#Quentin and Eliot are BFFs

[eliotqueliot]

Queliot & The Magicians Fic Reading Winter Challenge, part 6

Hey, all, I apologize for the delay, and for the write-ups being a little shorter. I'm under so many deadlines, but I've still been reading (and enjoying your work so much!!), and I'm going to do my best! I'm either gonna give you 50 recs by the end of Feb., or I'll extend again into March & add still more recs. Guess which is more likely XD. Also apologies--my brain is in art mode--I probably need a serious proofreader. Anyway, thank you so much for all your amazing and beautiful Queliot fanworks! That goes for everyone reading this! You keep my heart alive. Once again, the number is merely a count of how many fic I've shared with you, that I've read and commented on during this time period.

21. I adored this continuation of the Queliot pirate epic! This time with a new look at Eliot's family and continuing the really great worldbuilding, pirate/sea vibes, and beautiful connection between the characters. Truly epic! Complete with music! Thank you, @summerstede❤️

22. These are just so incredibly sweet and loving! Very cozy, too, if you need some divine Queliot comfort! As always, these have so many great details, they feel so real and are definitely healing. Thank you, @lizardkingeliot❤️

23. This fic has just so much love, so many thoughtful details, which are so touching and show how hard Eliot will work to make things special for Quentin. And Margo and Julia help, great relationships amongst them all! And some truly special and beautiful moments...please enjoy!!! Thank you, @allegria23❤️

Also, there's fanart to go with it! Which I love, love, love so much! Such a beautiful visualization of an important (and very sweet) scene. Please share the love with the artist, too! Thank you, @tah-fcking-dah ❤️

24. Wow oh wow, this is an amazing way to subvert things! Quentin as a Niffin! Eliot on a mission to save him! I don't want to give you any more spoilers, but it's just so well done, and makes so much more sense than what happened. Thank you, @wolfnprey ❤️

25. I love the Winter Olympics, and this is an incredibly realized and beautiful Queliot AU (Eliot as a skater makes perfect sense! The translation of their personalities into skating styles!). Love everything, including the rivals to lovers, the character development, all the social media interactions, the slow burn (that seahorse thing makes my heart hurt, so good). Thank you, @inmediasres-1 ❤️

26. This is a Queliot-Divergent crossover! It's so good! And it comes with beautiful art by the author. I love the new solutions to the harmonic convergence, how to show Q what Eliot fears, Alice as a Niffin (loved her haunting & research), also some great BFF moments for Q & Jules and El & Margo; and the Queliot is just great!!! Love it! Thank you, @cyprianlatewood ❤️

#Queliot & The Magicians Fic Reading Winter Challenge

#Queliot and TM fic reading winter challenge

[quentinsquill]

The Welters Challenge, Week 2 Fic: “Scarce a Greensward Spot Remains.”

Scarce a Greensward Spot Remains

Author: Lexalicious70 (TheChampagneKing70)

Fandom: The Magicians

Rating: Mature

Genre: Friendships, episode-related AU (“The World in the Walls”)

Warnings: Asylum setting, discussion of depression, hints of sexual abuse, outdated treatments of mental illness and sexuality

Word Count: 6,395

Summary: When Quentin is incepted, Eliot risks everything to follow him down the rabbit hole of his friend’s mind to find him, but what he finds may destroy them both before they can escape back to reality and Brakebills.

Author’s notes: This is for the 2017 Welters Challenge, week two, “Friendships.” The title is borrowed from the writings of poet John Clare. Please heed the warnings! I don’t own The Magicians, this is just for fun and therapy. All mistakes are my own. A special thanks to @cldfiredrgn and @hiqueenbambiwaugh for support and inspiration! Without you, this story might never have been finished in time. Feedback is magic! Enjoy! 

You can also read it on AO3 here: http://archiveofourown.org/works/11227833

Scarce a Greensward Spot Remains

By Lexalicious70 (TheChampagneKing70)

 “We can’t just leave it like this. We can’t just say it’s over and let Quentin die!”

 Eliot stood in front of the dean’s desk, glaring at Henry Fogg with red-rimmed eyes. Behind them, on the leather couch, Quentin laid still and quiet, other than the rise and fall of his chest, as a variety of professors filed out the door.

 “You heard what Professor Li said, Eliot. The Matarese failed to bring Quentin out of the inception. He’s fallen in too deeply for Penny or any of us to reach.” The older man’s features softened. “I’m sorry. I know the two of you have become fast friends.”

 “He doesn’t deserve this! We have to find the hedges bitches who did it and force them to reverse the inception!”

 “The Matarese should have done that already. Something must have gone wrong that they didn’t anticipate. Now.” Fogg adjusted the lapels of his suit coat. “We’ll have to notify Quentin’s family that there’s been—well—they’ll believe it was an accident. We’ll pay for his treatment, of course—”

 “Treatment? You mean some home or asylum where they’ll feed him through tubes the rest of his life?”

 “Do you have a better idea? You know that learning magic comes with certain dangers. Quentin knew it too.”

 “This was done to him!” Eliot pointed to Quentin’s silent form. “He didn’t cast a spell he shouldn’t have or hurt anyone deliberately! We can’t just say this is all we can do!”

 “We can make Quentin comfortable and then perhaps, maybe in the future, a cure or solution can be found.”

 Eliot closed his eyes a moment.

 “At least let me take him back to his room at the cottage.”

 “Very well. It may take a day or so to contact his father anyway.”

 Eliot bit back a scathing reply that had something to with Fogg’s own parentage and turned to Quentin. His eyes moved under closed lids and his chest steadily with the pattern of his breathing but other than that, he appeared lifeless. Eliot blinked away the sting of tears.

 “Come on, Q. I’ll tuck you in.” He murmured, pushing a lock of hair from his friend’s eyes before scooping him up and holding him close to his chest. Dean Fogg made no move to help as the second year moved to the door.

 “I am sorry, Eliot.” He said, but the only reply was the pointed snick of the office door shutting as Eliot used his telekinesis to close it behind him.

  “What the hell is this?” Margo asked as the door to the Physical Kids cottage opened and Eliot carried Quentin inside and up the steps. “Eliot! Answer me!”

 “Come with me. We don’t have a lot of time.” Eliot carried Quentin to his room and set him on the bed, his mouth twisting as he wrestled his emotions under control. He pushed a hand through his own hair, dislodging some of the curls from their proper place.

 “Why did you bring him here? I thought—” Margo looked down at Quentin’s still form. “I thought there wasn’t anything they could do.”

 “Dean Fogg doesn’t think so. But whatever happened, wherever Quentin is, he’s slipped down so far that not even summoning the Matarese helped. Penny couldn’t find him either, but Penny doesn’t know him the way I do.”

 “Eliot, you don’t know him very well at all! He barely moved into the cottage a week ago!”

 “I know him better than Penny! He’s a Physical Kid, Margo, he’s like us, and we can’t just leave him to whatever’s happening in his head!”

