It happens to everyone - sometimes, you have nights where you just can't fall asleep, no matter what you do. It could be for a number of reasons, or no reason at all. And this is what's happened now: you've been laying in bed for what feels like hours, just tossing and turning, and nothing seems to help. So what's left to do? Get out of bed and go wake someone else up, of course. If you're not getting any sleep, then why should they?
i n s t r u c t i o n s • Post with your character (note the name and fandom in the subject).
• Other people reply to you by generating a number from 1 to 10.
• Have fun!
o p t i o n s 01 • FEAR. Maybe you're hearing strange, indeterminable noises; maybe there's a severe storm happening outside; maybe you watched a scary movie before bed? Whatever the reason, you're terrified and it's keeping you awake. You just want to wake someone else up so they can protect you from the monster in your closet.
02 • HUNGER. Your stomach is growling and it just won't stop. Or perhaps your throat is so dry you could cough up a tumbleweed? Well, you've gone to the kitchen to remedy this and hey, that was a pan that just dropped on the floor. It was loud enough to wake the dead! Oops.
03 • PAIN. Your body is completely worn out, be it from exercise, battle, sickness, or what have you. Either way you're in enough pain to keep you from sleeping, so maybe someone else has a home remedy or something, or can at least help you take your mind off of it.
04 • SOLITUDE. For some reason, your bed just feels so empty at the moment. You're feeling terribly lonely and really just want someone to keep you company for a while. Maybe it'd be easier to fall asleep if you're with them...
05 • DISCOMFORT. Your room is an oven. Either that or a freezer. Or maybe this bed is just really uncomfortable? Who knows why you can't get to sleep, it feels like it could be anything. Why even bother trying? Maybe someone else can preoccupy you until you feel tired enough to ignore your discomfort.
06 • PENSIVE. Something's on your mind, and no matter how hard you try to focus elsewhere, it's just not going to work. Your body may be tired, but your mind is incredibly busy and it's virtually impossible to get to sleep. Surely, talking it out with someone else will help?
07 • SADNESS. Something terrible has happened that day, perhaps; or you could just be severely depressed. Either way you're trying your hardest not to cry yourself to sleep, and it's not working at all. Better find a way to get it out of your system somehow; you need a shoulder to cry on.
08 • ANGER. You are just... fuming. Who knows why - that annoying dog is barking again, or maybe the people next door are getting busy and keeping you awake. Whatever the reason for your ire is, you'd better put an end to it so you can get some damn rest already! Go wake up a friend so you can complain to them.
09 • RESTLESS. You're far too energetic to sleep right now. Maybe you're just trying to do so out of necessity - you have to be up early tomorrow! But you just don't think you'll be able to fall asleep for a while now, so why waste the time trying to sleep when you could be doing something else? Namely bothering someone else - you're totally jealous because they're getting more sleep than you.
10 • WILDCARD. Choose one of the options above, or make up your own scenario.
|
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
bababooey) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
bakerstreet2020-10-01 04:32 pm
no subject
Still smiling, he looks back at the window. It's nothing as exciting as full moon, or even that pitch darkness where every star lights up bright and pretty. It's New York grey, the sky some kind of muddy near-black with clouds and the only vaguely interesting thing out there is the hedgehog nosing around a pile of leaves near the porch light.
""It really is nothing. It's just-- you know how, or maybe you don't, but. Sometimes I just want to sit and think, you know? Where it's quiet?"
Which is... almost the truth.
no subject
Eliot's much more interested in watching Quentin than he is in watching a hedgehog or a familiar sky. It's convenient that Quentin looks away and lets him. He studies Q's profile, taking in the slight circles under his eyes. Looks like this wasn't the first time he hadn't slept. And he still managed to look attractive despite it, damn his genes.
The answer makes Eliot frown though, realizing. "Ah," he says. "I can go and leave you to it." He isn't in any hurry to go back to sleep either, dreams still lingering. But if Quentin wants to be alone with his thoughts, Eliot can be decent enough to let him be.
no subject
Which is a stupid way of saying 'please stay' but words are hard and it's the middle of the night. Eliot is a warm, steady presence pressed against his side. A near-perfect counterpoint to the cool press of the window against his other knee.
"I guess... well, maybe I'm not really thinking about anything. Trying not to think about anything."
There's a beat of silence again, the hedgehog isn't doing anything weird out there and Eliot is still here. Still warm and solid and so much more here than anyone Quentin has ever met. He takes a deep breath, and this time, looking away isn't just to watch an animal outside but because looking straight at Eliot while talking is just... a lot.
