly not a dream, and hopefully not a delusion. 

[song-chxnho]

Eliot was still trying to swallow the burn left in his throat, coughing on the inhale and quickly drowning it with a larger, less graceful sip to patch the weakness he'd just imbued. His doe eyes had a bad habit of catching the other male's whenever he peeked over, causing him to blink, then drop his gaze, then repeat the process all over again. Eliot mopped the hard liquor from his small, easily wetted lips with the base of his tongue and moved to set the glass down.

The next question had stumped him for a few moments. He carefully slid his hands into his back pockets and let out a deep breath, gaze centered on the floor for fear of meeting Lucian's once more and completely disrupting his chain of thought.

"Humiliation, I suppose." The boy's head finally lifted.

"Exposure. Excitement. I've always been terrible at both."

[lucxan-deactivated20141020]

STARTER SENTENCES.

    ↳ ‘Kill Your Darlings’ quotes:

"I do read.” 

"Show me the man who is both happy and sober and I will show you the crinkled anus of a lying asshole.” 

"You said I was everything to you. You are everything to me. Everything to me, do you hear me?”

"You were ordinary… and I made your life extraordinary." 

"Finally, an oasis in this waste land." 

"Only the most anti-social have to go to an event actually called one." 

"I love first times. I want my entire life to be composed of them." 

"Well, you’re not anything yet." 

"Firs thought, best thought." 

"Fuck you! What does that even mean?"

"Welcome to the edge of the world." 

"I don’t uhm— I don’t do the uh, cannabis."

"Some ear job at the bar just called me kid. So I stole his drink." 

"No..We’re not going to kill him. Even better, we’re going to make sure no one remember’s him." 

"Let’s make the prisoners come out and play." 

"I just need you to write us something beautiful."

"It’s complicated." 

"Perfect. I love complicated." 

"I spent my entire life making other people happy, it’s time I find happiness the only way I see possible."

"Words, boys. Empty words." 

"What do you hate from the pit of your gut?" 

"Extraordinary men propel society forward. It is our duty to break the law." 

"She tasted like imported sophistication and domestic cigarettes." 

[narcotic]

[song-chxnho]

ℒucian ≥ ℇliot; Pearls before Swine

[lucxan-deactivated20141020]

Lucian’s smile almost turns fond in response to the sight of his new friend’s current inability to form proper words. Leaning back again, he drops his gaze as the shorter quickly toes his shoes off, chest rumbling with a light chuckle. Lucian pulls his stare up to meet his, and the two exchange a look before the taller is waltzing toward the meager supply of bottles filled with amber liquid atop his cabinet. He hears the other stumble over his words as he nearly did his sneakers, until a frustrated breath ceases his speech. 

Eliot. 

With his back turned away from him, Lucian repeats the name silently; testing it until his lips memorize how the letters curl his tongue. He reaches for the closest squarish bottle, pouring the liquid into his cup. 

"Would you like a drink, Eliot?" It was ten times satisfying to say his name aloud. "You sound like you need a drink." Not giving the other anytime to protest, Lucian produces another glass identical to his. With a generous amount of whiskey in both hands, he saunters lazily toward Eliot before thrusting one of the glasses toward him. 

"To Claude Debussy, my friend." 

[song-chxnho]

Eliot swallowed when the other turned away, breathing a quiet sigh of relief and brushing his fingers against his throat to itch at the suddenly dry aperture. He was sinking into comfort until the other had molded his name into a custom bell. Accordingly, Eliot straightened and turned his attentive brown eyes toward Lucian.

"Ah, n--" He was cut off, but he didn't mind. Maybe he did need a drink. Eliot carded his fingers through his hair and tried to remind himself every so often to breathe, until he was comfortable enough to set his bag down momentarily. When Lucian bounded over, Eliot flashed another small smile and took the glass between his slim digits, eyeing it carefully before gently clinking the lip of the drink against the other male's.

"And Brahms." He hinted, a playful edge tinting either side of his lips before he tilted the glass and swallowed a small sip.