 “So what do you suggest?” Margo asked, and Eliot’s amber eyes seemed to burn into hers, lit from within by emotion.

 “I need you to incept me, Margo.”

 “Are you out of your fucking mind, Eliot? No! Just—no fucking way!”

 “Listen to me!” Eliot grabbed both her hands and sat on the bed so they were more or less at eye level with each other. “Quentin is our friend. Dean Fogg and the staff may have given up on him but we can’t! We’re the only ones he can depend on now! If it were you, there’s no way I would let anyone take you away to be tube fed, to where the only bag you ever own again is a colostomy bag! I wouldn’t let it fucking happen to you, Bambi, and Quentin wouldn’t either. I’m strong—I can go deeper than Penny did and there’s a spell that will help me find wherever Quentin’s gone! Professor Sunderland talked about it during that section on understanding inceptions!”

 “Since when did you ever pay attention in her class? Or any class?” Margo asked, and Eliot squeezed her hands.

 “All we need is some of Quentin’s blood. It will link me to him and pull me into where he is!”

 “You’re talking like we’ve already decided to do this! Jesus El, you don’t just incept someone like you’re giving them a wet fucking willy! This is your life we’re talking about!”

 “It’s Quentin’s too.” Eliot held her gaze. “And if you won’t do it, I’ll find some desperate hedges that will!”

 Margo’s dark eyes widened before her expression dissolved into a scowl.

 “Goddamn it.”

 “Does that mean you’ll do it?” Eliot asked, and Margo rolled her eyes.

 “Like I have a choice after a statement like that? Fine! Yes! Jesus!” She bit off each word like she’d rather be tearing Eliot’s throat out with her teeth, but Eliot smiled.

 “Thank you, Bambi.”

 “Oh sure. Thank me for putting you into a mind fuck so deep that you might never come back from it!”

 “You’re right.” Eliot looked over at Quentin, his face inanimate and slack.

 “But it’s the only way.”

  Consciousness didn’t come to Quentin all at once. It crawled over him like some large, curious insect, filling his limbs and torso with sensation. It reached his brain, filling it with awareness, and he opened his eyes. The ceiling over his head was unfamiliar and dingy grey, pockmarked with stains. He sat up and the narrow cot he was in creaked. Quentin blinked and tried to raise a hand to wipe his eyes, only to find them both secured to the cot’s metal frame with thick brown leather cuffs. They were cracked with age but unyielding. He glanced around to see that the was laying in the middle of a row of identical cots, and in each laid a man, most of them bound, as he was. Some slept, some lay there with wide, staring eyes, some sobbed, and some thrashed and sobbed. Quentin didn’t see any women: wherever he was, it seemed to be place for men only.

 The rows of cots extended from the wall behind Quentin’s cot to nearly the middle of the room on both sides, leaving a pathway only wide enough for one person to navigate. A nurse in a starched white dress and peaked cap wheeled a cart down the aisle, stopping here and there to tend to a few of the men. Quentin tugged on his restraints.

 “Uhm. Hello? Hey, I think there’s been some kind of mistake? Excuse me?” He called, and a short, balding man with a fringe of white hair and old-fashioned glasses—granny glasses, people called them—stepped over to the cot.

 “Well well, Mr. Coldwater.” He had a familiar accent and Quentin’s confused mind made a cross connection to celebrity chef Gordon Ramsay. “You’re awake! Don’t worry, lad, everything’s going to be all right.”

 “Oh. Okay, except the thing is, I’m not sure where I am and the last thing I remember is being at the cottage with my friends?”

 “And that’s where you tarry now! At the Cottage Hospital, in Wrekenton. Your father brought you to us. He is very concerned about you, very concerned indeed! But we believe we can help you with the proper treatment, make you a hale and healthy member of Her Majesty’s populace once again, eh?”

 “Her Majesty’s—did you say Wrekentons?”

 “That’s correct. Don’t fret, Mr. Coldwater, we believe you suffer from acute melancholia, but we have cured young men such as yourself from this affliction in the past, and we are confident that we can cure you, too.”

 Quentin took another long look around the room and then down at himself. He was wearing rough canvas pants and an oversized sweater. Brown slippers covered his feet.

 This isn’t real . . . He thought to himself, and something in his upper chest burned briefly like an overtaxed light source before going dark again. He frowned.

 “Okay. Is this one of those trial dreams? Because I think the dean would have given us some kind of warning?”

 The balding man only smiled. It seemed kind, but it never reached his pale blue eyes.

 “Your treatment will begin immediately. A bit of hydrotherapy with a wet pack should sort you out to start with. Settle you down, give you a bit of clarity, eh?” Two burly men came over to the cot and undid Quentin’s restraints before hauling him to his feet.

 “Hey, what—put me down! I can walk, you don’t have to—Alice? Penny? Eliot! Can anyone hear me? Please someone, hear me!” Quentin shouted, his dangling legs kicking. Whatever this was, it was becoming clear that he was in some kind of asylum, but one that existed somewhere in the past, tucked away in the English countryside, away from public concern and medical regulation. One that loomed in the recesses of Quentin’s collective consciousness: Wrekenton Asylum, in Gateshead, near the banks of the River Tyne, in England.

 A place that had been closed for over 150 years.

  “I just want to go on the record as saying this is a really stupid idea.”

 Eliot paused in his inventory of the spell’s ingredients to nod at Penny, who he’d corralled as Margo’s reluctant spellcasting partner. The traveler paced around Quentin’s room, giving Quentin’s still form nervous, furtive glances.

 “Noted, but the inception spell requires two people and you’re available.” Eliot leaned over Quentin and used a sterilized knife from the kitchen to open a small cut on the ball of Quentin’s right thumb. “Sorry, Q.” He murmured as he lifted that hand and let the blood drip into the bowl that held the rest of the ingredients. Eliot then loosened his tie, pulled it free, and unbuttoned the top button on his shirt before laying down next to Quentin on his back, his hands at his sides.

 “Are your wards down?” Margo asked, and Eliot nodded.

 “Whenever you’re ready.”

 Margo leaned over him a moment and Eliot tipped his gaze upwards to meet hers. She scowled.

 “You two assholes better come back.”

 “If you love an asshole, incept it. If it returns to you . . .” Eliot trailed off as Margo’s dark eyes narrowed. “Okay. Don’t worry, Bambi. I’ll find Q. I’ll bring him back.” He closed his eyes and felt Margo’s fingers trail along his cheek before the room filled with the smell of the spell and Margo and Penny’s chanting. Brakebills fell away, plunging Eliot into darkness.

 How much later he awoke, Eliot couldn’t say. Cold drops of water were hitting his face and he shivered, the sensation causing him to open his eyes.

