#proofconcept

Dean sits opposite Elliot with a big motel table between them. The bars had closed and Dean was shacked up down the road so- why not move the party here? 

He doesn’t know how long they’ve been drinking but his head is a bit foggy from the whiskey. Not too bad yet but- foggy. 

❝  ---what?  ❞  doe blue eyes go wide as she looks pleadingly at eliot from across the table. ella does her best not to stare as the man passes them, though she can feel that her friend’s gaze remains with him. a heavy sigh passes past her lips as she gently waves her hand so that the kettle pours her another cup of tea. once ella is sure that he is out of ear-shot, she leans over the table with a hushed whisper.

wasteland, baby! - by hozier ( lyrics starters ) @proofconcept​

❛ i came in from the outside. ❜ / monster ~

QUENTIN HAS grown very used to the monster’s antics, including invading his personal space. in fact, quentin now assumes any space that he is occupying will eventually become occupied by the monster as well. the only exception to this rule, so far, has been the bathroom and the bedroom. he assumed it’s because the monster had decided any human activities that happened in these rooms were too boring and quentin had appreciated the peace. it seems that’s over now, though. he blinks, slow and tired, as he turns over his shoulder to look at the monster standing near the edge of his bed, the twigs and leaves seemingly scattered in his hair, and glances at the still-closed door. apparated inside then. 

@proofconcept​​ | secret relationships | accepting

        if this is a party, it appears to be a party of one; aoife stands in the doorway, arms full of borrowed books, looking at eliot and wondering if she’s missing something. invisibility? secret doorways to the actual party? there doesn’t seem to be anything, and magic’s gone anyway...but she feels a distinct out of place-ness when she’s at brakebills. ( it’s the same feeling she had at oxford, like she --- a working-class scot --- stood out among the red bricks and etonian snobs, but at least she was a student, there. here, she’s a stranger, a looked-down-upon hedge witch with a borrowed alumni key. if it’s necessary. are the wards even still there? ) and she doesn’t know eliot well. have they ever even spoken?