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shawnsorangeglasses · 5 years

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Better Conversations - Part 8

3.7k words

Look who finally decided to post!

Synopsis: Another assistant AU, you’ve known Shawn since the beginning but you don’t really become friends until a label party in New York. Then he offers you a job as his assistant.

Some after show tension occurs.

warnings: mild woes

...

Six hours until showtime. It is all hands on deck for everyone in the stage crew. Busy bodies move about the arena, putting together final touches for tonight’s performance. The tour is a little over thirty shows in. Since joining in the middle of it all, (Y/N) is finally starting to get the hang of things. Andrew made it clear that Shawn was her only priority, but with the new extra hours in the day, she tries to do for anyone on the team whenever she can.

She’s coming back from a local deli in the area with three paper bags full of food for Shawn and the band. Sandwiches for the band and salad for Shawn. A singer’s diet, though sometimes he’d cheat and get a small something dairy or doughy. They hardly ever request anything for lunch, but she always picked up something for them anyways, knowing they wouldn’t eat until much later.

As she walked down the sidewalk, she took note of the growing line of bubbly fans waiting out front. Every single one of them looked so sweet and pretty. A few girls wave to her as she passes by and she waves back.

After some time, she became closer and more at ease with the Mendes Army. A majority of them demanded that she make an account on Instagram to see her and Shawn interacting behind the scenes. Eventually, (Y/N) caved and made one separate from her personal profile one after about three days of them pushing Shawn about it. The account gained 100,000 followers in roughly two hours.

She cut through the alley to find the back door that leads to the main stage. It was really interesting to see the crew slowly build the set from the ground up every night. Earlier in the day, the sounds of metal barriers clanging and loud machinery filled the arena from top to bottom, but now it was mostly quiet aside from the well-practiced sound check from the band. Shawn and the guys were onstage doing last minute rehearsals. (Y/N) jogged across the general admissions floor, squeezing through the barrier to meet them stage left.

She hoisted the bags up onto the stage, peering over in silence as the guys practiced. Shawn was sat on the edge of the stage next to one of the larger amps, kicking his boots to the beat Mike was drumming. (Y/N) could tell from the baby blue guitar on his lap that they were running through “Nervous” again.

The musicians drop everything and run over to her in a huddle to claim their food. “I got you guys the fresh stuff. Fruit salads and some sub sandwiches.”

“Thank you, (Y/N)!”

“Yeah, thanks (Y/N).”

They each disperse to their own little corners. Shawn is still hunched over his guitar testing chords. (Y/N) saunters over to him, jostling a separate bag near his feet. “No tomatoes this time, Mendes,” she sings.

Shawn snaps back into reality again. The first thing he sees is (Y/N)’s proud, squinty smile. Last time she brought him a salad with the tiny tomatoes in it and he still hasn’t forgiven her completely. It’s become an inside joke for them.

He crosses his arms at her, giving a new definition to the muscle shirt he was sporting. “You sure there’s no tomatoes?”

“I’m absolutely positive. I checked six times on the walk back here. It's like 50% avocado.”

He slides his guitar safely behind himself and holds his hand out to her. (Y/N) takes secure hold of his wrist as her hauls her up on the stage with him in one swift motion. She watches intently as Shawn empties the contents of the paper bag. He briefly bumps his head into her shoulder, giving (Y/N)’s hand access to the tufts of hair falling on his forehead.

“Y’know, you don’t have to get us lunch if we don’t order anything,” he reiterates. “It only comes out of your pocket then.”

“I know, I know, but you guys workout in the morning and then keep moving, so you should all eat something. Besides,” she pinches his cheek, “you’re still a growing boy.”

“You sound like a mom.” Before he takes a bite, he asks, “What’re you going to eat?”

“Oh I filled up on free samples at the deli.” (Y/N) pats her belly. “I should be good until dinnertime.”

“Nice,” Shawn chuckles.

(Y/N) looks past his shoulder at all the guys chatting over their meals near center stage. “Don’t you want to eat with the other boys?”

“Ah, I’ve been around them all day. I haven’t seen you at all.”

(Y/N) refrains letting that last part go to her head. He didn’t mean it like that, even if a teensy part of her wishes he did.

“Well there’s always the time in hotels.”

Oddly enough, most of their hours were spent apart now. Shawn was either hard at work with the band and writers or catching up on sleep. (Y/N) often had errands to run when she wasn’t tending to Shawn. Even on the tour bus and flights, he needed those hours to rest.

Time in the hotels was the saving grace of this whole journey, Shawn always unabashedly requested to have the room next door to (Y/N) now. “For proximity purposes” he claimed, so that he might have her nearby in case he needs something. And although it may have started out that way, it quickly turned into late night talks and occasionally eating whatever singer-safe snacks (Y/N) could buy from local stores. It became their own little tradition.

“That reminds me,” Shawn says through a mouthful of sandwich, “what are we doing tonight?”

“Whatever you want to do,” (Y/N) mutters. She wasn’t really paying attention. Cez just sent her a text about the next flight details. She sort of zones out looking at the emails. Words become letters. Letters become squiggles. It’s hard to concentrate since the brush with Jason a few weeks ago. She was used to his empty threats but that was when she had leverage. Now she has nothing to hold him, not even shame.

Then Shawn nudges her elbow, but she hardly looks away from her phone.

“Huh?”

“We’re doing dinner later this evening. I know you don’t normally join but- hey are you okay? You look really pale.”

(Y/N) takes her time to meet his eyes. They appear to transition to a darker, more intimidating shade of brown. Her stomach does four backflips.

“Yeah just thinking. You know, assistant stuff. Listen, I gotta go.”

“Oh. Already?”

(Y\N) gets to her feet and dusts off the seat of her pants. “Yes, already. Is there anything else I can do for you before I go help set up the Q&A, sir?”

Shawn wags a finger at her. “What did I say about the ‘sir’ thing?”

“Sorry. Force of habit.”

He gets up too, wearing a smile so bright it’s blinding. A bright red blush tears through the pigment in his cheeks. He just wanted to keep talking to her as long as he could, waste no time. Unfortunately, he ends up thinking of the most basic question of all. “Thanks for the sandwich.”

She shrugs. “Just doing my job.”

...

Parents and young adults filed into the room, filling it with conversational buzz. (Y/N) peeked through a slit in the curtain at the little community that gathered there. One group of girls in the very front started singing “Never Be Alone”, prompting everyone else to join in. It was amazing to see the love and devotion among so many different looking people.

(Y/N) goes to collect Shawn from the green room. The clock on her phone read about ten minutes before he had to go greet everyone again. He’s in the middle of pulling up his jeans when she walks in.

“Oh you’re- I am so sorry.” She turns around and brings her hand over her eyes. Blood furiously rushes to her cheeks and ears.

“No no, you’re fine, come on in. Sorry, I’m almost done.”

She steps in with caution and focuses on the upbeat country track faintly pouring from Shawn’s phone. Travelling so closely together, (Y/N) was bound to see a few people at their less than decent. With Shawn though, it was starting to feel like he was doing this on purpose or just stopped caring altogether. She had no choice but to get comfortable with him.

“God, Shawn. Maybe put a sign outside next time so I know you’re naked.”

“I am not naked.” He glances at her. She’s propped herself against an end table, still shielding her eyes. “Geez, you act like you’ve never seen me in my underwear.”

“Don’t say underwear to me.”

“Would it help if I sang it?”

“No it would not-”

“Underwear,” he riffs. “Underwe-e-ear, yeah.”

“You’re so annoying,” she chuckles nervously with a slight shake of her head. He beams, proud of himself for yet again finding a new way to gently embarrass (Y/N).

He’s referring to the time she accidentally walked on Shawn in his dressing room. It was weeks ago, early on in a completely different city, but it was also burned into the back of her brain. That definitely broke some of the initial ice between them.

(Y/N) chooses the brick wall as something else to focus on. She hears his footsteps getting closer. Out of her peripheral, she can see Shawn’s shirt is still very unbuttoned and his chest is very exposed. He’s almost closed the space between them, leaving only a few inches of air between their bodies.

“You’re standing in front of my cologne,” he mutters.

“Oh.”

(Y/N) side steps out of his way. Shawn takes the bottle and sprays his neck and wrists, not once taking his eyes off of her. That is until he has to return to the other side of the room to button up his shirt. He leaves a couple buttons free at the top like always, then pays special attention to her reflection in the glass, holding his arms out. “How do I look?”

(Y/N) looks over at Shawn. He’s looking at her through the full length mirror mounted on the wall. She rolls her eyes.

“You know how you look.”

Shawn peers at her reflection, then bites his lip. (Y/N) pinches her wrists behind her back.

“Except for one thing,” she says. She takes notice of his lopsided collar and quickly adjusts it for him. Shawn’s breath hitches just barely. His hands are idle at his waist, not really doing anything, but clearly so desperately wanting to touch her. (Y/N) actively pretends to not notice the effect she seems to have on him.

But Shawn captures (Y/N)’s hand in his right before she pulls off, resting it on his shoulder. The fabric is hot underneath her palm. His whole body has become a furnace. He’s about to say something bold. Or stupid.

“(Y/N) I-”

A knock at the door propels Shawn and (Y/N) away from each other. Cez appears in the doorway.

“Oh you’re both in here,” he says with a playful smile. “You ready, Shawn?”

“Y-yeah,” Shawn makes a few more unnecessary tucks of shirt into his jeans. He turns back to (Y/N), “D’you want to come watch?”

“Uhm, I’ll be behind the curtain. I can see everything from there.”

Shawn understood, but he couldn’t help but feel a little dejected. (Y/N) tugs at his shirt around the waistline to loosen the fit again right before he goes out. “I’ll be right behind you, I promise,” she assures him. “If you need anything I will bring it to you.”

"Anything?"

"Right, almost anything."

Shawn smirks. "Just checking," he purrs.

They venture down the hall to the common area that was built in less than an hour. (Y/N) stops just short of where the dimly lit hallway ends and a room full of people begins. Screams and cheers replaced the chatter the minute Shawn set foot in the room. He can barely be heard greeting them over all the excitement. (Y/N) peeks through a sliver in the curtain.

“Before we start,” he begins. “What am I calling this city tonight?”

The room erupts again with all sorts of answers. Shawn singles out one girl in the front and everyone agrees.

“Okay then, um just one thing, if someone’s asking a question please don’t speak over them and speak loud so I can hear you. This is a big group today. Other than that, go crazy.”

Hands go up instantly. Shawn chooses from the back then from the left middle. On and on this goes for a few minutes and the fans ask the usual questions, fun or otherwise. (Y/N) allows herself to relax. Her mind just goes elsewhere.

She’s imagining the last day of the tour, sad as it makes her. Will she still be an assistant when it’s all over? What will have changed by then? She looks at nothing in particular down the makeshift hallway the team has made in the arena. Connor's messing with his camera settings. Cez is talking to a lighting tech. And like she always does in her free time, she zones out.

“Where’s (Y/N) right now?”

The voice, though small, came with a level of conviction that could only be from a small child. That was the demographic of (Y/N)'s fans. They liked seeing her on the street. She's even received a few drawings in past weeks.

Shawn wrestles with himself to give a straight answer. Then he makes the mistake of looking back at the curtain. People start to become restless.

“Guys, guys, I’m sure she’s busy right now. I don’t want to bother her.”

“I’m not that busy,” (Y/N) blurts impulsively, much louder than she meant to. Everyone erupts in chatter. She looks back at Connor, who has the camera aimed at her now. He was getting a shot between slit in the curtain but now the focus has shifted. She peeks her head out at all the fans and Shawn. A collective gasp captures them and they begin waving so she waves back. All the bright happy faces are reassuring enough.

“Do you want to come out,” Shawn whispers as quietly as he can. A few girls in the front overhear and squeak.

She widens her eyes at him. He knew what she was saying. You really want me to come out here? And the answer was a resounding yes, as indicated by a brisk wave of his hand. (Y/N) peeks her head out and all but recoils at the enthusiastic and sudden attention she receives. Then it all died down just as it quickly came.

“Hi, (Y/N),” says the same little voice that asked for her. Everyone in the aws.

“Hello,” she replies. “I remember seeing a few of you outside in the line. Sorry to interrupt.”

“She actually bought everyone lunch today during rehearsal even though I told her she doesn’t have to,” Shawn adds. Someone in the back goes “whoop” and the whole room is brimming with laughter and applause again.

“Okay I better go,” (Y/N) says immediately. “That’s enough fun for me.” She slips behind the curtain again, waving behind her as a few more people say goodbye.

Connor's snapping his viewfinder back into place behind her. He shares a look with her that can only be that

"Can I use any of that?"

"Sure, dude. It's your footage."

She says so each and every time he asks. Connor always made very sure to protect (Y/N)'s privacy when it came to recording her. If she was in the background of any video, he'd make sure to ask. It's what made him a great videographer.

He scurries away to whatever room holds his editing equipment. (Y/N) slides down to the floor, resting back on her heels so she can still see through the partition. Shawn's still somewhat rambling about her to his fans. It's interesting to hear what she is to him through his eyes. Often times she leaves the Q&A as soon as it's been set up. Under these special circumstances, she stays a while, hoping to learn something new.

…

It's evening. The hotel room is the neat chaos (Y/N) left it when she comes back. She learned several cities back never to spread out too much in these rooms after leaving a few chargers in the walls and drinks in the mini fridges.

"We'll go back and get it," Shawn said the first time it happened. "Can we turn around," he politely asked the driver.

"I'll answer that, no we will not," (Y/N) said firmly. "It's like two little bottles of kombucha. I'll live Shawn." It was never mentioned again.

He was always going out of his way for her. Everybody found it endearing, but (Y/N) didn't want him doing any special favors for her. Their relationship was special enough without grand gestures.

She fishes her planner out of the messenger bag on her bed to go over the next week at the hotel desk. Her sister's birthday is today. (Y/N) checks the timezone on her phone. There was still time to call.

The line rings for a while then cuts into an excited voice.

"Hey girl! Mom was wondering when you'd call. She's sleeping now."

(Y/N)'s heart drops to her stomach. "Bea I'm so sorry, I haven't said happy birthday to you all day. I feel awful."

"Aw you know I don't care about that shit. But bitch, Mom made this cake, you are missing out. I'm trying to save you some."

"I don't know if that slice will be edible by the time I get back, but thanks for the effort."

"You know I'm looking out for you around here." Bea sighs. "Girl I wish you were here. It's boring as hell with no one to tell my jokes. Or argue with."

(Y/N) smiles to herself. Bea always got bored by herself. They were lucky to grow up close in grade school, so they always had a playmate at recess or someone to talk to at lunch.

"What're you up to?"

"Same thing I was up to yesterday. Watching these Game of Thrones episodes."

"Did you make another fake HBO account?"

"Yep, but honestly a week is not enough for a free trial. Netflix gives you a whole month."

She goes on about her other temporary subscriptions. A knock comes at her door, the one joining her room to Shawn's.

"Hold that thought Bea. I think Shawn is going to ask me to come to dinner again."

"He what now?"

She swings the door open. "Not that kind, dumbass."

Shawn smirks at the little nickname, knowing right away it wasn't meant for him. Sure enough, he's dressed to go out.

"Your sister," he whispers. (Y/N) nods. "Hi Beatrice."

"Hi Shawn! I swear, only that man can make my full name sound good. Bitch, if you don't want him, I will gladly have some."

"I have never been more glad that he can't hear you," (Y/N) mutters. Shawn smiles downwards. He's only talked to Bea once before, so he can definitely imagine what she's saying.

"You're selfish, is what you are. The man clearly wants you and you're being your usual self."

"I'm ignoring you." (Y/N) directs her attention to Shawn's hopeful face. He’s propped himself against the door frame too, hands in his pockets. Between her waiting on his question, and him waiting for her to say no was a deafening silence.

"I know what you're going to ask,” she starts. “You know how I'll respond."

"Well in that case, I’m not going either," he says, undoing some buttons.

"He said what?!"

"I'm going to hang up on you," (Y/N) warns. She leans on the door frame as he sheds his shirt and shoes. "Shawn, you don't have to stay for me."

"I'm not," he says calmly. "Honestly, I’m doing this for me."

"If you don't let that man love you right now, idiot sister of mine-"

"Bea, I'll call you later. Happy Birthday."

(Y/N) taps the end call button. One last text comes through, almost too vulgar to read, so she shuts her phone off before Shawn can see it. He’s milling around his room, looking for comfortable clothes among the scattered ones.

“Shawn you don’t have to stay here on my account.”

“Well I’m not going to have any fun without you there.”

Shawn pulls his undershirt off over his head. Muscles in his back flex and relax as his arms go up and down. (Y/N) clears her throat, to which he doesn’t react. Tour life has made him so comfortable with clothing changes, he doesn’t always think twice with another person in the room. At the very least, he warns somebody when his pants are about to come off.

“That’s really unfair to everyone else, isn’t it?”

“Not in that way. I mean I’ll just be there the whole time wondering why-”

He stops himself short, ending with a mumble.

(Y/N) crosses her arms. “If this is your way of guilt tripping me or tricking me into saying yes-”

“It’s not,” he says, almost in a corrective way. “I wouldn’t do that to you. Don’t you know that?”

She doesn’t. She wasn’t sure of anything at all when it came to her employer’s intentions. People often cross you because that’s the nature of the business. Trust wasn’t something she gave so easily to someone with that much power over her. Normally, (Y/N) knew when to leave a job that no longer suited her, but Shawn has yet to give her a reason to run.

Shawn picks up a white t-shirt from his suitcase and slips it on. He doesn’t normally wear a shirt to sleep, but he wanted (Y/N) to feel as comfortable as possible. Although she’d never admit it out loud, he’s noticed how she gets around him shirtless. He sits down on his bed and beckons her to sit next to him. (Y/N) takes baby steps to his bedside and sinks into the soft sheets.

“You should at least tell Cez you’re not coming,” she insists.

“I already did.” Shawn waves his phone then sets it on the nightstand. “Right now, I need to talk to you.”

...

TAGLIST:

@spider-mendes @sebsdreamboat @innositer @sauveteen @sauveteen @sinplisticshawn @sohani02 @yourkidsfavbabysitter @matchamendes @gxccicoffee @daisychains4 @nervousaroundmendes @st3p-hani3 @rulerofnocountry @darloing-shawn @learning-howto-be-myselfx3 @cheerfulmendes @imaginesofdreams @thesmutpeasant @enchantingbrowneyedgirl

#shawn mendes #shawn peter raul mendes #shawn mendes fanfic #shawn mendes fanfiction #shawn mendes writing #shawn mendes imagine #better conversations

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yurtletheturtlehenderson · 5 years

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S.T. REWRITE - S2:E2; Chapter Two, Trick or Treat, Freak - [Pt. 1]

A Will Byers x Reader Series

After Will sees something terrible on trick-or-treat night, Mike wonders whether Eleven’s still out there. Tensions grow between Y/n and Mike as does their concern for Will.

||3rd Person POV||

The smell of french toast wafted through the cabin as it sizzled on the frying pan. Hopper glances over his shoulder to see a small figure standing stiff with a white sheet draped over it and two eye holes cut out. The unexpected sight had startled the man.

"Oh, Jesus!"

"Ghost." El stated from under the sheet.

"Yeah, I see that." He said.

Hopper brought the frying pan of french toast over to the counter to serve.

"Halloween."

"Sure is. But now, it's breakfast, okay? Come on, let's eat."

"They wouldn't see me." She said softly, grabbing the man's attention as he brought the food to the table.

"Who wouldn't see you?"

"The bad men."

"What are you talking about?" He said, taking a seat.

"Trick or treat."

He turned to look at her. "You want to go trick-or-treating?"

She stood in silence, confirming his fears.

He frowned and stood up. "You know the rules."

"Yes, but-"

"Yeah, so you know the answer." Hopper softly grabbed her by the shoulders and guided her backwards as he spoke.

"No, but they wouldn't see me." El protested.

"No. Hey. I don't care."

"But they wouldn't see me."

"I don't care, alright?" His voice rose slightly as he bent down to her level. "You go out there, ghost or not, it's a risk. We don't take risks. All right? They're stupid, and..."

"We're not stupid!" She growled.

"Exactly."

"Now, you take that off, sit down and eat. You're food's getting cold."

With a pout on her face, El ripped the sheet off her head, letting it fall to the ground. She let her small body collapse in the chair across from Hopper and she stared at the floor sadly.

Hopper noticed the longing in El, and he felt the remorse and guilt creeping in. He finished pouring syrup on both of their plates and sighed, head leaning against his palm as he rubbed his face.

"All right, look... how about I get off early tonight, and I buy us a bunch of candy, and we can sit around and get fat, and we watch a scary movie together."

"How's that for a compromise?"

The young girl gave him a puzzled look and the foreign word.

"Co-Compromise?"

"C-O-M-promise. Compromise. How about that's your word for the day? Yeah? It's something that's in-between. It's like halfway happy."

"By, 5-1-5?" She asked hopefully.

He nodded his head. "5:15. Yeah, sure."

She looked down at her lap and then back at him. "Promise?"

He leaned forward, looking her in the eye and nodding his head firmly. "Yes. I promise.

She lightly shrugged her shoulders. "Halfway happy."

She grabbed her fork and began eating. Hopper smiled at her softly and leaned forward and ruffled her curly hair, bringing out a light chuckle from El.

The two fell into a comfortable silence for the rest of the morning. El tried desperately to enjoy the company while it lasted, knowing in just a few short hours she would be left alone with her thoughts once more.

+++

"Will? Come on, honey, up and at 'em." Joyce Byers stops at the end of the hall and she can feel her stomach plunge as she see finds her youngest son's room empty.

"Will?"

The dreaded sense of dejavu creeps in and she rushes to the end of the hall where Jonathan is making breakfast.

"Jonathan?"

"Yeah?"

"Where's Will?"

"What?"

"Where's Will?"

"He's not in his room?"

"No."

Suddenly there was a small clank that came from the bathroom.

Joyce rushed to the door in a panic, her heart pounding. She threw the door open to find Will standing in front of an open toilet.

"Will?"

"What are you doing?" Her voice came out in a shaky matter as she tried to calm her racing heart.

Will stood there in confusion and he gestured to the toilet. "Peeing?"

"Okay." She breathed out a chuckle and a sigh of relief as she left and closed the door behind her, hearing the sound of the toilet flushing.

***

"Okay..." Joyce had just helped Will into his Ghostbusters jumpsuit.

She reached for the homemade proton pack that rested on his bed, and helped the device onto his back. "Let's get this...on."

"Oh! You need some tape. Hold on." She let go of the loose wire that hung lazily from his pack and walked quickly towards his desk.

Grabbing a piece of tape, she couldn't help but notice a drawing that stuck out to her. It was barely peeking out from under piles of other drawings but she grabbed in and fears began returning.

It was unlike the others. It was extremely detailed, and black white which she noted he almost never did. The landscape was familiar, but she couldn't quite put a finger on it. The most unsettling part of course, was the large looming figure that took center stage. It reminded her of spider the way it stood and everything in it's path was shadowed, although she could tell, it wasn't from the swarm of thunder clouds but the monster itself.

It chilled her. She turned to Will. "What's this?"

Will seemed taken aback, but he quickly recovered.

"Nothing." He started to shift on his feet.

"Did you have another episode?"

"No, it's just, um... a sketch for a story I'm writing."

Joyce sighed, discarding the drawing wanting so badly for that to be true, so did believed it.

+++

"Three, two, one..."

"Great. Hold up the photo blaster."

Jonathan snapped another picture of his brother, Will gleaming in his suit as Jonathan continued to instruct him. Their mother was watching giddily as she smiled at her youngest son. The question she'd been dying to ask on the tip of her tongue.

"All right, now turn to light."

Will did just that, aiming his proton blaster towards a spot on the wall across the room.

"So," Joyce drawled. "[Y/N]'s coming over tonight before hand so we can grab some pictures of you two, right?"

Will felt a blush creep up.

"Mom," Will protested, his smile betraying him.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," she threw her hands up in surrender but persisted in asking more questions. "So, she is going as...?"

"Janine," Will mumbled, as Jonathan snapped another picture.

"Right, right..." Joyce winced. "And she is...?"

"The receptionist and confidant-"

"Spengler's girlfriend..." Jonathan answered, the mischievous grin of an older brother plastered on his face.

Will felt a blush creep all the way up from his neck, Jonathan took this opportunity to "accidentally" get a picture of his flustered younger brother.

"Jonathan!" Laughed Will.

"What? It's so obvious, and hey, you guys are the ones who chose the costumes."

"It's a coincidence..." He mumbled.

Jonathan and Joyce smirked as Will tried to regain his composure, acting as if the exchange hadn't completely flustered him.

Which it did.

||Reader's POV||

"Oh! Let me see those pearls! Yeah! [Y/N], you almost ready?"

"Coming mom!"

I adjusted the big pair of glasses on my head and slipped on the red sweater vest, completing the outfit. On my way out of my room, I grabbed my first piece of gum out of my pocket stash and popping it in my mouth. The plaid shirt we found worked perfectly for Janine, I was so glad we were able to find everything in time.

I ran back out the hall and my mom greeted me with a squeal.