 He found himself sitting in a wicker wheelchair with grand front wheels, something one might see in a medical history museum. A knitted blanket was thrown over his legs, and a glance downward revealed that he was wearing a rough ivory pullover and old trousers. A shabby faux-silk red dressing gown covered those, but that sight was nothing compared to what loomed in front of Eliot as people shuffled or were wheeled past him on the grounds of what had to be a hospital.

 It was as if the Physical Kids cottage had mated with some massive brick-and-stone building, combining the peaked roof and the twin brick chimneys with grim stonework and then had elongated into a structure that might span half a football field. The windows that lined the front were also similar to the ones at the cottage, but they were barred over with thick cross hatches of iron. Eliot got to his feet, staring at the building.

 “Jesus Q . . .where the hell did you send yourself?” He asked softly, and a hand fell on his shoulder. It turned him with surprising strength, and Eliot found himself facing a man he hadn’t seen in years: Reverend Schutt, who had run his parents’ church back in Whiteland. As a child, Eliot had been terrified of the man’s fire-and-brimstone outlook and hated him later on for his sermons about gays and witches being hellbound as Eliot came to understand himself, and at the sight of his preacher’s collar and flat steel-grey eyes, it all rushed back at him.

 “Eliot.” It was the same deep, stern voice, only now it carried an Irish lilt. “Taking the Lord’s name in vain again? What have I told you, boy, that He hears you, even when you think you’re alone? The devil take you, is there no end to your wicked ways?”

 “I’m sorry, Reverend, I didn’t—”

 A forceful slap to his cheeks, forehand, backhand, shocked Eliot into silence and he blinked.

 “Father Schutt, and I can see that you’ve been given outdoor privileges a wee bit too soon! Orderlies!” He barked, and two men in dingy white uniforms crossed the lawn. The rain began to fall harder.

 “Take this boy to the hydrotherapy room! I think a few hours in the bath should soothe his heathen soul! And be sure to fit him with a purity device—the doctors tell me his sexual deviancy knows few bounds!”

 “Sexual—hey!” Eliot jerked away as one of the men took his arm. He summoned up a telekinetic spell that would give the man a nasty shock if he touched him again, but it fizzled on his fingertips and the two men gripped his arms firmly and marched him toward the building.

 “Come on now, that’s a good lad!” The taller of them said, and Eliot found himself being manhandled through a set of double doors and down a long hallway. The walls and floor were stained a nicotine yellow, and one of the men let go of Eliot to push open another door at the end of the hall. Moist air hit Eliot’s face. The door shut behind him, and he found himself facing a row of deep clawfoot bathtubs. A few were empty and had what looked like canvas hammocks set into them, tied to a thick metal frame that sat inside the tub. Clean sheets with a circular hole large enough to fit one’s head were stacked nearby, and in one of the tubs sat an older gentleman, the sheet stretched over him and secured firmly to the outer edges of the tub. His eyes were glassy and a rill of drool ran from one corner of his mouth. On the other side of the room, a figure lay on a wide table, cocooned in visibly wet sheets. Eliot’s stomach dropped as he recognized the dark blond curtain of hair that hid the man’s face.

 “Quentin?” He took a step forward and the orderlies grabbed him again. Eliot fought to free himself and reach the table. “Quentin!”

 The figure on the table moaned and turned his head, which was all that was visible, and the hair fell to one side to reveal Quentin’s stunned face. His pupils were dilated and his lips moved, but no sound came out. He was cocooned so tightly that Eliot could see the entire outline of his body.

 “Oh shit! What the hell are you doing to him? Quentin, it’s me, it’s Eliot! Wake up!” Eliot shouted as the other orderly filled a bathtub with cold water. The orderly holding him yanked off his robe. Eliot turned, furious, and landed a punch to the man’s jaw. He grunted and stumbled backward, and then four more men were coming through the door, their expressions grim with intent. They took Eliot to the slick, stained floor and held him down while the other orderly, working his bruised jaw, stripped him.

 “Get the fuck off of me! You fucking assholes!” Eliot shrieked as they lifted his now-naked form into the canvas hammock of the tub and strapped him into it. The cold water hit his body and he gasped, thrashing, as the other men yanked the sheet over his head and secured it to the tub, trapping Eliot inside. Someone slipped a rubber pillow under Eliot’s head as he lay immersed up to his chin, and his teeth began to chatter.

 “Fuck! Oh fuck . . . Quentin!” He turned his head to look at his friend, but Quentin was staring and still in his cocoon of wet sheets. One of the orderlies set down a steel implement on a table nearby and Eliot stared at it. Judging from its shape, it was clearly meant to fit over his genitals, and it looked so tight that it made his mouth go dry with panic.

 Oh shit, it’s a chastity belt! Eliot thought to himself, unable to stop his teeth from chattering. The cold water began to numb his limbs.

 “Q . . . can you hear me? Quentin . . . come on, snap out of it, please!” Eliot tried to pull free of the canvas sling, but he’d been firmly strapped into it with his hands under the water. His fingers and toes went numb and finally he relaxed, although unwillingly, submitting to the treatment.

 He wasn’t sure how long he sat there, immersed and helpless, the silent but menacing threat of the purity device on the nearby table, but when Eliot next opened his eyes, he was numb and weak, and Father Schutt was standing over him.

 “I was disappointed to hear of your outburst, Eliot. Very disappointed!” Something gleamed in the man’s eyes—a kind of hooded delight, as if this was a well-loved game he’d played many times. “I’ve spoken with your doctors, and they agree that your idle, sinning hands are a detriment to healing. Therefore, we’re going to put them to work at my church, under my close personal supervision, during the daylight hours, after which you’ll be returned here for dinner and rest. Perhaps it will help change your attitude and temper, and help you see God’s path as He works to heal your sinner’s soul.” The gleam in Schutt’s eyes increased as two orderlies freed him from the tub and held him up, his dripping feet dangling. Eliot turned his head to look at the table where Quentin had been, but now it was empty. Schutt picked up the purity device.

 “The lord and I will teach you humility, boy. Don’t you worry.”

 Twenty minutes later, Eliot found himself being firmly walked down a different hallway. They’d dressed him in rough drawstring pants and a sweater that was too small for him. The cuffs rode halfway to his elbows. The steel device strapped to his thighs—buckled at the back so he couldn’t undo it on his own—chafed him and made him walk with a careful, shuffling gait. The orderlies took him into a large room filled with cots and deposited him onto an empty one, securing his wrists to it before walking away. Eliot yanked on the cuffs, testing their strength, and then his heart leapt when spotted Quentin just a few cots down. Quentin’s head was turned toward him slightly, his hands secured as Eliot’s were, and Eliot turned over as far as he could.

 “Quentin!” He whispered loudly. “Q! Hey! Come on, wake up!”

 Quentin’s eyes fluttered open. The dark irises were muddled with the trauma of the wet pack and what Eliot assumed were sedatives.

 “Eliot . . . ?” He whispered, and Eliot nodded.

 “It’s me, Q.”

