#you have no fucking empathy or a lick of compassion if you don’t understand why chappell doesn’t want this

[nats-revival]

PLEASE nuking them is crazy but yes agree with that too. it’s also crazy to me that people are mad at chappell roan for setting boundaries in a NICE way because i know for a fact if i were famous i’d be a total bitch about it… 🤦

oh babe dont even get me started on chappells hate train rn jve been so angry abt it!!!! first of all she has the right to not wanna be stalked like hello???? theyre stalking her family and trying to say she’s a bad person because she doesn’t like that like hello??? this is ur daily reminder that nobody owes you anything, especially celebrities!!!!! theyre people just like you are and who gives a shit if she doesn’t wanna take a pic with you or isn’t always having the happiest day in the world???? people are such fake fans that it’s genuinely mind boggling that they’re mad over a simple curtesy of not wanting to be stalked and harassed like.. wtf ur weird..

if i was her id literally be cursing my fans out every single day i live and breathe on this godforsaken earth for making everyone else seem like a victim when she’s the victim here. i see now why a lot of celebs don’t want people idolizing them and sometimes it’s better that you don’t meet your heroes or whatever. but anyways, more room for the gay ppl!

[hangonimevolving]

Attempting some gratitude, for once.

I need to post this, before the thought and the mood from which it’s sprung both dissipate into thin air.

I suck at gratitude, on the whole. Seriously, I do, and I know I need to work on that. I’ll spare everyone my sob stories, explanations, justifications, etc. for why I have had a hard time with gratitude in recent years, but suffice to say - I am aware that I suck at it, and I heard somewhere that the first step to solving a problem is admitting you have one.... so fine. I admit it. I’m ungrateful and unappreciative in my life most days.

But today, I’ve had multiple - MULTIPLE - moments of just feeling this weird, inexplicable, warm and fuzzy, happy, sigh-inducing THING just bubble up in me. And I was like WTF is this feeling?! Why is my tummy all glittery and light? Why am I sitting here on the sofa smiling for no damn reason?! OHHHHH! Wait! Is this.....gratitude?! HOLY SHIT, I think it is! So I’m gonna write it down and note it for all posterity. I, Evolver, have felt gratitude on this 7th day of September, 2018.

It all started last Saturday night, where, right in the middle of Labor Day weekend and my sister Rithers’ visit to our hike in Miami along with her hubby, Uncle K, and her kids H20 and NiNi, our 5.5-year old Vevvy fell ill. We thought that perhaps he was just overly exhausted from a long and happy day in the pool when he felt warm to the touch on Saturday night, but mid-day Sunday, during a beach excursion - Vev’s FAVORITE thing in the world, he completely fell apart, acting listless, fatigued, and not having fun at all. One look at him, standing statuesque on the beach, staring out to sea longingly while tears rolled down his cheeks, said it all: “what is going on?! I’m so confused, mommy! I’m in my favorite place in the world, and yet I feel so miserable! What is happening to me?!” A hand on his forehead revealed that he was burning up. Without a moment’s hesitation, Dr. Spouse loaded him up in the car and headed for home, while I remained at the beach with Dey to host Rithers and co. a while longer. Poor Vev needed a shower, some kiddie Tylenol, and bed rest, stat.

the “I am siiiiick” face :(

Over the next seven - SEVEN! - days, Vev would continue to have relentless fevers or 101-103F even with continuous children’s Tylenol and Motrin. He also developed monster congestion in his sinuses and nose, headaches, body ache, and general fatigue. I was sincerely shocked and more than a little intimidated by his congestion snot (keeping it real), which was so thick and oppressive, it would choke his throat and inhibit his from breathing if he dared to rest in even a semi-reclining position. 

The poor kid had no choice but to be completely upright if he didn’t want to gag on his own phlegm, which meant that he (and by transitive property, I) could really sleep no more than 90 minutes at a stretch for four nights straight. He was miserable, and I was doing everything I could to help him, staying with him each night either on an air mattress in my bedroom, or just holding him against my shoulder/chest in my bed while he desperately tried to sleep and breathe at the same time. I felt awful for him, and mused for a moment about parents whose children have respiratory disorders like CF who live their lives this way.... good health is such a blessing that we all take for granted.

As much as I hated every minute of Vev’s suffering, there was something a bit nostalgic in holding him sleeping in my arms for several consecutive nights. Wasn’t there a time in the not-so-distant past where this was the ONLY way he’d sleep?! I bitch and moan all the time about how clingy, dependent, and non-self reliant my kids are — but it has been years since Vev needed me at night this way. My Vevvy has grown up a lot.