"Oh! You two look so good, get in there with your brother, honey."

We got a few nice pictures in, Dustin had his ghost trap, it it quite impressive, I must admit.

The last photo consisted of Dustin proudly holding up his ghost trap, while I chose to be in character. I had my back turned to him, my arms folded and in the middle of blowing a bubble as I casually roll my eyes.

***

"Na na na Na na Na"

We had just pulled into school on our bikes, and we all parked them on the bike rack. I silently counted myself lucky that I didn't have to lug a giant proton pack on my shoulders all day.

We all finished the anthem with "Who you gonna call?". It was then that I heard q familiar voice call "Ghostbusters!"

I turned around to see Will in his costume, it looked great.

"Hey, Spengler!"

"Egon! Looking sharp!" I beamed, greeting him with a quick hug.

"Janine! Venkman!"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Mike frowned, gesturing to Lucas's name tag.

"What?" Lucas asked.

"Why are you Venkman?"

"Because I'm Venkman." Lucas shrugged.

"No, I'm Venkman."

"Why can't there just be two Venkmans?" Will asked, and I nodded looking to the boys.

"Because there's only one Venkman in real life. We planned this months ago." Mike snapped.

"Mike, calm down. It's alright,"

"I'm Venkman, Dustin's Stantz, Will is Egon, you're obviously Janine, and you're Winston." He finished, pointing at Lucas.

"I specifically didn't agree to Winston." Lucas said.

"Yes, you did!"

"I don't think he did." I said gently.

"No one wants to be Winston, man."

"What's wrong with Winston?"

"What's wrong with Winston? He joined the team super late, he's not funny, and he's not even a scientist!"

"Yeah, but he's still cool." Mike argued.

"If he's cool, then you be Winston."

"I can't!"

"Why not?"

Mike started to stutter, "Because..."

We all fell quiet as the argument got bad quickly.

"Because you're not black?" Lucas finished.

"I didn't say that!"

"You thought it."

I took a deep breath as they continued fighting. However, something clicked in my head as I looked around the school.

"Oh, no."

I nudged Dustin as I continued to look around, dread and regret creeping in.

Dustin looked to me and then around, realizing the same awful fact.

"Guys..." Dustin mumbled.

"Guys!" I finally snapped, grabbing their attention.

The other three fell silent and we all watched in horror as everyone got off the bus. In regular clothes.

"Why is no else wearing costumes?"

"Well, shit."

+++

Tag List: @dickkwad @aimee-lucass @iblesstherainsdown-in-africa @miscellaneoustoasts @acexattorney

DM me if you want to be added!

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sadlittlenerdking · 6 years

Text

Hi, so here’s a masterpost of all my Magicians fic. Complete with summaries and warnings for angst. If there’s no excerpt, it’s just a drabble.

A quick key for you:

Italics means Angst. Bold means Fluff. Both means Hurt/Comfort. Nothing means crack.

to love to die - Quentin & Eliot through the time loops.

The first time Eliot Waugh sees Quentin Coldwater, it feels like a bucket of ice waters been dropped over his head. It's almost as if his life resets itself, readying itself and settling in on this moment as his rebirth.

Truth - Quentin uses a truth serum on Eliot following Mike’s death.

Quentin’s ashamed to admit it takes him a week to realize something's wrong. Eliot’s barely conscious, lying on the couch, mumbling about some lizard man watching him, when Quentin walks into the cottage. He doesn’t think anything of it for a moment, because this is Eliot, and Eliot likes his drugs and copious amounts of booze. Except, on closer examination, Quentin can see the tear tracks that Eliot lazily swiped away, and it’s enough to make it click in his head.

Nausea comes crushing through him in an intensive wave, and Quentin barely makes it to the bathroom before the bile forces itself out of him.

Home - Quentin misses Eliot.

Quentin Coldwater fucking misses Eliot Waugh. And it’s more than the, ‘he’s my friend and he matters’ kind of missing. It’s the full body ache, migraine inducing longing kind of missing. He wakes up missing him, he falls asleep wondering if he’s even alive. Every day, every moment, every thought is of Eliot.

breathe it in - post season two finale angst.

The first time he sees the cigarettes, he’s sitting on the couch in the cottage, feeling himself fading away almost like he had in the fictional mental ward. Part of him wonders if Penny’s going to pop up here as well. Of course, he doesn’t, because magic is dead - Penny might very well be too, for all he knows - and it’s Quentin’s fault.

Even when he does the right thing, he fucks everything up.

The Death of Magic (Rains Hell On Us All) - Eliot & Margo realize Quentin’s not coming back.

They don't get a warning when it happens. They're in the throne room, celebrating their victory, stressing over what the hell they're going to do now that there are no gods to run Fillory. Now that they have to do everything on their own.

And then the flames all go out at once.

Magicians Moon - Eliot’s a secret romantic.

The thing about Eliot, Quentin thinks as he’s quietly dragged through the cottage by his right hand, is nothing he does makes sense. It’s all carefully planned out, but he doesn’t explain anything until he absolutely has to. So, Quentin being pulled through the Physical Kids Cottage at two in the morning by an invisible force, while wearing nothing but a pair of boxers and socks - is clearly Eliot’s doing, but it makes no sense.

Not even two hours ago, they’d curled up in bed, and fell asleep. Quentin to Eliot’s soft snores, and Eliot, well, to put it gently, Eliot was fairly spent after the nights events. For once. What? Quentin’s allowed to be smug every once in a while - it takes a lot to wear Eliot out.

Which makes this even more confusing.

Project Seduce Quentin Coldwater And So Lift His Spirits - (WIP) Eliot is definitely not falling in love with Quentin Coldwater, he’s simply fulfilling a promise. (There’s some fluff in here too.)

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.

Soulmates - Margo realizes Quentin is a part of her and Eliot.

It's not that she doesn't see it coming. It's just that its so fluid, and natural, that it kind of hits her long after it's happened.

It all started when Eliot got assigned to get a first year to his entrance exam. Kid was late, but he was cute, and Eliot had nothing but good things to say. Well, on Eliot and Margos terms of good - it probably wouldn't be seen the same way if he'd said any of it to someone else. Not that he would have, it's always been just them. They don't confide in, or really bother getting close to anyone.

Misguided - Quentin starts getting texts from a stranger.

The first time it happens, Quentin’s walking across the quad, head in the clouds, desperately trying to figure out a plan to defeat the beast. But his phone dings in his pocket, making him remember he actually has a phone, as he passes through the tech areas. He stops, pulls it out of his pocket, surprised the battery isn’t dead, and reads the text.

Angst and Anger - Penntin. Takes place at Brakebills south, Penny doesn’t want to admit he likes Quentin.

“What are you doing?" Mayakovsky demands, “You think you choose partners? No. I choose partners.” He glares at them, walking around the table with slow, careful steps. “You,” He points at Quentin, “Failure waiting to happen. You will work with tall, dark, and angry.” He points a finger at Penny. "Go."

Quentin looks at Alice, sighing as he pushes himself up from the table and makes his way out of the room, Penny just a few steps behind him.

Denial ain’t just a river - Penntin. Sequel to Angst and Anger. Quentin wants to talk about the kiss.

“Quentin,” Penny mutters, slamming his book shut and squeezing his eyes closed, “If you don’t shut up, I am going to bash your face into the wall until you literally can’t think ever again.”

Quentin looks up from his own book, “No you won’t,” He says before looking back down at it and turning the page. ‘Just like you won’t talk about what happened,’ he thinks.

Whole - Quentin’s an oblivious idiot, and Margo’s a schemer. And Eliot’s just a victim, damn it.

“I don’t think it’s us,” Alice says, gaze barely glancing away from the books stacked in front of her. Her pencil taps along the edges of her paper, eraser dancing along the outline of one of the spells she’s studying.

Quentins brow furrows as he lets his eyes trail from the pencil, up her arm, to land on the curtain of hair she’s using to hide her face from him. “What isn’t us?” He asks. It’s the first thing she’s said in hours, since Eliot and Margo left the library to go do something less boring. Whatever that means.

“Us.” She answers after a moments silence, before looking up and setting the pencil down. “I think Mayakovsky was wrong.”

Sing Me To Sleep - They defeat the beast, but something goes horribly wrong.

Alice has the beast in her grasp, when the beast fires off a spell and Quentin goes crashing against a tree. Eliot rushes to his side, kneeling next to him, one hand on his shoulder, one on his thigh. Quentin shakes his head, “Go - I’m fine. Stop the beast.” But his words are singed with pain as his eyes squeeze shut, and he takes a deep, shuttering breath.

“Q -,” As he speaks, the battle disappears through the brush of the woods.

Quentin opens his eyes, but Eliot can tell it takes more effort than he’s letting on. “Do - do you want to be the reason the world ends? Go help Alice!” He yanks his arm out of Eliot’s hand, and sits up, “I just need a second. I’m fine. I’ll catch up. Go.”

There’s This Idiot - Quentin accidentally eavesdrops, and Eliot’s the idiot.

Quentin doesn’t even remember falling asleep in the nook. But here he is, waking up, curled in on himself, with both of the sliding doors shut almost all the way. For a moment, he’s confused, mouth smacking together with sleep and thirst. He’s not sure what wakes up him up, but there’s a soft hum of voices beyond the doors. For a moment, he’s tempted to push them up and reveal himself, but the familiar sounds of Eliot and Margo’s laughing, followed by Todd’s disgruntled, confused grumbling, stays him for a moment.

Expectations - The morning after the threesome. Fix it fic.

Eliot expects a lot of things to happen when he opens his eyes. He expects Quentin to be freaking out, but too much himself to risk waking either Eliot or Margo by running out of the room. Or for Quentin to be gone, and this warm, Quentin like shape under his arm to just be a pillow spelled to keep him from waking up. He expects a lot of things, none of them pleasant.

Well, none of them pleasant for him.

No Mercy For the Living - Quentin’s dying and nobody knows why.

They’re working on a solution to bring back magic when it happens. Not Julia’s sparks, or any of the other stuff she can do that nobody else can. They’re - Quentin, Julia, Josh, and Kady - in the library working on one of Dean Foggs essay assignments. Quentins reaching up, arm stretched out, standing on the tips of his toes, when all the air comes rushing out of him in an angry gasp. He falls to the ground, knocking books off the shelf on the way, most of which come tumbling down on his head and shoulders. He’s reaching up, grabbing at his chest and throat, gasping for air. The taste of iron floods his mouth as he bites down on his tongue and his knees crash down on the ground with an aching crack.

Hold On - Hey look I killed Margo in this one.

Quentin knows something’s wrong when his bedroom door crashes open, slams against his dresser, and nearly closes again with the force. But Eliot’s hand reaches out, stops it with a small thump, and takes a slow, staggering step into the room. He stares blankly at the door, jaw slack and eyes wide and misty.

Quentin sets his book aside, pitches his legs over the side of the bed, hand coming to his side to push himself up. “Eliot?” He asks, tentative, as Eliot takes another, slow, clumsy step into the room. “Eliot, what’s wrong?”

Power - Eliot’s a Niffin.

Eliot’s hands pause mid-cast as a blue flame erupts around him. Quentin tries to run towards him, screaming his name, but Margo pulls him back, unusually silent, as Eliot screams out in pain, the blue light engulfing him whole. Quentin struggles against Margo’s hold, but her arms wrap around him, and she holds her ground. Eliot’s eyes dart across the clearing towards them, then up towards the sky as he screams the rest of his soul away -

And then he’s gone.

“No!” Quentin screams, finally pulling free from Margo. He whips around, glares at her as tears well in his eyes. “We could have stopped him!”

Self Sacrifice is Bullshit - Quentin tries to sacrifice himself, and Margo’s not having it.

Margo slams her fist into Quentins shoulder with a glare. “What the fuck!” She exclaims, punching him again. “You fucking idiot!”

Flinching, he backs away from her assault, “OW - Margo, stop! Why - ow! Stop punching me!”

“You! Could! Have! Gotten! Yourself! Killed!” She emphasizes each word with another punch. She advances on him with every step he takes backwards, until Eliot rolls his eyes, taking pity on Quentin, and gently pulls her away from him. “Let me go!” She exclaims, eyes following Quentin’s movements as he moves backwards, and bumps into the nook.

Got a Bad Case of Loving You - Quentin’s dealing with memory loss, and is confused by a photo he finds in his drawer.

The picture is clutched tight in his hands as he makes his way down the stairs, back to the living room of the cottage. It has to be a manipulation, or a spell, but he checked it. There’s no spell on it. There’s no evidence of any kind of tampering. He’s just spent fifteen minutes raking over every inch of the damn thing, and nothing came back positive - other than the picture being genuine. It doesn’t make sense. As he steps off the last stair, Alice and Margo turn to grin at him, stopping short at the look on his face.

Margo slowly stands up, “Q?” She asks, “Are you okay?”

Eliot turns around, then, as well, eyes tracing Quentin as he looks him over. His eyes stutter to a stop as he sees what’s in Quentin’s hand and he stumbles to his feet as well, turning around. The drink in his hand nearly spills as he tries to set it down. The cigarette on his lips vanishes, spelled off to wherever garbage goes, and his mouth falls open. He knows exactly what it is before Quentin has to say anything. His mouth works open and closed like he’s trying to figure out what to say.

Game On - Eliot’s a flirt, and Quentin doesn’t have a chance.

He’s struggling to reach the cereal on the top shelf of the pantry when a warm presence appears behind him. Heat runs all up and down his back, even though the person is a few inches away from him. Static shoots through the air, and the hair on the back of his neck stands up. “Need help?” Eliot asks, voice soft and gruff and sleep laden.

Quentin inhales, nodding, and Eliot moves forward, until he’s pushing up against his back, and reaching up for the cereal. Quentins eyes close as the warmth washes over him, sweet and summery, as the smell of Eliots woodsy aftershave fills the whole of the pantry. His eyes trail up Eliots arm as it extends past him, breathing quickening as long fingers close around the edge of the box and lift it from the shelf.

Prickly Like a Porcupine - Let’s pretend Quentin and Eliot are allowed to be happy.

Eliot opens his eyes to find Quentin staring at him. His eyes are soft, and one of his hands is running through Eliot’s hair, twirling his curls. He smiles as he realizes Eliot’s woken up. “Morning.”

Eliot nods sleepily, curling in closer and humming, "Morning. Were you watching me sleep?”

Quentin shakes his head, “No, I woke up a few minutes ago.” He twists a curl around his finger and gently tugs at it. “Was gonna go make some breakfast. But your hair is so . . .”

I’ve Got You Cared On My Heart - post it communication.

The first one Eliot sees is on the throne room floor. He furrows his brow, bends over and picks up the bright yellow post-it note ambiguously thrown to the floor. Part of him wonders how it got here because post-it notes don’t exist in Fillory, or at least, not that he’s aware. But another part figures Quentin dropped it sometime before Magic disappeared, and it’d somehow been swept through the castle to find itself to him. The theory seems even more valid when he unfolds the crumpled ball, and reads, in Quentin’s handwriting,

There has to be a solution.

He checks to make sure there’s nobody else in the throne room before silently slipping the post-it in his back pocket and heading down the hall.

The Price We Pay - The Gods are willing to bring back magic, at a cost.

The gods are willing to give magic back. But Quentin must give something to them first. A punishment for what he took from them. The cost of killing a god.

"Q, don't!" Julia calls from her place, where two celestial hands hold her back. "You don't know what they're asking of you!"

But neither does she. None of them do. But the whole of the magical community is depending on them. Eliot and Margo are depending on them, and quite frankly, Quentin would give his own life if it meant bringing magic back. And getting Eliot and Margo back. Nothing else matters. Not himself, not the price, nothing. He will pay whatever he has to.

This Moment - Quentin and Eliot are finally reunited.

Something changes when they’re together. In the air, in the world - in Quentin. Before they figured out how to get magic back, there’d been a point where he convinced himself Eliot was the magic. The absence of magic, and the absence of Eliot somehow held the same weight over his heart, now that he didn’t have grief over Alice clouding everything. Eliot is a part of what made Brakebills what it is, magic or not. And living there for five months without Eliot, learning magic they couldn’t practice -

It made Quentin realize a few things.

Hot Chocolate - There’s been some confusion.

A steaming mug of … something suddenly appears in Quentin’s line of sight. He frowns, following the length of the hand and arm holding the cup out in front of him, up to a shoulder and oh. It’s Eliot. “What?” Quentin asks, eyeing the mug warily.

Eliot sighs, “It’s hot chocolate,” He says, shaking the cup slightly at him, “Drink it before it gets cold.”

“Hot … Chocolate.”

Insanity - Quentin accidentally casts a spell that makes the entire Brakebills campus fall in love with him. Except Eliot, oddly.

“Eliot…”

Quentin sits down on the couch and stares at him with wide eyes, until Eliot sighs and looks up at him. “What, Quentin? I’m busy.”

Quentin makes a face because that’s clearly not quite true but shakes his head because this is more important and Eliots the only one who hasn’t lost his god damned mind. “I think everyone’s gone insane,” he nods erratically as if it emphasize the statement.

Eliot sighs again, leaning back on the couch with a roll of his eyes and a wave of his arm in a go on motion, “And how have they gone insane?”

“Well,” Quentin kicks his lips, “Penny pushed me up against a tree this morning -,”

“Sounds pretty par for course, Q.”

“– and kissed me.”

Wake Me Up - Eliot’s pretty sure Quentin keeps dying.

Eliots eyes flutter open, and for a moment, he’s startled by the TADA sign blaring bright and beautiful in the peripheral of his gaze. His right hand comes up to block it, and he groans as he attempts to push himself upright. But a soft, calm warmth holds him steady and he looks down.

Oh.

He smiles softly, sleep riddled and stares down at him for a moment. His head is on Eliots lap, while his legs are dangling off the couch, and his arms are wrapped tight around Eliot’s waist. Eliot reaches down and lets a hand cart through Quentins hair softly, careful to not wake him up, as he tries to remember how they got here.

The Mad Royal Family of Fillory - (WIP) A timeline where they do defeat the beast, but are driven so far beyond the brink of insanity that Jane has no choice but to reset.

When Martin Chatwin dies, Eliot falls to his knees, drained and broken down. His vision is etched red with the blood of a popped blood vessel in his right eye and his chest heaves as he takes in his surroundings. His hands shake as he looks over his friends bodies, gaze sweeping across the clearing in search of any sign of life. A careful breezes brushes his hair out of his face, cooling the sweat and blood in its place.

A moment later, there’s a soft groan from Margo, stuttering into a hacking cough that wracks her whole body. And then a wheezing inhale from his right indicates Penny’s not dead, either. Alice’s fingers twitch at her side, and Julia and Kady are already starting to stand.

Twenty Five - Quentin’s inexperience is a problem. Jane has a solution.

Jane looks up as Henry enters the office. She attempts a smile, though it doesn’t quite reach as he makes his way around the desk and sits down. They sit in silence for a moment, Jane watching Henry, Henry staring down at his desk, a glare faint in his gaze.

“They’re going to fail again,” he finally says, eyes darting up to hers. “Three of them are dead already.”

Jane nods solemnly, “I know.” But she leans forward, crossing one leg over the other. “But, I think I know the problem.” Henry raises an eyebrow, prompting her to continue. “It’s Quentin.”

Got Your Back - Eliot links up with Quentin’s emotions.

Linking up with Quentin’s emotions did spur Eliot on to try harder, though. The only way he’d been able to get through that particular week was with a heavy —er than normal—dose of narcotics. And Quentin got through every day of it with nothing more than pessimsm and sad, puppy dog pouts directed at nobody in particular.

So, maybe Eliot spent six months perfecting a spell that allowed him to be there for Quentin whenever he experienced any sort of negative emotions. So what? Eliot’s a perfectionist.

And he also kind of, really, cares about Quentin.

Magnetic - Quentin and Eliot see something else when they touch the Truth key.

“Did you see anything?” Eliot finally asks, leaning his head back against the headboard and turning to look at him.

“Huh?” Quentin blinks away memories, returning the look.

“When you touched the key. Other than Penny.” He shrugs a shoulder, “You said it makes you see the truth.”

God, did he see anything?

How does he say, Yeah. You were shimmering gold and ever since all I can do is feel your lips on my skin, and your fingers in my hair. All I can see is you, Eliot. Jesus Christ I was so blind before—

“Not really,” he says instead, swallowing thick. “Just Penny.”

The Test - Rupert set up a test for the final key.

The last thing they expect is for Quentin to die immediately after acquiring the last key.

Something happens when he touches it. Something Eliot and Margo can’t even begin to try to explain. Though it’s like he’s talking to someone who isn’t there. For a moment they think maybe it’s like the Truth Key and is showing him something hidden.

That Which Binds - Eliot expects Quentin to stop the wedding.

He keeps expecting the doors to the throne room to burst open and for Quentin to stand there, huffing and puffing as he yells, “Stop the wedding!”

But Eliot says I do, slow and cautious, with his eyes locked on the door rather than on his soon to be husband.

Idri squeezes his hand and pulls him closer, gazes at him in the way Eliot just wishes Quentin would allow himself to. It’s not even sweet, not really. Maybe it’s loving. But Eliot can’t be assed to care. Isn’t sure he could even identify if he did care. “I do.”

Fifty Year Break - Quentin and Eliot have a meddling son.

Quentin shakily climbs to his knees, silently cursing his aching joints and holds out his arms just in time to get two armfuls of grandchildren. He laughs into their hair, ruffles the youngest and looks over their heads at his son. “You came.”

But Rupert just shakes his head with a laugh, and says, “Of course we came, dad.”

Even now, it’s so strange when he says it. When he calls him dad. His eyes well up and he lets go of two of the grandkids to wipe at the tears before they can fall. The last thing he needs is his son worrying about him. He’s already made him worry about Eliot. “I missed you,” He says, grateful smile on his lips as he brushes away the tears.

Sacrifice - Eliot finds out about the depression key.

“You did what?” Eliot hisses, rushing forward to grab Quentin by his elbows. One hand slides up Quentin’s left arm to cup his jaw. “Are you okay?”

“Y—Yeah. No, no. I’m fine. El, really. I—Benedict was the one—“

Eliot shakes his head, his hand moving around to grip the back of Quentin’s neck. “We’ll talk about that later. Where’s the key? You got it back?”

“Yeah, I—“

“Give it to me.”

Sharp - Quentin accidentally cuts his finger.

Cooking is Eliot’s thing. Especially in Fillory, where he can experiment with new recipes with strange and exciting ingredients. Where he can tests the limits of cooking and magic—together.

But they’ve been here for five years, and dammit, Quentin wanted to do something for him.

Warm Kisses - There’s a reason Quentin isn’t the one that does the seducing.

They’re working on the mosaic in the dead of winter, and Quentin should be focusing on the way his fingers go numb with each tile he presses into the sand, or the way his knees ache with each tile he accidentally crawls over. Or the snow that crunches beneath them. Hell, he should focus on literally anything other than what he is.

Which is the length of Eliot’s fingers, and the lithe movements of his body. He’s graceful like a cat, but sexy like—well, like a man. Every tile he places, shuffles his shirt up a little higher, and Quentin catches a glimpse of the V forming on his hips, and he’s clearly got a warming spell to keep him from freezing to death like Quentin is. Quentin could cast a spell and warm himself up, too. Could do a whole lot to end his misery. But he’d kind of hoped Eliot would notice how pink his skins gone, and the way his spine shakes every few seconds. But, nope.

Date - Quentin and Eliot need a break, and Rupert knows just what to do.

When Rupert grins at them, all mischievous and dangerous, Quentin and Eliot prepare themselves for the worst. No teenager with that look on their face should ever be trusted, and they learned that years ago. And then again and again and again. Because teenagers are fucking difficult.

Eliot is the one to narrow his eyes suspiciously. “What are you up to?” He asks, pointing a finger, “You’ve got that look.”

Cry - Quentin’s had the depression key for too long.

They’ve been passing the key around. Alice had it for a while, then Josh, then Julia and then Quentin again. He’s curled up on the floor of his bedroom at the physical kids cottage when two pairs of shoes appear in front of him. And then two pairs of knees, and two sets of hands. And then he’s being manhandled until there’s a large warmth at his back, and a smaller warmth at his front.

Margo wraps her arms around his stomach, rests her head on his chest. Her shampoo is a somewhat familiar comfort as her legs tangle in his. Behind him, one of Eliot’s hands come up to comb through Quentin’s hair, soft and easy. His breath is like fire on Quentin’s chest.

Proposal; Take 1 - Eliot’s proposal to Idri is back on. Quentin’s not a fan.

Penny expects a lot when he walks into the the throne room. He doesn’t expect his friends to react, they’d done all their reacting after Julia gave him a new body, but he does expect a hello from one of them or something. He expects chaos now that the fairies are dead. He expects hustle and bustle. He expects a lot.

But, what he finds are three of his friends, Kings and Queen, sitting on their thrones, just staring out at nothing. Quentin’s hairs fallen all in his face, and jesus, he’s still got the fairies blood, dried up where it dripped down his cheeks. Margo’s toying with the ends of her hair as she stares listlessly. And Eliot’s staring at Quentin like he doesn’t know what to do with himself.