"I really thought that I would be the one, you know?"
no subject
"The one?" he asks. That could mean a lot of things. The one for Alice, the one for Julia, the one who figured out the mysteries of Filory - a million other things. "Which one?"
no subject
Moving through his teen years, following Julia around like a lost puppy except she seemed to want him around most of the time, but still lost in his books and his daydreams. Still somehow knowing that he was destined for something great. That one day, the letter would come or the clock would open in to an alien world.
And it did.
And Quentin just... wasn't it. He wasn't Martin, he was Fiona.
Eliot is ridiculously warm, his long fingers wrapped around Quentin's own like a heating pad and it's not even weird. It's just... warm.
"It's stupid, I know. And I really should be more worried about the test they're going to give us next week, but all I can think about is Fillory."
no subject
Eliot shifted his grip to Q's wrist, holding on loosely and stroking a thumb along the inside of it. "Besides, think about how badly it would suck. Being the only one, destined to do something or be something. It'd be lonely, and full of pressure. Isn't it better to be a part of something than one person picked to be outside of everything else?"
He gave Q a wry smile. "Besides, would Fillory's bar be as well stocked as ours?"
no subject
And this could just be another Coldwater pause. He tends to rant in bursts and have weird pauses while his brain catches up to his mouth but that's not it. It's the tiny zings rushing up his arm and down his spine, warming him through and making his heart race. It's Eliot, up close and very much in his personal space like he's somehow meant to be there and maybe? Just maybe he is.
Whatever it is, it's distracting and kind of hot and very much throwing Quentin, who just blinks at Eliot with his mouth slightly open.
"Also, you're not wrong about the bar in Fillory? But--I just--"
It's too close to his Truth. To the one thing he's only ever mentioned to Alice and Quentin clears his throat. "Sure, being a part of something is good. It is and really, Eliot, Brakebills is-- wow, so much more than I ever thought it would be. I mean, when I thought about magic schools, you know? Maybe I just have high expectations sometimes."
no subject
His thumb keeps stroking and Eliot tips his head, looking Quentin over. "It's okay to be happy about being here, but disappointed about Fillory at the same time, you know. Just don't spend so much time thinking about what you're not that you lose track of what you are. You're a hot magician with powers most people can't even imagine. You live here, which most of the miscreant students around here would kill for, you have friends, you have a life. You have a future that includes a trip to Ibiza, if you want and if Alice wouldn't murder you." Eliot smiles at him. "You're our chosen one, Q."
He pulls Quentin's hand onto his knee and shifts a little, fingers switching to running over his palm instead. It's shamelessly self-indulgent, but he never claimed not to be. "So what did you expect?"
no subject
That is insanely distracting, Eliot's longer fingers running over his palm and it takes Quentin like a hot minute, staring down at their hands before he snaps his head up, swallowing hard.
"Yeah, uhm, so-- I-" he pulls his hand back, not so much a rejection as trying to think past tingling sensation rushing up his arm and he runs a hand through his hair. Which of course makes him lean a little harder against Eliot, but hey? That might just be a coincidence? "I don't think Alice would murder me? I mean, she could. But--" Quentin clears his throat, tugging a strand of hair behind his ear. "I thought. I really thought, that this would mean something. That magic would be-this-this solution to everything. I used to open old clocks, you know? To find the door to Fillory. Or wardrobes. I even looked under the stairs, because."
And he's swaying closer to Eliot, like Eliot has this magnetic core and Quentin can't help getting pulled in to him. Not since the first time seeing Eliot on the Brakebills sign, leading him to magic. Like his very own white rabbit. Only better dressed and probably drunk.
"Because I was so sure that finding it, finding proof, would- would mean that I meant something. It's stupid."
no subject
"Q," Eliot said, voice soft. Quentin swayed in closer and Eliot couldn't help but wrap his arm around him reassuringly. "Even if you had found that door - nothing is ever a quick fix. Quick fixes are always just temporary diversions in the end. Sometimes they're great ones, and the best ones are enormous amounts of fun, but it's still what they are. In the end, we're always left with the same problems we start with."
He turned his head, kissing Quentin's temple through his hair. "And it's not stupid. It's hopeful. But you are an idiot to think you need that to mean something. You already mean more than just something, to so many people."
Sorry! I blinked and 5 days went by
And it's not like Quentin does it on purpose, but his voice goes high-pitched and there's a note of surprised disbelief in it. "We're not- She's not my girlfriend."
Not at least because Alice was like miles out of his league. She was everything Quentin always wanted to be - naturally brilliant, gifted at magic and she even had a purpose for being here aside from 'magic is cool'. Quentin slowly turns to look at Eliot, who was all of those things, too. Everyone here was- and even Julia, who had no idea magic was even real and she was probably still better at it than Quentin would ever be.
