Quentin Coldwater, banned from AO3 (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
volunteertomatoes) wrote2019-06-11 12:34 am
volunteertomatoes) wrote2019-06-11 12:34 am
deerington inbox;
C A L L ︙ V O I C E M A I L ︙ A C T I O N ︙ T E X T
C A L L ︙ V O I C E M A I L ︙ A C T I O N ︙ T E X T
quick question - did you pick the username supernerd for yourself or did someone help with that?
[ She honestly has to ask because the response could go either way. Such was Q. ]
[ She honestly has to ask because the response could go either way. Such was Q. ]
Yeah, Eliot.
Our house is pretty stocked.
S'up?
Our house is pretty stocked.
S'up?
Is this because I accidentally spilled the nailpolish on the table while clearing it off? I put it back with a reverse-entropy spell so should be fine.
1/2 text » what, this is totally a normal amount of calls and texts.
unsever
- 2019-09-09 22:53 (UTC) - ExpandWe'll handle his penis the same way we handle day drinking; together.
[ He's tried and failed a few times to figure out what to say, so eventually he settles on something simple. Something that doesn't convey much in the way of emotion, but it wouldn't be hard to read in between the lines. ]
Quentin.
Just... call me back when you get this, please?
[ 'When you come back from the dead. Hopefully.' ]
Quentin.
Just... call me back when you get this, please?
[ 'When you come back from the dead. Hopefully.' ]
[ And when he does get it: ]
What's up? Text or phone?
[ he's a millenial, an actual phone call means Bad News. ]
What's up? Text or phone?
[ he's a millenial, an actual phone call means Bad News. ]
I need you to be very honest with me: did the town completely change, or did I finally crack?
I really don't know how to say this...
I think the walls are pulsing. ( BEN REALLY HATES HOW THIS SOUNDS, don't worry, but he needs to know that he isn't crazy. )
I really don't know how to say this...
I think the walls are pulsing. ( BEN REALLY HATES HOW THIS SOUNDS, don't worry, but he needs to know that he isn't crazy. )
Oh thank God I thought I might have used Josh's special mushrooms in my stirfry
no its not just you
i think this place is gonna fuck is up again
i mean that was a given
but no, things are very Video Game right now
no its not just you
i think this place is gonna fuck is up again
i mean that was a given
but no, things are very Video Game right now
[Before Diarmuid leaves school one particular October day, he stops by Quentin's room.
It'd been some weeks since their meeting — which had been terribly stressful, but it was at least done with, and they could move on a little. It didn't necessarily make things go away, but one could anticipate as much; there's one particularly embarrassing moment where he'd moved to give something to Quentin and jerked his hand back like he'd nearly been electrocuted, but the moments of fear are far in-between than that day they had met for tea.
(... Even if the broken arm in its cast makes everything a smidge awkward for them, surely.)
Anyway, Diarmuid's been a mess still. Quieter, not quite so eager to ask questions, but... time heals some scars, even if only a select few. He puts the basket of goods on Quentin's desk, pressing it forward a little toward him; a nice smell drifts out of it, one of bread and stew in containers and wrappings in it; a scarf is sitting at another side, bundled up neatly.]
... Um. For you.
Winter's coming soon, so... I thought perhaps I should make sure everyone has a proper scarf, to keep warm.
It'd been some weeks since their meeting — which had been terribly stressful, but it was at least done with, and they could move on a little. It didn't necessarily make things go away, but one could anticipate as much; there's one particularly embarrassing moment where he'd moved to give something to Quentin and jerked his hand back like he'd nearly been electrocuted, but the moments of fear are far in-between than that day they had met for tea.
(... Even if the broken arm in its cast makes everything a smidge awkward for them, surely.)
Anyway, Diarmuid's been a mess still. Quieter, not quite so eager to ask questions, but... time heals some scars, even if only a select few. He puts the basket of goods on Quentin's desk, pressing it forward a little toward him; a nice smell drifts out of it, one of bread and stew in containers and wrappings in it; a scarf is sitting at another side, bundled up neatly.]
... Um. For you.
Winter's coming soon, so... I thought perhaps I should make sure everyone has a proper scarf, to keep warm.
[ It takes all of Quentin's restraint not to stop and bother Diarmuid about the Fillory book. In an alarming display of self-control he manages to keep quiet about it whenever he sees him, which is a miracle.
When Diarmuid pops in, Quentin flashes a small smile and goes back to erasing a few quadratic equations from the board: it's a lot more complicated than Diarmuid's seen, as he'd been helping out one of his AP students just prior.