 “Dreaming. Must be . . .”

 “No! Well—you are, but it’s more than that. You’re being incepted! Your hedge witch buddy Julia and her merry pals are fucking with your mind! None of this is real, Q! I came to find you but you’re in so deep that my magic isn’t working! We have to find a way out before we both forget who and what we are!”

 “Magic?” Quentin muttered, and Eliot lowered his voice as a nurse frowned in their direction.

 “Yes, magic! Try to remember! You’re a magician! So am I! We both attend Brakebills College for Magical Pedagogy!”

 “Sleep.” Quentin murmured in reply, the treatment and drugs taking effect. Eliot shook his head.

 “Quentin! Stay with me, come on! We need to make a plan!” His stomach sank as Quentin’s eyes closed and his expression went slack.

 “Shit.” Eliot muttered, shifting in the narrow cot as the steel plate strapped to his groin made comfort impossible.

 The following morning, Father Schutt came for Eliot before dawn. He and two orderlies dressed him hastily and bundled him into a carriage, where he was taken to Gateshead. The small community was growing hastily around a large stone church, where Father Schutt held services and amassed a great deal of power over the locals. He insisted on dismissing the orderlies and supervising Eliot’s labor on his own, and soon Eliot found himself hauling water, emptying chamber pots, scrubbing the church’s steps and floor, washing windows, and other back-breaking tasks that left him exhausted. Through it all, Schutt berated him with a mixture of Bible verses and condemning sermons, and by midday, his head throbbed and his hips and thighs were a rash-covered misery from the canvas straps that held the steel plate in place. As Schutt approached him with a cup of water, a slice of thick bread, and a different kind of hunger in his grey eyes, Eliot lowered his gaze and felt his old reality begin to slip away.

  The wheelchair bumped along an uneven path, pushed by an aging, dour nurse. The sun was out, a rarity for the area, and Quentin turned his face up toward the sunlight. His doctor, the one with the granny glasses—Vaulkner, his name was—thought the sun might do him some good.

 Quentin thought back to the night before as he rolled along. He was pretty sure he’d dreamed seeing Eliot, conjured him up out of fear and loneliness. While much of Brakebills was fading away, Eliot remained a presence in Quentin’s mind. He missed his friend’s smile, his laconic humor, his arch observations, and the way he made Quentin want to be a better magician.

 Eliot . . . did I dream him, or . . .?

 The nurse wheeled him to the crest of a small hill, and Quentin twitched as the burning sensation in his chest that he’d felt the day before returned, only now it felt like it was trying to push its way out like—shit, what was that movie, the one with the actress with the frizzy hair? Quentin put a hand to his chest. The nurse paused.

 “Mr. Coldwater? Are you all right?”

 “Aliens!” Quentin blurted out, the name of the movie coming back to him. The nurse eyed him.

 “Let’s get you back to bed. Perhaps you’ve had a wee bit too much fresh air.”

 “No wait, I’m fine, please, just . . . the view here is so beautiful!” Quentin worked to keep his voice calm as the feeling became raw and familiar, something that made this reality weaker, even if just for a moment.

 It was magic, and it wanted to show him the way out.

 The nurse wheeled him back inside about fifteen minutes later and took him to the large room where the patients who were able to sit up on their own ate their meals. There were at least twenty long wooden tables with rough benches, and Quentin tried to hang onto what he’d felt on that hill as they served him a lumpy porridge and a wrinkly, anemic apple. He knew that they’d give him more medication after supper, and that it might cause him to forget what he’d felt. He ate his porridge slowly, making slow, laborious movements with his fingers as he tried to recall a few simple sleight-of-hand gestures that might buy him some time.

 Two hours later he was bundled into his cot, the medication he’d palmed tucked into his neighbor’s bed. Fortunately, Quentin’s orderly for the evening hadn’t been very observant. The cot next to him was empty, but a few moments later Quentin raised his head as footsteps shuffled toward him and a tall, thin figure was dumped onto it. Quentin’s chest seemed to expand to the size of the Holland Tunnel as he recognized the dark, curly hair and the big yet elegant hands, although they were red and raw, the nails cracked. The orderlies secured them with cuffs and Quentin kept his head down until the men walked away.

 “Eliot? Hey! Eliot!” He whispered, and the older man raised his head. Quentin’s relief quickly turned to alarm and sympathy when he saw the exhaustion that lined Eliot’s face. His eyes held some awful memory, recent enough that it made them appear both frightened and resigned. Quentin tried to reach out and touch him, but the restraints had little give. “Eliot . . . you weren’t a dream, you’re here . . . hey! Come on, talk to me El, please!”

 Recognition finally flickered in the amber depths of Eliot’s eyes.

 “Quentin.”

 “Yeah! It’s me . . . I palmed my meds in case I didn’t dream you. How did you find me?”

 “Spell.” Eliot murmured, but it was like he couldn’t quite remember. The reality of Wreckentons was quickly eating up the one he’d came from. “Margo . . . Penny, I think. Came to look for you but this inception . . . it’s strong, Q. Stronger than I’d thought possible. I don’t see a way out.”

 “Actually, there might be a way. I felt it this afternoon, on a hill behind the hospital.” He lowered his voice to a bare whisper. “But it means we both have to escape the grounds.”

 Eliot lowered his gaze and Quentin shook his head.

 “Hey! We can’t let this place take us, El! We have to help each other remember! Come on . . . tell me something you remember about Brakebills.”

 “Welters.” Eliot said at last, although he didn’t look up. “Margo . . . teaching you the rules and bossing the rest of us.”

 “Yeah.” Quentin smiled a little. “My turn. Uhm . . . Penny, being a dick. Even when he thought he was being nice.”

 Eliot’s eyes finally lifted and Quentin felt relief flood him when some of that terrorized look left Eliot’s eyes.

 “The Cottage. Making drinks for everyone . . . helping you move in.”

 “You made fun of my clothes.” Quentin replied. “But it was okay, somehow. No one ever teased me like that before. Like it was a joke, but the joke wasn’t on me for a change. You know?”

 “I don’t make male friends easily.” Eliot said softly, sounding more like himself now. “It’s always too much of a pissing contest. But you seem to be the exception, Q.” Eliot’s eyes closed. “I’m going to miss you.”

 “El, come on, please don’t say that! I know what I felt on that hill was real and if I can just get back there, I think I can get us out!”

 No answer. Eliot had passed out from exhaustion, both physical and mental. The room grew dark and Quentin closed his eyes, feigning sleep as the burning in his chest began again, a magnet trying to draw him to the path home.

Two more days passed and Quentin and Eliot struggled to remember Brakebills as they endured treatments, medications, and as Eliot experienced Father Schutt, just as he had several times back in Whiteland before he’d discovered his telekinesis. He’d buried those memories deep, but as the inception grew stronger, exhumed them, and used them against him, Eliot felt himself sinking, his mind tearing away from the moorings of his old reality. Quentin fought to keep both of them afloat and on the third day, as Father Schutt came for Eliot around 5 a.m., he knew that if Eliot left with the man now, he might not come back at all that evening.