Too Late for Goodbye - Quentin makes a horrifying realization.

It’s three days after they remember that Quentin makes the realization. He’s sitting in Eliot’s room in the castle, flipping through the quest book. Every page is replaced by a memory from their other life, and it plays like a movie in his head. Stupidly simple words bring another memory on, and then he’s lost in it.

But this is the first real one of his—their—son. It’s not long after Ariel died.

Maybe thinking about her is what makes him realize.

No Fear - Eliot takes to being a father surprisingly well.

When Quentin pulls Eliot aside, Ariel watching them with careful eyes from a distance, Eliot figures he has plenty reason to be afraid.

Somewhere deep down he knows he’s been afraid of Quentin leaving him—and the quest—for Ariel. And it’s only confirmed when Quentin tells him Ariel’s pregnant. He grabs his hand, though, squeezes and says with more emotion than Eliot knows what to do with that he’s not not going anywhere.

Eliot and the key - Eliot gets his hands on the depression key.

He doesn’t mean to touch it, but his life sucks and the universe hates him. He’s shuffling through the stacks of papers Quentin’s left on the table in the dining room, trying to figure out where they’d left off so he can at least help Quentin in that aspect. Since he won’t pass the key to anyone else, or come out of his room.

Rupert - Quentin and Eliot have the best son.

He’s fifteen when he realizes. Honestly, he’s always suspected that his dads loved each other, but growing up, they’d always just been there. And they’d always just been . . . them. Close and somehow, not. He’d had moments before, obviously, where he expected Papa El to lean in and kiss Dad, but then, he just leaned passed him, and picked up a new mosaic piece, and in all honesty, Rupert’s attention span has never been long enough to really pay too much attention to his parents beyond that.

Todd - Todd gets to have a backstory too damn it.

Todd’s always been an outcast. As far back as he can remember, he’s had to fight to be a part of any sort of social group. He’s always been too enthusiastic, too permeable. Too willing to flex until he’s the guy people want to be around. Or, as his step dad likes to say—He’s always been too much. It’s not like he means to be. It’s just, he wants so badly to be a part of something, that he’ll say or do whatever he needs to. He’ll be the guy people need him to be, even if it kills him.

No More Goodbyes - another marriage proposal.

Quentin is so fucking sick of goodbyes. Every other day for longer than he has the energy to remember, he’s had to say goodbye to the people he cares the most for without knowing if he’ll ever see them again. First, it’s all to defeat the beast. Then it’s to deal with bored gods. Then it’s a fucking quest.

He’s done saying goodbye.

Not Today - let’s pretend Quentin and Poppy didn’t sleep together.

“No, Poppy–” Quentin says, pushing her away and taking three, steadying steps away from her. He holds one hand out between them, like a lion tamer. “I can’t–I can’t do this.”

She tilts her head, “Why not? It’s not like it has to mean anything.”

“But it will–”

“Look, I’m amazing and all, but, I’m not the type to get attached.”

“I’m kind of–I’m. I’m seeing. Someone?”

Dark Places - Even Quentin’s capable of doing something awful to save the people he loves.

He climbs to his feet shakily. The world goes wobbly for a second, dizzying and dancing until it balances itself out and Quentin remembers he hasn’t eaten or had anything to drink in days. But it’s okay. He can eat and drink and do whatever the fuck else when he fixes this. He blinks away the blurry vision, shaking his head slightly, as he takes a wobbly step towards the doors on the opposite side of the throne room. He takes another step, pulling the key in and clutching it to his chest. This is the only way. This is his—their—salvation.

He follows a map he’d written lifetimes ago. He’s not even sure how he remembers it. But it’s there, stuck in his mind, vague but just strong enough to outshine the memories he doesn’t want to access.

She’s not even surprised when he stumbles through the barrier.

Holding out for a Hero - Todd’s time to shine. (WIP)

He knows the minute magic comes back. Feels it when the cancer returns. Scorching pain through his veins that leaves him lying on the kitchen floor, curled up in agony.

He’s not sure how long he lies there, before everything settles, and he falls asleep, too weak to get up or call for an ambulance. All he knows, is he wakes the next day, to the sun shining in through the kitchen window. He finds the strength to pull himself up on shaking legs, using the counters as leverage, and forces himself to the table, where his phone and wallet are.

First, he calls Quentin.

“We’re sorry, but the number you have dialed has been disconnected.”

Promise Me - The monster gives Quentin his memories back.

“You’re sad.”

Quentin looks up from his book, heart jumping into his throat at the sight before him. It’s been four months, but he’s only had his memories a few days. Before, he was just a stranger that pulled him into his life. Now... it’s so jarring. Because he knows it’s Eliot. He’d recognize him anywhere—Which is why it’s so strange seeing something new beneath his eyes.

He’s not sure what hurts more: having had been by his side all this time without knowing, or Looking into his eyes and realizing that while it looks like Eliot, it’s not him.

Happy Birthday - Margo & Co., throw Todd a birthday party.

Kady sets down the cake on the dining room table and crosses her arms, “Remind me again why were doing this?”

Margo barely looks up from her place of directing Eliot on where to hang the banner, “Because you heard what he said.”

“Yeah, his life is pathetic. That doesn’t exp—“

“No, El. Two inches higher.”

Eliot sighs and lifts the banner another two inches, shooting Margo an exasperated eyebrow raise. “Here?”

“Perfect.” She turns to Kady, then, tilting her head. “The reason we’re doing this, is because whenever we need help or information, he’s always there for us.”

Patchwork Love - Quentin’s grand romantic gesture.

He’s not even sure it’ll work. But Kady mentioned it once, absentmindedly, from her place at the center of the couch in the physical kids cottage. And they’ve (once again) successfully stopped another disaster, and beat the library, and got magic back.

The only thing that’s not how it should be is entirely Quentin’s fault, and even if this doesn’t work, he has a back up plan. Because things are finally going to be perfect. They’re all going to live, no more monsters are coming to kill them or fuck shit up, and they’re going back to Fillory. For good. He just . . . needs to make something as abundantly clear as is possible, so nobody (read: Eliot) gets it into their thick skulls that what he’s asking for is less than what he wants.

Three Words - Brian’s still regaining his memories, but there’s one thing that comes in clear.

They told him to sleep. That they’d distract his gate keeper, and he could finally get some rest.

Maybe they’re all dead.

The creature doesn’t like strangers. Then again, maybe they’re on it’s list of enemies. One of those it wishes to punish for imprisoning it, torturing it, abandoning it—whatever the reason.

He doubts they’re alive.

Maybe that’s why the creature is suddenly kneeling next to the couch, like he’s the prisoner needing comforting, and placing a gentle hand on his elbow. Maybe it knows something he doesn’t. Who these people were to him when he was Quentin. If he ever was Quentin.

and it’s no sacrifice - Todd sacrifices himself.

He wishes he could say goodbye to them. But he doubts they’ll even notice he’s gone. He doesn’t mind. He’d have helped them no matter what; they’re his friends. Even if he’s not theirs. They’ll probably never even know it was him; that he sacrificed himself for them, for magic.

Lifeboat - (70k words) Todd is a time traveler set out to save his family.

He stumbles across Jane Chatwin’s little clearing in the Fillorian woods shortly after being crowned king. The crown dangles from his fingertips, vague memories of it resting atop his father’s head flitting across his mind the closer to the tips of his fingers it gets, as he crosses the barrier. He only recognizes her because his family had described her and their heroics practically all his life. Remembers his father, former High King of Fillory, sneering at the ground and proclaiming her, “The ultimate anti-hero.”

And when she looks up at him with shining eyes and a gentle smile, his other Dad’s words ring even louder. “Anti-hero or not. She’s the only reason we’re alive. So we’re thankful, El.”

He can practically hear the two of them bickering as if they were standing right beside him, facing their past with him. But, of course they’re not. He’ll never stand side by side with them again. The crown in his hand, digging into his fingertips, is an unwelcome reminder of that fact.

thus with a kiss, i die - Quentin kills the monster to save his friends.

He’s lying on the ground, staring blankly up at the ceiling. Unseeing.

The knife slips out of Quentin’s hand and falls to the ground with a clatter. His mouth falls open on a staggered exhale. There’s a noise behind him—someone getting up, crunching their shoes on the broken glass.

“Is—is everyone—“

He’s not sure who’s speaking. They sound like they’re underwater, or far away. Maybe both. Quentin’s legs give out from beneath him, and he falls to his knees in front of the body. A large piece of glass digs into his knee—punctures the skin. Be Quentin can’t feel it. Or he can. But it doesn’t hurt. Not like this. It’s deep, can feel it in the skin of his knee, cutting through skin. Stinging.

Comfort - Eliot and Margo realize they’re all in.

“You need to tell me what the problem is,” Eliot murmurs, running a hand through Quentins hair.

They’re sitting on Quentins bed, Quentin curled up in Eliots lap, head on Eliots thigh while he shakes. He hasn’t spoken in hours.

“Q,” Eliot says, leaning down, ignoring the way his spine practically screams at the angle, “I don’t know how to do the comforting thing. I can’t say what you need to hear, because I don’t know what you need. Tell me what you need. Please.”

You Push, I’ll Pull - Quentin’s there for Eliot after the mike debacle.

Margo comes to him one night, terrified and not at all herself. She doesn’t even say anything, completely ignores Alice, who is sitting with him. She just grabs his arm by the wrist, and drags him up the stairs and to Eliot’s room. He looks at her, confused, as she stares at the closed door. “Talk to him,” She whispers, “I can’t get through.”

“But you’re his best friend.”

She gives him a face, “We both know he and I don’t talk, you can stop pretending you think we do. He’ll talk to you. He won’t talk to me. Not about this.”

Spoon me like you mean it - In which Quentin and Eliot spoon.

Quentin & the clock - Post season two finale.

i can hold you - Quentin has a bad day

Teaching Quentin to Bake - in which Eliot teaches Quentin how to bake.

Eliot’s secret - Eliot has a secret.

R & R - Quentin needs a break.

An Evolution of kissing - Quentin and Eliot’s kisses.

Glasses - Eliot has another secret.

Teach Me - “Do your lips move when you read?”

The Banning of Public Displays of Affection - Quentin and Eliot get caught a few too many times.

Waffles - Penntin. Quentin’s useless. Penny’s gotta help.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Penny asks, walking into the kitchen, half asleep. Quentin’s standing on top of a chair, waving a dish rag over the smoke detector, while smoke billows out behind him on the stove.

He looks at him guiltily as the incessant beeping finally stops. His arm stillw aves frantically, as Penny rushes across the kitchen, grabs the pan off the stove and throws it in the sink, turning the water on. “I didn’t mean to wake you up,” Quentin says, breathless.

Can’t Stop This Feeling - Eliot resets the loop.

Margo and Quentin are dead. Alice is going to defeat the beast, he can see the tremble in Martin’s hands, the way he eyes the spell Alice is working up. Something inside Eliot snaps as he looks across the field at Penny and Kady. They’re watching Alice intent, waiting for her to finish the spell.

If she finishes the spell, there won’t be any more loops. If she finishes the spell, the beast will die, and Eliot will have to go on with his life without Margo or Quentin. If she finishes the spell, Eliot realizes, he’ll be completely alone. They’ll have won, but at what cost? Is he really willing to sacrifice them for victory? If he ready to take that leap into the world without at least Margo at his side?

I Won’t Let You Go - Eliot’s never been good at being alone. Neither has Quentin.

Eliot approaches, murder in his eyes, and Quentin takes a deep breath, swallowing. His breath quickens with each slow step he takes towards him. He looks around the cottage from where he’s pressed up against the wall, searches for an answer, but all he see’s is blue dancing across his vision. And then his jaw drops, and he looks back at Eliot.

He pulls away from the wall, and starts casting the most powerful spell he can think of, can remember.

Eliot tits his head, “You think a spell will save you?”

The Woods - Who thought hiking was good bonding activity?

“Okay, that’s it,” Eliot pants, shaking his head as he comes to a stop, hand waving in front of him as he doubles over, trying to catch his breath. “That -,” He raises his head enough to look at Quentin, pointing at him as he gulps down air, “Is it!”

Quentin frowns, crossing his arms across his own heaving chest. “We’re just a little … lost. We’ll find the trail -,”

Margo steps in between them, pointing a perfectly manicured nail at both of them, “No,” She says, breathless as well, though she doesn’t seem to be sweating at all. Quentin wonders if it’s because she cast a no persperation spell or something. “We’re done,” She growls between gritted teeth. “Do whatever - you do to summon Penny so we can go home!”

Diamond Kisses - “Did you steal that $100,000 diamond?”

Quentin runs a hand over his face before eyeing the bulge in Margo’s skirt pocket with disdain. His eyes dart up to her face, which is a bizarre mix of smug innocence, and then over to Eliot - her clear accomplice, who also has a ridiculous mixture of elite smugness and something that Quentin figures is the closest Eliots able to come to innocence.

“Margo,” Quentin says, slow, as he drags his eyes back over to her. She tilts her head, lips twitching as she tries to hold in her grin. “Did you steal that $100,000 diamond?”

Little Lamb - It’s Quentin’s Birthday. Never underestimate Eliot’s willingness to make him happy.

Remarkably, it’d been Margo’s idea to head into the city and take Quentin to an arcade for his birthday. “He’s a nerd,” She said, “Nerds like games. And if it’ll make him laugh, at least, why not?”

And Eliot wasn’t about to argue, especially with Quentin curled up on the couch downstairs, pillow tucked up against his chest and gaze lost off in some fantasy of Fillory. At least with this they were able to help get him out of his head.

Petrichor - Quentin and Eliot have a moment alone in the rain.

“Q,” Eliot murmurs, leaning into the doorway, shoulder up against the hard wood. “Why are you standing in the rain?”

Quentin looks over his shoulder at him, shrugging with a soft smile. “I love the rain,” he whispers, the sound barely making it to Eliot over the rushing water. He turns his gaze back on the backyard, watching the rain fade into the ground.

Stupid Tattoo - Quentin has the dumbest tattoo.

Roots - (WIP) Soulmate AU.

“What did you do?!” Margo cries out from her place next to the coffee table, curled up with her arm hugged tight to her chest. She hefts herself up over the table to glare at Quentin, “You absolute baffoon, what did you do?!”

He’s pressed up against the bookshelves, head digging into the door of the secret nook, where he’s holding his own arm against himself. He works his mouth open and closed for a moment, before shaking his head, dumbfounded. His eyes work around the room; Penny’s passed out by the front door, Eliot’s just now coming to on the sofa, and Alice is still unconscious on the jean chair. The sound of pounding footsteps and panicked screams above him tell him the rest of the house is starting to wake up as well.

Read Me To Sleep - prompt: who reads to who?

Home - Eliot’s finally home.

i been looking at the stars tonight (and i think, oh how i miss that bright sun) - Quentin and Eliot acknowledge they missed each other.

Operation Friendship - Todd has a puppy.

Fillory - Margo takes Todd to Fillory.

Purple - A spell reveals all.

Quentin’s an idiot.

It’s what everyone’s thinking, but god, he can’t help but agree. Because, while practicing his class work (which is somehow he always finds himself in ridiculous predicaments) he manages to … accidentally nab everyone in a spell that has nothing to do with his classwork.

Which is to say.

He may have accidentally cast a spell that makes everyone turn the color of their current mood.

oh my god they were roommates - Quentin and Eliot are roommates.

“Oh my god,” Margo says, smirking at Penny as Quentin lifts another box.

He doesn’t expect Penny to play along, but he does. “They were roommates!”

Quentin narrows his eyes at both of them, as he moves past them to set the box on the counter in the kitchen. Eliot closes the door of the refrigerator, and grins all cool and ease. “You could help,” Quentin mutters, heaving out a breath.

Eliot shakes his head, “Oh, no, dear. I don’t move. I observe. Manage. But I don’t move.”

The Path We Follow - is Eliot even alive beneath the monster?

The day they all find out is a harsh juxtaposition to the solemn heartache in the air. The creature is off playing a game with Quentin, to give them a chance to get their answers. But the sun is shining, and there’s a soft breeze blowing through the trees surrounding the playground they’re huddled up under.

“You’re sure?” Kady asks, soft.

Julia nods, wrapping her arms around herself tighter. “I asked. Then I asked again, and then I asked two more gods. They all say the same thing.”

Because - Quentin gets his memories back and makes a realization.

It’s Margo, because of course it is, that helps him remember. She practically flips a switch, and the parts of his mind–the Quentin within–that were off, are back on, and everything he was and isn’t is all there. Like it’d just been waiting for him to remember.

And he looks between her, and the creature, and back.

There are a lot of things to process. So many of them, in fact, that it’s overwhelming on literally every front his brain even tries to approach. Except one.

codependent - Jane and Fogg set the loop further back.

Jane and Henry realize three of their group of idiots are somewhat intrinsically linked. So much so that they hatch a plan. It’s dangerous, and so much more than either of them have ever planned—but going back twenty three years and rearranging their lives — while a hassle, isn’t so much so that they can’t do it.

And, honestly, Jane loves a challenge (that doesn’t risk her life).

never send me roses - Eliot discovers a surprising allergy.

Quentin’s curled up on the couch in the cottage when Eliot bursts in, nose red and runny, eyes puffy. He looks positively furious, as he slams his way through the cottage to the small kitchenette to drop off the take from the village. Quentin watches him, unmoving, opting to let him work out the hissy fit of anger before even thinking to ask him what the fuck happened.

Rupert’s off at a friends in a village down the stream, and they’ve opted to take the weekend off from working on the mosaic. It’s been weeks without a break, and ultimately, the world has waited this long, it can wait a little longer for them to live their lives around it. He glances at the stack of tiles on the table by his socked feet, tilting his head for a moment. Maybe Eliot’s angry that the mosaic isn’t done.

Holiday Blues - Quentin’s got a classic case of the holiday blues.

Eliot peeks out the cottage door, tilting his head at Quentin, who’s solemnly sitting in his chair, staring off into the distance. It’s a very Quentin thing to do. Pretend to be okay when Eliot’s near, but as soon as he thinks nobodies looking, he lets all the sadness and everything take hold, and capture him like–well, Eliot’s not sure like what.

All he knows is it’s Quentin’s first christmas without Rupert since, well, since Rupert’s first christmas.

Eliot clears his throat and makes his way out, holding a cup of tea in each hand. Quentin jumps, forces a smile on his lips, and quickly wipes at his eyes like he doesn’t think Eliot will realize he’s been crying like the sad sap he is.

Walk With Me - Inexplicably, Quentin wants to go on a hike.

“You want to do what.”

Eliot shouldn’t be surprised that Quentin’s finally cracked. They’ve been out in the woods for six months, and of course he’s lost his mind. Honestly, it wasn’t ever really completely there in the first place. Look at half the shit he’s done at Brakebills, and his history, for an example of how not there Eliot’s second favorite person in the world is.

Okay, he’s tied for first, but for the love of all that is good in the world don’t tell Margo. The last thing he needs is Quentin’s death on his hands. Though, if he’s being honest, Margo wouldn’t hurt Quentin. He’s her second favorite person, too.

stargazing - Quentin wants to comfort Eliot.

Eliot wakes up to Quentin leaning over him, a soft, sad smile on his lips. He wants to be angry for being woken up, but then Quentin moves away, and he can’t help but sit up. And then Quentin’s hold a hand out to him, eyes hiding something tht Eliot can’t quite decipher. But, as always, he can’t really say no to Quentin, so he takes his hand, and allows himself to be lead through the Physical Kids cottage, through the backyard, and across campus, until they’re right there where they met for the first time.

He doesn’t realize Quentin has a blanket, until he silent lets go of Eliot’s hand and flaps it open until it falls flat against the grass, right in front of the stone BRAKEBILLS sign, Eliot spent twenty minutes trying to get the perfect pose all the months ago on. Eliot blinks down at the blanket, sleepily looking between it and Quentin.

TADA - They’re about to graduate from Brakebills.

The cottage isn’t where it’s suppose to be. Which isn’t weird, exactly. But usually, Eliot can just, kind of … sense where it’s at. Find his way to it. But it’s gone. The front and back lawns are still here, with the fire pit and the grill and the flowers and walkways. Almost like the cottage is still here, just invisible.

But it’s not, because Eliot’s walking through the big gaping space at the center of it all and he hasn’t walked into any invisible walls yet.

He’s not going to admit it, but he’s getting frustrated. This is his last day here. All of their last days. They’ll get alum keys, but it won’t be the same. They won’t be apart of the cottage anymore. He won’t be a part of the cottage anymore.

Take Me Away - Quentin and Eliot give up magic for a chance at happiness.

They meet in a little coffee shop. It feels set up, when a tall man with curly hair bumps into Quentin, and spills his both of their coffees all over them. Quentin can’t even freak out, beyond staring at the stain seeping through the mans white shirt, and the soft, billowing curls of his hair.

There’s somebody about him that seems familiar. But it doesn’t matter, because the man is freaking out.

“Fuckity fuck fuck!” He spreads his arms–his long, long arms–wide, and shakes off the coffee clinging to his fingertips.

Rainbow Sprinkles - Quentin hates rainbow sprinkles.

Rainbow sprinkles? I asked for chocolate.” Quentin looks up at the ice cream bar with a frown.

Margo snorts through her spoonful of mango sorbet. She twists her spoon as Quentin looks up at her.

“What?”

Her eyebrow quirks. “What, what?”

“Why’d you make that sound?”

She smirks around the spoon before pulling it out of her mouth with a soft pop, and reaching for more sorbet. “Oh,” she says as she scoops some into the spoon and eyes him mirthfully, “I just think it’s funny.”

The Point (of No Return) - Quentin doesn’t take well to getting his memories back.

There’s a point, Quentin realizes while everyone’s off doing their own thing. There’s a point to all the pain and anguish they have to go through. All the loss. Magic comes from pain, right? To be strong they have to lose everything. He gets it. As much as one can really get that they have to lose everything to amount to anything.

But there’s a point beyond all that. A point that he can’t hide from.

He’s sitting on the roof of Marina’s building, staring up at the stars, wondering how they all got here. The monster is off masquerading in Eliot’s body who-the-fuck-knows-where, and Quentin’s got to find the strength to face off with him one day. When the others track him down. When they figure out how to kill it.

Let These Hard Times Pass - fuck the season four promo.

Crossroads - Eliot and the Suicide Fountain

They open it back up in the spring. When Sunderland makes the announcement during class, Eliot merely rolls his eyes, and carries on pretending to do his work while a first year finishes up both of their projects. But he saves it. He’s not sure why he does, isn’t even sure it’s a conscious decision. But it’s there, ticking like a time bomb at the back of his mind. He finds himself staring at it as he walks across campus. They’re all trying to pretend everything’s normal, but he killed Mike; Mike didn’t even know—He’s not doing it consciously. Really. It’s just . . . there’s something about it that pulls him in closer. Something that makes him see it, in a way that he never has before. Maybe that’s the danger of it. It wins.

These Goodbyes (Dance Like Fire) - Eliot visits a grave.

Eliot walks down the path, careful to avoid stepping on the grass, with a clear destination in mind. The ground beneath his feet is wet, and gives way with each step, but it doesn’t deter him. Only urges him forward, even as mud cakes the sides of his shoes.

When he arrives, he stands there for a few long moments, gazing down at the one thing he’s been too scared to come face to face with. He’d missed the funeral, in his grief. Missed the wake, when the stone replaced the little plaque--too guilt ridden to even get out of bed. Margo came back after both, shedding her little black dresses, and climbed into his bed. She didn’t say anything, but when she curled up around him, he felt her silent sobs shaking her.

Even now, he’s cheating. He’s here, but not really.

He licks his lips. “Hi,” he says to the plot in front of the stone.

Oh, Brother - Todd is Eliot’s brother.

He sits at the bar in the kitchen. At least here when he looks out over the kitchen, clutching the coffee cup close to his chest, while he feet dangle over the side of the chair, he isn’t faced with an empty house. The steam floats up, fills his lungs with sweet, sugary warmth, and he lets his eyes fall closed.

His jaw clenches unconsciously.

They left him again.

Ease My Mind - rarepair challenge -- Todd/Eliot

Look. When your friends, who are too socially maladjusted to admit they’re your friends, ask you to watch your not crush while they go conquer some great evil across the planes of existence—you do it.

You just. Need to ask more questions than Todd did.

“When will you be back?”

Margo’s hurried response of, “Can’t say. Just—read him what we wrote. He’ll start remembering when the fairy spell wears off and then demand you leave his presence for all of eternity. Just like normal.” hadn’t really been all that helpful when it comes to calming Eliot down.

And it figured that Quentin and Margo had dashed back into the portal before Todd could even raise a finger to point out that maybe he’s not the best person for the job.

Prompt: Character A gets temporary short-term amnesia. Character B gets bored of constantly updating them on what's going on, so they start telling bigger and bigger lies to see what they'll believe.

Familiar Taste of Poison - Quentin’s reaction. Post 4x05 drabble.

Coming Home - Post 4x05 Eliot decides to be brave.

It’s over. It’s finally over.