And to his credit, despite all this sicky misery, he was really a trooper while ill. Against his traditional character, when sick or not, he really didn’t complain much - just went quiet and kept to himself for days, forming a little nest on the sofa each day with a warm blankie, big box of Kleenex, and his iPad, not really asking for much at all except quiet and rest. He never really complained when I had to give him medication, and he did his best to heed my urges to drink clear fluids even when I could tell he really didn’t want to. And - forgive the TMI here - but you know your kid is really growing up when they begin to have some way of forewarning you and/or running to the bathroom on their own steam and hitting the preferred target of the toilet when they’ve gotta vomit. Fortunately, Vev only puked twice this week, and I suspect that too was only bc he gagged on his own copious snot — but both times, he announced “throwwww uuuup!” to me before sprinting to the loo and handling affairs with no mess and accurate aim. HALLELUJAH! This should be considered a major developmental milestone!!! (And yes - poor, poor kid! I really am glad it was only the twice, because that must have sucked a lot for him!)

Yeah, so.  He’s growing up.  Way to go, buddy!!!... and, sniff.

(supposedly this says “Mommy I love you ”...  but he always starts writing at the bottom of a page and works his way up.  He may also be of the mind that “Mommy” is spelled “mom-E.”  Yes, we’re gonna work on it)

It was only yesterday, Thursday, that we got an official pediatrician diagnosis of his illness: the flu, as in the legit flu virus, or Influenza A. The word came too late for antiviral medications to be of any great use to him, unfortunately, but I was grateful anyway that we got a halfway-decent pediatrician BRILLIANT nurse practitioner who needed my assertive request demand for a prophylactic prescription or Tamiflu for Dey. We’ve had shitty luck in South Florida with pediatricians who appear to be reactionary and unnecessarily nonsensical in their responses to my requests for help - but this time, our pedi NP was A+. She treated our family like competent, educated people and did things that made sense as far as ensuring this highly-contagious virus wouldn’t spread to another healthy child living in the same household. I wish she could be our regular PCP (but of course, I bet she can’t be, bc she’s not a doctor. Grr, fucking managed care. Oops, hold it - I’m supposed to be channeling gratitude here, not my customary bitchiness. My bad.)

Anyway, speaking of Dey, I’ve got to brag about him a bit here too. At 3.5 years old, Dey’s baseline is definitely chill, go-with-the-flow, glass-half-full, and a pleasant, happy and easygoing “whatever you want, dude!”-ness that Vev NEVER was at that age. It’s been really awesome to see. But this week, his general outlook on life, combined with impressive moments of being a team player, cooperating, helping out, and exhibiting formidable empathy really made me sooo proud.

It’s certainly understandable that he’d be potentially jealous that his older brother got to skip an entire week of school while he still had to go. It would be even more understandable since they are actual CLASSMATES at school this year (yes, our Montessori school groups ages 4-6/preschool, pre-K and kindergarten in one classroom, so they’ve been together at school and at home since the start of the academic year). So I was very impressed when Dey accepted his brother’s illness and his need to stay home from school, while he was forced to go. Without one word of complaint, he’d get up each morning, eat his breakfast, get washed up and dressed out in uniform, gather his things, then visit Vev quickly and dispense a goodbye hug and a “hope you feel better, Vev!” before loading up in the car for school drop-off. What a trooper. At afternoon pick-up, when I’d ask about his day at school, he’d say with a little frown, “oh, school was okay...but Vev wasn’t on the playground.” It was kinda weird feeling my heart simultaneously break a little, but also burst with pride at how much he loves his brother. Sweet kiddo. 

At home, each afternoon he’d run excitedly to Vev to see how he was doing, his face full of hopeful anticipation that perhaps today, Vev was feeling better and could play with him... but when he’d find Vev too miserable and tired to play, his face would momentarily fall in disappointment, but then he would muster some compassion and understanding, silently shuffle away, and find a quiet game to do in the vicinity, just so he could be nearby without disturbing Vev. Or, cuter still, he’d snuggle down on the opposite side of the couch as Vev, and tune his iPad into the same YouTube video Vev would be watching, so they could give each other silly smiles and glances during the funny parts. The boy would periodically race off in the house to find his toy doctor kit, and would affix his little plastic stethoscope to his ears so he could “give Vev a checkup” and “make him feel better.” 