 It’s now or never, Quentin thought as Schutt began to lead Eliot away. He let his eyes roll back in his head as he began to shake and shudder on the cot, making it slam against the concrete floor. His limbs flailed up and down, and he drooled copiously out of the right side of his mouth, feeling it run down his cheek, warm and foamy. Doctor Vaulkner and two nurses ran over as Schutt paused to watch the commotion.

 “Get him out of those restraints and into the hydrotherapy room!” The doctor ordered, and Quentin continued to fake a pretty serious seizure until he heard the clack of Schutt’s heavy black shoes on the floor again. As they undid the restraints and hauled Quentin to his feet, he made a miraculous recovery and twisted free, leaping over several cots and sprinting down the narrow aisle to the double doors. He slammed through them and lowered his head as he spotted Father Schutt, his hand around his friend’s upper arm in a vicelike grip. It only served to increase his fury and he slammed into the man’s back full throttle, causing him to stagger and release Eliot. Eliot stood there, gaping as Schutt faceplanted into the concrete, and then Quentin was grabbing his hand.

 “Come on!” He tugged Eliot forward and the two magicians ran for their lives and out a door that led to the rear grounds. Angry shouting and pursuing footsteps filled the air. It was raining and chilly, and Quentin’s slippers skidded on the grass as Eliot struggled to keep up with him.

 “Eliot come on!”

 “I can’t run, Q.” Eliot put a hand to his groin. “It hurts too much, I can’t.”

 Quentin yanked Eliot behind some shrubbery. His chest was already burning, drawing him to that hilltop again.

 “What hurts, El? Show me.”

 Tears welled in Eliot’s eyes as he unbuttoned his trousers and pulled down his long underwear to show Quentin the purity device. More rage burned through Quentin and he examined the thing quickly.

 “I can’t believe they did this to people. Here, turn around, I think it’s—yeah! Got it!” Quentin unbuckled the thing and pulled it away from Eliot’s body and Eliot gave a short, sharp cry of relief mixed with pain. His groin was chafed but he pulled up the underwear and trousers again before tugging Quentin into a hug.

 “Oh God. Thank you. Thank you, Q.”

 “You’re welcome—fucking bastards!” Quentin shouted in the general direction of the hospital before flinging the piece of metal hard and grabbing Eliot’s hand again. “I know where we need to go. Come on!”

 Now that Eliot was unfettered by the plate, he was able to keep up with Quentin and they reached the hilltop. The burning in Quentin’s chest grew stronger and they ran down the hill together, then across a wide field. Some tall hedges loomed in front of them and Quentin glanced over his shoulder as he heard shouting over the fall of the rain. Quentin turned to one side and shouldered his way through the shrubbery, ignoring the branches and thorns that scratched him and the spiderwebs that brushed against his cheeks. Eliot kicked and pushed through as well, and finally, they stumbled through to the other side to find themselves in a yard of what looked like an English manor. Quentin gasped, the burning in his chest turning into a firey glow, and he looked up at the house, the house he’d seen hundreds of times in photos, his dark eyes wide and stunned. Eliot pushed back his dripping curls. They were filled with twigs and bits of birds’ nest.

 “Q? What is it? Where are we?”

 “This . . . it’s Plover’s house. Or it will be, in the future.”

 “Plover—Christopher Plover? As in, the author of the Fillory books? Q, he won’t even be born for another thirty years or so!”

 “I know, but the house he bought after he made a fortune in dry goods was built in 1845! It’s here and it’s always held its own magic! If the stories about Jane and Martin are true, about how they traveled to Fillory from this house, then that’s why it must have brought us here! It’s the way out!” Quentin closed his eyes as Jane Chatwin’s words came back to him.

 “Don’t stay on the garden path.”

 “The garden path . . .” Quentin glanced around and saw that a quaint gate, painted red, led into the ground’s garden. He yanked it open and splashed down the narrow path, Eliot’s hand still in his. His chest felt like it was on fire. At the end of the path was a shoulder-high cement wall fitted with hanging plants, and it dropped away steeply on both sides to the lower portion of the house.

 “That’s a dead end, Q!” Eliot shouted as they ran. Behind them, the voices were getting closer, and the sound of a police whistle cut through the air.

 “Trust me!” Quentin glanced over his shoulder. “Trust me and don’t let go of my hand!” The cement wall loomed close and Quentin tightened his hand around Eliot’s as he jagged left. Footsteps pounded on the path behind them now.

 “JUMP!” Quentin shouted and Eliot leapt into the air. He hung onto Quentin’s hand as they went into freefall. Quentin took a deep breath and then it lodged in his throat and he struggled to breathe. A massive magical force pushed upward from his chest and then—

 He was sitting up all at once, gagging and whooping, and Penny and Margo watched, horrified and stunned, as the metallic scorpion Professor Li had used to try and summon the Matarese flew from his mouth. It hit the opposite wall and lay there on its back, the legs twitching. Eliot sat up at the same time, his eyes wide and scared, his limbs flailing. Penny flinched back.

 “Shit!” He said, and Margo put both hands to her mouth a moment before she went to the bed. She put a hand on Eliot’s tousled curls and one on Quentin’s soft, straight hair as Penny moved the spell bowl aside before it got knocked over and caused the universe to fold in on itself or some shit. The boys stared at each other and then up at Margo, and she shook her head, managing to look pissed and relieved and tearful all at the same time.

 “Welcome home, assholes.”

 Two Days Later

 “How much do you remember?”

 Eliot paused, a bottle of red wine in one hand. He and Quentin sat on the couch in the Physical Kids cottage, which was mostly deserted this early on a Sunday morning. They’d been up most of the night, drinking and talking and enjoying being back in their own reality. After a thorough physical and a stern lecture from Dean Fogg, they’d been declared in good health and released back into the Brakebills general populace, but for Quentin, the memories of Wreckenton weren’t fading as quickly as he’d hoped.

 “Some.” Eliot admitted finally, filling both their glasses. “But it’s becoming vague. Another few days and we’ll probably forget it entirely.”

 “Probably.” Quentin looked up at him. “Dean Fogg told me that place was created by a mix of memory and things I’d read.” He paused. “Things about the Chatwin family . . . Jane and Martin’s mother. Did you know she was institutionalized in a place not far from Gateshead?”

 Eliot nodded and sipped his wine.

 “That explains why the place looked like it did. Jesus Q . . . why would you want to read about things like that? If it’s what you fear most, why put it in your head?”

 “I don’t know, El. I guess because I know I could have ended up in a place like that in the long term, like she did? Or maybe to remind myself of what I have to do to keep from going down that path?”