Quentin stands in the doorway, watching over Eliot’s sleeping form, still somehow at awe of the rise and fall of his chest. There’s still a stressed furrow between his brow, even though he’s been unconscious for hours. But, Quentin’s sure it’s something that’ll fade with time. Or, he hopes, it is. He crosses his arms, and rests his head against the door frame. God. It’d been so close.

He swallows thickly, and tries not to think about all the times he almost lost him.

Always and Never - Quentin tells Margo that Eliot’s alive (and other sad stuff)

Quentin twists at the waist, side to side, slightly swaying, before mumbling, “We need to talk.”

Margo closes her eyes for half a second, exhaling slowly, before saying, careful and concise, “Q. I have an entire world to rule over. I don’t have time to help you mour—“

“Eliot’s alive, Margo.”

She stops. Sets down the pen in her hand, and turns to face him full on, clumsily reaching up to cross her arms. Whether it’s a way to defend herself, or because she doesn’t know what to do with her hands, Quentin doesn’t know. “What do you mean, he’s alive?” Quentin’s gaze darts away as her lip twitches. “You told me he died.”

Unhinged - Todd finds out Eliot’s alive.

Too Much - Quentin has a panic attack.

The glass shatters in slow motion.

Quentin feels the world shift, something cold and dark and familiar settling in his chest. Heavier and heavier the closer to the ground the glass gets. The further the pieces of glass spread. Time stops being linear, flashing forward and back—between the moment the glass slipped out of his hand, and the second it hits the ground. As the bourbon seeps into his pant legs, and the sound finally breaks through—it’s like something else snaps.

Something he’s been fighting to keep a hold on for months.

It cracks, and webs up through his heart, his soul—his chest, fast forward and aching. Blistering agony seeping through his veins at the speed of light. And he finally hears it—

The startling cataclysm of the base of the glass crashing into the floor—finally feels the warmth of the bourbon on his pants. Finally feels.

Feels everything.

how to dance in time - Eliot and Quentin are very in love.

A rush of warmth shoots up into his heart, and his feet move of their own accord. Quentin must sense him enter the room, because he looks up, and his chest heaves as he breathes in a big gust of air, and the small smile on his lips slowly softens to just a tiny uptick of the corners of his mouth. But his eyes are wide and shining, and he’s not moving. Just. Watching Eliot approach.

Julia makes a face, smiling but not really, and as Eliot comes to a stop beside them, she clears her throat and shoves up from the couch. “I’m just gonna—“ She breaks off as Eliot shakes his head, barely able to take his gaze off Quentin.

“No,” He says, waving a hand at her, “We need some privacy, anyways.” He glances at her, even as the thought of looking away from Quentin feels like too much of a loss. He reminds himself that he has another lifetime to do so. That this isn’t the end. That they finally managed to solve the problem, and that there aren’t any more apocalypses on the horizon. That he and Quentin have another chance to spend a lifetime together. That he can spare a few seconds without looking at him, because he’s got billions left.

She quirks an eyebrow, but shrugs a shoulder, dropping back down onto the couch. “All right,” She says, turning to look at Quentin. Eliot follows her gaze, feels his breath hitch.

Quentin’s hair is just as messy as it always is. But for once, instead of forcing down the fondness, Eliot embraces it wholly. Feels his cheek twitch with it. He reaches out, holds a hand out for him, and tries not to look too expectant.

with no space between us - Quentin and Eliot are reunited and a little desperate.

Quentin drops to his knees, wide eyed and awe struck. His chest heaves as he tries to catch a breath, but that’s all automatic, because he can’t care less about what his lungs are doing. Because there’s a glint of simmering hazel peaking out from beneath curly black hair—there’s a nose and a mouth. And before Quentin can really be sure he’s done it, long, lithe fingers are pulling him in by the lapels of his shirt, and clumsy arms are making their way around the back of his neck and around his waist. He freezes, just a moment of hesitation, before all the air his lungs keep trying to collect whooshes out of him in one big burst and he’s collapsing against a familiar chest. All warmth and ease.

He squeezes Eliot with all the strength he has in him. Grips his fingers into the back of the monsters jacket, holds on for dear life. All the desperation that’s stacked up on his shoulders moves down; seeps into the air around them as Eliot pulls him in impossibly tighter.

“You did it,” Eliot whispers into his ear, twisting his chin around and catching it on Quentin’s hair. He inhales, deep, and breathes him in.

Quentin shakes his head, but makes no move to pull away. “El,” He mumbles, his words dancing along the skin of Eliot’s collar bone, lips dragging in their wake. “If you think I’m letting go—“

“Don’t,” Eliot interrupts, shaking his own head, closing his eyes. “Don’t let go. Not yet.”

not said to me - quentin’s favorite color is purple.

Quentin’s favorite color is purple.

It hasn’t always been, but there’s a lifetime between when it wasn’t, and now. Years upon years, and moments upon moments.

Quentin’s favorite color is purple. Not just any shade of purple, though. Not like the plums Arielle used to bring to the mosaic before she became a part of their lives. Not the pale, pastel of the magic mushrooms Eliot once found lining the river. Not even the deep royal purple of Teddy’s first girlfriends dress. It’s a particular purple. He doubts anyone else even remembers it.

on a sunny tuesday afternoon, with the sunlight glowing in your hair - Eliot relives a memory.

He’s hit with the taste of opium, and the sweet, hickory scent of the Fillorian woods. Magic swells up within him, dances along his fingertips, and up into the air all around him. He feels his smile inch wider; even more so when he looks to his right and see’s the meadow. And beyond that—the cottage. Three little kids are running around chasing one another in the front of it, and Quentin’s sitting on the ground with a baby, smiling hopelessly at her, while she gurgles and laughs, tugging at his beard. Teddy comes from around the side of the cottage, holding a stack of freshly washed mosaic tiles, his wife trailing after him, content smiles on both their faces.

This is Eliot’s happy place.

He swallows, before making his way over. The leaves and twigs beneath his feet crunch and crack, giving him away. And before he knows it, three excited screams are directed at him, and he’s got a child attached to each leg, hugging him tight like a viper, and one holding her arms up at him, hands opening and closing; yelling for him to pick her up.

The laugh bubbles up out of his chest of its own volition as he leans down and picks her up, pulling her in. She tucks her head under his chin, giggling breathlessly and wrapping her arms around his neck, while he secures his hold on her by wrapping his hand around her thigh. It’s almost too tight, her hold on his throat, but in a good way. Content suffocation, is what he calls it. Not enough to strangle, just enough to remind him that he’s here. Enough to make him think he’s alive, and that this is real.

as a hello - Eliot makes a wish.

El . . .” Margo says from behind him. She’s being cautious, which is fair, because he’s holding a coin over the most powerful magic in all of Fillory, ready to make his wish. “Just—remember. That these things never turn out how you expect.”

He knows. His thumb brushes over the face of the coin, his eyes fluttering shut. ‘Be careful,’ the questing dog had said, ‘for the wishing fountain grants the wish in the way it so chooses.’ Not like the winters doe—who’s gone missing—but with a twist. Sometimes it grants what’s beyond the words, resting on the veins of the wishers heart. Sometimes it senses evil, and grants the opposite if not worded precisely. It’d been the only reason Martin Chatwin stayed away. One wrong word, and Eliot could blow up the entire universe and every living thing that inhabits it.

So, of course, the entire trek up he’d thought about his wording. Simple. As few words as possible, but clear enough. Precise. No room for the fountain to take it the wrong way. Made sure to keep all his feelings about Quentin’s death bubbling up on the surface so the fountain can’t even think that his heart isn’t in it when he makes the wish.

Truth be told, Margo and Julia had spent the entire quest sharing side eyed glances as the tears quietly slipped over his cheeks. He’s sure they’ve wanted to tell him to turn back a dozen or more times. But they got to say goodbye. They got closure.

so we keep waiting (as restless as an avalanche) - Penny and Quentin have a chat.

“Uh, hey.”

Quentin looks up from the book, blinking away the sleep dark that threatens at the edges of his vision, and narrows his eyes up at Penny standing in the doorway. He’s got his arms crossed like he’s uncomfortable. Which means Quentin’s about to be uncomfortable. Well. More uncomfortable. He hasn’t not felt uncomfortable in weeks. Months. Years, even.

The one time he can think back on being comfortable is on the worlds most uncomfortable couch, filled to the brim with easing spells, straw sticking out the sides, while he lay across it horizontally with his legs dipping over the side, and his head in Eliot’s lap. Eliot’s fingers scratching mindless patterns in Quentin’s scalp, getting tangled in the unkempt mess. All while their son laughs in the other room, a giddy little manic joy that only a child can possess. The comfort, then, had been easy and real. Especially when he opened his eyes and found Eliot watching him with a soft smile that he’d reserved solely for moments like these.

hot water on wool -- Quentin takes a shower.

Like the fucking world is doing to him.

He steps out of the his pants, and toes off the wet socks. Looks at himself in the mirror again.

He’s not—emaciated. Unhealthy. No, he’s just. Pale. Shivering. Even as the steam settles on the edges of the mirror, spreading in. Like a tunnel closing in on him. He lets it. Let’s the steam fill the room, fog the mirror. Let’s himself fade away beneath it, until he’s nothing more than an unrecognizable blur. Then he turns, reaches into the shower. His hand settles beneath the spray.

Hot.

Hot, hot, hot.

Too fucking hot.

He—he feels like it’ll set him aflame.

(i’m) coming back to you (wip) - turns out Penny made a bet with Hades that quentin wouldn’t go through the archway.

Quentin stops just outside the archway, and looks down at the metro card in his hand. He mattered to them. It’s okay. They’ll be okay. He just needs to--to walk through the door.

But.

“Something wrong?”

He blinks down at the card, turning it over in his palm, and quietly says to it, “You never did answer my question.” He looks up from the card, and twists around to turn his gaze on Penny. His hands are tucked in his pockets, and he seems mostly surprised that Quentin hasn’t gone through the door yet. “Did I? Kill myself?”

Penny stares at him for a long moment before taking a half step towards him and rolling his shoulders. “Does it matter?”

That’s the question, isn’t it? His friends were mourning him--he mattered to them. His life wasn’t this meaningless disaster he’d always thought it was. And for once, his brain isn’t compounded by countless thoughts of ‘what if I--’s. For once in his entire life, it’s all just silent, and it shouldn’t matter how it happened. He should just turn, and step through the door and--

“Yes.”

rage, rage against the dying of the light - Eliot’s pissed after (4x13) and rightfully so.

“Where are you going?”

He pauses by the refrigerator, tries not to notice the sticky note with Quentin’s handwriting stuck to a menu on the freezer door--though, it hasn’t worked the other six times he’s been in the kitchen, so why would it now? “Well,” he says, reaching up with only a minor twinge in his gut, to scratch at the edge of the menu. “Everyone’s getting their happy ever afters. I wouldn’t want to get in the way of that.” The words come out softer than he intends, but he’s too busy following the anxious loop on the y of Friday with his eyes, while the crisp cardboard of the menu falls into the crook between his nail and skin.

“Eliot.” It’s all command seeped in worry.

And if he weren’t already so sick of people pretending to care, he’d play along.

Or, Eliot's sick of the "pretend everything's okay" game.

Lucidity - Eliot’s mourning, the others are Questing. Cupid makes an appearance.

Margo barges into his room on the eve of day ninety, glares at him with a trembling jaw and says, “We’re going to save Quentin Mother Fucking Coldwater from the other god damned side, and you are going to help us.”

He blinks owlishly up at her, before the words finally register and he scrambles so he’s sitting upright in his bed, wincing only slightly along the way. “What?” He asks. “How? What?”

“I’ve respected your mourning period because I’m a great fucking friend. But Julia and Josh and Penny and I have taken this as far as we can. It’s your turn.”

She looks kind of angry, and he’s just. He’s confused.

Clarity - missing scene from Lucidity. Quentin and Eliot talk shit out.

They’re curled up together, lying face to face in Eliot’s bed with their hands interlaced in between them. Eliot blinks quietly, index finger tracing the vein overtop the back of Quentin’s hand, and swallows heavily as Quentin’s lips tilt upwards, eyes following the motion. It’s been a week of this. Of warm beds and soft skin and calm ease. Of reacquainting and allowing themselves to say everything they’ve spent years too afraid to even acknowledge.

He swallows again as his palm flattens out over the whole of Quentin’s, edges extending out onto the boney expanse of his wrist, and fingers curling over the tips of Quentins. Quentin’s eyes flutter shut, and Eliot weaves his fingers in through the space between Quentin’s. It’s strange, still, how easily and perfectly his hand fits in Quentin’s. How even after a lifetime of memories of doing nothing more than this for near an hour every morning, it still sends an electric shock down his arm and spine, and jump starts his heart for the day.

to love and back - Eliot rescues Quentin from the afterlife.

It’s not what he expected to lie on this side of the door. For the peace and ease of it all to be so all consuming that he’d just. Not want to go. But, the door’s still there, can feel the rope wrapped around his waist scratching at the corner of the doorframe whenever he moves, and he doesn’t even care, because he’d walked through, and Quentin had just been standing there. Almost like he’d been waiting for him. And for the past however long it’s been, if he can even quantify time in a timeless expanse of everything, they’ve been unable to unravel from one another.

“Is this the afterlife?” Quentin asks, a moment later, breath gushing out of him, and forming a small cloud above them. It’s not even cold. It’s just this place; everything they do creates color or planets or clouds. Every breath, and every movement. There’s a tree forming at the edges of the clearing--which stills feels eerily similar to the one Quentin and Eliot spent a lifetime together finding the beauty of all life in—creaking and crackling; Eliot pretends not to see the fresh bark as it crackles to life, and flutters to the ground; not quite ready for the growth spurt that spawns it.

(i’m) coming back to you - fuck you, Quentin’s not perma-dead.

Quentin stops just outside the archway, and looks down at the metro card in his hand. He mattered to them. It’s okay. They’ll be okay. He just needs to--to walk through the door.

But.

“Something wrong?”

Penny stares at him for a long moment before taking a half step towards him and rolling his shoulders. “Does it matter?”

“Yes.”

Anything (& more) - Eliot’s a big ol’ romantic.

Two days after everything settles down, and a week after they get Quentin back, Eliot tells Margo to have Quentin meet him where they first met.

He’s wearing the same outfit, though he’ll never admit the fit has grown a bit snug, thanks to the monsters dietary habits. He’s in the same position he was when Quentin first came stumbling back up to him—lit cigarette in one hand, a hastily made card with Quentin’s name in the other—while he lounges across the stone. All poise and confidence—even, if he’s being honest, right about now his hearts definitely arguing the confidence of it all. If the way it’s pounding anxiously in his chest is anything to go by, that is.

But, it doesn’t matter, because he remembers that first day perfectly. And for the bits he didn’t, Margo had been gracious enough to cast a remembrance spell, because, ‘Like hell I’m leaving this all in your hands, El. You have a tendency to screw up when it comes to Q.’

Happiness Begins - Eliot of the future barges in on Quentin’s first moments at brakebills.

“Quentin Coldwater?”

Quentin blinks up at the man in white, an angel in his own right, as he glares down at him, contempt and mild interest battling it out on his face. All Quentin can do is nod with a, “Uh-huh,” because the words can’t seem to find him anymore than his heart seems capable of slowing down.

The man’s eyes narrow, before his gaze sweeps over Quentin’s body, sending a chill down Quentin’s spine, and a malease of how beautiful the angel is, and what he must see when he looks over him. He swallows thickly, and the man jumps down from the stone, a soft little smirk settling on his lips. “I’m Eliot. You’re late.”

Quentin blinks again, not quite sure what to say, but the man turns on his heel, and Quentin stares after him. He’s talking, but he can’t quite register any of the words with the sudden summer sun blaring down on him, and the cool breeze ruffling his hair and sweeping away the nervous sweat building along his hairline. He takes a step, moves to follow after the man, not quite ready to let him go, when a warm hand wraps around his arm from behind, and spins him around.

Dancing in the Dark (WIP) - Eliot recreates the happy place for some time with Quentin, but not everything it as it seems.

“Hey, old man.”

Eliot smiles softly to himself, glancing across the room. “Q,” he murmurs. He hadn’t meant to conjure him just yet, but he’s not exactly upset to see him, either. Especially like this. Happy, and old. And, god, that’s more than he probably could have even hoped for from this spell. Exactly like his final memories of him from the life that never happened.

Quentin grins; his smile lines are deep enough to hide a lifetime of laughter. It pulls at something in Eliot’s chest, the way the wrinkles and grey hair only seem to make Quentin all the more endearing. “You seem surprised to see me.”

(this is not a) Temporary Love - there’s a use for the vial of blood. Also, letters. so many letters.

There’s a layer of dust coating everything in the cottage, like nobody’s been here since them. A thick white film, almost the perfect representation of what their lives ended up being. He swipes a finger along the counter as he goes, a thin streak left behind, as he marvels at the fact that it’s exactly how they left it — despite never having actually been here. Even the lines along the doorway to the kitchen, where Quentin had insisted on marking Teddy’s height; Eliot pauses here, to press his nail into the tallest mark, a soft smile dancing along his lips at the memory of Quentin pouting when they finally had the proof that Teddy had officially grown taller than him.

He swallows down a lump and moves down the short hallway. The door to the bedroom is closed, and he hesitates for a moment, before reaching out and wrapping his hand around the knob. He freezes, a memory flashing of Quentin.

Uncle Jerichos boat - (this is James/Q) James shows off his uncles boat.

Written for the covenant house drabbles thing.

First Date Flirting - Margo & Alice go on their first date.

written for the covenant house drabbles thing.

Quentin’s Wards - Penny overhears something in Quentin’s head. (Penntin)

written for the covenant house drabbles thing.

if not by fate, then by fire (not to me) - another i love you.

There’s a webbing of magic there, glinting in the sunlight. He squints his eyes and tilts his head, moving to sit on his knees to get a closer look. It looks like wards; ghostly equations dancing in the air and letting the wind gently guide them back and forth. Like a flag on a gentle summer day. He watches it, almost like he’s caught in a trance, for a moment. Almost starts swaying with it.

And then he gets up, and follows it.

Lets it lead him. And when he approaches it, settling a hand in the air a breath away from making contact, he takes a deep breath, and looks up over it towering over him. Still swaying, like a dance to say hello and remind him he’s alive. His lips falls into a soft smile, and he presses forward. Expects a shockwave or for the magic to refuse his entrance. But his hand pushes through, and then his wrist with it’s magic rune, and then his arm and shoulder and before he knows it, he’s blinking up into a cloudless summer sky.

Relief - Quentin and Eliot have a talk (andthensome)

“You’re missing your own party.”

Quentin startles, flipping around so his back against the balcony wall, and bringing a hand to his chest as Eliot steps out onto the balcony with him. He’s watching him expectantly, a strange little smile on his lips, and Quentin swallows, attempts a sheepish shrug. “It’s a lot,” he says after a moment, carefully turning back around to look over the city view the penthouse grants. He reaches up and clutches the bars on the wall, fists tight and knuckles burning white.

The sound of Eliot’s shoes tapping against the concrete beneath their feet fills the silence, until Quentin can feel him, warm and real, standing just behind him.

In Case You Don’t Live Forever - Quentin and Eliot decide to get Help.

“I had a dream,” he murmurs, letting the words drift, directionless into the air around him. He doesn’t expect Quentin to reply. How could he? He hasn’t said more than a handful of words since Eliot woke up, barring the quiet, ‘I’m glad you’re not dead’ whispered into his bed while he thought Eliot was sleeping.

Eliot twists his neck, catches the tail end of a too quick movement of Quentin purposefully looking away—back up to the sky. Swallows down the hurt that suddenly fills him up with the residual panic from his dreams. “I think it was more a nightmare, actually.” He pauses, but Quentin only blinks, his Adam’s apple bobbing; the barest hint of a shadow movement beneath the moonlight. “Can I tell you about it?”

Tell Me You Love Me - Penntin, the first i love you.

Quentin Coldwater realizes he’s in love with his boyfriend on a Tuesday in the middle of June. Ordinarily, it wouldn’t be an issue. He could keep it tucked up in his head, this quiet little longing all for himself forever if need be.

Except his boyfriend can read minds. And Quentin’s wards, despite his best efforts, are crap. Add to that his inability to tell a decent lie, and well.

Penny Adiyodi finds out Quentin loves him on a Wednesday morning in the middle of June.

timekeeper - Eliot uses stoppards machine.

(written for the covenant house drabbles)

“How the fuck did I agree to this?”

“I think the better question is why didn’t we stop Eliot from knocking Stoppard out,” Julia murmurs, staring down at Stoppard's sleeping body. “That’s definitely something we could have done.”

Eliot looks over his shoulder at them, his hand slipping from the edge of the window. “Would you two stop wasting time and tell me how to work this fucking thing?” When Penny turns a glare on him, Eliot simply offers a glare right back and motions towards the mirror. “Please.” He adds obligingly, when Julia pointedly raises her eyebrows at him. His hand slowly falls until Penny sighs and moves around him, gently shoving Eliot out of the way.

in awe, the first time you realized it - another i love you.

They’re lying on the grass not far off from the mosaic. Quentin’s laying on his back with his arm tucked up under his head, pointing up at a cloud, claiming it’s making a shape it most certainly isn’t, and Eliot’s lying next to him on his side, a fond little smile on his lips as he lets him ramble. He’s making up a story about the cloud, how it’s a fierce dragon, fighting its way to victory across the skies, seeking out its mate. Or the knight meant to slay it. Quentin adds this bit with a slight shake of his head, glancing at Eliot just long enough to make sure he laughs. He does. Because it’s ridiculous.

Eliot plucks a blade of grass from between them and rolls it between his fingers. His knuckles brush up against Quentin’s stomach, and Quentin stumbles along what he’s trying to say. Smirking, Eliot leans in and quirks an eyebrow. “Sorry, I didn’t quite catch that, Q. You’ll have to start over.”

a whisper in the ear - another i love you.

Quentin’s sitting in the living room, reading a book — something new that Kady had tossed to him when she came back from the library to help him “find a new obsession preferably not created by a pedophile, yeah?” — with his legs tucked up underneath him. His hair falls from it’s place behind his ear, and he reaches up to tuck it back into its place; a fruitless task but a habit that he’s not likely to break unless he cuts his hair. He shuffles further into the cushion of the couch, brow furrowing as the protagonist in the book hears a strange noise and decides to follow it. He shakes his head at her — never fucking following the strange noise, Patrice, god — but turns the page anyways.

The sound of the front door opening and closing fills the room, but it’s not enough to break his concentration. The books great, and the characters in it don’t make the best life decisions, but he can’t help but think that that’s why he relates to them. He still jumps when a creature jumps out of the closet and bares it’s teeth at Patrice. Still tries not to cheer, when a couple paragraphs later, she jabs the broken leg of a chair through its chest.

Still I come back to you - 4x13 never happened, but Quentin and Eliot still manage to be disasters.

He’s able to sit up for the first time on a Thursday. Has been weaving in and out of consciousness for the better half of a week. Flanked by Margo on his left, Quentin on his right, and a revolving door of characters at his feet. Visitors who come and go and sometimes come back. Like Penny and Alice and Julia. Or who come once, stay for a few minutes, and then disappear to never return. Like Dean Fogg and Kady. Nothing more than courtesy drop by.

He doesn’t mind. Quentin squeezes his hand tight like he thinks he might, though, so he just nuzzles his cheek into Quentin’s shoulder and opts not to mention that he has all he needs right here. Pretends not to hear Margo’s judgement when she huffs out an amused breath. Squeezes her hand as if to say not now, Bambi.

dance with me - another i love you

What was it he’d said in his happy place all those months ago?

Oh, right.

He promised to be brave.

One moment of bravery for a lifetime of happiness. Quentin had been brave, back in Fillory, when he’d kissed Eliot that first time. And the culmination of that one moment had been fifty years of ups and downs and — Maybe Eliot just has to be the one to take that leap this time.

Family Ties - Eliot finds Quentin’s mom after his death. (WIP)

They’d spent nights under the stars, lying beside one another, revealing little bits of themselves in ways they’d never felt safe before. Until every part of their lives laid out, open and bare for the other to hold and protect.

It’s why when Julia and Alice both each volunteered to do this, he couldn’t let them. Why when Julia, watery eyed and jittery, sitting beside him in the infirmary, said, “I have to tell his mother.” He squeezed her hand.

And said no.

here’s to the so much better - another i love you

They’ve lived the so much better. They fought and died for the so much better. They literally went to hell and back and if that wasn’t for so much better than what the fuck was it for? Longing glances across the room but an unwillingness to act on feelings they both know are there? A lingering touch in the kitchen when Eliot reaches the top shelf and hands the cup to Quentin? Falling asleep on each other in the living room because they’re too comfortable and too cowardly to go upstairs together?

Fuck. That.

Golden - Quentin pines. Eliot’s oblivious.

“What do you think it looks like?” He asks, voice barely loud enough to pass over the soft rustling of the trees.

“It’s called the Golden Tile, Q. I imagine it’s golden. And a tile.”

Quentin rolls his eyes and looks back up at him. “I meant the beauty of all life. What do you think it looks like?”

delicate - Quentin just really loves Taylor Swift.