Penny, with his cool mind-reading skills (so unfair), and Margo being, well, whatever the hell she wanted to be. Kady, with battle magic and Eliot moving things with his mind with such ease, striding through Brakebillls like he belongs here. As if magic was as easy as breathing.
"Can we talk about something else? I really don't-- it's not- it's just one of those nights. How about a-a movie?"
No worries, I know that feel
Not that he was guaranteed that he wouldn't do it even if Quentin had been dating Alice, but he was less likely.
Eliot nodded though, letting Quentin off the hook. He'd been the one to come down and invade Q's quiet time, after all. He probably shouldn't keep pressing him to talk, even if Eliot wanted to keep him talking and replace everything in his brain with the sound of Q's voice and the shape of his lips as he talked. "Sure, you can pick. Or I can take myself off back to bed and actually give you the space you were looking for, if you'd rather keep your quiet time quiet." Eliot in no way wanted to go back to sleep, but he could always slip out and go for a walk or something. Prowling the grounds at night was not unfamiliar to him.
no subject
It's not thinking about Julia, and about how he's always going to be halfway in love with her because she never needs him, but wants him around anyway. Eliot, with his clever hands and his easy smiles. Who helps Quentin on a near-daily basis and most of the time Quentin feels like he could fall in love with that too. Like the inside of his head is just brimming with feelings, and it's a lot and too much all at once.
There's fucking magic in the world and Quentin still spends his time contemplating the meaning of his own existence and angsting about stupid things like how kissing Alice would feel, with her glasses digging in to the bridge of his nose. About the thin skin on Eliot's wrist, and if Eliot would start hating him if Quentin sucked on his fingers.
Stupid shit.
"I just need to get out of my head for a while. I can do it alone, but it's-- yeah, I get it if you don't want to spend the next three hours in my bed. It's fine."
no subject
He decides that Q is a shit liar, and must mean it. That may just be Eliot making excuses to do what he wants to do anyway, but when has he not?
"Take me away with the Fellowship, Frodo," Eliot says, giving Q a smile. "I am always and forever willing to spend hours in your bed, with or without a movie." He isn't actually capable of not taking an opening like that to flirt, even if he knows that Quentin will just blush and ignore it, most likely. "By the way, never mention the movies around Margo, she'll complain about something I never read that's missing for ten minutes, and then make you watch the porn version. Which is both terrible and tragically not hot."
no subject
"Oh-" because yeah, Quentin is not even going to touch the idea of Eliot in bed. Like, in bed in bed and not because he's helping Quentin cope with being a freak even at magic school. "I think I know just what she means? Because they left out so many of the good points, and honestly, I get why but also-"
Talking, right. A distraction as he stumbles across the living room and up the stairs, hands twitching through the tuts for his wards and still, even while getting everything ready and getting in to bed, Quentin keeps up with it. That whole not-thinking.
This is going to be fine. He settles against the headboard and props the computer up, movie already loading.
"And yeah, so. I get why she'd want to talk about it, is all. Are you- comfortable? I think I might have more pillows in the closet."
no subject
He huffs a laugh. "Don't say I didn't warn you if you bring it up," he says with a wide smile, watching Q's hands move as he undoes his wards. He follows Quentin over to the bed and slides in next to him, close enough to see the screen, but not enough that he's obviously crowding or taking the chance to cop a feel, no matter how he mourned the loss of Quentin cuddled up against him.
"I'm good," Eliot promises, propping up against the headboard and smiling at Q.
no subject
Eliot's face is only inches away and whatever clever-yet-nerdy thing he was about to say just dies a quiet death on the tip of his tongue.
"Uh, yeah- so."
no subject
It's likely that last fantasy to blame for where Eliot's brain immediately goes when Q's head turns and his face is so close. He's half lit by the flicker of hobbits and elves in the background and Eliot's fingers wind out of his hair to trace along Quentin's jaw before he can even think to stop himself.
He licks his lips, drawing in a deep breath to remind himself that it's not okay to make a move on your friend, who's in love with someone else, no matter how many mixed signals he didn't know he gave. "So?" Eliot prompts, hand sliding back into Quentin's hair, trying to look as if that had been more deliberate than it had been.
no subject
But he’s been trapped in these slow spirals, circular thinking that does absolutely nothing for him and then Eliot is here, still warm and still so goddamn friendly... and that just totally does it for him. For no reason, as if Quentin’s personal kink is someone being kind.