(Dr. Cutie Pie is in)

It was adorable, man. His whole world spins because of his brother. It’s so touching. I don’t know how it is that I managed to have two kids who love each other so much, because karmically I’ve done NOTHING to earn this. My sister and I were rotten to each other as kids, and only really turned a corner on it in our... what, our late 30′s?!  Haha :)  But I’m so grateful for these two dudes. These two little people are the best of friends, and they can’t live without each other. The feels.

One more funny brag about Dey. Dr. Spouse and I often jokingly refer to him as Dory, i.e. the lovable blue fish, voiced by Ellen DeGeneres from the Disney movie “Finding Nemo.” Dory’s schtick is that she’s easily distracted and has short-term memory. 

Fittingly, Dory is one of Dey’s favorite cartoon characters, and he’s not shy to let the world know....

Anyway. Remember that whole prophylactic script for Tamiflu? Mind you, I was so grateful to get it. But. Ummmm, pediatric Tamiflu tastes FOUL. It is seriously the most bitter, disgusting, viscous goo I’ve ever gingerly licked to mentally prepare myself for my kid’s reaction to. I began fearing Dey’s reaction, and the ensuing tantrums to come over the five-day course of the drug. But I spoke matter-of-fairly to Dey about how this was a medicine he’d need to take to keep himself healthy, and that it would be a little bit yucky, but that I’d give him a HUGE spoonful of sugar right after to make it taste better (and THANK YOU, blessed Mary Poppins, for your genius). 

 Luckily, little Dory just took my words at face value without any further thought, opened his mouth, and downed the nasty shot of devil’s semen Tamiflu that I dispensed into his mouth. Immediately his face went every shade of red, purple, and white, with a coordinating expression like “what the hell is this shit?!” — but I swooped in there prepared, like a crack-smoking Mother of Batman, giving him a swig of water then heaping a MASSIVE spoon of white sugar directly onto his tongue. The result was nothing short of magical - the kid instantaneously closed his eyes in pleasure, turned up his cute little round cheeks to the ceiling with a huge smile on his face, and loudly cooed “Mmmm!” as if it was the best damn thing he’d ever eaten in his life. Moments later, the sugar fully dissolved, Dey matter-of-fairly reminisced with a RainMan-esque tone, “hey mommy, that medicine was kind of yucky for me. Kind of salty. Kind of spicy. But the SUGAR WAS YUUUUUUMMMMMY!” I worried that at the next dosing (and man, the kid’s gotta take it morning and night, poor little dude) he’d run screaming from the salty spicy medicine, and wouldn’t fall for the sugar trick — but amazingly, when I announced “medicine and sugar time,” the child came RUNNING to me with a huge grin on his face like he’d just won the lottery. He gulped down the medicine like a champ, swigged the water himself, then began changing “Su-gar! Su-gar! Su-gar!” till I ladled a bit into his mouth.  Naturally, my mind spun forward a bit, concerned that his ease of overcoming the Yucky Taste Barrier and downing this stuff for a cheap reward might translate into some unsavory teenage and young adult behaviors (err, tequila shot champion in the making?!  Please god, help us).  But, for now - eternally grateful for my little Dory’s easy distractability and forgiving memory!!! Vev, at that age and even now, would have NEVER gone along with this!

(is it just me, or do they even kinda sorta look alike, Dory and Dey?  No one else sees it?!  No one?!!!  Hmm...)

Anyway. In conclusion, it’s not normal for me to have something kind of bad happen, like the flu hitting one of my kids, but finding some good in the mess. But here I am, in spite of myself, awash in all the warm fuzzies.

1. I’ve got two healthy, happy kids, when many people have children with serious health issues and have to live their lives watching their kids sick and miserable all the time

2. my kids are growing up, becoming wonderfully independent, self-reliant, empathetic and helpful. But they still sometimes need me, and that’s nice too.

3. They both have such fun, distinct personalities.

4. I admit that it’s pretty awesome that my second kid is so chill. Love them both to bits, but if kid #2 has been more ornery and neurotic, I think that would have sucked. Having a chill kid #2 is a godsend.

5.  They frigging LOVE EACH OTHER.  It’s a goddamn brotherly love fest up in here.  

6.  Last but not least - the flu sucks, but it isn’t forever, and life will go on.  Soon, in fact.  And we’ll be onto the next adventure together.  Look forward to seeing what it’ll be!

