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    Summary

    “It's not a small detail, Wicker,” Eliot says, perhaps a little more sharply than necessary. “Whoever he thinks I am, I'm – clearly not. And he's not....”

    Damn. Eliot's throat won't quite let him vocalize the rest of the thought, and he resents that small weakness. This young man who lives with Julia now, he's not – he's not the Quentin Coldwater that Eliot carries. He shouldn't hold any power over Eliot at all.

    That's the theory, at least.

    Language:
    English
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    22,672
    Chapters:
    3/3
    Comments:
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    Kudos:
    215
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  2. 20 Apr 2021

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  3. 18 Apr 2021

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  4. 15 Apr 2021

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  5. 13 Apr 2021

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  6. 05 Apr 2021

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  7. 05 Apr 2021

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  8. 03 Apr 2021

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  9. 24 Mar 2021

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    Bookmark Notes:

    Bittersweet

  10. 23 Mar 2021

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  11. 18 Mar 2021

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  12. 11 Mar 2021

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    Iron It Out So Nice by @spiders-hth-is-an-outlier
    Collection: It Always Leads to You

    This fic is awesome. Insanely good. Carves deep into a soul.

    Santa comes tonight, if you're good. If you've been good, if you've cleaned your plate and done your chores without complaining and used good manners and you haven't told your parents any lies (except for that lie, of course, you must absolutely tell that lie to be good).

    Like in every paragraph there is a new revelation
    hidden in a drunken mind logic

    Eliot supposes she sort of...inherited him. Scooped him up like an orphaned puppy and added him to her portfolio. Is that a mixed metaphor? No. No, he can imagine a portfolio of puppies. It's a charming image. Eliot is clever.

    belittled in rhetorical questions

    That sounds like a thing that friends have. Holiday traditions. Because friends are basically just families, right? You can love them or hate them. They can be kind or cruel. You can run from them. They can leave you behind. But you'll always have certain things in common with them, like it or not, and those things are called...traditions? Memories? Collective trauma?

    exposed in offhanded comments

    I hope you know that I'm, I don't know, not your friend I guess, but in your corner? A weird, long-distance parasocial stranger-friend who wants every good thing in the world to happen for you, because I'm 99% sure that you are kind and loyal and generous, I think all of that is who you are deep down, who you would always turn out to be.

    veiled by bitterness

    Wishes are pointless, they don't matter, they're what stupid people confuse with magic. Eliot doesn't wish – hasn't really wished for anything in ages, because either you can have something or you can't have it, there's no middle state, nowhere in the world where you can just afford to swan around wishing things while the world grinds on.

    hopelessly romantic

    There's nothing else like – kissing the right person. No substitute at all.

    Something that just ticks you over to bark a laugh with tear-stained checks

    “It's weird not to have a bunch of goddamn buttons and shit to get through,” Quentin says with a grin, and something about how fucking unsentimental it is makes Eliot's heart kick harder in his chest than I love you did a minute ago. “No vest, no tie. You're practically naked in this, like – Jane Austen kind of way.”
    “Am I pulling it off?” Eliot asks.

  13. 27 Feb 2021

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  14. 25 Feb 2021

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  15. 23 Feb 2021

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  16. 16 Feb 2021

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  17. 15 Feb 2021

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  18. 15 Feb 2021

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  19. 13 Feb 2021

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  20. 09 Feb 2021

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  21. 09 Feb 2021

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