He blinks at Eliot, just a breath away with his lips gently parted and Quentin nods to himself. Eliot is here, in bed and yeah, maybe he’s about to make a huge mistake and shot down whatever friendship they already have- but there’s also that small chance that Eliot will not turn him down, so. Why the fuck not?
“Hey, so...”
Quentin places a hand over Eliot’s, licking his lips, before he leans closer and places a kind of off-center kiss right on Eliot’s mouth.
no subject
It's funny that Quentin thinks Eliot's kind when it's the last way Eliot would describe himself. He's caring, maybe, to the people he chooses to care about. But in general he's self-centered and willfully shallow because that's how he built himself to be. He's kind to Quentin because Q's one of those people that Eliot's walls just dropped for, probably because he hadn't believed it would matter. Quentin had been in love with a girl his whole life, then fallen for another one as soon as he got here. There wasn't much danger to Eliot's heart in letting Q close to it when he wasn't going to know it was available to him, or be interested if it was.
Subconscious or not, that might have been a miscalculation. Eliot's brain flatlines when Q's mouth presses against his, light and off-center. But it's still not just friendly, or at least it doesn't feel like it.
Eliot blinks at him, and then smiles, slow and warm. "Hey," he answers, voice soft and low. He's not sure what this means, but given opportunity, he can't resist. He doesn't try very hard, either. His hand slides to cup Quentin's face, and Eliot leans in, kissing him again. It's still soft, but square on Quentin's mouth and deeper than the last one had been, Eliot pressing in closer against him and trying to drink in the moment in case it crashes on him.
no subject
He's not, he's here and Quentin's hands come up to brush over Eliot's ears before cupping his head in both of his hands. The scent of Eliot's skin, his perfume or cologne (soap? fuck if Q knows, but) it's overwhelming and so Eliot even as the kiss deepens and Quentin has to move to reach, rolling up on his knees.
There are vague snap-shot memories of kissing Eliot before, devoid of color and distressingly impersonal, rattling around in Quentin's head, but it is nothing like this.
This is Eliot's curls falling around Quentin's fingers. It's Eliot's lips parted and wet and sliding against his own, it's the frantic beating of his own heart and the desperate noises he can't help make as the kiss turns dirty.
no subject
Eliot has very few memories of doing this, and he'd made it out to be something that hadn't happened. Something he'd been there for, but had been more about Q and Margo. Sense memory now is telling him otherwise, because his brain doesn't remember, but his hands remember Q's skin and his mouth remembers Quentin's lips.
Eliot's hand flattens against the small of Q's back, pressing him in even closer together, and he groans, soft but audible, into Quentin's mouth.
no subject
Quentin doesn't care, there's too much right here, all of it new (but known) and so fucking hot. The rasp as stubble against his face when he tilts his head, the muscles against the palm of his hand when he moves it down to rest on Eliot's chest. It takes no time at all before Quentin is panting in to the kisses, his other hand sliding up to cup the back of Eliot's head.
no subject
Q is pushing into him, petting his chest and Eliot just lets himself fall back against the pillows and headboard, pulling Quentin with him so the other man is on top of him, hands running down his back, curving at his ass - ostensibly using the grip there to help move Quentin. But really Eliot just wants to touch him, rock Q up closer into him.
When Eliot finally draws back enough to draw in a deeper breath, Quentin wasn't the only one panting. Eliot's eyes have gone heavy-lidded and dark and he's looking at Quentin like Q is something he wants to eat alive. "Look at you," he says, eyes sliding over Q's face. His hair looks like it's had hands in it (it has) and his mouth already looks kiss-swollen. It's a good look, but it makes Eliot want to absolutely wreck him. "So fucking pretty, Q," he murmurs, leaning in to kiss him again.
no subject
So, he kisses back, mouth open and working, trying to keep up with everything that's rushing through his head - every daydream and idle fantasy about Eliot, and Eliot's hands and Eliot's face. He's not grinding down so much as just melting in to Eliot's chest, pushing them closer together with every labored breath until Eliot pulls away to look him over.
Quentin flushes (and hates it), with his shirt pulled up and his hair sticking to his sweaty face, and no. He really doesn't want to see what Eliot sees when he looks at him and ends up just panting wetly until Eliot takes mercy on him and kisses him again.
He's still not over the fact that this should be weird, and yet it isn't. How perfect Eliot fits against him and how his hands just seem to know the feeling of Eliot's skin once he gets a hand up under his shirt after popping a few buttons open.
"Eliot- El-" in between kisses. Kissing Eliot's mouth and his neck, nibbling his way up to kiss the silky soft skin under his ear.
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)