[mubal4]

“Communication Breakdown”

 Great song.  Great band.  Now, my teenage daughters would disagree with me but hey, I grew up listening to Led Zeppelin and still do today.  Aaahhhh no, this entry isn’t about one of the all-time best rock bands (maybe a topic for another time??), it is about actual breakdown’s in communication.  Couple of weeks ago I read this All Pro Dad article on marriage stress. Marriage, any real relationship for that matter, is tough.  Through on a pandemic, quarantine, locked in a house and everything else that comes with it makes it even tougher.  Not easy! There was a great quote that I pulled out from the article.

 “Communication is as important to marriage as nutritious food is to living. Eat a steady diet of junk food and your body eventually will break down. Fail to properly communicate with your spouse and your marriage will do the same.”

 Again, I don’t want to center this on marriage because the challenge around communication is universal in any relationship.  My wife, Robin, and I have been married over 18 years – we are still working and practicing on our communication.  Communication with each other and communication with our kids.  She can say something innocent and it will set me off. I can be wanting to engage, and she may be distracted and that may start an argument.  We are figuring it out.  Once the dust settles, and we can step back, we discuss what we could have done, and will do better moving forward.  The whole process is a practice and one that will continue forever.  It helps to be vulnerable sometimes, patience other times; empathy and compassion can do wonders too!  Love – love is the strongest one, I think.  Sometimes, it is hard as fuck for us to communicate well; you know those times where you just get each other and are on the same page?  It friggin work, but when that work is worth it, it makes the practice get smoother over time.  It is also okay to disagree and maybe there are times when we/you are not on the same page as your partner.  We are all different people and we don’t have to agree on everything, even when you’ve been married or together for a long time.  Doesn’t mean I don’t love you, just don’t agree with you.  

 Maybe you saw where I was going with this.  This thing we are all doing here – not communicating well!!  I am putting all of us in that pandemic soup because it is everywhere. We see lack of communication, miscommunication, misunderstanding, misspeaking – however we want to describe it, at the local and state levels, across our country, throughout businesses and around the world.  I have no idea what to believe and feel that none of these “leaders” globally know what the hell they are doing.  Wear a mask. Don’t wear a mask.  Don’t touch surfaces.  It is okay to touch surfaces.  Don’t lick the handrail………. well, that is spot on! 😊  My point is that communication, on sooooo many levels is messed up right now.  So, what can we do?  Start within your 4 walls: your family, your office, your network.  We have people that we are relying to “lead” us and the left hand has no idea what the right hand is doing.  Unfortunately, we don’t have much control over that bullshit, but we do have the ability to control how we communicate.  How we talk to each other, how we engage with each other, & most importantly, HOW WE TREAT EACH OTHER.  Gonna go off a bit here but there is a lot of fucked up shit going on in the world, shit, just our country.  What the hell are we doing as a nation?  

 I will refrain from spazzing out because I am getting disgusted by the way we are treating each other. Sure, I can choose not to pay attention to news, social media, and the like.  But just out on the street man, people are fucked in the head.  Last week I was at the orthodontist with our youngest, waiting to get her braces off, and a guy, coming in to pay his bill, getting loud and hostile with the ladies that work the front desk.  Why? Who the hell knows but it wasn’t necessary.  Listen, I understand we can be a bit more on edge considering the circumstances.  I get it and I know there are assholes out there.  There are times I can be one and there are other times when they piss me off. We are all on the same page and none of us are perfect.  However, that said………..

 WE ARE ALL HUMAN BEINGS; LET’S TREAT EACH OTHER WITH THE SAME DIGNITY & RESPECT WE ALL DESERVE.

[sadlittlenerdking]

Project Seduce Quentin Coldwater and So Lift His Spirits

The Magicians, Quentin x Eliot

Chapter 1 / ?

Word count: 3,618

Summary: Post brain wipe, Eliot’s been spending a lot of time with Quentin, claiming it’s to keep his promise of seducing him to lift his spirits. Of course, nothing ever goes the way Eliot plans it to, and he’s six months deep, and definitely not falling for Quentin. 

Also on AO3

The thing is, Eliot knows exactly what he’s doing. It’s not necessarily the best, nor moral, thing for him to be doing, but he knows what it is and he’s (not) entirely unashamed. He’d even made this exact offer right before Quentin was wiped, and Quentin said it’d be amazing. So, clearly had Quentin not been wiped, Eliot would still be entirely in the right. Even if  Quentin’s answer had been lacking the enthusiasm Eliot would have liked.