Quentin blanched, eyes going wide as he took an annoyed step backwards. “Taylor Swift released two new albums while I was gone and you didn’t tell me?” A hand came up and rushed through his greasy, unwashed hair as best it could with the tangles, and he shook his head. “How dare you.”

perspective - Quentin and Eliot have a talk after Quentin’s resurrection.

Eliots down here somewhere — he knows, because he’d checked his room first. Because not long after Margo went to bed last night, Eliot, beautiful, kind Eliot, lit by the glow of the dimming fire set by Quentin’s magic-clumsy hands, and in a searing moment of deja vu, pulled Quentin in and pressed a kiss to his lips.

Now That the Chips are Down - Quentin claws himself out of a grave. (WIP)

He’s bleary eyed, stumbling along the sidewalk, lights from the city glaring down at him, chest heaving with every aching, heavy breath. He can still feel the dirt between his teeth, the coarse texture of it lining his throat from where he’d breathed it in. His fingers ache, cuticles bleeding and tender where the dirt lines them. He glances down at them, vision going dark for a moment before phasing back in. His hands stretched out in front of him, palm out. Hands are so dirty.

Ghost of You - Eliot keeps seeing Quentin die. Resurrection fic.

“I see him,” He says, voice crackling like a fire struggling to stay lit. “Every night when I go to sleep. I see him die. It’s never the same. And then I see his ghost, and he never goes away.” He offers her a wry smile, finally looking away from Quentin to meet her eyes. “I’m literally being haunted by the ghost of my past and there’s no escape. Sleep only makes it worse. Being drunk makes it more vivid. Being high makes me nauseous. I can’t fucking escape it or him or how much it fucking hurts.” He waves a hand. “Is that what you wanted to hear?”

He half expects the world to burst into flames around him. But no fire singes his skin. Kady just narrows her eyes, lets go of his knee and stands up. “Don’t go anywhere.”

He’s too tired to move. “Couldn’t if I wanted to,” he says.

Too tired to breathe, sometimes.

#the magicians #queliot #penntin #todd #riz writes #HOLY FUCK THAT TOOK FOREVER #I SWEAR IF THE FORMATTING AINT RIGHT IMMA SCREAM

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katecarteir · 5 years

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ask me to stay. | chapter three | 7.4k

Eddie frowned. “What? I mean, I know that Beverly wasn’t allowed to room with you but why have you always been by yourself?”

“Because you weren’t here.” Richie replied honestly. Eddie frowned slightly, wanting to sit up and have a more serious conversation but he couldn’t deny that he liked the way Richie was hovering over him. “I wasn’t allowed to stay with Bev, and nobody else wants to share a room with the Trashmouth.”

[or: the year is 1994, and Eddie Kaspbrak is in love.]

chapter warnings: internalized homophobia, so much pining it puts the last chapter to shame, miscommunications (yes. plural.), and so much rain it could be biblical.

read on AO3!

Eddie woke suddenly to the sound of tapping, feeling crabby and disorientated. It took him too long to realize where he was, curled up in the front bed of Richie’s truck in a nasty highway motel blanket. It wasn’t raining anymore, but the sky foretold the possibility of more. Richie was leaning against the truck, knocking lightly against the window with his knuckles.

Eddie opened the door and tumbled out, barely managing to keep his legs standing in an upright position. Richie took a step back rather than reaching out to help steady Eddie’s legs, and Eddie’s heart cracked slightly.

“Mike’s here.” Richie said simply, gesturing towards the car when Richie and Mike had clearly already loaded their stuff into. Eddie frowned.

“I thought Bill was coming to get us,” Eddie asked sleepily, rubbing at his eyes. Richie seemed to give a half a smirk, before pressing his lips together and glaring angrily down at the ground.

“Billy boy getting up early to come get us?” Richie asked lightly, giving Mike a quick salute as they approached. Mike glanced between them and raised his brow at Eddie. Eddie shrugged, moving to get into the back seat of Bill’s mom’s car.

“You can take the front, Spaghetti.” Richie cut in, starting to walk backwards. “I’m going to take the truck. Can’t just leave it here for days.”

“Wait, Richie!” Eddie cried as his friend started to walk away. “You can’t take that truck, I don’t think it’s going to get you the whole way! I don’t think it’s going to-”

“It will.” Richie said firmly, if not a little softly. He gave a small smile to Eddie, patting him on the shoulder. “I know it will. ‘Cuz you fixed it, Eddie.”

Eddie swallowed a little roughly as he watched Richie turn and walk back to the truck, He watched as he got in, and pulled out of the motel parking lot. As the truck disappeared down the dirt road back towards the highway, Eddie finally turned to look at Mike.

“Awe, little lamb.” Mike wrapped an arm around Eddie’s shoulder, who immediately leaned into him and sighed sadly. “What did you do?”

Eddie slumped against the door of the car and gave Mike what he knew was a pitiful look, going to the full extent of sticking out his bottom lip and batting his eyelashes. “Richie’s mad at me for not sleeping in the bed with him.”

“He’s mad at you?” Mike asked with a disbelieving laugh. He shook his head and opened the car door for him. Eddie ducked in, crossing his arms around his chest and huffing as he stared out the window. Mike got into the driver's seat and began to pull out of the parking lot. “I don’t know what happened here, but I can promise you that Richie is not mad at you, Eddie. I don’t think the guy has ever been mad at you in his entire existence.”

“That’s not true!” Eddie cried indignantly. “Back before you became friends with us, in second grade, I stole the fruit roll up from Richie’s lunch box and he was furious.”

“And how long did he stay mad at you, lamb?” Mike asked gently as he pulled back onto the highway.

Eddie scowled at the rain clouds in the sky and exhaled hard. “Half an hour, he forgave me when I cried because he wouldn’t talk to me.”

Mike laughed, reaching out with a hand and ruffling at Eddie’s head. “Don’t worry about it, Eddie, okay? Even if Richie is mad at you- which I doubt, by the way- it’s not going to last. I’d bet you anything that by the time we get up to the house, Richie will have forgotten all about whatever was going on between you.”

Eddie bit down on his bottom lip, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. His chest suddenly felt tight, and his brain went a little off the grids. He supposed if there was anybody he’d been completely safe talking to, it was Mike Hanlon. “I like him,” Eddie blurted out, barely giving it thought at all. “Not like I’m supposed to, or like he’s my best friend. I like him really like him.”

It was quiet for a long moment, long enough that panic started to fully settle in Eddie’s gut, before Mike’s hand came down and squeezed Eddie’s wrist. “I know, little lamb,” Mike said softly. He didn’t take his eyes off the road, and Eddie pressed his free hand against his cheek. Just watching Mike. Waiting for something more. “I’ve known for a while. Don’t worry, I don’t think anybody else noticed anything.”

“Does… does Richie…” Eddie rubbed his hand against his cheek now, heart in his throat and leg bouncing erratically. “Does Richie know?” He managed to squeak out.

Mike glanced at him from the corner of his eyes, smiling slightly. “I can’t answer that. Who ever knows what’s going on in Richie’s head, really. I’m sure that Richie cares about you enough that if he did know, it wouldn’t matter.”

“I’m not going to tell him.” Eddie said firmly. He noticed Mike raising his eyebrows but Eddie started shaking his head. “I don’t want any well meaning advice. Shove your advice up your ass, I’m going to stick with my plan of doing what I want.”

Mike chuckled, reaching out to turn on the radio and fiddling for a station. “Alright, alright. I just think that Richie would-”

“La la la!” Eddie shouted, slapping his hands over his ears and dramatically kicking his feet. “I said no advice!”

Mike clucked his tongue and looked ready to burst out laughing, but managed to contain it as they both watched the clouds pass by overhead as they moved towards an event in which they were trapped on a lake for the next three days.

It was raining when Mike pulled into the driveway. As Eddie moved to grab his things from the back of the car, he felt something getting tossed over the top of his head. Startling, and nearly dropping his rucksack, Eddie whipped around and saw Richie smiling down at him. The hand that wasn’t holding onto his rucksack grabbed for the fabric around him and found himself covered in one of Richie’s surprisingly nice sweaters.

“What’s this for?” Eddie asked, narrowing his eyes. He slipped the sweater on, popping the hood up and tossing his backpack onto his shoulders.

Richie grinned cheekily down at him. “You looked a little wet there, Eds.” He attempted to toss his arm around Eddie’s shoulder, but Eddie quickly dodged him. He glowered up at Richie, resenting not for the first or last time that Richie had so much height on him.

“Thought you were pissed at me?” Eddie accused him, stomping down and holding his ground. He noticed the rest of the Losers joined up under the roof on the front porch while Richie and Eddie stood together in the rain.

Richie’s brow furrowed. “I was never mad at you, Eds. You were the one being all fucking weird.”

“God, you’re the worst you know that!” Eddie snapped, that anger that was also so close to surface bubbling up once more. He clenched his fists at his sides. “You don’t understand anything do you?”

“Apparently not!” Richie tossed his arms out in an extravagant gesture, but he sounded more tired than angry. “I don’t understand anything about anything, and I don’t know what I want or what I feel, and I’m just some big dumb lap dog you guys all put up with.”

Eddie blinked hard, physically reeling his head back at Richie’s aggressive response. “Rich, that’s not what I said.”

Richie held his hand up and gave a disgusted look. “Whatever, Eddie.” He pushed back Eddie, knocking their shoulders together, and Eddie’s stomach sunk the way it always did whenever Richie used his real time when addressing him. Eddie turned slowly to watch Richie stomp up the steps to the lake house and move inside without saying a word to anybody else. Eddie sighed hard, with his whole body, and dragged his feet the whole way to his friends.

Mike gave him a sympathetic, closed mouthed smile as Eddie approached that he returned. “D-D-Don’t worry about Ruh-Rich,” Bill said, patting Eddie softly on the shoulder and nodding at him. “He’s b-b-been in a b-b-bitch since he g-g-got here. Guess he and B-B-Bev are in s-s-ome loves q-q-q-quarrel.”

“Shut up, Denbrough,” Beverly said with a forced smile and an eye roll. “We didn’t even do anything. I just told him we needed to talk later when we had the chance. No need to make it into this big huge thing.”

Eddie frowned, kicking at the wooden porch and refused to meet Mike’s eye line as they stepped into the house. Everybody moved with ease as them came inside, knowing exactly what to do with their shoes and rain jackets, and Eddie felt that discontent that happened for him and the Losers sometimes. The reminder that his friends had spent multiple summers here before, but Eddie had never been allowed to go along. That his friends had many memories that didn’t involve him, because his mother had kept him from them.

“You okay, Eddie?” Beverly asked him, placing a hand on his elbow and smiling softly at him. Eddie felt that usual pang of guilt he got when he Beverly was nice to him- which yeah, happened often- and he tried to shake it free from his mind.

He smiled back at her. “Yeah, I’ve just never been here before. I’m not sure where-”

“Oh!” Beverly blinked in surprise. “Right! Sorry, Billy is the worst host. This is the first year his parents and Georgie aren’t here with us. I think you and Richie have the last room at the end of the hall upstairs. It’s house rules that Rich and I don’t get to share.”

Or is it because you’re broken up? Eddie thought a little snidely. He knew it wasn’t fair, and that Beverly wouldn’t even know that Eddie knew the truth about her and Richie’s relationship.

Ben “Bet Beverly is regretting not taking the ride with Richie yesterday,” Ben called out, looking over at them with a pursed smile. Forced and utterly fake, the look of somebody trying too hard. Eddie raised his brow and Beverly gave him a wrinkled nose smile. “You know, an excuse to be alone in the hotel room, some Bev and Richie time…”

“When have Richie and Bev ever needed an excuse to have sex?” Stan asked dryly, not bothering to look up from the box of records that Bill had on the coffee table. Eddie’s heart flip-flop in his chest, and Beverly glanced away awkwardly. She began ringing her hands then turned away, moving past their friends and further into the house.

“Okay, what is going with them?” Stan asked with an air of annoyance. His eyes fell to Eddie and narrowed. “Do you know something, Kaspbrak?”

Eddie felt his face flush. “Why I know anything? You- You’re his best friend, Stanley. Maybe you know something, and you’re just trying to keep the attention off of me.”

Stan gave him his mastered look of raising one eyebrow.

Eddie snapped his fingers. “Got ya.”

The rest of the Losers stared at him for awhile and Eddie felt his face turned bright red. He rubbed his face absentmindedly and shrugged up one shoulder awkwardly. “So… where is my room again?” He was quickly giving more detailed directions by Bill and moved through the long hallway. As he moved to let himself into the room, the door came open and Richie nearly ran into him.

Eddie’s mouth dropped open and he shuffled back slightly on an instinct. The expressionless look on Richie’s face darkened as he attempted to push past him. “Don’t worry, Eds. There’s two beds.”

“Wait, wait!” Eddie cried, reaching out and grabbing onto the back of Richie’s T-shirt. “Can we talk please? Rich?”

Richie exhaled hard. “Are you going to be mean to me for no reason again?”

Eddie sighed and glanced down at his shoes. “No. I’m sorry.”

Richie turned around slowly, tucking his hands into the back pockets of his shorts. “I don’t get you, Eddie. I used to be able to read you like an open book but somebody closed that book and put on a lock on it. If you’re going to be a locked book, I need you to try and tell me what the pages say.”

“I don’t want to be a closed book,” Eddie said sadly. He took steps closer to Richie, letting their legs press together where they stood. Richie tilted his chin down to look at him, smiling through the still apparent sadness in his eyes. “I’m… working on it, okay?”

Richie shrugged one shoulder. Eddie shuffled forward and wrapped his arms gently around Richie’s middle. There was a moment of awkwardness where Eddie felt his heart start to hammer his chest, before he felt Richie’s arm wrap back around his shoulders, a hand cupping the back of Eddie’s head. His fingers scratched at Eddie’s scalp, pressing his cheek against the top of Eddie’s head.

“I was never mad at you, Eds.”

“I was never mad at you, either.”

Eddie wasn’t sure how long they stayed standing like that, arms around each other, Eddie’s face pressed against Richie’s collar bone and Richie’s head rested on his. They stood like that until the sound of someone clearing their throat broke through to them. Eddie stumbled away from Richie’s hold, ending back up against the wall while Richie just looked casually towards their new guest. Eddie swallowed a little roughly at the sight of Beverly looking patiently between them, and Eddie knew he probably looked incredibly guilty in that moment.

“Hey, sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt,” Beverly said pleasantly. She stepped forward and wrapped her hand around Richie’s wrist. “But I was thinking maybe now would be a good time for us to talk? The rain doesn’t look like it’s going to let up anytime soon, so Bill is going to set up some card game and dinner so…”

Richie cleared his throat a little, scratching at the back of his head. “Uh.. yeah, no. This is fine, we should do this.” Richie gave Eddie a little nod and a small smile. “We’re cool, right Eds?”

“Yeah,” Eddie lied with a nod. “We’re totally cool. It’s fine.” Eddie fumbled with the door to his and Richie’s room and tumbled in with his stuff, as Richie scuffed the toe of his shoe into the ugly rug on top of the hardwood floor.

“So, what’s up Bev Bev?” Richie asked, giving her a classic lopsided grin.

“I was just uh…” Beverly bit her bottom lip then smiled. “I was wondering how long this break was going to last?”

Richie blinked then frowned at his ex-girlfriend. A million different thoughts bubbled up in his head, arguments and intelligent words, but all he could manage was to shake his head at her. “Beverly, I didn't- this isn’t a break. I broke up with you. It’s over.”

“But,” Beverly gaped at him, mouth flopped open and shut like a fish out of water. “You kept saying that you loved me! The whole time and-”

“I do love you,” Richie said softly, furrowing his brow and tilting his head. “Beverly, you’re one of my favourite people in this world and I care so much about you. I’m just not in love with you.”

“I don’t understand what happened,” Beverly said tearfully, crossing her arms around her chest. “One second everything was fine, and the next you were breaking up with me and saying you weren’t in love with me anymore? This just came out of nowhere, I don’t know what I’m supposed to think!”

“Things haven’t been fine, Bev.” Richie said sharply, clenching his jaw. “I’ve been trying to be fine, pretend that everything was normal but I’m not and it isn’t. I’m sorry that you’re hurt and confused, Bev, I never wanted that and I wish I’ve could have found a way that didn’t leave you hurt but I’m not… I’m not going to spend my entire life pretending to be in love with you.”

“How long have you been pretending to still be in love with me?” Beverly asked, staring up at Richie with a shell shocked look on her face.

Richie clenched his jaw and mentally cursed himself. He stepped away from Beverly as he began to pace, pressing the palms of his hands against his eyes. “This is getting all fucked up. Why did we have to have this talk? Everything was fine after the first time!”

“That’s because you weren’t clear the first time!” Beverly shouted, tossing her hands up in the air. “I didn’t even know that you were breaking up with me!”

“I was fucking clear!” Richie shouted back, starting to turn red in the face. “You just weren’t fucknig listening to me, and just chose to hear whatever the fuck you wanted!”

The two of them stood and glared at each other until the door behind them clicked open, and Eddie shuffled out awkwardly. He wanted to move to Richie’s side, but he knew it wouldn’t be appropriate. Richie was just his friend, same as Beverly, and he couldn’t so obviously pick sides in a fight that shouldn’t involve him. He wanted nothing more than to rest a hand on Richie’s shoulder and gave him a reassuring smile, try to make his best friend feel better, but he acknowledged there was nothing he could do for Richie right now. He offered them both a small smile, and a slight nod. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah,” Beverly popped her lips, looking away from Eddie with embarrassment written all over her face. “Richie and I were just…” She cleared her throat and forced a smile. “Breaking up, apparently. I’ll see you all downstairs later.”

Then Beverly was gone, turning on her heel and disappearing down the hall faster than Eddie had ever seen her move. She was practically running, and Eddie had to look away. There was a mixture of emotions in his gut right now, bouncing back and forth between excited that Richie and Beverly were publicly broken up and feeling completely guilty about being excited. Tossing the acknowledge anger for even feeling excited at all, as though just because Beverly and Richie breaking up meant anything for Eddie except that things were now going to be awkward in his friend group.

Richie was looking at him and Eddie supposed he was looking for something. Some advice, or some comfort. Eddie had nothing to give him. He looked down the hall to double check what he already knew about Beverly being gone, then stepped forward and curled a finger through Richie’s belt loop. “I have some sour gummy worms in my backpack.”

Richie raised his eyebrows, giving Eddie an offended look. “You had those that whole truck ride and the entire time we were fixing it up, and you didn’t mention it?”

Eddie smiled cheekly up at him. “They’re mine, I didn’t want to share them. Especially not with you, because I know that you’re a gummy worm hog.”

“Then why are you telling me now?” Richie challenged, pushing closer to Eddie. With Eddie’s fingers still in Richie’s belt loops, the posture between them felt so intimate that Eddie’s actual heart was blushing. He didn’t know if that was possible, but he was sure in that moment that was what was happening to him.

“Yeah, well,” Eddie shrugged playfully with a little smirk. “You’re looking a little pathetic right now, so I thought I’d be nice. But if you don’t want any-”

“No!” Richie giggled, leaping away from Eddie’s grip and practically skipping into their shared bedroom. Eddie quickly chased after him, jumping at Richie while his best friend and they tumbled onto Eddie’s bed. They smacked at each other mindlessly for a moment, giggling, before flopping onto the bed on their best.

“Oh, this is great,” Richie sighed, dropping his arm over his eyes, grinning up at the ceiling.

Eddie tilted his head to the side, smiling bemusedly at his friend. “What’s great?”

Richie looked back at him, balancing him up his elbow and his grin turning soft. “It’s just… I’ve been coming here for three years, and this is first time I’ve had somebody to share my room with. It’s just nice.”

Eddie frowned. “What? I mean, I know that Beverly wasn’t allowed to room with you but why have you always been by yourself?”

“That’s not true,” Eddie said, knowing even himself that it sounded weak and pathetic. Richie raised his eyebrow and Eddie sighed, shifting a little bit on his back. Their knees rested together, Eddie’s body feeling on fire where they were touching.

“Don’t worry about it, Eds,” Richie said, sounding almost quiet and at peace. “I know where I stand. It’s all good, because you have gummy worms.”

Richie leaned over Eddie’s body, reaching into Eddie’s backpack and Eddie felt the familiar panic hitting his chest again. All logic in his brain and body and goddamn soul went flying out the window because all he knew was that Richie was not allowed to put his hand in Eddie’s backpack. Brain disconnected from itself, Eddie launched himself forward and grabbed the back of Richie’s head. He pulled Richie down, away from his bag, and kissed him full on the mouth.

The two of them stayed like that for a moment, completely frozen, then Eddie’s brain kicked back into working order. He pulled away from Richie, letting out what he knew sounded like a horrified gasp, and pushed Richie off of him. The second Richie’s back had hit the mattress, Eddie was shooting up and running his fingers through his air.

“I…” Eddie cleared his throat, not wanting to look at whatever look of disgust Richie would be wearing. “We should probably go downstairs. Everybody is there and we already missed the first day, so.”

“I don’t really want to see them right now,” Richie said, voice sounding disconnected and cold. Eddie squeezed his eyes closed and didn’t turn around.

“Okay, well, I’m…. I’m going to go… then.” Eddie bolted out of the room before Richie could give any response. He almost fell down the stairs, but quickly regretted leaving Richie for the rest of the Losers when he took sight of Beverly crying in Bill’s arms on the couch.

“Is Richie okay?” Stan asked, standing quickly and moving towards Eddie, who was hovering in the doorway.

Eddie nodded awkwardly, giving Stan a little bit of a half smile. “He’s okay, I guess. I don’t think he’s going to come down tonight though, he’ll be a little uncomfortable.” Eddie immediately recognized the look in Stanley’s eyes and reached out to took hold of his friend’s wrist. “I don’t think he wants to see anybody. You know Richie, when he’s ready to talk, he’ll come to you.”

That wasn’t true, and Eddie knew that he was lying through his teeth. Richie would never come to a person with his problems, ever. He’d once gotten a concussion and passed it off as a headache for two days before making a laughing joke about it once he’d recovered. It had taken Eddie weeks to stop worrying that Richie had caused permanent damage to his brain. Any sort of emotional problem was even worse, it could take days of Eddie or Stan prying at him to open up.

Stan was looking at him disbelievingly and Eddie couldn’t blame him. It was a weak lie, used mostly to protect himself and Eddie knew it. “Okay, we both know that’s not true. But…” Eddie floundered for a moment before his brain clicked into motion. “Pushing Richie before he’s ready will just push him further away from telling us.”

“You’re right,” Stanley sighed with an eyeroll. “You’re still acting very strange, but you’re right. And if you’re going to be on Richie’s side exclusively about this, don’t make it obvious to Bev. It’s the last thing she needs right now.”

“I’m not on Richie’s side exclusively.” Eddie said indignantly, crossing his arms angrily. Stan gave him that mastered look of a single eyebrow raise and Eddie flushed. “I’m not. There’s no sides, this is shit for everybody!”

“You can say that again.” Stan huffed out a sigh. “Bill’s already trash talking Richie like he’s getting paid to do it. If Bev wasn’t so upset…” Stan shook his head. “I don’t know. They’s probably going to get back together, anyway. It’s Richie and Beverly. They’ve always been together.”

No they haven’t, thought Eddie, who avidly remembered the days before Richie and Beverly were a couple. He knew that nobody ever meant always since the beginning of time when they Richie and Beverly had always been together, but it still burned at Eddie when it heard it. Like Richie and Beverly were so unstoppable force, always meant to be, never swaying.

Eddie exhaled hard. “I’m going to go outside for some air.”

Stan blinked at him. “It’s still raining.”

Eddie shrugged, already turning away. “I’m only happy when it rains.”

He could feel how Stan was staring at his back as he let himself out the front door and walked over to the wet railing. He leaned up against it, pulling the sleeves of Richie’s sweater over his hands and exhaled hard. His knee pressed against the wet wood and made his stomach bubble the way only heavy rain could. Along with cars, thunder storms had been one of the things that Eddie remembered most about his father. Sitting out on the Kaspbraks front porch, watching the rain run through the streets and the sky light up with the white forks. Even now, when Sonia would screech about how Eddie would get sick from being outside in the rain, thunderstorms and any sort of heavy rain always gave Eddie a small happy feeling in his chest.

Eddie hadn’t been standing outside for very long before he heard the front door opening behind him. He knew immediately that it wasn’t Stanley, who had never been the type to chase after anybody but Eddie wasn’t in the mood to play into the game of making things easy for people. Mike came over, leaning against the railing and raised his eyebrow. “What’s going on, little buddy?”

“Feel yucky,” Eddie mumbled, dropping his elbows down onto the wet railing and letting his eye flutter closed. He could still feel Mike’s eyes burning into the side of his head. “Stomach all… gross.”

“Are you sick?” Mike asked, reaching a hand out and pressing it against Eddie’s forehead. Eddie sighed and knocked Mike’s hand away, finally turning to look at the friend who was staring at him expectantly.

“I think I feel guilty for Richie and Bev breaking up,” Eddie admitted quickly, feeling the words and nerves all coming falling out of his mouth beyond the train of his brain. He watched Mike’s face soften and Eddie’s heart dropped.