 “And what’s that?” Eliot asked, and Quentin smiled before he shifted over and leaned his head affectionately on Eliot’s shoulder. Eliot blinked down at him and then smiled before leaning his head down to rest his forehead against the top of Quentin’s head.

 “To hold fast to my friends . . . friends who would risk their own lives and sanity to follow me into hell.”

 “Slow Friday.” Eliot murmured playfully against Quentin’s head, and Quentin pulled back to look up at him.

 “Thank you, El.” He murmured, and Eliot’s normally languid expression relaxed into a genuine smile.

 “Do you remember what I told you while we were inside? About not making male friends easily?”

 “Yeah.”

 “We may have been caught in a dream, but that’s a reality.” Eliot leaned back on the couch, his elegant hands cupping his wine glass.

 “Q?”

 “Yeah?”

 Eliot smiled, his eyes tipped upward to the ceiling, but Quentin didn’t miss the way they glimmered, overly bright, in the light of the cottage.

 “I’m very glad I didn’t have to miss you.”

 FIN

[bestwitchsam]

I love u 😘 jasonxhale

[sunbrights]

inktober #9: swing

fandom: the magicians characters/pairings: margo & quentin, with a splash of eliot & queliot 4 ur troubles rating: t

“Dormer,” Margo answers, immediately.

Quentin snorts, and she smacks his shin, the closest part of him she can reach with him sprawled out upside-down on the couch like that. “Whatever,” he says. “I don’t even know why I asked. You’ve got, like, such a fucking type, you know that?”

“Oh, please. Like you’re not just answering Portman for the nostalgia jerk-it factor.”

He flushes red, indignant, and then launches into some spiel about the prequels and casting and long-term consequences for the lore. He talks a lot, when he’s fucked up. He talks a lot when he’s sober, too, but not like this— not without the self-conscious stopper wedged halfway down his throat. Substances help draw it out of him: drugs, booze, whatever.

And boy, does he talk.

“—which, like, look, I’m not made of fucking stone. I like the podracing sections as much as the next person. They’re fun, or whatever. But there’s got to be a point where the, um, the integrity of the work gets compromised, like, irreparably, you know? So like, not even Natalie Portman or Ewan McGregor or, you know, podracing could salvage—”

He starts and sputters, “Christ, Margo,” and she really wants to hear him ramble his way out of this one, except then the door to the Cottage clatters open, and she doesn’t give a shit anymore.

“Well,” Eliot says behind them, breathing in deep. “Seems like you kids got started without me.”

Margo throws both arms back over her head, across the armrest. Quentin says, “Hi, Eliot,” at the same time she barks, “Shut up and come cuddle me, dickwad.”

“Jesus, fine.” He’s laughing. She can feel it when he presses a quick kiss against her knuckles. “Keep it in your pants.”

He comes around the side of the couch, and pulls her legs up into his lap so that he can sit between them. He went with a dark palette today; his clothes are still warm from all the sun they soaked up outside, and Margo wriggles in against his side to make the most of it.

“So,” he says, curling one hand over her knee. “What are we talking about?”

“Girls,” she answers dreamily. He hums, pleased and disinterested— and then she tucks her nose against his cheek, smiles wicked into his skin, and whispers, “boys.”

Q’s too fucked up to notice his own goddamn teeth right now, but Margo knows. She feels the tension ripple through Eliot like a wave, catching and releasing. She flutters her eyelashes when he twists to look down at her, and relishes the way his eyes have lit up like a bonfire.

“Margo’s been grilling me,” Quentin says, even though she absolutely fucking hasn’t. He’s hanging so low off the couch now that his hair is pooling in little twists on the carpet. “And it’s crazy, ‘cause, like, we haven’t agreed on anything, this whole time.”

“Fuck you,” she shoots back. “Don’t you dare suggest I wouldn’t fuck McGregor, you taint.”

“Sorry,” Eliot says, like he just woke up, “what’s happening?”

She trails her fingers down the side of his face. “Oh, baby,” she coos. "You know these doors swing both ways.” She grins, and nips at the air between them. “Hard."

Q burps into the back of his hand. He smacks the other against his belly, and Margo watches Eliot wrinkle his nose, disgusted and endeared and baffled about it.

He's so fucking stupid. She loves him so much.

"—because it's, like," Quentin is saying, "I mean, it's reductive, right? Because you're implying there's a binary when actually it's more like, uh," he waves his hands around, "the doors swing in all directions and don't actually give a shit where they're headed at any given point in time, which makes them pretty shitty doors if you think about it, so—"

"Whatever, Queer Theory," Margo says over him. "Tell Eliot your dumb and wrong opinion about Channing Tatum."

"Oh my god, Margo." And he's off. She sinks into Eliot's side and stretches her legs out to tuck her toes where it’s warm under Quentin's ass. "Literally no one is questioning the validity of, like, objective attractiveness, okay? I'm just saying—"

He talks, and talks, and talks, and Margo basks in her job well done.

[kenstaroyco]

may have snapped a bit on the magicians promo for 4x11...

[rubickk7]

Created for the Queliot evermore event by @queliotevents.

The edits I made for this song are my favorite of the bunch (yes there is a second one coming later today!).

This one tells the story of Quentin almost getting expelled, to Jane/Eliza not wiping his memory, to heading home to best ever BBQ with his BFF’s.

I know, I know, the first gif doesn’t really look like it’s a bad time. I love Jane’s expression in the second gif. And Quentin’s smile, Eliot’s wave... /sigh.

[simplyalexeiofficial]

In between my elaborate AU rewrite I’m thinking about writing a short little fic where Quentin is a Hedge Witch who runs a bookstore (common AU theme) that is also low key a magical repair shop (another common AU theme). Q seems exactly like the type who would start trading spells for access to his minor mending ability and then use those spells to compile a publicly accessible Hedge Library with free access to information rather than it being horded by specific groups (coughmarinacough).

His BFF Julia obviously assists by contributing completely original spells to the catelogue and Alice - who was banned from taking the Brakebills exam - has the skill, the money, and dislike of her parents to use their resources to both expand the Library and help protect the collection.

One day, a Hedge leader named Eliot comes in and asks for Q’s assistance repairing a magical object that the Baba Yaga requires for that month’s safe house rent, and obviously they hit it off.

While working on repairing the object that night, the store/Library is attacked and the object is stolen, forcing Quentin to work with Eliot to figure out how to get it back and why it was stolen in the first place.

Bam, mystery gooey goodness

[sadlittlenerdking]

The blood of the covenant is thicker than the water of the womb

[hmgfanfic]

2, 16, 18

Hi!! Thank you for indulging me :)

2) Tell us about what you’re most looking forward to writing – in your current project, or a future project.

I am SO excited for the final part of Little Quirks of Fate. I’m about 1.5 chapters into it, and just beyond the plottiest external parts. That means I get to write nothing but fall-out, resolution, messy healing, and happiness from here until the end, which is super satisfying. It’s also the longest amount of space I’ve given myself for that part of a story (a good 3-4 chapters) and it’s indulgent in all the ways that remind me of why I love writing fic so much.