So what if Margo thinks he’s being presumptuous and lacking a general moral compass? What the fuck does she know anyways? She’s off in Ibiza with Todd; talk about lacking a moral compass. Ibiza’s going to eat the poor kid and spit him back out without any mercy or morality.

Morality. Eliot scoffs, pulling his flask out of his jacket pocket and spilling a fair amount of this weeks alcohol into his coffee.  Who the fuck needs morality? He’s happy with general debauchery and a mild case of alcoholism. Who wouldn’t be? Just a week ago, Margo had been on the same boat as him, planning to float off into an actual universe of nothing but sex, drugs, and alcohol. But then she found out he’s been kind of, maybe, definitely, stalking Quentin, and practically kicked him off of the Ibiza trip.

She’s going to regret that decision when she comes back and finds all her clothes are cursed to make her look fat.

And, honestly, he’s not stalking Quentin Coldwater, because he’s talking to him, and getting coffee with him - even if Quentin is perpetually late - and just generally making sure he’s okay. Mostly because he’s working his way up to the promised seduction, which Quentin, in all his nerdy fanboy ridiculousness, seems completely oblivious to.

Okay so that’s not entirely true, because, not that Margo the Traitor needs to know, he does genuinely want to make sure Quentin’s okay. Though, he does really, desperately, want to get laid.

It’s really just a double edged sword that nobody needs to understand.

The coffeeshop door slams open, and the man of the hour stares at it in a wide eyed horror as everyone else in the cafe looks up at him, mildly annoyed. Eliot forces down a laugh, and waves at him, “Quentin!” He calls, and those wide eyes flit across the room until they land on him, and a small relieved smile accompanies them as Quentin ducks his head and makes his way across the room. As he drops his messenger bag on the floor next to the table and takes a seat, Eliot admonishes, “You really know how to make an entrance, don’t you?”

Quentin’s cheeks flush, though they’re already red from the brisk winter air brewing outside, “Shut up,” He mutters, as he rests his hands on top of the table and shakes the snow out of his hair. “It wasn’t me, it was the wind.”

Eliot nods, “Mhm, right.” Grinning as Quentin narrows his eyes at him, “Totally the wind.”

“It was!”

“I didn’t say it wasn’t.”

Quentin sighs, shaking his head, though there’s a little smile quirking at the corners of his lips that makes Eliot’s stomach do a little flip - one that he refuses to acknowledge as anything other than the temporary warming spell waring off - and starts taking off his gloves. “You weren’t waiting long, were you? I had to go see my dad, and there was a ton of traffic on the way back.”

He’s been waiting a little over an hour, actually, but he’s not about to acknowledge that. “Not at all. I just got here. How is your dad, anyways? Still have brain cancer?” He flinches as Quentin’s hands still for a moment. He really needs to work on the whole actual empathy thing. Though, if he’s being honest, he’s gotten a lot better in the past few months.

And no, mental Margo nagging him from wherever she is in Ibiza, it’s not because of these little outings with Quentin. So. There.

Quentin’s eyes fall to the three coffee cups on the table, one by one before he looks back up at Eliot’s face. “Just got here, huh?” He asks, a small grin worming it’s way across his face, that makes his eyes crunch up adorably, not that Eliot’s taking much notice. “And he’s . . . he’s refusing to take his medicine?” His eyebrows furrow as he shucks out of his jacket and drapes it over his chair, “He’s just waiting to die, I guess.”

Eliot’s smile falls, and he reaches forward, placing a hand over Quentin’s. “It’ll be okay,” He murmurs, squeezing his hand, “And if you need anything, I’m just a phone call away.”

Genuinely. He’d actually purchased a fucking phone just so they could keep in contact. Of course, he has to head to the tech available areas on campus before he can actually use it, but with a little spelling, and a heavy does of his telekinesis, he now gets alerts when somebodies calling or texting and he can rush across campus so he can reply accordingly and efficiently. Because if there is one thing Eliot is - it’s efficient.

It’s actually the reason Margo found out about this whole mission of his. Honestly, it’s not like he puts a large amount of effort into the whole thing. Just a few hours in the labs working up a spell, about a week testing it and perfecting it, and an almost constant use of his telekinesis. Hardly any work at all.

If there’s one thing Margo is - it’s Queen of Overreacting.