“Have you done anything that cause Richie and Bev to break up?” Mike asked. Eddie shook his head. “Did you say anything to Richie, to persuade him to break up with her? Outside of the normal friendly advice?”

“No.” Eddie said brugundingly.

Mike smiled at him. “Then let yourself off the hook, Eddie. You haven’t done anything wrong.”

“I’ve done things wrong,” Eddie said gumly, looking back out at the beginning to water-log grassy lawn. “Maybe I guess I didn’t break up Richie and Bev but I-”

Mike made a loud humming noise. “Eddie Kaspbrak. You need to cut yourself more slack. The only person who thinks you did anything wrong is you, so please. Eddie. Please. Stop. There’s nothing wrong with your feelings for Richie, they’re not bad. And it doesn’t make you responsible for Richie’s relationships. Especially if he doesn’t even know how you feel.”

Eddie pressed his lips together tightly, not quite willing to cry just then. Would he cry over this eventually, yes. But it didn’t feel right to shed tears over Richie while Beverly was so much more rightfully upset just on the other side of the walls.

“I mean it.” Mike cupped the back of his head, rubbing his thumb against Eddie’s neck. “Stop beating yourself up over things that are out of your control and just let yourself live.”

Eddie whined. “Why couldn’t I be in love with you? That would be so much better, and it would make so much more sense.”

“That’s flattering, Eddie.” Mike chuckled. “Now are we going to talk about you saying that you’re in love with Richie?”

Eddie hummed, smirking up at Mike sarcastically. “No. We absolutely are not going to talk about that.”

Mike tucked Eddie under his arm and guided him back into the house. Eddie stayed amongst his friends, very thankful that Beverly seemed to have stopped crying even though she wasn’t her usual upbeat and happy self, until he was hiding his yawns behind his hand.

“Maybe you should head up to bed, Eddie.” Beverly said, reaching out and squeezing Eddie’s knee. “I know you get all weird road jet-lag thing whenever you travel North. And you’ve been doing it for two days.”

And I slept like garbage last night in the bench of Richie’s truck instead of in a bed because I’m a big giant idiot, Eddie thought but just gave his friends a sleepy smile and stumbled up the stairs. He let himself quietly into the bedroom, tip toeing in as he was sure that Richie was asleep, but was surprised to see Richie staring up at the ceiling.

“Hey,” Eddie said softly, moving over to take his bags off the bed and drop them onto the floor at the bottom. Richie was quiet long enough that Eddie looked over his shoulder towards him, seeing his friend still just staring up at the ceiling. “I’m going to go to bed now, I’m really tired because-”

“Road-lag,” Richie responded, voice coming out in a dry croke from lack of use. Eddie frowned slightly, fiddling with the edge of the blanket before crawling into bed.

“Okay…” Eddie said slowly, punching the pillow into a softer lay and rolled onto his side. Looking away from Richie. “Well. Goodnight, Rich.”

“G’night, Eds.” Richie said quietly, Eddie hearing him roll over. Richie turned away from Eddie, too.

Despite the tension of anxiety in his stomach, Eddie was very groggy and it was easy for his brain to start to doze. His brain moved into the fuzzy state where he almost felt as though he was floating, and not in control of his thought process at all. Just as Eddie’s half-aware brain was sure that he was about to slip into unconsciousness, something caught through to him and brought him back into reality. Grumbling slightly under his breath, Eddie rolled over and looked through the darkness of the room and narrowed his eyes in the an weak attempt to see through teh nothing.

The noise became progressively louder, and a little bit wetter, and Eddie frowned out into the room as struggled to push through the messy thoughts in his head. He was a little ashamed that it took him so long to realize what it was that had brought his brain back to life, and once he did it was though his heart had bubbled right up into his throat and was threatening to escape out of his mouth.

Richie was crying, not just crying but full body shaking sobbing. Eddie stared at him helplessly for a moment, mouth dropping open and knowing his own face was crumbling. He knew that Richie would want Eddie to roll back over and pretend he hadn’t heard anything. Eddie couldn’t just do that, knowing that Richie needed comfort when he was so upset even if he’d never ask for it. Even if Richie didn’t want anybody to know, if he didn’t want Eddie to know. Eddie bounced back and forth for a long moment with the privacy need, and the strain of their friendship right now, and the acknowledge of all the things Eddie had done today… Eddie shook his head and jumped out of bed.

Padding across the floor, Eddie hesitated for a moment at the edge of Richie’s bed. Eddie reached out and rested a hand onto Richie’s shoulder and squeezed. Richie startled, rolling onto his back and jerking away from Eddie’s touch. Richie wiped a little wildly at his wet cheeks and coughed awkwardly. “I’m okay, Eds. I’m fine.” Richie said quickly, clearing at his throat the thickness from his tears. “Just go back to sleep. I’m sorry I woke you up.”

“Shut up.” Eddie shook his head, pushing at Richie until there was enough room for Eddie to climb into the bed beside him. Richie made a confused noise as Eddie laid down beside him, casually letting an arm drop around Richie’s waist and tug him closer. Richie’s head automatically dropped down onto Eddie’s chest, but he could feel the tension between them.

“Thought we were too old to share the same bed,” Richie mumbled. His hands were still pressed against his stomach, wrapping around himself instead of fully settling into Eddie’s hold.

Eddie sighed softly. “Shut up,” he repeated, squeezing Richie’s body hip. Richie relaxed into him then, tucking his head a little bit more into Eddie’s neck and shifting his legs so that his and Eddie’s legs tangled together under the blankets. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Richie shook his head against Eddie’s neck, Eddie feeling the way Richie’s body shook slightly and there was a hint of wetness pressing against Eddie’s skin now. Eddie stroked up and down Richie’s back, letting another hand come up to cup the side of Richie’s head to stroke at his hair. “It’s okay. You’re okay. I got you.”

Eddie couldn’t get anywhere close to falling back asleep until Richie’s cries had quieted and his breathing had evened out. He knew that he should get out of Richie’s bed, stop allowing himself to hold Richie in a way that he knew was only going to lead his own hurt. But he weakly told himself that if he moved then Richie could wake up, and then get upset again. So, Eddie didn’t move and he didn’t Richie go and eventually he fell asleep.

When Eddie came to, it was the to the sound of crashing and blundering. Sitting up quickly, Eddie squinted in the suddenly sunlight room and looked at Richie, who was tossing his belongings around the room like he was trying to be some makeshift natural disaster. Eddie rubbed at his eyes, frowning. “What are you doing?”

Richie turned around, giving Eddie the coldest look he’d ever received from the boy. It was cold enough that it made every part of Eddie’s insides freeze up, they may as well as sprouted icicles themselves. “I’m going back to Derry.”

Eddie gaped at him. “What? Because of Beverly, Rich you don’t have to-”

“No, not because of Bev.” Richie said, his voice almost dripping venom. At Eddie. Directed to Eddie.

Tears sprung up into Eddie’s eyes as he watched Richie stuffing clothes into his bag. “Richie, what’s going on…?”

Richie turned slowly, face contorted up in a way that Eddie had never seen before. “When I got up this morning, I remembered what you said yesterday. About having gummy bears.” Richie said slowly, his voice harsh and driving an ach directly into Eddie’s chest with each word. His heart was beating so loudly in his ear that Eddie almost couldn’t hear what Richie was saying. “And I couldn’t help but feel like you teased me about them yesterday, so I went into your bag to get them.”

Fuck. Eddie knew his eyes had blown open wide, that his face had likely even lost colour. “Richie, I…”

Richie grabbed the tape from inside his belongings and shook it. His face looked completely pained and Eddie had to choke back a sad sound. “Did you listen to this? Eddie?”

“I…” Eddie swallowed roughly. “Not really, no. I… Sort of?”

Richie made a disgusted noise and tossed the mix tape back towards the ground. “Okay, so what then? Is that why you kissed me yesterday? You felt guilty or whatever? Some pity bullshit?” He swung his backpack onto his shoulder and stormed out of the room. Eddie’s heart was meeting a million beats per minute as he nearly fell out of the bed in the haste to chase after Richie’s much longer legs.

“Richie, Richie, wait, wait!” Eddie almost fell down the stairs, tripping over his socked feet as Richie was already pulling on the front door. “Richie, please.”

Ben and Stan had both come to the doorway between the living room and front entry, watching between them with confused and nervous looks. There was a deep suspicion on Stan’s face, a narrow of his eyebrows and a quirk of his lips, but Eddie jet right past them. “Richie, please, please don’t go home. You don’t have to go.”

Richie looked at Eddie for a moment, almost like he wanted to speak, but ended up simply shaking his head and slamming the door on his way out. Eddie let out a soft sob, pressing a hand over his mouth and he took two steps away from the door.

He ran directly into Ben, who pressed a hand on the small of Eddie’s back. Eddie jumped slightly, and stumbled back against the door.

“Eddie, go after him.” Ben said softly, giving him a reassuring smile. “It’s still raining out there, and you know Richie can’t focus when he’s angry. I don’t know what happened, but you’re not just going to let him disappear out there like that.”

Eddie swallowed roughly, stomach feeling tense and a little bit like he might throw up. Or pass out. Or throw up and then pass out. But he turned from Stan and Ben, and rushed out of the front door.

The second he was down off the front porch, he could feel himself getting drench through. He could see through the heavy rain that Richie was completely drenched and struggling to get the truck door open with his shaking hands. “Richie, stop.”

Richie turned around and even in the seriousness of the situation, his breath caught in his throat. Richie’s hair was plastered to his forehead, his shirt sticking to his body. Eddie rubbed his hands together and took a single step towards him. “I’m sorry I listened to the tape when you asked me not to,” Eddie said, having to speak loudly over the sound of the rain and wind. “I only listened to the one song and then I had to turn it off. I couldn’t listen to anymore than that.”

Richie just continued to stare at him, not moving, not blinking. His face was a blank canvas that Eddie wanted to paint happiness and peace all over. “I shouldn’t have listened to it. You made it clear that you didn’t want me to, and I did it anyway. I’m sorry. But don’t think for a second that what happened yesterday was because of that tape or even anything that you did, okay? It was my own thing. My own… issues. My shit.” Eddie inhaled hard, all of his breath long gone and Richie was still just staring at him. “You’re my best friend, Richie. You’re like… the most important person in the world to me. I don’t know what I’d do without you, or if you decided that you didn’t want to be my friend anymore. I think the world would be… pretty unbearable without you. No matter how much of a bitch I can be to you sometimes.”

Eddie could dimly see Richie’s expression soften even through the rain, his friend taking a step or two towards him. Eddie continued wringing his hands, breathing heavily. “I’m sorry I kissed you yesterday, and that I made you all confused and upset about it. I know the last thing you need is that drama, and it doesn’t matter if I have a super big crush on you. Because more than that you’re my best friend, and that’s what matters. None of the rest of that stuff. Just please… tell me you’re going to drive back to Derry in this weather. It’s not safe.”

Richie blinked at him a few times, looking similar to the time Hockstetter had knocked his head against the cement and giving him a concussion. “You have a crush on me?”

Eddie was definitely going to throw up now. He stepped back just slightly, before turning away and rushed through the wet grass. He ran until he reached the dock, and then ran completely down the dock until he reached the very end. He turned slowly, cursing his white person in a horror movie train of thought of not simply running somewhere not stupid, and watch Richie reach the dock. He walked slowly towards Eddie, hands out slowly as though he was approaching an injured animal.

“Eddie…” Richie said slowly, almost having to nearly yell over the roaring rain. “I’m going to kiss you now.”

Eddie gasped. “You can’t.”

Richie raised his eyebrows. “You can’t just this kind of stuff to me and expect me not to kiss you. I’m going to count to ten, and then I’m going to kiss you. If you don’t want me to do that, then I guess you’re just going to have to stop me.”

Eddie’s heart hammered, looking all over except into Richie’s eyes. He watched Richie’s feet as he began to walk towards him. “10… 9… 8…” Richie took a step with every number and he was soon pressing against Eddie. Their legs pressed together, Richie’s hands come out to wrap around Eddie’s wrists. “6… 5… 4…”

Eddie pushed up onto his toes and pressed his lips against Richie’s. It was harsh at first, Eddie missed slightly but Richie tilted his head down and moved their lips together more smoothly. Richie’s hands moved from Eddie’s wrists to waist, as Eddie slid his hands up to grasp at Richie’s shoulders. He clutched at the wet fabric, tugging on Richie to bring him closer.

Eddie, though, of course, like the perfect love sick dumbass he was had forgotten exactly where he’d left himself standing until he and Richie were both tumbling backwards into the lake. The water hadn’t experienced enough summer warmth to comfortable, and the multiple days of rain had left it with a deep burning chill. Eddie gasped loudly as he resurfaced, frantically pushing the wet hair out of his face. He watched the water rippled and Richie come up, laughing.

“Holy shit, this water is absolutely fucking freezing,” Richie whined, shaking his hair out like a wet dog. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, I think my balls are going to fall the fuck off.”

Eddie laughed, swimming forward to Richie, then stalling. Richie squinted at him. “Can you maybe see my glasses by any chance?”

Eddie looked around, feeling nervous for a second, then spotted them floating nearby. “Yeah, yes, hold on.” Eddie swam over to them, grabbing them out of the water, and floating back. He straighten up in front of Richie, reaching out to place the glasses onto Richie’s face. His tongue stuck out in concentration and once the glasses were settled on Richie’s nose, Eddie took a leap of faith and ran his fingers through Richie’s soaking wet mop of hair.

Richie’s face dropped into the softness expression that Eddie ever seen his life, tilting his head slightly to the side and giving him a gooey smile. Eddie only realized a second before Richie kissed him what was going to happen, but he quickly wrapped his arms around Richie’s neck as their lips together. They move together for several moments, Eddie gasping as he felt Richie’s tongue tracing along his bottom lip. They kissed for several more moments, until Richie shivered almost violently and they broke apart with soft giggles.

Richie’s nose dug into Eddie’s cheek and Eddie felt him say something against his skin, but he couldn’t hear him over the rain.

#reddie #reddie fic #richie x eddie #my writing #richie tozier #eddie kaspbrak #scl tag #ask me to stay #god i hope this lives up to the hype i set...#its not as long as i wanted it to be but #i didnt wanna add too many things that werent necessary just to hit a word count

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wheresmynaya · 6 years

Text

Two Ghosts Ch.10 |Brittana

Just a sort update to let you guys know I’m still kickin! Thanks for your patience and enjoy!

Since the conversation she had with Brittany on the bleachers, Santana finally feels like she’s getting somewhere in Lima. Not that she’s going to start looking for a house to buy and possibly settle there, but things feel slightly normal again like she’s finally feeling like herself.

Things with Brittany have also gotten better and she’s so thankful for that. They might not be on the same level of friendship as they were back in school, but they’re at least on speaking terms again. Santana doesn’t feel on edge anytime Brittany’s near which is a huge step since she has returned to Lima.

By mid-October, Santana, Quinn, and Brittany have for the most part gotten the hang of coaching the squad. They’ve each fallen into specific roles that play on their strengths: Quinn, the organized leader, Brittany, the creative choreographer, and Santana, the disciplinarian. With the three of them combined, they’re like a hybrid version of Coach Sylvester and the squad responds well to their way of coaching.

But occasionally, the girls slip up and their usual focus is shifted elsewhere: like today.

It’s the last practice before the Homecoming game taking place tomorrow night which means tonight is the first bonfire of the year. Quinn and Santana flank Brittany as she tries to run through the last few steps of the routine the squad is meant to be performing at the Homecoming game. Santana finds herself admiring how poised Brittany is when she’s teaching, she’s never really seen this side of her before. There were a couple times in their Glee Club days when Brittany and Mike would team up on choreography, but this is different. She’s this confident leader that is able to motivate the team and uplift them to do their best without having to demean anyone unlike Sue.

Santana doesn’t realize she’s smiling proudly until she feels Quinn nudge her with her elbow. The blonde smirks at her and Santana rolls her eyes. She’s proud of Brittany, her friend, and that’s allowed.

The squad buzzes with excitement and it becomes increasingly harder for Brittany to capture their attention as practice goes on. Santana notices Brittany becoming a little frustrated and decides to offer some help.

“Focus up, ladies!” Santana says loudly while clapping her hands.

Most of the girls settle down, all but one. Santana’s eyes narrow as she sees Alex continuing to talk with the girl next to her. From the mischievous glint in Alex’s eyes, Santana knows she’s just wants to push her buttons which usually wouldn’t bother Santana because she and Alex have a slight understanding of each other. But when Alex’s antics are at Brittany’s expense, it crosses a line for Santana.

So she finds herself taking a step forward, the girls instantly stand a little straighter minus Alex, and she crosses her arms as she tenses her jaw.

“Care to share with the team, Carpenter?” Santana asks and Alex rolls her eyes.

“Not really, no.” Alex scoffs.

“No, please. Share with your team because you clearly have something more important to say rather than listening to Coach B. I personally would love to know what you have to say because this squad’s biggest concern right now is learning this routine but by some odd chance you’ve miraculously found the cure for cancer or how to end world hunger, please share.” Santana replies and she see several girls look wide eyed at each other. Anyone in their right mind would stop there, but Alex isn’t like the other girls.

“You know what, I’m so-“ Alex begins but Maddy quickly scrambles to her side to cut her off. Her hand clutches Alex’s wrist and Santana watches as Alex’s demeanor softens instantly. Santana’s just a little too far away to hear what Maddy says but whatever she does quickly calms Alex.

Alex nods in understanding and Maddy turns to the girls around them, “Let’s stay focused, guys.”

Santana smirks at how whipped Alex is; the relationship between Maddy and Alex is still a little secret Santana keeps but she finds it hilarious how familiar their dynamic is.

“Yes, Alex, let’s.” Santana adds sarcastically. Alex turns to return to her place, looking to Santana with an apologetic nod.

“Santana..” Brittany admonishes softly.

“What?” Santana asks but she knows what that look means. She remembers it all too well, so she sighs instead and takes a step back, “Okay, back to you.”

Quinn just chuckles from the side of Santana, her hand failing to cover her smile.

“Shut up, Q.”

When practice finally lets out, the squad practically runs off the field to start getting ready for the bonfire. As annoying as some of the girls on the squad can be, Santana kind of envies them and how young they all are. She remembers how excited she got for these events when she was their age and how important appearances were to her. She wasn’t worried about paying bills or work, and sure being a closet lesbian was an extremely tough thing, but what she loved most about that age was that she could still be a kid.

“Did you guys want to ride together tonight?” Quinn asks as she lifts her bag to her shoulder.

Santana finds herself looking to Brittany for an answer, not that she’s basing her night around her but rather just curious, but the blonde is too busy arranging things in her duffel.

“I wouldn’t mind catching a ride,” Santana shrugs and that makes Brittany look up.

“Same,” She smiles, “I just need to shower first.”

Quinn nods, “Me too. I’ll text everyone when I’m on my way?”

“Cool.” Santana and Brittany subconsciously say in unison. They both look at each other surprised and laugh.

“It’s so weird when you guys do that.” Quinn chuckles then says her goodbyes before heading off to her car.

Santana hangs back a little to wait for Brittany and it all feels oddly familiar, memories of their Cheerio days flood her thoughts. Back then, she and Brittany would either be heading to the showers for a quickie or going out for ice cream before heading over to either of their houses to get started on homework but they’d really spend the time trying not to make out with one another before calling it a night and going back to their respective homes but not before getting showered with tons of goodbye kisses.

Santana’s heart breaks a little knowing that things are completely different now.

“I’m super pumped about the bonfire tonight.” Brittany grins as she stands, her voice knocking Santana out of her thoughts, “I haven’t been to one in ages!”

Santana adjusts the strap of her duffel on her shoulder and nods, “Yeah, it should be fun.”

They start the short walk to the student parking lot as Brittany rambles on about what she might wear and what food she heard they’ll have there. Santana just smiles at her enthusiasm.

“Oh, I almost forgot!” Brittany stops as they near their cars, “I got you something. Well, technically I made it.”

“Oh?” Is all Santana manages to say because she wasn’t expecting any gift. In fact, she’s a little shocked because she doesn’t have anything to give in return and she hates receiving things without being able to return the favor.

“Don’t freak out, it’s nothing crazy.” Brittany smirks as she catches Santana internally imploding.

Santana nods and tries to play it off, “I wasn’t freaking out.”

She’s digging around for her car keys in one of the pockets of her bag as she looks over her shoulder again, “That’s not what your face says.”

Santana’s cheeks burn but thankfully Brittany is too busy getting the car door open and tossing in her bag to see.

“Just a sec, I put it in here for safe keeping,” Brittany says as she leans in through the driver’s side to rummage through the center console.

Meanwhile, Santana has to avert her eyes because staring at your friend’s ass in tight track pants is probably frowned upon and it’s definitely not something she wants to get caught leering at. Instead, she goes through endless possibilities of what Brittany could’ve made for her but when Brittany finally does present her with the gift, Santana is wholly surprised.

In Brittany’s hand is a shimmering red button with a mixture of varying shades of red, white, and black ribbons and tassels daggling from the bottom edge and the words Coach S drawn on the face with white paint.

“You made this?” Santana asks breathlessly as she takes the button gently from Brittany’s hand. She runs her fingers through the tassels, admiring the different fabrics and textures.

“Yeah, I still have my button maker from Senior year- my first Senior year- and I remember how Coach would get the squad all the same ones but you and me and Quinn would make ours special so I thought I’d make the grown up version for us.” Brittany explains.

Santana just stares down at the button in her hands in awe, because even as friends she still doesn’t deserve someone as thoughtful as Brittany.

“I know it’s kind of silly.” Brittany mumbles and the change in her tone causes Santana to look up.

She finds Brittany looking shyly at her work in Santana’s hands and she realizes Brittany might’ve misinterpreted all her silence for something negative.

“No way,” Santana starts and that causes Brittany to peek up at her, “This is really awesome, Britt.”

“Really?” Brittany asks, still a little unsure.

Her demeanor is completely different from the confident coach teaching the squad Santana witnessed earlier and it’s kind of humbling to know that she isn’t the only one that gets nervous.

“Definitely!” Santana assures Brittany as she holds the button close to her chest, “I can’t wait to wear it tonight. Thank you for making one for me.”

Brittany’s back to grinning again only this time her cheeks turn a faint pink and Santana can’t help but find her adorable, “You’re welcome. I made one for Quinn too so we’ll all match.”

“Cool.” Santana smiles and she realizes they’re standing there beaming at each other like a couple of weirdos, but there’s also this heavy feeling like there’s something missing too except Santana doesn’t know what.

When she finds herself glancing down from Brittany’s pretty blue eyes to her lips and briefly wondering if those lips are as soft as she remembers, she quickly realizes that she knows what that missing feeling is and kiss is not what friends do. Kisses blurred the lines before and she can’t let it blur the lines again, no matter how bad she wants to cross that line.

So she takes a small step back as she clears her throat but the words rush out too quickly, “Okay, so I’ll see you in a bit?”

“Are you okay?” Brittany tilts her head to the side as her brows scrunch and the look makes Santana want to rush over and kiss away the confusion even more, but she forces herself to keep backing away.

Friends don’t kiss, Santana repeats over and over, her new mantra.

“Yeah, I-I just gotta go.” Santana mumbles as she continues to back away, “I need to get ready and what not. You do too probably! So yeah, I’m just gonna-“

Santana throws her bag to the passenger seat while Brittany just stares at her. She knows she’s being weird and she’s not hiding it at all which makes her even more embarrassed, but she can’t help herself now. So instead she just cranks the engine and prays her car starts on the first go. Thankfully, it does and Santana’s lets out a big sigh of relief before glancing back at Brittany who’s brows are still cutely scrunched in confusion and the corner of her mouth quirks in a half smirk. She almost feels bad for rushing off so awkwardly, but she’s committed now.

So to top it all off, she gives Brittany a wide grin and throws up the peace sign with her fingers before driving off. When she glances up at the rear view mirror, she can’t help but shake her head, “Smooth, Lopez, real smooth.”

#two ghosts #brittana #santana lopez #brittany pierce #fics #fanfics

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thralls-for-alls · 6 years

Text

Something A Little Lighter...

Torque stood in the doorway, resting his shoulder against the thick, Jennerit fashioned frame as he watched the clone work. Hunched over, TZ’s scar splashed fingers danced along the keys of his laptop plugged into the heart of he Stryx Striker. For now, peace reigned in the silent, empty ship and for the focused Mike. Trouble awaited him in the morning, when his medic would discover that he had broken curfew despite her many stern warnings. FU worried that his most recent, ill-advised stunt of firing himself over the mouth of a volcano might have been a cry for help; he needed to stay in the Kingdom for a while to ensure that he would not hurt himself again.

Clearing his throat, Torque turned his head and scratched under his chin to announce his presence.

Caught red-handed outside of the Kingdom. TZ’s body tensed, his hand having to shoot out to keep the laptop from going flying from his gasp. His head snapped in Torque’s direction, all three golden eyes bright in shock. “I can explain...” He pointed to the many, constantly filling and flickering bars as more and more files downloaded from the Imperium network onto the massive hard drive plugged into his laptop. “We need these files and it won’t be safe to get them with someone else in charge.”