16) Tried anything new with your writing lately? (style, POV, genre, fandom?)

Man, I wish I could talk more about my MHEA fic here! It’s definitely the weirdest thing I’ve ever written, I’ll say that. It’s a No Beast S1 AU, with a lot of non-linear storytelling, extremely unreliable narration, and some messy established relationship juxtaposed with my usual mutual pining. It’s also a story that pulls together a ton of tropes, but with a twist, while incorporating canon magical elements.

But since I can’t speak to that tooooo much, I’ll say that writing Fluorsecent Light has forced me to be a bit breezier than my natural inclinations. If I linger too much on internal motivation, the premise falls apart (because, uh, it’s two grown men pretending to be in a relationship with each other) and so I’m focusing more on building the initial spark of a romance between them through a lot of external cues. It’s also the most time I’ve spent developing an ongoing rapport between Quentin, Eliot, and Margo at once, rather than the individual relationships within that configuration (i.e., I’ve written Quentin/Eliot, Eliot & Margo, and Margo & Quentin, but I think this is my first fic that’s really earned the Quentin & Eliot & Margo tag.)

18) Do any of your stories have alternative versions? (plotlines that you abandoned, AUs of your own work, different characterisations?) Tell us about them.

Not Always Folly was originally going to follow Emma beat-for-beat, including Alice “falling for” Quentin. And that was going to be the source of her falling out with Eliot and their resolution was going to focus more on Q’s sexuality rather than Alice’s. But all of that felt grossly unfair to Alice and since I was sick of the TM writers centering her story all around Quentin, I decided to be the change I wanted to see. It also had the added benefit of making the story much more about Eliot’s development and the grappling with his insecurities, frailties, and trauma. Oh, and as a more light-hearted change, originally Quentin and Eliot were going to have a much more contentious relationship, rather than being BFFs who mostly-jokingly banter with each other. Overall, I’m happier with the end result for sure.

Also, Little Quirks of Fate has similar endgame changes that I could write a lot about after it’s done publishing. For the most part, the basic plot points and “twists” were planned from the beginning. But Quentin told Eliot he loved him at a different point than I originally anticipated and that has had a major ripple effect through the last chapters. Also, there were also more Fillory subplots and WAY more Margo/Fen/Penny, but 1) it’s already a really long story and 2) none of the original scenes quite fit after I honed in on what I wanted to communicate.

[three-course-fillorian-feast]

Queliot AU fic recs

I know essentially ALL Queliot fics these days are AU to a degree (ie, AU - canon divergence/s4 finale? I don’t know her) But here are some of my favorite AU fics that I’ve read recently that are at least somewhat more firmly in full-on AU territory. (I think I’ve already recced half of these at some point, but look, a nice organized list format!)

Also I think most of these are WIPs. So read them, if for no other reason, then so I’m not suffering alone.

Major Canon Divergence AUs 

Something Good by HMGfanfic. Teen, 162k words.

In every possible timeline, Quentin and Eliot find their way to each other. Including this one. No Beast, no quests, yet including the greatest challenge of all—a timeline where Quentin’s exam guide and first friend was, uh… Todd. Rom-com fun, for the soul.

Reccing for: It’s a fun, long read you can lose yourself in and only briefly want to pull your hair out in frustration at their complete inability to communicate.

WIP - don’t ruin this on me by @disasterbiquentin Explicit, 99k so far

The beauty of all life can mean a lot of things. In this world, Quentin and Eliot stumble across the mosaic’s solution two years in, and are sent back to the present, to finish the quest with their friends.

Everything should be perfect. The only problem is, in those two years, Quentin and Eliot have started sleeping together, and fallen madly in love — but neither will admit it. And as they try to hook up, hide it from their friends, hide their real feelings from each other, and finish the Keys Quest to bring back magic, the events of season 3 will be changed forever.

Reccing for: The fun parts are delightfully fluffy and sexy, and the feelings parts are hands-wringingly frustrating. So it’s an impressive balance of being simultaneously satisfying and infuriating.

Non-Magic AUs

Ask Me, I Won’t Say No by veganhailseitan. Explicit, 22k words.

the one where no one has magic and Quentin and Eliot are just normal thirty-somethings who play on opposing Pub Trivia teams and they get to fall in love like real people dammit

Reccing for: this is the fic that made me realize I’m a slut for Single Dad!Quentin fics. 

WIP - Pretty Good Year by Hth. Explicit, 31k so far

What's it gonna take til my baby's all right?

Well, still. Pretty good year.

Reccing for: Lord, just for everything, is that an answer? Single Dad!Quentin! Margo and Eliot as complicated roommates! Awkward flirty texting! Smooth flirty texting! Richly grounded! Funny! Sexy! All at the same time.

WIP - Just Lay in the Atmosphere by veganhailseitan. Explicit, 9k words so far.

Quentin is a YA Author, Eliot is a FuzzBeat producer. They're forced to spend a week together when Eliot get's stuck making a video about Quentin's non-existent new novel. Things get complicated when they each realize they slept together three years ago.

Reccing for: This is one of the WIPs on this list where its universe is so immediately immersive and clear, that I’m waiting for updates with bated breath because I want more of this world.

Wildly Different Universe AUs

WIP - True Love Will Follow You Forever by @chthonicillness Teen, 22k so far

Teddy isn't feeling well. Quentin puts a personal spin on an Earth classic.

Reccing for: this is a retelling of the Princess Bride, with domestic interludes in the mosaic timeline, where Quentin’s telling the story. The main story’s cute and the interludes are adorable fluff.

WIP - Our Sublime Refrain by @summersteve and @queliotpasta Explicit, 53k words so far

In the Year of Our Lord 1836, Eliot Waugh is the most celebrated virtuoso pianist on the European continent. His concerts draw swooning fans, his compositions draw the acclaim of the aristocracy and the jealousy of his rivals, and his well-known adoration for his wife draws the sighs of ladies all over Europe. His life with Lady Margo is decadent, cosmopolitan, secretly unconventional, and above all Romantic.

In the midst of all his good fortunes, an undiscovered talent catches Eliot's eye, ear, and heart. His smile haunts Eliot's dreams, and his music draws him to the very height of the sublime. Who is this Quentin Coldwater?

Risking all, Eliot, Quentin, and Margo embark on a journey that will challenge their fears, ignite their deepest longings, and dare them to hope for the forbidden.

Reccing for: the world of this fic is so fully realized and flawlessly executed. It sucks you in completely.

WIP - Saltwater by @summersteve Explicit, 25k words so far

Eliot Waugh is a pirate king, looking for a doctor to serve on his ship.

Quentin Coldwater is a doctor, although he's more of a naturalist than a surgeon. He's about to be offered a new job.