That, or the AP student wanted to distract him so he'd forget the quiz. It worked. ]
Hey Diarmuid, what's up?
[ The smell hits him, and holy shit, that smells amazing, and he looks down at it and then the scarf, confusion visible on his face despite the fact that the kid has made it quite clear what's happening. ]
Did you--did you make these?
When Diarmuid pops in, Quentin flashes a small smile and goes back to erasing a few quadratic equations from the board: it's a lot more complicated than Diarmuid's seen, as he'd been helping out one of his AP students just prior.
That, or the AP student wanted to distract him so he'd forget the quiz. It worked. ]
Hey Diarmuid, what's up?
[ The smell hits him, and holy shit, that smells amazing, and he looks down at it and then the scarf, confusion visible on his face despite the fact that the kid has made it quite clear what's happening. ]
Did you--did you make these?
Quentin, something happened to Will and I don't know what to do. I don't know who to talk to about this, I haven't seen this happen before and I'm at a loss. I just don't know what to do, and I'm sure you don't either, but he isn't all right, and I can't help him. I can't do anything.
Goddamn it
Shit, I forgot that you're
I'm sorry
Here I am melting down and you're in stasis
God, I'm a wreck, I'm so sorry
I just wish you were here, but God knows what it is you're seeing back home right now
And I'm here being a complete knob.
Sorry...disregard all of this.
Shit, I forgot that you're
I'm sorry
Here I am melting down and you're in stasis
God, I'm a wreck, I'm so sorry
I just wish you were here, but God knows what it is you're seeing back home right now
And I'm here being a complete knob.
Sorry...disregard all of this.
[ Julia is normally very able to keep herself together through anything. Including via text, usually. Except for today where she just sends him a string of words with no punctuation knowing he'll be able to follow. ]
q dumbledore is real and here this is not a drill holy fucking shit q can you believe it i mean sure because newt but also what the actual fuck hes young and hot what the fuck dumbledore is a dilf when did that happen why didnt anyone warn us
q dumbledore is real and here this is not a drill holy fucking shit q can you believe it i mean sure because newt but also what the actual fuck hes young and hot what the fuck dumbledore is a dilf when did that happen why didnt anyone warn us
[ Unlike someone, Quentin is in class. Mainly because he's teaching. ]
Hi, Fern.
Do you want the reasons in order from least to most sequentially or just all at once?
Hi, Fern.
Do you want the reasons in order from least to most sequentially or just all at once?
[You have been visited by Holy Mami!
She descends from the winter night sky, presents in hand. She has a smile on her face as she hands you a gift with a note attached.]
“These were made with love especially for you! Merry Christmas!”
[Before you have the chance to say anything though, she’s gone! She has a lot of gifts to deliver and little time to do so!]
Happy Holidays and a Happy New Year!!
[because of course he can't leave eliot and quentin out -- will delivers a couple handpainted mugs, cocoa mix and a carefully-done pencil sketch of eliot and quentin together, cause you ain't fooling nobody, boys.]
[ Left hanging from the doorknob in a fancy-looking velvet drawstring bag is a deck of playing cards with a handwritten note: ]
Magic isn't just power. It's our own selves, even those who can't cast.
The deck is enchanted. I think you'll enjoy it.
—AQ
[ The enchantment is that every time he draws a card, it will show a talent, strength, or positive trait of his on it for one minute. Kick that bad brain in the ass, Q. ]
Magic isn't just power. It's our own selves, even those who can't cast.
The deck is enchanted. I think you'll enjoy it.
—AQ
[ The enchantment is that every time he draws a card, it will show a talent, strength, or positive trait of his on it for one minute. Kick that bad brain in the ass, Q. ]
[ It's been strange, coming back to Deerington. Though falling back into a "normal" routine is fairly easy — Peter's well-accustomed to living via going through the motions, not having to put too much thought or concern into things. He's fortunate that he has others to help keep him steady, though there's something in Peter that's changed after the events of Rapture.
He's more aware of it. Of what's wrong with him. ...He's constantly aware of it. It's there in his thoughts, the knowledge that there's something dark inside him, something with sentience and desires of its own. Something that can be brutal. Its violence had generally been directed at him all this time, but Peter's seen... and felt... how it can turn that towards others sometimes, too.
He remembers grabbing for Ben Dearborn, trying to shove him into the icy waters of a sinking ship. Maybe trying to kill him. The memory is hazy, belonging to something else, but it's still there in Peter's mind, settling into him. He can never forget.