Holding up his hands, Torque shrugged. “You’re sayin’ that like I’d take you back, mate.” Shaking his head, he lowered himself to sit behind TZ. “I just wanted to make sure you’re okay and Ric was busy.” Torque could not hide the grimace as he uttered the other thrall’s name, years of insults and slurs making it feel strange on his tongue. Scooping TZ up in his arms, he pulled him up onto his stomach to keep working. “But, no promises ‘bout when we go back tomorrow, all right. But I’ll still keep you company.”

Life outside of the Striker was... complicated. Since TZ had found out about Rictus’ nightmarish warning for Torque, he had pulled everyone together for a simple talk between the three to air out their issues safely. Neither trusted the other and the piles of abuse and a lifetime of abuse created a sticky problem that made the clone realize he was in over his head. Therapy was working for him and they needed to talk, so enrolling them both into therapy with his medic, FU seemed natural. It was rough going and awkward, but forcing the two thrall to live together to force them to get used to each other brought small wins almost every day.

On a day when Torque’s curse got the better of him, their Rictus verbally tore him a new one, detailing every grievance and abuse suffered at the hands of the bonecrusher. All of the names, all of the slurs, the constant destruction of the Sinful Bat, the harassment of Vocatia, turning Vocatia in and almost getting her murdered poured from Rictus’s overly fanged mouth. By the time his was finished, his entire body shook with fury, threatening to knock the spindly thrall off his hooves. And as the beast, all Torque could do was listen.

Torque had been called names too, slurs of all kinds as well. His brothers and sisters would wreck his small, stolen collection of containers filled with the prettiest pests he had found; nothing on the scale of the Bat, but just as important to a young thrall who had little else to his name. As Rictus dumped accusation after accusation, all the liontaur could do was hang his head and lower his ears in shame. He could never forgive his brothers, even as they had passed in battle and on tours over the years; it was natural the void-touched one did not trust him.

But TZ did, for some reason. And so did the other Mikes. The heat of the overworked laptop propped up against his thighs pleasantly burned his skin through the soft flannel of his new pajama pants, thanks to tailor Mike. TZ’s bare feet pressed against his stomach as he uncomfortably hunched over to balance the machine across his splayed knees. With the smooth top of one of the leaf-like protrusions on his knuckle, Torque rubbed TZ’s back. Torque smiled, letting his eyes rest on the scrolling filenames on the bright screen for a while.

Every so often, a serial number or project name would pass that the old thrall recognized. From his uninformed perspective, it seemed the Mike was mass downloading literally everything from the Imperium servers and databases across the system. Payroll sheets, work schedules, greyhorn modification plans, broodhall records... Torque chuffed and gently poked TZ’s back with his knuckle when he saw his number come up. “’Ey, can you open that one? ‘T’s about me.”

TZ flinched. Blinking several times, he stared up to Torque before his brain really processed what he had said. “Oh! Yeah, sure bro.”

The file flashed onto the screen. Torque squinted to try to read the small dark text across the stark white of the spreadsheet program. Scrolling down, he scanned for his serial number among the list. Males paired with females, the resulting litter tacked at the end; a simple broodhall record keeping track of who was paired with who to prevent inbreeding and to keep the army’s genes healthy.

“There,” Torque pointed out, nudging TZ again. The entry hung in the middle of the screen as followed:

Female: Q.79q-c.359 Male: K.24-c.236 Litter Size: 1 Pup: Q.45-c.131

Q.45-c.131, that was... “That’s that rebel... Vo’s pup...”

“Wait, he’s Vo’s son?” TZ laid back to stare up at the underside of Torque’s thick neck, his eyes thankful for the rest. “I didn’t know you two...”

“It was a long time ago and under permit, mate.” Torque tilted his head to glance down to TZ. Despite the calm explanation, the thrall’s hearts thumped hard in his chest. Not just once, but twice he had attempted to capture his own son. He had almost killed Mortus. “But yeah, we had a litter once. Neither of us knew who was ours though...”

TZ reached up to affectionately scratch the lowest curve of Torque’s horn. He knew it would register as the lightest touch for him, but he hoped it would still comfort him. Despite Torque’s efforts, tension still poured from the bonecrusher. “So, who are they?”

“... remember that young thrall I attacked on the street?”

“Yeah, Morty? Wait!” TZ set the laptop on the ground next to Torque and flipped over to lay stomach to stomach on him. “You’re his dad! That’s great! I’m surprised I didn’t notice the resemblance sooner.”

The answer was a small nod. Shame burned between Torque’s horns, silencing his answer. This was massive news, but he had already ruined any chance of doing anything with it, right?

Running his palm across Torque’s sternum, TZ let his smile fade, but did not let it dim his hope. “Well, I know it didn’t turn out good at all last time...” TZ knew it was an understatement, but how else could he describe the mauling that ended with Torque getting his furry butt handed to him? “But, maybe if you tell him about his mom and explain the situation, maybe things will be different?”

A purr rolled through his chest as the small hand did its work. “... I dunno. He has every reason to hate me and she hates me too... It won’t end up good.”

“Maybe. But you’ll do something good for both of them. Even if it doesn’t make them like you, you still would have done something nice.” TZ gave Torque a hopeful grin, reaching up to grab his chin to lower his head. Flashing a bright grin, TZ gazed into Torque’s eyes. “That’s enough of a reason to do it. I’ll even print up the page and everything.”

Torque let him pull his head down, but he averted his eyes. “Yeah, you’re right. I just... I just always wanted to know what our pup was like... and I tried to bring him in to the masters to get culled.” He rested his hand across TZ’s back. “Seems like I missed my chance for that.”

The warmth and weight of the huge palm against his back calmed TZ further. “Yeah, you might’ve,” he admitted; there was no reason to soften the blow. “But, it’s still worth a try.”

Glancing over to the computer, still churning along on its mass collection of important and not-so-important Imperium data, Torque thrummed. “I’ll.. do it. Just got to find the kid first.” Scooting forward, the thrall lowered his body more so the clone could get more comfortable. His hard plates jammed uncomfortably against the floor, but it was tolerable for now. “Maybe I’ll look after I escort you back to the Kingdom.”

“All right,” TZ sighed as he looked around at the room deep within the Striker. “I’m probably getting put in the tub for this...”

Torque nodded. “But you’re doin’ somethin’ good, yeah?”

“Exactly,” TZ yawned, a chuckle on his breath. “It’ll be a good present for the Battleborn, definitely.”

#//thrallfics #//tipsycurvyfics #//tzfics #//((No angst november has started.#They're talking about stuff but ultimately the conclusion is good promise.#Also: I still gotta write the last chapter of The Tortured one and that'll be it with angst.#Also this contains a summary of what's happened behind the scenes with Torque TZ and Rictus and a little bit with Morty.))

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imagineaworlds · 7 years

Text

Personal Bodyguard--Billy Hargrove

Written By @rune-of-a-writer / @hellimagines

Request: “Can u do a billy imagine where she and billy reunite and Dustin, max and co. See and max also reunites because everyone loves max. But the rest are surprised to see dat billy is actually has some emotions. Like mabey in front of the arcade where billy picks up max. If u can do it I would appreciate it v v much! Have a nice day/evening love!❤️❤️✨✨”

Warnings: cursing (at this point this is just a given in my writing, like honestly. I’m sorry)

Pairing: Billy Hargrove x fem!reader

Summary: You work at the local arcade, and your usual band of middle-school customers find out who your Personal Body Guard is.

Word Count: 1,318

A/N: I do NOT own the gif, credit goes to the owner. I hope this is what you asked for, and it’s okay!

You had the closing shift at The Palace, Hawkin’s local arcade. It closed at 11, and almost every night ended with you practically kicking out five 13 year olds. You didn’t mind, they were sweet and hilarious, and on nights when you didn’t have homework or a date with your boyfriend, you’d let them stay an extra fifteen minutes.

“Alright you guys, it’s 11:15,” you called out across the arcade, snickering when you heard a chorus of groans and one of your machines receiving a blow from a shoe no doubt. “I know, I know. I’m a horrible staff employee. You can write me up tomorrow afternoon,” you sighed dramatically, walking through the counter and allowing the bar to slam shut behind you. Mike, Will, Dustin, Lucas and Max walked around the corner of the Q*bert game machine, looking thoroughly dejected.

“Come on, (Y/N)!” Mike whined, coming to stand directly in front of you. “Please let us stay for fifteen more minutes! We’ll… we’ll… we’ll get Keith to leave you alone! We know how much he bothers you!” Mike offered, smiling up at you in hopes his offer would work. You laughed and shook your head.

“No thanks, lil’ man. If Keith crosses a line, I have my personal bodyguard to take care of him,” you joked, leaning against the Q*bert machine with your arms crosses. You saw Dustin’s face fall, a sorrowful look coming over it.

“What? You mean you have a boyfriend?” he whined, standing beside Mike and looking up at you as well. They looked like little puppies.

“Indeed I do, curls.”

“Man, I really thought these pearls would work this time! I was positive of it!” he whimpered, looking defeated. He didn’t even bother purring at you to prove a point, either. Your eyes widened, and you bit your lip to try and hold back a smile at how adorable he looked.

“Aw, Dustin,” you cooed, ruffling his curls. “You’ll always be my best man,” you saw his eyes light up, “but not if you brats don’t get out.”

“(Y/N), come on!” Lucas yelled, as you began shooing them out of the store and towards the door. “You’re like, our favorite person, ever. Have we ever told you that?”

“Yeah!” Max chimed in, whipping her head around to look at you. Her ginger hair whipped you in the face, and you spluttered to get pieces of it out of your mouth. “You’re the coolest person in Hawkins! In Indiana! And that’s saying something, coming from me.”

“I’m sure it is, Mad Max,” you laughed, a teasing tone in your voice at the nickname. “But not tonight I’m not. I know Will over here as a curfew that he’s already past,” you raised an eyebrow at the quiet boy who diverted his eyes, “and I’m tired as hell. High school? Not easy, guys.”

“We’re not saying it is!” Mike yelled as you finally got them, and yourself, out the door. You turned around to lock it, chuckling as they continued their attempt at persuasion.

“Yeah, high school is horrible! Terrible, despicable, the epitome of a nightmare,” Lucas agreed, throwing his back against the doors so he could look up at you. “So wouldn’t you want to relax with us, play some video games for a few hours?”

“I have played the games in there so many times, that I have calluses and blisters on my fingers and palms,” you laughed again, shaking your head.

“Shit!” Max suddenly cursed out loudly.

“Language!” you yelled back unconsciously. You paused, realizing you went into mom mode.

“God, I forgot about Billy,” she moaned, swiping her skateboard from the side of the building. Your eyes widened and you whipped around, spotting the familiar blue Camaro.

“Wait, how do you know Billy?” you questioned, watching as the car pulled up in front of you guys. Lucas stood behind you, his arms crossed across his chest, with Mike and Dustin walking in front of him. Will stood to your side, unsure of what to do.

“He’s my annoying step-brother,” she sighed, waiting for the car to come to a stop.

“You’re ‘that annoying little shit’ he’s always talking about?” you cried, your eyes wide in shock. You had always heard the two talk about one another, never with names. And both described the other as horrible and the bane of their existence.

“Yeah, probably,” she mumbled, without thinking. But then she stopped, and turned to you. “Wait… how would you know that?”

“Because that ‘asshole, psychotic dick with anger managment problems’,” you said, quoting the kids from various conversations, “Is my personal body guard.”

“He’s your boyfriend?” Dustin yelled, and your face heated up when you saw Billy’s head snap towards you guys. His eyes widened, bigger than yours, when he noticed you among the kids. A quiet ‘oh fuck’ left his mouth, the two of you staring at eachother, frozen in shock.

A sudden shove against your side broke your trance, and you watched in horror as Mike marched over to Billy’s car. Dustin and Lucas’ hands shot out, trying to grip onto his blue jacket and pull him back, but they missed. Max stood on the sidewalk, next to the car, watching him approach the passenger window.

“Now you listen here, Hargrove,” Mike spit out, leaning his upper body through the open window. You ran forward, attempting to stop any damage that could be done. Billy didn’t like his car being touched. “You see this girl here? This really nice girl? She’s our friend. And if you hurt another one of our friends, we’ll hurt you,” he threatened, and you stopped mid-jog to the car.

Did this 5’7 thirteen year-old, just threaten your 5’11 seventeen year-old boyfriend, with I.E.D issues? Did he… Did he really? Your teeth clamped down on your lips, holding back a laugh in order to give Mike a confidence boost. Billy eyed the smaller boy slowly, debating on what to do. Finally, he took the glowing cigarette out of his mouth, and flicked it out the window.

“You’ve done it now, Wheeler,” Will whispered.

Billy got out of the car, closing the door behind him with a quiet click. Mike ducked back out of the window, stumbling backwards and into the safety of his huddled friends. Dustin gripped onto the hood of his jacket, making sure he wouldn’t run off again. Walking around the front of the car, Billy came to stand in front of you.

“Hey there, handsome. Fancy seeing you here,” you grinned instantly, unable to help yourself. He had a loose jean jacket on, over a red silk shirt. You’d stolen so many of those things, you were surprised he had any left at this point. Max mad a gagging noise when Billy smirked down at you, his hand snaking around your waist.

“Hey, gorgeous,” he hummed, pulling your body up so he could kiss you. It was gentle, unlike his usual public displays of affection. You smiled into the kiss, wrapping your arms around his neck, with the arcade keys dangling off your fingertip. When he pulled away, he pulled you into his side and looked over at Mike and the others. “I’m not gonna hurt her, twerp. Promise.”

“You better not. We have back up,” Dustin threatened. Their backup involved breaking into Steve’s trunk and getting his bat, but it was still backup. Billy nodded his head, without saying anything. Your hands rested on his chest, your fingers curled around his necklace. His hand rested on your hip, gently rubbing a patch of bare skin while the other was in his jacket pocket.

“The way you talk about your girlfriend all the time, I should’ve guessed it was (Y/N),” Max sighed, shoving Billy away from the passenger door and climbing in. “Nobody else has that amount of patience to deal with you.”

#billy hargrove #billy hargrove imagine #billy hargrove fanfiction #billy hargrove fanfic #billy hargrove imagines #stranger things #stranger things imagine #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things fanfic #rune-of-a-writer

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trustbitchin · 6 years

Note

☆

send me the good ‘ ☆ ‘ and my ass is gon’ school you on how El would mourn your death // (ACCEPTING) - @hawkinslead

Oh G O D I’m gonna’ D I E A L O N E !!

This T O W N is so B L E A K. They are barely afloat. But she is far B E T T E R off than him. How perfectly O D D. Should it not be the other way A R O U N D? He has a G O O D family, suffered from a perfectly L O V I N G childhood. But one forgets that even the most picture P E R F E C T life…can be anything B U T that.

One D A Y in particular, he finally spits out those T E R R I F Y I N G words. Mike Wheeler is talking L I F E and D E A T H. The first time it’s ever uttered, poor I G N O R A N T teen had to search that word on her L A P T O P.

suicide

[soo-uh-sahyd]

noun

the intentional taking of one’s own life.

destruction of one’s own interests or prospects:Buying that house was financial suicide.

a person who intentionally takes his or her own life.

She S I T S at that D E S K and her world C R U M B L E S before her. This is not a J O K E. And if it is? She isn’t L A U G H I N G. Behind on the S O C I A L curve indeed, but some things are pure I N S T I N C T. She tries– good G O D she T R I E S. The L A T E night texts B R E A K her H E A R T and those W A T E R Y eyes send her into a M E L A N C H O L Y frenzy.

L A N K Y framed B O Y often C L I M B S into her window after F A T H E R falls A S L E E P. Those are the N I G H T S she knows he N E E D S her most. C O V E R S are drawn down, welcoming his S I C K form, “You make me think about a muffin.” And when S A D little B O Y inquires about the rather P E C U L I A R statement, a V I D E O is pulled up on her phone. The music is U P B E A T and rather C R Y P T I C. It depicts a C A R T O O N M U F F I N singing about his W O E S, “A muffin, Mike.” It’s the S T R A N G E S T attempt to make him feel B E T T E R, but she is no A V E R A G E Jane, after all.

Ha, I’m a muffin.And it’s muffin time.Who wants a muffin?Please, I just wanna die!!Hey, somebody kill me.Please, it’s muffin time.Have you had a muffin today?I wanna die, die die!!

The underlying T H E M E is M O R B I D indeed. Yet she W A T C H E S him manage the most B I T T E R S W E E T smile between tear filled E Y E S and R E D nose. Perhaps he is T H A N K F U L that instead of D I S M I S S I N G his feelings ( much like his family does!! ), she C H O O S E S to U N D E R S T A N D instead. You want to die, it’s not okay, but I understand.

It’s muffin time,‘Cause I wanna die, die, die!!

And those bittersweet T E A R S are shared that evening in S I L E N C E ( save for a few little chuckles because, hey!! that song is kind of catchy!! ) on that E V E N I N G. There’s a C O D E W O R D for his so easily dismissed F E E L I N G S now.

Please somebody kill me!!Please, it’s muffin time!!

‘How are you, Mike?’‘It’s muffin time.’‘Please not yet.’‘I can’t keep doing this.’‘Yes you can…always here. Promise.’

She remembers how C O L D it felt. The very F I R S T snow of the S E A S O N and she’s buzzing with excitement. El liked S N O W. She remembers how her T E X T message went U N A N S W E R E D before S C H O O L ( Snowman after school please!! ). And that’s not N O R M A L for M I K E. And she remembers how she felt R E S T L E S S the entire M O R N I N G because he hadn’t shown up that day. And she remembers that his F A T H E R had been working all day ( as always!! ) and his M O T H E R had been out S H O P P I N G. And she R E M E M B E R S how she R A N up those stairs with his mother. And to their H O R R O R…….

….And she remembers how C O L D he felt when she H E L D his H A N D S and hugged his E M P T Y shell. This is the M O M E N T her own B O D Y began to R O T with P O I S O N O U S thoughts. She has no reason to B E H A V E anymore. Every W I N D O W of that H O U S E shattered to oblivion that D A Y. She S P O K E in fragmented S T A T E M E N T S cursing his N E G LE C T F U L father and his C A R E L E S S mother ( she’s a good mother!! truly she is!! she’s just angry and upset!! ) who so easily S H O T down his constant P L E A D I N G for H E L P. ( i know you think you’re depressed but you’re not!! school just has you stressed but you’ll be okay!! ) L I G H T S will F L I C K E R and P O W E R will surge. She will C R Y and S C R E A M like a B A N S H E E from H E L L, and eventually, teenage G I R L will pass out from the heartbroken E N E R G Y she’s exerted.

Today is the D A Y. She’s dressed in B L A C K from head to toe with a half finished C I G A R E T T E nursed between her fingers. She can’t go in there, she just can’t. It’s O P E N casket and she’s S P O R T I N G her H E A R T on her S L E E V E. Dear Will ( bless his heart!! ) S Q U E E Z E S her shoulder and for O N C E doesn’t comment about how he W I S H E S she wouldn’t S M O K E. Because even if he’s completely correct ( hell, even she knows it!! ), the circumstances are different right now.

Together they E N T E R that eerily S I L E N T room. Dustin and Lucas are in the corner, rehashing old S T O R I E S of their best D&D campaigns with Bill and Richie. They’re damn S T R O N G for holding their composure. Will P O L I T E L Y asks ( through tear stained cheeks!! he’s been crying on and off all day!! ) if he can A C C O M P A N Y her in this moment. She respectfully D E C L I N E S. She needs to do this alone.

The W A L K feels endless and now she is sewn firmly to the floor K N E E L I N G before his L I F E L E S S form. What H U R T S her sad H E A R T the most, is just how P E A C E F U L he looks, because that’s exactly what he W A N T E D. It’s exactly W H Y he did this. He’s pulled her heart right from her C H E S T and B E A T E N it violently in front of her. There are no W O R D S for her to P O U R out onto S A T I N lining and frigid S K I N.

…Because what can you say about 353 D A Y S? First K I S S E S? First D A N C E S? Endless L A U G H T E R? Stupid J O K E S? Pointless F I G H T S? Never calling him B O Y F R I E N D and never saying she’s his G I R L F R I E N D, but knowing damn well they belong to E A C H O T H E R and they are E X C L U S I V E in that right. What can you say about the B O Y who gave you a fucking C H A N C E in this E V I L world who T R U S T E D everything about you– and gave you a god damn N A M E to stand on?!

You can’t.You can’t S A Y anything, because there’s too much to say. Too many M E M O R I E S.

The S T O M A C H acid B U R N S and she’s ready to P R O J E C T I L E when Karen Wheeler kneels beside her, “There’s…” She C U T S herself O F F, wiping T E A R S from that grieving face, “H-He wrote a letter-h. A-and in it h-he requested you have this-h.” The B O X is handed off. And she takes it without a word. Nothing but N O D is presented before she excuses herself outside of the building for a S M O K E and a M I N U T E.

The box is O P E N E D revealing an O L D CD player, and…a M I X CD:

Please listen to this. I made it for you.And please don’t be mad. I just had to.I’m so sorry, El.

H E A D P H O N E S warm C H I L L E D ears on this icy E V E N I N G. She’ll press P L A Y and in that I N S T A N T? When the M E L O D Y begins, N U M B exterior is finally D E S T R O Y E D like the deadliest E X P L O S I O N:

Please I wanna–Die, die, die.Die, die, die.It’s muffin time,‘Cause I wanna die, die, die!!

That stupid fucking song. THAT STUPID FUCKING SONG!! H A N D is closed over T R E M B L I N G lips as C I G A R E T T E is carelessly dropped onto the wet C O N C R E T E. She no L O N G E R remembers how to B R E A T H E or how to F U N C T I O N. She grabs hold of herself and rocks gently B A C K and F O R T H as she allows D I S T R A U G H T hysterics to completely T A K E O V E R, “I-I-hhh-hlovedyou-h-h!” How is she E X P E C T E D to continue when her body physically H U R T S and her C H E S T feels like it’s on F I R E? Will this ever go away?

But sometimes L O V E isn’t enough. Maybe she will never be W H O L E again. Because her S A V I N G grace had spent so much time S A V I N G her, that he no longer had the A B I L I T Y to S A V E himself. Her F R I E N D S will surround her– ready to pull her into the T I G H T E S T of H U G S. But she will R E F U S E every single one of them because: none of you are him.

None of you are him. And that’s the only person I want to hug ever again.

#HOOOOO BOY THIS ONE IS A DOOZY #tw: death #tw: suicide #hawkinslead

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pancakpop · 7 years

Text

Livestream | DK

Pairing: DK X Reader

Warnings: Dead by Daylight is a horror game so....

Genre: Fluff

Summary: You are a rather famous and popular streamer and you recently hit 10K followers on Twitch. Asking your fans what they want you to do to celebrate, you decided to finally do a livestream with your boyfriend Seokmin.

~Salty

“What would you like me to do for 10K followers on Twitch?” That is what you asked on Twitter. You, wanting to celebrate this achievement, allowed your fans to decide. You became famous because of your bi-daily livestreams that shows you playing a variety of games likes GTA, Overwatch and Dead By Daylight. You also became popular because of your humour and the amount of interaction you do with your followers every stream.

Hundreds of replies later, you finally knew what to do to celebrate. “Results are in! Next Thursday, I will be playing DBD with my boyfriend! Thank you for all the requests btw!” You hit send and you watched as the stream of comments and replies started. You loved reading comments and interacting with your fans. They were the reason why you made it this far and became this famous. After replying to some comments, you switched off your computer and went to the kitchen to make yourself some dinner. Deciding to just make some ramen, you gathered the necessary ingredients and tools and got to work. During your ramen making, you heard light steps come from behind. Then you felt a pair of arms wrap around your midsection and a head on your right shoulder. “Can I get some of your ramen, babe?” asked Seokmin. You nodded. “I made extra, just for you.” “Thanks,” he said happily, kissing you on the cheek. You smiled shyly at the gesture of affection. Seokmin prepared the table and you brought the pot of ramen over. While eating quietly, you thought that you should ask the question now. “Hey, Minnie?” you asked. Said boy perked his head up, mouth filled with ramen. “Hm?” he asked. You chuckled at him, telling the boy to finish his mouthful first before talking. Once he finished his mouthful, he replied with a “What is it, Y/N?” “You know how I reached 10K followers on Twitch right?” He nodded. “You ran at me, screaming with excitement,” he added. You blushed out of embarrassment. “Yes,” you said, “And you also know how my followers are requesting what to do to celebrate right?” “Yes..” said Seokmin wearily, “I know that.” “Well, the most requested request was to play Dead by Daylight with you in a stream. Are you okay with doing that?” Seokmin smiled. “Of course I am,” he said happily, smiling his killer smile. “What is Dead by Daylight though?” Your eyes widened. Then a thought formed in your head. You smiled slightly at the thought. “It’s a game that is currently really popular. It’s really fun to play.” He nodded, continuing eating his food. “OK,” he said happily, “When are we livestreaming then?” “Thursday,” you said. “Then I will anticipate Thursday,” he said smiling. You smiled back. “So will I,” you thought. ~Skip to Thursday~

“3,2,1. Hello everyone and welcome to my 10K followers stream! As said on Twitter, we will be playing Dead By Daylight with a very special guest. Meet my wonderful boyfriend Seokmin!” You gestured towards Seokmin as he waved shyly with a bright smile on his face. “Hi Y/N’s viewers!” “Seokmin here does not know anything about Dead by Daylight so this will be his first encounter and experience with it here.” Seokmin nodded. “I’m excited to delve into this new game.” “We will be doing a game to Q&A system for this livestream. Oh, also, tweet me your questions for the Q&A so we can see them!”