“I know,” Quentin smiles softly at him, though his eyes flicker down to their hands like he’s confused, and Eliot almost pulls his hand away, but then Quentin’s turning his upwards so he can hold his hand, and holy shit this is the most progress Eliot’s made on Project Seduce Quentin Coldwater and So Lift His Spirits, in six months. Quentin’s hand squeezes his, and Eliot is so, totally, completely fine. “Thank you, Eliot. I don’t know what I’d do without you right now, to be completely honest.” He frowns, “Is that weird to say to someone you barely know?”

“We’ve been over this, -,”

“Yes, I know, you bond quickly because time is an illusion or whatever, but -,”

“It’s not weird. I mean, you are weird, but that’s not a weird thing to say.”

Quentin laughs, loud and full, and Eliot smiles as well, as Quentin goes on completely oblivious to everyone around them turning around to see who’s laughing so boisterously. “You’re a dick.”

Eliot grins, “I know. That’s why you like me.” Quentin’s cheeks go pink again and Eliot has to fight the urge to lean across the table and - nothing. Nothing at all, mental Margo. Eliot is just doing his yearly community service. That’s all. He absolutely does not have feelings for Quentin. Nor does he want to lean across the table and kiss him until he’s pink everywhere. Not even a little bit.

“I mean,” Quentin shrugs, pulling his hand out of Eliot’s, and turning in his chair like he’s going to get up. Eliot frowns. “You’re not so bad, overall? So, that, uhm. That could have something to do with it?”

“Where are you going?” Eliot sits up straight, pulling his hands into his lap.

Quentin looks down at him as he stands up, and motions with a thumb at the coffee counter. “To go get some coffee. I’m freezing.”

Eliot casts a quick spell, catching the barista stopping what she’s doing behind them so she can make Quentin’s usual. “Oh, I already ordered it for you,” He says, “Your usual.”

“What?”

He shrugs, grinning, “I saw you through the window, and asked for your usual. It’s not a big deal.”

Even if it is a lie.

Quentin slowly lowers himself back into his chair and stares at Eliot blankly for a few confusing moments before shaking his head, and looking down at the table top.

“What?” Eliot finds himself asking.

Quentin makes a noise and looks back up at him. “Why are -,” He pauses, licks his lips, which doesn’t distract Eliot at all, and tries, “I don’t - this is. I have good friends.” He looks confused at his own statement as he shakes his head, waving a hand in front of him, “Julia is great, for one.”

Fuck Julia. Fucking Hedge Bitch choosing magic over her own friend who has blatantly been suffering over the past few months. Quentin deserves better. Not that Eliot is any better. After all, he’s just trying to fulfill his promise to seduce him. Quentin’s just oblivious to any and all sexual, or romantic - for that matter, advances.

Quentin seems stumped for a moment, like he can’t think of anyone past Julia to consider a friend, but then he barrels on. “But you - you’re, really, you know,” He moves his head and shoulders in a way that makes Eliot think of a turtle trying to crawl back into it’s shell, but is too lazy to actually go through with it - which is an annoyingly cute motion, “You’re in - you’re way too nice to me,” He rolls his eyes, “And I’m not sure why?” He looks up at Eliot, biting down on his lower lip.

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

He’s not sure what else to say. He’s pretty sure ‘I’ve come to fulfill a promise I made to you in a life you’ve forgotten about. What’s the promise? Nothing much, just to seduce you,’ isn’t exactly an appropriate response. Especially if he wants to keep from getting expelled from Brakebills for revealing magic.

He also see’s a familiar look forming at the edge of Quentin’s face, one that says he thinks he’s broken, and couldn’t understand anyone caring about him, and look, Eliot’s not the greatest person, but even he has the overwhelming urge to punch every single person who ever made Quentin think he’s not worthwhile.

“I mean. I’m -,”

“Kind and courteous? A hilarious smart ass?”

Quentin shakes his head. “Fairly broken.”

Eliot’s hand flies across the table and grabs Quentin’s again, squeezing his fingers around his palm, “Listen to me,” He murmurs, pausing as the barista sets Quentin’s coffee on the table with a smile, “You aren’t broken. You’re missing some pieces. But so is everybody else,” He shrugs, leaning back, though keeping a firm grasp on Quentin’s hand, “Let’s not be so dramatic, Quentin.”

“I’m not being dramatic. I’m being serious.”

“Hm,” Eliot murmurs, “I didn’t take you for a Harry Potter fan.”

Quentin stares at him for a long moment, before sighing, and slumping into his own chair, “You know what I meant.”