[song-chxnho]

ℒucian ≥ ℇliot; Pearls before Swine

[lucxan-deactivated20141020]

Lucian hears an echo of the composer’s name, slow and quiet. Glancing up from his book, he finds a thin boy no older than himself standing at his doorway; fragile, and resembling a porcelain doll. Lucian begins to witness his thought process as the boy’s eyes squeeze shut and his body tenses with concentration. The sight is intriguing enough that he abandons the Hughes biography (though not his whiskey, mind you), leaving his spot and standing to his feet. Lucian steps closer tentatively despite his rapidly growing excitement, fearing he may disrupt the phenomena unfolding before him.

Then, the stranger’s eyes flutter open from behind a pair of thick spectacles. He begins to describe Brahms’ inspirations, and accomplishments, finishing off with a brief summary of the elements of his music and of course, praise for the Romantic Era composer. 

"The cycle is ruptured," he whispers upon the realization that this stranger was all and more than he needed. Debussy’s notes begin to fade and eventually Lucian’s dorm falls prey to silence. 

He downs the rest of his whiskey with his head tilted back, then lowering his chin with an alluring smile. “Excellent, excellent,” Lucian praises as he falls into a comforting buzz. “Judging by the amount you know, I’m assuming it was quite obvious that wasn’t Brahms, yeah?” Stepping closer, Lucian knows he’s invading his new acquaintance’s personal space and all the words of his vocabulary fall short to describe how it feels to be a mere breath away from all he’d been searching for.  

[song-chxnho]

Lucian's gaze fell upon the anxiety-prone freshman like the eyes of god assessing his new creation. Eliot's brows creased at the center when the other male downed the amber liquid and lingered closer, his fingers squeezing around the worn straps of his backpack, the sweat-dampened material somehow reminding him that his shoes were still on inside this stranger's room. His brown eyes fleeted toward the sneakers in a slight panic to slip them off, raising his head to acknowledge the curious man and apologize- then stopped. 

His words were gaining volume; his beautifully sculpted face stood only inches away. Eliot hiccuped in search of his own words, stumbling over his shoes and etching his thin fingers into the wooden door frame for support.

"Haa, um-?" The poet's lips curled into a lazy grin to mask his embarrassment, although he could taste the alcohol sifting through their shared space.

"I'm sorry for tracking my floor on your nice shoes- I mean, my shoes on your nice flower- no no, I--" Eliot let out a small puff of air and adjusted his glasses with the edge of his knuckle, letting the comment slip away as he slumped into a more lax stance.

"...I'm Eliot."

[song-chxnho]

ℒucian ≥ ℇliot; Pearls before Swine

[lucxan-deactivated20141020]

The day so far had been nothing short of an absolute bore, and Lucian’s odds of stumbling upon any real entertainment were grim. After classes he’d gone straight back to the dormitory, in pursue of solitude and even an inkling of inspiration to go out later that night. He sits against the foot of his bed, a shallow glass of whiskey and a thin biography of Langston Hughes effortlessly held in one hand. Claude Debussy’s Reverie sings from his laptop somewhere in the far corner of the room, sweet notes easing Lucian’s shaking fingers. 

As of late, he’d been dreadfully discouraged and incredibly close to accepting that what had been felt in the States was to never be duplicated. His search for a writer worthy of the wonderlands he had yet to reveal to most, had gone cold. It seems, they ceased to exist in Seoul. None of the aspiring creators in any of his classes piqued his interest enough for Lucian to even look at them.

Perhaps he was looking in the wrong place. Perhaps he—

The unmistakable sound of heavy steps against the floor boards shattered Debussy’s notes. Crescendos, treble clefs, eighth and, sixteenth notes falling deaf to Lucian’s ears. Who ever it was, was not any of his neighboring students; the hesitancy in their feet was unmistakable. The paces grew louder until Lucian didn’t even bother looking away from his book to know the intruder was near. 

"Brahms," and Lucian challenges his new friend’s knowledge of classical composers.