He's afraid. Afraid to hurt others, and perhaps more selfishly, afraid of the fact that he needs to face this... this thing. 'Demon' — his mind whispers the word, tentatively, afraid to say it too loudly. He needs to tell people, warn them, but... he's so afraid of that.
He's shut down a bit again, emotionally. Apart from his connection with Luna — something that runs deep, through a red thread — Peter's been quiet, drifting away from people once more. He's returned to school, but he finds himself unable to care or concentrate much, and ends up skipping out on a lot of classes, having a joint outside the building.
He hasn't been to Mr. Coldwater's class since they all got back. He's afraid to face him after what happened, that... strange, confusing time he remembers as hazily as what happened with Ben. Peter remembers Fern attacking him, and all the blood... around. He remembers that he wasn't himself. Quentin saw him like that. And his teacher had done... some kind of magic, something like what Luna does, only different. Admittedly, Peter's a little afraid of that, too.
Classes are over now, and the perpetual sun is still shining through the windows as Peter makes his way to Quentin's classroom, nervous. Half of him hopes he's gone home already, but the other half hopes he hasn't. It's the latter half that gets its wish as Peter slips his head into the open door and sees his math professor inside. Belatedly, awkwardly, he gives a knock on the door even though he's already... standing halfway across the threshold by now. He's dark-eyed, circles beneath the heavy lids like he hasn't slept in weeks, apprehensive: that's Peter. ]
Uh... Mr. Coldwater? Sorry to bother you after school.
He's more aware of it. Of what's wrong with him. ...He's constantly aware of it. It's there in his thoughts, the knowledge that there's something dark inside him, something with sentience and desires of its own. Something that can be brutal. Its violence had generally been directed at him all this time, but Peter's seen... and felt... how it can turn that towards others sometimes, too.
He remembers grabbing for Ben Dearborn, trying to shove him into the icy waters of a sinking ship. Maybe trying to kill him. The memory is hazy, belonging to something else, but it's still there in Peter's mind, settling into him. He can never forget.
He's afraid. Afraid to hurt others, and perhaps more selfishly, afraid of the fact that he needs to face this... this thing. 'Demon' — his mind whispers the word, tentatively, afraid to say it too loudly. He needs to tell people, warn them, but... he's so afraid of that.
He's shut down a bit again, emotionally. Apart from his connection with Luna — something that runs deep, through a red thread — Peter's been quiet, drifting away from people once more. He's returned to school, but he finds himself unable to care or concentrate much, and ends up skipping out on a lot of classes, having a joint outside the building.
He hasn't been to Mr. Coldwater's class since they all got back. He's afraid to face him after what happened, that... strange, confusing time he remembers as hazily as what happened with Ben. Peter remembers Fern attacking him, and all the blood... around. He remembers that he wasn't himself. Quentin saw him like that. And his teacher had done... some kind of magic, something like what Luna does, only different. Admittedly, Peter's a little afraid of that, too.
Classes are over now, and the perpetual sun is still shining through the windows as Peter makes his way to Quentin's classroom, nervous. Half of him hopes he's gone home already, but the other half hopes he hasn't. It's the latter half that gets its wish as Peter slips his head into the open door and sees his math professor inside. Belatedly, awkwardly, he gives a knock on the door even though he's already... standing halfway across the threshold by now. He's dark-eyed, circles beneath the heavy lids like he hasn't slept in weeks, apprehensive: that's Peter. ]
Uh... Mr. Coldwater? Sorry to bother you after school.
[ He doesn't blame the kids for their sporadic attendance levels. 'Hi, I'm sorry, I'm not going to make it to the two weeks you're covering basic trig because last week I killed my cousin and also turned into a werewolf.' How the fuck is he supposed to get mad at something like that? Hell, there have been months where he'd had the death flu and he hadn't shown up whatsoever.
So, yeah, maybe he should be a little worried about Peter's absence, but he doesn't bat an eye when students wink in and out of his class. He wishes they'd at least stop by to grab homework, but that's the Former Gifted Kid, all capital letters, that will never stop stirring inside him.
What he is surprised at is that it's Peter Graham who hovers in his doorway. Peter's shown no signs of being a terrible student but no signs of being particularly good, either--not too disruptive, but a complete lack of work ethic that Quentin finds strangely enviable. He'd never been that detached when he was a teenager--he'd daydreamed like him but that's as far as it got. Quentini had been detatched in other ways, bad ways, looking up the highest buildings in New York and penning letters upon letters for the perfect way to say goodbye.
Quentin had been spinning his pen with one finger idly, fidgeting as he avoided going home (Alice's home, not his, and the fact that she's with Kady all the time makes it both better and worse), and he double-takes when the other speaks.