“I did,” He nods, running his thumb over Quentin’s knuckles, “But I’m choosing to ignore it, because you’re wrong.”

“You don’t even know me.”

Eliot laughs, “We’ve been getting coffee together twice  a week for nearly six months, Quentin. I think it’s safe to say we know each other fairly well at this point.”

Then Quentin does something so unlike him, and rips his hand away from Eliot’s, forcefully and angrily and leans forward, until his hair is just inches from dipping into his coffee. “But why?” And he looks genuinely confused and furious all at once.

He’s almost pouting.

And Eliot wants to kiss him. Which is, obviously, all part of his grand scheme.

“Why do we know each other? I just told you.”

Quentin huffs, glaring at him, though Eliot can’t possibly be expected to take it too seriously, and then he’s crossing his arms across his chest, watching him from over the table. “Why do we get coffee twice a week? Why did you approach me six months ago like it was nothing, and then sit there all smug, and. Just - ” He waves a hand around, motioning at all of Eliot, “So - you. Why is this - how - when did having a lunch with a hot guy twice a week become my life?” And Eliot should probably focus on how frustrated and confused Quentin sounds, but he’s a bit busy preening over being called a hot guy.

Eliot forces the smile that wants to bloom down, and just tilts his head at Quentin, “You think I’m hot?”

Which is enough to make Quentin stop nearly hyperventilating, “How do you always miss the point?!” He exclaims, eyes going wide as a couple a few tables away stop talking to turn and look at them. He huffs a big breath, leaning in closer to the table. “You know what I meant, Eliot.”

Look, Quentin’s frustrated, maybe a little angry, definitely confused, but Eliot can’t help but enjoy him like this. Back at Brakebills, the last time he saw him before he was wiped, he’d been beaten down and frightened. Worried about what his life would be after Brakebills - after magic. He was afraid he’d go back to the life of depression, and doing things he didn’t want to because he thought it was what he had to. But he hadn’t, and he’s still depressed - by God, if Eliot could get rid of that, he would - but he’s so much stronger than the man that Eliot met on the Brakebills lawn, that first day.

Magical Quentin didn’t give himself enough credit for what he was capable of. He’s awkward, but he’s strong and more demanding of the world now, and it’s, as bluntly as Eliot can possibly put it, hot as hell. Encouraging, too. This is that man that broke down after making a mistake, but at the same time, he’s somebody else entirely.

Eliot licks his lips, leans forward as well. “Is it so hard to believe I saw an entirely too attractive, geeky guy sitting by himself and wanted to join him?”

“Yes,” He takes a moment to look partially offended, “And I’m not a geek. If anything, I’m a nerd.”

Eliot laughs. “Okay, Quentin. You’re a nerd. Do you feel better now?”

Quentin deflates a bit. “No, not really.”

“What’s the problem, here?”

“I just,” He pauses, and looks up at the ceiling, eyes ticking back and forth over the tiles and lights, as if he’s trying to find the words to articulate what he’s feeling. “I’m confused.” He turns his gaze back on Eliot, then. “You’re insanely attractive - but you know that. And, you’re kind, and you care - why do you care?”

Why does he care?

There’s a loaded question he can’t actually answer.

He chews on his lip for a moment, watching Quentin, who seems to be trying to make himself smaller and smaller by each passing second. There’s a brief moment Eliot worries that he’ll tap into his magic and wham! Turn himself into a small animal or insect in front of everyone in the cafe. But he just keeps curling in on himself, watching Eliot with those big, worried eyes. “Have you ever,” Eliot starts, pursing his lips, “Seen someone and felt yourself kind of pulled towards them? It’s kind of intrinsic? You see them and you know that you’re supposed to talk to them, get to know them?”

He’d felt that way, when Quentin came tumbling through the trees and slowly, so fucking slowly, made his way across the Brakebills lawn towards him.  Yeah, he’d been assigned to get him to the test, but wanting to get to know him afterwards? He can’t exactly deny that he’d wanted to do that.

Mostly because Margo would shoot him dead for lying.

Quentin looks down at the table for just a moment, fingers reaching out and twisting the cup with his coffee around, until the logo is facing him, and the handle of the cup is pointed at the window. “Maybe.”

Eliot’s eyebrows shoot up. “Maybe? With who? Should I be jealous?” And maybe he feels a little jealous. Or maybe he messed up the temporary warming spell and it’s gradually getting hotter. Since Eliot isn’t the jealous type, it must be the spell.