Reccing for: this is just straight-up delicious. Like Our Sublime Refrain, the world of the fic is delightfully well crafted and executed. The premise could’ve ended up cheesy, but instead, it’s just GOOD AF. PIRATE KING ELIOT IS ELIOT IN HIS PUREST FORM.

I Need You So Much Closer by @orchardsinsnow Mature, 14k.

Eliot’s life looks like a dream: he’s a wildly successful musician, touring the world with his brilliant bandmate and BFF Margo and—what’s his name?—oh, right. Todd. Eliot’s secret: the last time he was truly happy, he was surviving on ramen and store-brand peanut butter in a ramshackle rented house with a man who, in retrospect, was the love of his life. You live and you learn. He’s made peace with it. Until, one day, Margo routes their tour through a city on the other side of the ocean—the city where Quentin lives.

Totally AU, no magic at all unless you consider music, sex, and love to be magic. And I hope you like Eliot spending time in his feelings.

Reccing for: this could just be called "The One Where Q and El Are Finally Fucking Good at Using Their Words" because they are and it is glorious and lovely

[bandedbulbussnarfblat]

Things I want for Alice Quinn in season 5

Real friendship with the other questers

Friendships that aren't based on her relationship with Quentin

Her and Eliot to have a conversation about Quentin

Her and her mother to have a conversation about Charlie

Her own quest

Something about her still technically being a queen of Fillory

A different wardrobe (let her wear pants)

A new hairdo

More scenes with Julia

More scenes with Margo

Scenes with Fen

Her and Kady to become bffs (or maybe girlfriends)

A bigger part in the musical episode

Her to have scenes with Penny 40

Her trying to make the library more fair

Her using the library to reach out to hedge witches

[eliotqueliot]

Queliot fic quest, Part 3! Reading a new-to-me chapter or fic every day for two weeks

For May 10, so highly recommend "honey, enjoy: it's getting late" by @thelucindac, among my favorite Queliot writers! Quentin lives, and Eliot's taking the very best care of him--in this absolute feast for the senses! (a literal feast! so good you can taste it!) LOVE

May 11, "The Way We Were" by @trillianswan Takes place in Timeline 39. Q & El got together early, + it is so sweet + loving + funny + hot + I just love this version to death, and wish, wish, wish for more in this timeline! Great interactions with their BFFs, too!

May 12, "take me to the feeling" by @ameliajessicasica-- such a lovely story about Quentin and Eliot's honeymoon. Just so loving and sweet! I really relished them just loving each other so much and being so happy!

May 13, I love this story! Trans-Queliot, so beautifully done! Rich internal life & translation of their characters to nonmagic h.s. AU. Honestly, I can't get enough of this story, it's so dear to my heart, SO poetic and true: "my youth, our youth" by fishydwarrows @fishfingersandscarves

Plus this fantastic art!

May 14, This Queliot mixes the books and show, telling the story of Queliot after the books end, where Q's alive and realizes he loves Eliot! Love seeing Eliot and Quentin together in this story, just so very sweet! Margo's friendship is also delightful, with occasional Marqueliot: You're My Favorite Part of Me by Vinstormblessed

May 15, Today's story welcomes a new Queliot author's first published tale! I love this story! Such a great portrait of Eliot, the tension of a "routine" moment providing insight into his character that leads into such a very sweet epilogue with Quentin! "I don't care if it hurts, I wanna have control" by @tbraves24

More soon! Love you Queliot authors and artists SO MUCH!

[thisissirius]

no offence but quentin and alice had a three season long romance. quentin is bisexual (and if i hear the word straightbaiting again i'm gonna lose it. my boy quentin is B I S E X U A L) and he loved her for the longest time. his love for eliot is still alive but from his perspective, eliot r e j e c t e d him. he is not privy, like we are, to eliot's revelation and subsequent promise to himself - and quentin - that he's gonna be brave (and we assume, tell quentin how he really feels).

quentin is alone among a sea of friends because for some gosh darned reason, the monster has decided quentin is his bff and wants to drag his mental health to hell. (we know the reason, sssh) and if you think for one second the monster is using julia for his sister to mess with quentin you are thinking like me, my friend. anyway. QUENTIN AND ALICE WERE IN LOVE.

yes it was messy and heartbreaking and good for NEITHER OF THEM but it's a huge part of who they are.

so please please please stop acting like this is somehow a slight to queliot fans or is a hurdle in the way of queliot. it's quentin, whose mental stability right now is questionable at best, non existent at worse. he's having to stare at the face of someone he loves and remember every second it's a monster wearing eliot's face. he has his friends thinking "let's stop at nothing!" and imagining have to KILL eliot. and we have alice, who he loved (and might i remind you, quentin is the one who added the d, not me) back and trying to make amends and yes, apparently wanting to kiss him. he's weak and vulnerable and its awful, but it's what we have.

the episode has to be taken in context with an entire four seasons. the episode has to be taken in context with where alice's head is at. and yes, i think she knows full well that quentin loves eliot and it's just messy but dear gods, it's understandable. and we have quentin, who just wants to be loved.

quentin's allowed to be bisexual, love two people, and not have fans act like one ship is a hurdle for the other, or that one ship deserves to die because it's obvious they shouldn't be together!!!

quentin loved alice. quentin loves eliot.

but in both relationships, he's been rejected.

i'd be fucked up too.

[moemoeloveshale]

The way Julia looks after Q says “Eliot’s dead.” You know that Quentin has told her everything. That’s not a look of your bff giving up on their friend, that’s knowing your bff just lost their fucking soul mate.

[demiromanticmickey]

How To Lose A Guy In 10 Days Queliot AU. Quentin is the advice columnist, who works with his bff Julia, but really wants to be a novelist. Eliot is the suave Ad Exec, bff and coworker with Margo, and never has a steady boyfriend. Y'all know the plot. Q has to try to make Eliot break up with him within ten days, but El can't break up with Q because then he'll risk being able to lead the ad campaign for a new client. Also, maybe ~feelings~ happen along the way??

[kalipeda]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: The Magicians (TV) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Quentin Coldwater/Eliot Waugh Characters: Quentin Coldwater, Eliot Waugh, Julia Wicker, Margo Hanson Additional Tags: FIx It, Post Season 4, Boys In Love, saving quentin, elliot get yo boi, Happy Ending, queliotweek, Soft Boys, sappy boys, Fake Marriage, but not really, also margo is the bff we all deserve, but you knew that already Series: Part 1 of The Magic of Us Summary:

Eliot looks past the fire, into the dark, where he swears he can feel eyes on him. Are they really just sitting here having a memorial service for their friend — for Quentin — when they are fucking magicians? “Quentin Coldwater!” Eliot shouts into the night. “This. Is not your end,” he continues raggedly, desperately, lurching forward to snatch the peach from the flames. “So don’t you even fucking think for one second of moving on. Because I’m coming for you. And I’m bringing you back."

@queliotweek thank you for your work in organizing