[song-chxnho]

「...Eliot stopped in his tracks when he heard the name slice through aching notes like butter. His expression hardened in confusion. Why the name? It certainly wasn't pertained to the music that drifted through the room; the notes were too soft, much like a careful pair of feet dipping through the snow in hesitant curiosity. Brahms was like a bold streak of royal blue across a canvas of yellow flowers. 

"B-- ...rahms..." He mumbled, mostly to himself. He couldn't point what the word had indicated, but he began listing off everything that was tucked away in the recesses of his fifteen year old brain.

"German, but lived in Austria..." Eliot squeezed his eyes shut and bit his lips as if he was remembering something for an oral exam. He searched and searched, his brown eyes flickering open when he found it.

"He admired many Baroque and Classical German composers, coined the innovation toward the Romantic Era, but kept traditional style alive...he was a genius." The boy leaned against the frame to his new acquaintance's room, his ears burning up at the fear of embarrassing himself in front of the man. What he had spotted also left him winded; the man had a beauty about him that sparked an explosion of words in Eliot's head and the urge to pick up a pen and write. 

He had skin that illuminated every visible inch of his body. It was darker in tint, much like caramel or rich honey, but it cloaked him like a robe made of elegance- and something else, that Eliot didn't care to admit. Lucian was striking. Even the way his lean frame perched against his bedside made him seem like a divine creature he was not fit to look upon. Eliot cleared his throat quietly and shook his head, trying to douse the annoying thoughts that whirled through his brain and whimpered for paper. 」

[letthemysterybe]

Polo Ralph Lauren.

[song-chxnho]

ℒucian ≥ ℇliot; Pearls before Swine

「...Something about the wide range of campus had always veered Eliot away. Anything outside of his department was a topic that he didn't care to search- mainly because the buildings looked intimidating, and he had no reason to. Eliot had managed his first few months at the University without stepping foot into the inner workings of the landscape, but today, the soles of his beaten up shoes were swimming in fresh grass stains and dewdrop kisses leftover from the morning rain. 

He had checked the bulletin boards that were scattered along cement pathways(namely two, that contained so many color coded lines and frustrating coils that he'd given up, twice.) He also stopped to ask for directions, but those didn't serve much purpose, either. Now it was late afternoon, classes were finishing, and his phone was beyond the point of milking battery as it lay dead in his back pocket. However, Eliot found that it was more fun to be lost than he initially thought.

So, the boy hooked his thumbs beneath the straps of his backpack, pulled the weight forward and bounced on his heel to give a kickstart to the continued journey.

Next building that arrives, go in.

He told himself. His kindred brown eyes lapped the unfamiliar scenery until they landed on a solid structure with plenty of windows- and even better- an open front door. Eliot licked his dry lips and let his thin legs carry him over the threshold. A small pool of anxiety greeted his stomach. He stopped momentarily to swallow thickly and enter one of his favorite self-spawned lies; that his body was simply a vehicle, and he himself was tucked safely away behind his glasses, like a little passenger inside of his own head.

The boy continued until he heard a faint hum-- music? Some type of rhythm was weaving through the floor boards. Eliot followed the faint noise until it grew rich and clear, pulsing from the frame of an open door. 」

[blushroyale-deactivated20140723]

[aseaofquotes]

George Elliott Clarke, Whylah Falls

[mrartmann-deactivated20141230]

[officialunitedstates]

are you from heaven because tennessee

[hellanne]

I read once that the ancient Egyptians had fifty words for sand and the Eskimos had a hundred words for snow. I wish I had a thousand words for love, but all that comes to mind is the way you move against me while you sleep and there are no words for that.

Brian Andreas, Story People (via tsmkyujong)

[yeollovemebaek]

没有人陪你走一辈子所以你要适应孤独。 没有人会帮你一辈子所以你要一直奋斗。

[song-chxnho]

No one will accompany you for a lifetime, so you should learn how to adapt to loneliness.  No one will help you forever, so you should always strive on your own.