That's right. People call him Mr. Coldwater here. His gaze slides over to the clock. ]
Yeah--yeah, hey-- [ he'll quickly shut the binder of the work that he's been grading, though the pen clatters to the floor. He looks down at it, spends a split second figuring if he should pick it up or not, and settles on forgetting it as he looks back over at Peter. ]
What's up? [ Peter looks like shit. Quentin decides not to say that, and go for a more friendly option: ] School's over, please just call me Quentin, I'm too young to have a 'Mr' in there.
So, yeah, maybe he should be a little worried about Peter's absence, but he doesn't bat an eye when students wink in and out of his class. He wishes they'd at least stop by to grab homework, but that's the Former Gifted Kid, all capital letters, that will never stop stirring inside him.
What he is surprised at is that it's Peter Graham who hovers in his doorway. Peter's shown no signs of being a terrible student but no signs of being particularly good, either--not too disruptive, but a complete lack of work ethic that Quentin finds strangely enviable. He'd never been that detached when he was a teenager--he'd daydreamed like him but that's as far as it got. Quentini had been detatched in other ways, bad ways, looking up the highest buildings in New York and penning letters upon letters for the perfect way to say goodbye.
Quentin had been spinning his pen with one finger idly, fidgeting as he avoided going home (Alice's home, not his, and the fact that she's with Kady all the time makes it both better and worse), and he double-takes when the other speaks.
That's right. People call him Mr. Coldwater here. His gaze slides over to the clock. ]
Yeah--yeah, hey-- [ he'll quickly shut the binder of the work that he's been grading, though the pen clatters to the floor. He looks down at it, spends a split second figuring if he should pick it up or not, and settles on forgetting it as he looks back over at Peter. ]
What's up? [ Peter looks like shit. Quentin decides not to say that, and go for a more friendly option: ] School's over, please just call me Quentin, I'm too young to have a 'Mr' in there.
I barely have facebook.
Also why didn't you take a bus to wherever you're going?
Also why didn't you take a bus to wherever you're going?
so the whole thing flooded
UNLIKE in all the space shows
so I guess space and the sea aren't all that similar
anywho
that song the little red Jamaican crab sings?? The one that's obviously about going down on someone
so why the fuck was it in a kids' movie??
was a goddamn lie
sure, oral is great
but having the air crushed out of your lungs by a shitzillion pounds of water??
NOT BETTER
it turns out Squidface McGee didn't just look like Squidward with a thirst for my giblets
But he could FUCKING SWIM UNDERWATER
UNLIKE in all the space shows
so I guess space and the sea aren't all that similar
anywho
that song the little red Jamaican crab sings?? The one that's obviously about going down on someone
so why the fuck was it in a kids' movie??
was a goddamn lie
sure, oral is great
but having the air crushed out of your lungs by a shitzillion pounds of water??
NOT BETTER
it turns out Squidface McGee didn't just look like Squidward with a thirst for my giblets
But he could FUCKING SWIM UNDERWATER
woah hey
not who you're thinking of
also who is constantine and who are you threatening
not who you're thinking of
also who is constantine and who are you threatening
uhhhhh no i haven't thought about my five-year plan i'm thirteen
i can't even make a five HOUR plan
in five years i'll be OLD
i can't even make a five HOUR plan
in five years i'll be OLD
[ what ]
1. if someone talks to you about a 401k, run.
2. does that make ME old? I'm only 30.
1. if someone talks to you about a 401k, run.
2. does that make ME old? I'm only 30.
i guess in a worst case scenario i can just order them pizza
and bring dirt inside for fern
i'm not used to feeding this many people
and bring dirt inside for fern
i'm not used to feeding this many people
no one has ever turned down pizza unless they're evil in some form
eliot and margo are more your go-tos for food shit here, though i guess i'm flattered
fern really eats dirt huh
eliot and margo are more your go-tos for food shit here, though i guess i'm flattered
fern really eats dirt huh
FUN FACT: movie theater screens have tiny holes in them for the speakers behind them!
i thought they were just on the sides
[ holy shit you blew his mind ]
[ holy shit you blew his mind ]
I love you so much but I'm really not ready to fight about this again.
[ does he assume this is eliot? yes. when has q ever paid attention to anything like that? ]
[ does he assume this is eliot? yes. when has q ever paid attention to anything like that? ]
Edited 2020-04-08 17:52 (UTC)
yes but HOW MUCH do phoenixes eat, that's the real question, isn't it
do you want the brakebills answer or the fillorian one
if this place has proven anything its that he’s absolute marriage material
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