Lithe fingers run over the top of the coffee cup, as Quentin’s thumb nail scratches at the logo. “No,” He murmurs, looking up at Eliot through his eyelashes. “I - uh,” he swallows, looks back down at the cup, “I saw you. Before? You introduced yourself.”

“Did you?”

“Yeah,” He swallows again, looking back up at Eliot. “A few times. That’s why I was so surprised when you asked to sit with me.”

Eliot grins. “Is that so?” He’s both impressed and surprised. He had tried to use a spell that made him - not invisible, but harder to notice. So he could stalk - ahem, check on - Quentin without seeming like a complete creep. So it is strange that Quentin, devoid of any knowledge of magic, had been able to see him. But also fairly impressive, because it means the magic is stronger in him than even Brakebills realized.

A little pang of pride shoots down Eliot’s spine, but he passes it off as a cold shiver. Because, obviously the spell is fluctuating between extreme heat and extreme cold. Not so strange - it’s never personally happened to him, but he doesn’t doubt it’s happened to other, less experienced Magicians. He’d been distracted this morning, he could have easily flubbed a part of the spell.

“I - Yeah.” Quentin shrugs, looking slightly guilty, his fingers continuing their assault on the poor coffee mug, “You were always in the corner,” He nods to the back of the cafe, where Eliot had definitely spent many a morning over his vodka coffee watching him, “And, I don’t know. It kind of felt like I knew you. And then you sat with me, and I didn’t know a single fucking thing,” He chuckles, more to himself, and looks back up, “You look all intense and scary and hot, but you’re -,” He stopped.

“I’m what?”

“Kind and, intense and - and hot.”

Eliot laughs, the sound roaring out of him in a shocking exhale. “Thanks, Q.” He reaches forward and stops Quentin’s thumb from actually somehow peeling off the logo, and wraps his fingers around Quentin’s, which are warm from the resonating heat of the coffee. “And, I care because you make me care.”

Something inside him pulls at his arm, attempts to wiggle free, but he glares down at his hand, and holds tight. Quentin needs someone to care, and Eliot can be, has been for months, that person, damn it. He can still keep his promise.

“I make you care?”

Eliot nods. “Besides the whole kicked puppy thing - no, it’s not bad, stop trying to pull your fucking hand away,” He squeezes his fingers tighter around Quentin’s, “Because you’re, I don’t know. Easy to care about, I guess.”

And maybe it’s the truth.

“I have clinical depression, a best friend off who knows where drugged up on only god knows what -,” Well, Eliot had a pretty good idea of what she’s drugged up on, and it’s not even remotely close to actual narcotics, “And a dad with brain cancer. How the fuck does that make me easy to care about?”

Eliot’s brow furrows. “You think because your life is fucked up people shouldn’t find it easy to care about you?”

“I’m saying it should be pretty near impossible to give a fuck.” He shrugs, looking down at their hands. “I know if I had the choice to not care about any of this, I’d walk away in a heart beat.”

“Your dad really got to you today, didn’t he?” Eliot murmurs. “That’s what this is, isn’t it?”

“No!” Then, “Maybe? . . . Yes? Yes.”

Sighing, Eliot, pulls away and reaches for his jacket. Quentin’s eyes go wide, and just as Eliot see’s the flash of hurt, it’s gone, but Eliot’s frantically leaning down, “No, no,” He says, pointing at Quentin, “I’m not - no. That’s not what’s happening, jesus. Stop being a sad sack and put your jacket on.”

“I - I,” He looks between Eliot’s pointing finger and the full cup of coffee on the table. “But I haven’t had my coffee.”

“And you’re too distracted to drink it. So, come on. We’re going to go do something exciting to get your mind off your shitty life.” He expects Quentin to be offended, but instead his chairs being pushed back, and Eliot almost gets smacked in the face as Quentin pulls on the jacket.

“Promise?” Quentin asks as he leans down and picks up his gloves, barely bothering to break eye contact with Eliot.

Eliot tilts his head. “Now that is not the response I would’ve predicted.”

Quentin at least has the decency to look a little embarrassed before saying, “I’ve wanted to see you outside of the cafe for a while, anyways.” Which makes them both laugh as Eliot rolls his eyes, and heads towards the entrance, grabbing Quentin’s hand as he does so.

What? His hands are warm and soft, and Eliot has a fucked up temp spell messing with his temperatures, and Quentin’s hands are right there for the taking. It’s not like he wants to hold his hands for anything other than safety purposes.

Even if they really are ridiculously soft.