You continued with your regular streaming procedure, answering a few fan questions, setting the game up and making sure that Seokmin is comfortable and is having fun. “Do you want us to be a survivor or the killer first?” you asked your followers. The comments flooded in and you read a few of them. “Wait, survivor? Killer? You never said that this was a horror game!” said Seokmin, wide eyed. You laughed loudly. After calming down, you replied,” The title is Dead by Daylight. The word “Dead” is in the title! What did you think this game was?” “I thought it was an adventure game like The Forest or something!” exclaimed Seokmin. You mentally facepalmed yourself.

“Whatever Seokmin,” you said, “You learned something today.” Seokmin pouted. You checked the comments once again and saw that majority wanted you to be the killer first. “For the first game, we will be a killer then,” you said. You then explained to Seokmin about the different killers, buffs etc. “Which killer is your favourite to use?” he asked. “I like Mike the best. I also like the Invisible one and the chainsaw one,” you replied. “Okay,” he said, “Let’s use Mike then!” You clicked on the killer, added the necessary buffs and joined a game.

“I’ll do most of the playing and you can just observe and help since this is your first game ever.” Seokmin nodded. The game started and you were off, looking to find and hang the 4 survivors.

Seokmin is surprisingly good at being the killer. An hour into the stream and he already tried all the killers and got an all kill for more than half of the games. Your followers started calling him many nicknames as well because of his surprising skill. The mini Q&A sessions were fun as well, you and Seokmin joking around and answering questions from your followers.

“We are now going to be survivors for the next hour or so,” you announced to the camera, “I’ll play the first game by myself then Seokmin can try after with my help.” You read some comments, explained to Seokmin about some rules and joined a lobby once again.

“Oh my fucking god!” yelled Seokmin, scared. Your character was on the ground. “I was so fucking far away from her? How?!?” You laughed at your boyfriend. “It’s the Huntress killer,” you said simply, “She can throw her hatchets at you!” “I know that,” he said, spamming the space bar cause he was on Stage 2 on the hook, “Me going on the floor just happened so suddenly!”

At that very moment, your character died. “Dammit, “ exclaimed Seokmin, “Playing against the Huntress is hard.” “You don’t say,” you said sarcastically. Seokmin turned to look at you. “You being sarcastic?” You shrugged.

“I’m going to go to the bathroom quickly. You can start a new game and play for a bit, “ you said, standing up. “Okay,” he said, turning towards the monitor, “Don’t fall into the toilet again.” You turned red from embarrassment. “THAT WAS ONE TIME!!” you yelled, smacking him on the back lightly. He laughed loudly as you pouted, the chair that he was sitting on turning to face towards you as well. He took your hand and kissed gently on your knuckles. “I know, “ he said softly, “But I will never let you down for that.” You just decided to dramatically storm out of the room, knowing that Seokmin knows that you are joking.

You peeked behind the door frame. Seokmin is wearing your headset and is currently working on a generator on Dead by Daylight. He is focused on his task and it seemed like he is tense. You looked at the camera on top of your monitor, signalling to your fans that you are going to do something. You quickly put on the wold mask that you were holding in your hand and got ready to scare the living shit out of your boyfriend. You quietly tiptoed towards him and raised your arms up, prepared to scare.

“BOO!” you yelled loudly. Seokmin got startled and messed up the generator, causing a loud boom. He quickly turned towards you and got even more scared at the wolf mask, falling off the chair and onto the floor. You took the mask off and continued laughing, not caring that your character is standing still and that the killer just hit her down. You helped Seokmin off, still laughing loudly.

“You absolute ass,” he said, fear still in his eyes, “What was that for?” “Telling everyone about me falling into the toilet, that’s why, ” you said. “I hate you so much,” he said. “No you don’t,” you said, sitting down in the chair, “You love me and my mischievous side.” “That’s true, “ he said, placing his arms on your shoulders. You smiled happily.

THAT WAS SO FUNNY! OMG!

This is cute af! Ship of the century!

You smiled as you read some of the comments. You decided to end the stream there. You said your outro for the stream and ended the stream.

“You know, we should stream like this more often, “ Seokmin said randomly. You looked up at him. “Really?” you asked smiling. “Ye,” he said, kissing the tip of your nose, “It’s really fun.” “Glad you liked it, “ you said happily, playing with his fingers, “The fans really do like you as well. We can make this a weekly or monthly thing.” He nodded. “Let’s do that then,” he said, ‘but can you make dinner first?” You smiled up at him. “Of course,” you said, standing up.

Hope you liked it! The ending was a bit rushed but I hope you enjoyed reading this!

Requests are open for BTS, GOT7, Seventeen and Blackpink!

~Salty

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tevotbegotnaught · 6 years

Text

Subway Haiku

Kids' screams echo the halls Six year olds run wild all night Parents chatter inside BK dude: Yankees' cap, Whitest sneakers known to man, Brand names head to toe Chelsea boys strutting They spend more time in the gym Than most do at work Dude drops a quarter I stop and look, as does he He grabs it, awkward.... "No way" says the kid, Mom grabs his DS away, He stares silently. Five times doors open And five times they quickly shut The Speaker crackles Dude wears a kuf. On his neck: star of David Eating some pork rinds Women gently sleep, The train lurches to a stop, They ain't sleeping now. Girl sings for herself Headphones keep the beat for her, Or maybe they don't... So many tired folks Long hours and they can't rest yet, "start spreadin' the news" No one can figure Where the smell is coming from They know it's bad, though I keep thinking that I dropped something earlier Checking my pockets Man that perfume is Really strong, I hope I can Still Hold back the sneeze Almost home, you'd think I would be sleepy by now, Can't sleep on the train Dude brought his bike on, Somebody eating baked fish Am I like that? Yup. cobwebs In his wheels kid looks around nervously "You allergic to fish ?" Outside the station, Men speak Creole loud and fast, About a girl's backside Off Beverly road, A mountain of cinder blocks, Reverse pyramids Pinstripe suit fingers phone Taps his loafer to unheard beat Eyes cut down and right We stop, motor hums, A distant voice mumbles words We lurch off again door sound: major third Train rolls out: minor seventh Wheels squeal: I go deaf Tall Kid slumps forward Black backpack and white t-shirt Head resting on arms Hipster reads and grooves, Ironic facial hair well trimmed , Trusts' quarterly report Noodle fans wait here The cheerful maitre'd smiles Stomach grumbles more A big man splays out Old shoes untied and filthy They all give him space Another big man laughs Stern Church lady calls him out He says " yeh, I'm wrong" Yellow shirt lady Blue hair, with purple Mohawk Wipes hard at a stain Underneath, her gut Is fully tatted and round The shirt clings tightly Crossroads of the world Four languages on my bench Train to JFK Nappers and rappers Prayers, readers, or just lost Directions included Pain in the belly Way Too much of a good thing Haven't I learned? Every type of eyes: Closed, squinting, staring, empty, Downcast, roving, hard It Took long enough, Finally arrived where they Always said to go. Man in uniform, Knows how important he is, And now you do, too Flat-bottomed metal Grey clouds over patched roof tops Plane on a wire Houses From behind, Like easels ,unfolded, askew, broken, abandoned come hell or high water and from here to eternity The tough get going It's ninety degrees, Black Fish nets with black short shorts Uncomfortable? "It's been thirty years" Mike said at the rehearsal Really was true , too Saw My friend Kenny, He wrote "rainbow connection" We walked to the train Didn't talk about Kermit, though I wished that I Had asked how he was Frum kid, broad brim hat Adam's apple protruding Just More than his chin Q, coney Island new stations gleam, Announcements Even Sound more cheerful Chinese mom, toddler, Stroller pulled backwards, fast, Parasol held low Vietnamese, Spanish English, Russian, dance music Pumps Above : heavy stuff drops Swinging shortened arm, His Prosthetic leg pivots, He turns to the wave Sullen mom: sunglasses, three kids: Eyes barely open, Stroller angled in Lady, leopard shawl Mouth tight, eyes darting sideways Behind thick glasses Hand drawn sign, Q train: "DATING ONE NIGHT STANDS ONLY" "AQUARiUM ZOO" The doors stay open Damp Hot air and chilly meet, With a snap, heat gone High pitched whirr, rumble, Roar above, clicking below, Voices from all sides Doors slide, we pour out, Across the platform, a train Waits with open doors Flushing, Main street, A river of heads rush past, Vendors line the curb Brooklyn bodega: New awning and grate, been closed for about two years Fifty pound kid, leashed to hundred pound Rottweiler, Ain't physics a bitch? Chinese laborer Sitting on broken headboard Mohegan Sun cap Couple sleeps in car: hands clasped, windows down, on street Remains of their meal A Tall skinny kid head in one hand, the other: A huge can of tea Young couple huddles, Sharing music, only high Frequencies leak out Dude dresses real sharp Black slacks and shoes, guayabera, Holds a blue hard hat Midnight passes, numbers /letters flash red/off above: The next stop is /off The papers: Chinese Caribbean, the Post, Times, I'll miss them, bytes win you stop, dark outside, Details emerge: a cable, Close walls, painted words Delayed? " Because of train traffic ahead" but it's One AM, no joke! Station by station, Nonchalant roll call of names, We grind toward my stop, Metallic stress sounds: Accelerating drum roll that ends abruptly

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sadlittlenerdking · 7 years

Text

The Mad Royal Family of Fillory

Chapter: 1, 2, /?

Word count: 2.2k

Summary: Timeline 31. They defeat the beast, but at a great cost.

Written for Week 3 of @thewelterschallenge

Also on AO3.

Prologue

A moment later, there's a soft groan from Margo, stuttering into a hacking cough that wracks her whole body. And then a wheezing inhale from his right indicates Penny's not dead, either. Alice's fingers twitch at her side, and Julia and Kady are already starting to stand.

He swallows, thick and unpleasant as he pushes himself to his feet and wipes his hands off on his pants, for once not bothering to take the time to care about the delicate fabric and how easily it stains.

The world twists and turns around him dizzyingly as a he starts to make his way across the field in search of Quentin. Last Eliot saw, he'd been attempting to distract the beast long enough for Eliot to start the spell. Then there was a scream, a sickening crack far off, and when Eliot looked up — Quentin was gone. Eliots jaw pops as he clenches his teeth. His footsteps are staggered and uneven as he limps across the blood soaked forest floor. He wonders who's blood he's walking on — the beasts? Margos? Is it all intertwined, a sacrificial offering to Fillory and it's gods?

"Where's Quentin?" Julia croaks, wrapping her arms around her waist.

Eliot shrugs, turning away to look out towards the lining of trees that close off the clearing. "I don't know," he says, voice gruff and empty of any feeling, "He disappeared right after I started the spell."

"The beast," Kady swallows, taking a step forward, "Cast a spell and Quentin went flying." She points a hand towards the trees not far from when Eliots looking, "He disappeared through there."

A hand clamps down on Eliots shoulder and behind him, Penny says, "I'll go. You can barely walk — just. Stay there." As Eliot turns to look at him, Penny's already strolling past him and before long, he's disappeared through the trees. Just in time, too, because Eliots legs give out beneath him. Kady and Julia rush forward to catch him, barely able to grab onto his arms before he crashes to the ground.

The seat of his pants soaks up the blood in the grass, and Julia and Kady kneel next to him, wrapping their arms around his shoulders as the three of them look out towards the trees, waiting. Something rustles behind them, and Julia pulls away from him to go towards it. Blood rushes through Eliot’s ears, intense and angry, and he can’t hear them beyond a muffled statement, as Kady pulls away too and disappears behind him. Suddenly, Margo’s there, grabbing on him and kneels down so she can sit down, facing him, with her knees bent underneath her. One of her hands comes up, waves around, and his vision clears as the blood slowly fades out of sight.

Her hand cups his cheek and she leans in, whispers quiet but so loud it storms over the rushing blood, “You did it.” And then she’s leaning her head on his shoulder as Julia and Kady stand beside them, all four of them staring intent, cautious at the edge of the clearing.

He sits up a little straighter when the brush starts moving, making way for Penny - and he assumes, Quentin - but then Penny’s pushes through. There’s a deep frown etched on his lips, but it’s not directed at the leaves. Eliot’s eyes fall, and that’s when he see’s him. Penny is holding Quentin, unconscious, carrying him across the clearing, with slow steps. Eliot’s jaw clench, and he scrambles to stand up, but Margo holds him down until Penny sets Quentin’s motionless body on the ground in front of him.

Eliot pulls away from Margo, crawling forward, grazing his hand over Quentin’s forehead, down his cheek and jaw, stopping and cupping it there. “Q?” He asks, soft, voice scraping at the inside of his throat as he leans in closer. “Q, wake up.” He squeezes Quentin’s jaw, shakes it once, twice, and then frowns. “Quentin —,”

“Is—“

“Oh my god—“

“He’s not breathing.” Margo’s words are soft and to the point as she suddenly crawls around until she’s on the other side of him, placing a hand to the pulse point on his neck. Her eyes go wide after a moment and she stretches her neck up to look at Penny. “Why — what did you do?”

“I tried to get him breathing,” Penny mutters, kneeling down next to her, “But I — I was too late or something.” He shakes his head, swallowing visibly as he stares down at Quentin’s body. “He’s dead.”

“No.”

They all turn to him, as Julia and Kady finally to their knees at Quentin’s head and feet. Matching looks of slack jawed shock stare him down, but Eliot just shakes his head. “No.” His chest heaves as he adjusts until he’s sitting on his knees and looking for the cause of death, running his hands over Quentin’s body. There’s too much blood now, to determine where it originated, because all the blood on the forest floor is seeping into his clothes, contaminating Eliot’s search. He’s chin starts to tremble as he leans up and checks all across Quentin’s ribcage for some sort of evidence. Something he can fix.

“Eliot . . .” Kady starts, even as she stares down at Quentin’s body.

Eliot ignores her, continuing his search. For a moment he thinks there’s nothing, that the beast used a spell to kill him, and just sent his body flying — but then, there it is. At the base of Quentin’s skull.

He’d snapped his neck.

No blood, no pain. Instant death.

Somehow that doesn’t ease Eliot at all.

He holds onto it, cups his hand around the back of Quentin’s neck, looks up at them with wide eyes. “We can fix this,” He says, turning his gaze back on Quentin. He brushes the hair sticky with blood away from Quentin’s forehead with his free hand. Grazes his fingertips over his cheek. Looks back up at them. “We can bring him back.”

Nobody says anything for a moment. He nods to himself, looks back down at the body, his own trembling as he starts to rock gently back and forth, cradling Quentin’s head.

And then, “How?” It’s Margo, leaning over him, placing her hand overtop his at Quentin’s neck.

“There’s a spell,” He whispers, nodding again as he looks back up at them, while his thumb strokes gently at the cooling skin of Quentin’s cheek. “I read about it. It was one of Fogg’s private books, but I snuck in while he was on a retreat with Sunderland and the other teachers.”

“You’re talking about necromancy,” Kady says, pushing herself to her knees with a shake of her head, “That’s insane. Even if it works, it won’t be him. It’ll be a shadow of who he used to be —,”

“No!” Eliot exclaims, turning his gaze back on Quentin. “Not necromancy. Energy. It — it’s energy. You can’t do it with one person because it’ll fry their brain and then you have two dead people instead of one. This wasn’t necromancy.” He looks up at her through his eyelashes, “This brings the person back. Body, mind, soul. There are risks.”

“Aren’t there always?” Julia bites. “How does the spell go?”

He turns his gaze on Penny. “I don’t remember, but —“

“I get it,” Penny mutters, pushing himself up and dusting his hands off on the thighs of his jeans. Dark smudges in the shape of handprints remain. Sticky remnants of war. “What’s it called and where is it?”

Eliot inhales, nodding as his eyes close. Something icy sweet shoots through his veins. “In a secret room at the back of his office. There’s a translucent blue, glass statue on the . . . fourth shelf from the top. Move that,” He opens his eyes, swallowing. “And it’ll take you to the room. The book’s on the second book shelf on the left. It’s called The Power of Energy, volume four.”

“How much time did you spend in the deans office? Jesus,” Margo mutters, appraising at him with wide eyes.

“You were in Ibiza, Mike was at work, and I was alone. What the fuck else was I supposed to do?” He looks up at Penny, “Why are you still standing there?”

Penny’s eyes drift down to Quentin, before he nods to himself and points a shaking finger at Eliot. “This’ll bring him back? Obnoxious rambling and shitty wards and all? It won’t fuck him up like some sort of zombie?”

“No. He won’t be a — I wouldn’t even offer it as an option if it would!”

Penny scoffs. “Somehow I doubt that.”

But before Eliot can argue, Penny vanishes, and they’re left in the cold, bloody meadow holding Quentin’s body. For a few long moments, nobody says anything. They all sit together, each of them with at least one hand on Quentin, almost as if they’re trying to keep him from letting go. The wind dances through the leaves of the trees, and the grass rustles all around them. The blood solidifies, sticking against their skin and clothes. Eliot’s pants are drying, and he can barely move them without them starting to crackle. The sun starts to set not long — too long — after Penny disappears.

And just as their bodies start to give out, Julia lying in the blood soaked ground, and Kady leaning against Margo’s side, half asleep, Penny appears with a soft pop, and drops down to the ground beside Quentin’s body, laying the book on Quentin’s still stomach. “This is legit,” He says, “I flipped through it a little. There’s enough of us — they say ten is preferable, but I think we can make it work.”

“Maybe we should get the rest,” Alice suggests. Eliot frowns; he hadn’t noticed her get up and join them. “We don’t want to make a mistake.”

“We don’t have time,” Eliot mutters, finally allowing himself to let go of Quentin neck to reach for the book, “You have six hours from the time of death. A quarter of a day. Quentin’s been dead for at least four hours already.” He looks up at her, “So it’s now or never. And I’m telling you right now, Alice. It’s happening now — whether you want to be a part of it or not. If not, you’re more than welcome to get the fuck out of my face.”

She looks down at Quentin, “I didn’t say I don’t want to be —“

“Then shut the fuck up and start practicing the spell!”

Margo sets a gentle hand on Eliot’s shoulder, “El —“

“We don’t have time for this,” He growls, turning to the page they need with the spell positions. “Read.” He focuses in on the spell as he stands up. He stretches his arms out in front of him, shaking the feeling back into them as pins and needles prick at the edges of his fingertips. His pants are uncomfortable and stiff, but he rolls his neck and practices the first position.

They all look at each other for a long moment before nodding and looking at the book as well. They go over the positions with each other, helping if somebody struggles with a certain position. There’s no way to perfect it, not with the time they have, but they try. It’s not optimal, and it’s not the best decision, but none of them can disagree with the fact that they don’t have time for optimal. All they have is a ticking clock, and, if they look up at Eliot, potentially a ticking time bomb.

After nearly an hour, Eliot clears his throat. “Are we all confident?” He asks, gazing raking over each of them one by one.

“As confident as I can be,” Kady says.

Julia and Margo nod from where they’re sitting, hands outstretched in front of them, “We’ve got this, El,” Margo says.

“I have my doubts, but I’m not backing out.” Penny sets the book down on Quentin’s stomach again.

Alice swallows as her gaze drops down to Quentin, and back up to them. “Let’s do this,” She murmurs, kneeling down at Quentin’s head. “It’s now or never, right?”

The position themselves around Quentin’s body, until they’re in a perfect circle with Alice at Quentin’s head, and Margo at his feet. Eliot kneels next to his left shoulder, with Kady at Quentin’s right shoulder. Julia and Penny take position on either side of Quentin’s shins. They all outstretch their hands at starting position, and Eliot closes his eyes as he makes the first move, and the magic starts coursing through him, rapid and angry. It’s a long spell, and the buzzing of the magic through his bones aches and begs him to stop, but he pushes through, can feel the rest of them pushing through the pain of the fight, and the need for sleep.

And then something in the atmosphere shifts around them until they’re all blasted backwards, the surrounding trees and rocks the only thing that stop them.

A moment later, as they all regain consciousness one by one, a gut wrenching wail breaks the silence of the meadow.

#the magicians #welterssubmissions #eliot waugh #margo hanson #julia wicker #kady orloff diaz #penny adiyodi #quentin coldwater #alice quinn #the mad royal family of fillory #am writing a thing #the welters challenge

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sadlittlenerdking · 7 years

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Whole

The Magicians, Quentin x Eliot

Word count: 10.2k

backstory: let’s just pretend mike wasn’t the dude used to attack quentin, didn’t use Eliot. Somewhere between there in season one and where they’re still learning at brakebills.

Summary: Alice breaks up with Quentin because she realizes they don’t love each other in the romantic sense, and that he is definitely in love with someone else. Cue Quentin’s journey to figuring out who the hell he’s in love with, and how everyone but him knows it.

Also on ao3

"I don't think it's us," Alice says, gaze barely glancing away from the books stacked in front of her. Her pencil taps along the edges of her paper, eraser dancing along the outline of one of the spells she's studying.

Quentins brow furrows as he lets his eyes trail from the pencil, up her arm, to land on the curtain of hair she’s using to hide her face from him. "What isn't us?" He asks. It's the first thing she's said in hours, since Eliot and Margo left the library to go do something less boring. Whatever that means.

"Us." She answers after a moments silence, before looking up and setting the pencil down. "I think Mayakovsky was wrong."

"About . . . Us? How?"

"I don't think we're in love."

"Whoa," Quentin sets his own pencil down and closes the book around it. "What are you talking about?"

She swallows, shrugging in that distinct, Alice way, and closes her own book. "I love you," she says, soft, "But I don't think it's how we think it is."

"I love you, too. I don't understand what -,"

"Everyone around us has been telling us we're meant to be. And all these things have kind of just forced us together and reiterated that we're supposed to be together. And I think," she bites down on her lip and looks up at him through her eyelashes. "I think we decided to just take it and run with it without even thinking it through."

Quentin frowns. "We thought through it. After Brakebills south."

She shakes her head, "We tried. But then you almost got killed, and I didn't want to lose you. And we thought that meant that we are in love with each other."

"I - aren't we?"

She shakes her head again, slower. She reaches across the table and places her hand overtop his on the books. "No, I - I don't think we are. We want to be. But." She looks down at her own textbooks. "I think. After last night, it kind of made things clearer." Her eyes trail back up to his, "Q. I think -, I think you're in love with -,"

"Alice, I love you. You know that. I -,"

"You love me. And I love you. But we're not in love with each other, even though we desperately want to be." She sighs, soft, squeezing his hand. "I know you think we are. But, haven't you realized? That there's someone you - you would risk your life for? Someone you'd give anything to protect."

Quentin shakes his head, frowning as he moves his free hand to put it atop hers, "I thought that was you."

"You want it to be me."

"What does that even mean?" He asks, ripping his hands out of hers to run one through his hair. "We've - I. I don't understand where this is coming from. I thought." He shakes his head again, slumping up against the chair. "I thought we -,"

"Q," she murmurs, eyes painfully soft and understanding, "Think about it. I think you're the only one who doesn't realize. And maybe that's my fault," She shrugs, pulling her hands back into her lap. "Maybe you're trying so hard to make this real that you're making yourself not see it. Just open your eyes. I see it - I saw it, last night. Everyone sees it. In both of you."

"I don't know what the fuck you're talking about!" He exclaims, taking a deep breath. "Just -," licking his lips, he reaches out and picks at the edges of the paper of his research. "Are you - are you breaking up with me?"

". . . Yes, Q. I'm breaking up with you." Her eyes widen a fraction as he starts gathering all of his stuff and packing up into his backpack. "It's for the best. I just want you to be happy -,"

"I am - was - am happy!" He exclaims, hunching down over the table, "I thought you were too."

She nods. "But there's someone you'll be happier with."

"Enlighten me!"

Sighing, she places her hand over his again, even as he clenches it around the edge of a book. "You know who it is, Q. You have to."

"For fucks -!" He shakes his head, ripping his hand out from under hers and throwing the books into his messenger bag. "I have no fucking clue what you're talking about, and I - I need to leave." He shakes his head again, tucking his hair behind his ear and tossing the bag over his shoulder as he turns and storms out of the library, confused and a little heart broken.

But not as much as he thought he'd be.

When he gets to the cottage, Eliot and Margo are sitting on the couch mocking Todd. Quentin makes a beeline towards them, tosses the messenger bag on the floor in front of the couch, and lies down on their laps, arms and legs extended over the arms of the couch. They look at each other, then down at him.

"Go away Todd." Margo says airily, as her hand finds itself on Quentins lower back.

"But I -,"

Eliots hand burrows into Quentins hair, massaging gently at his scalp. "Get lost, Todd, before I decide to turn you into a toad." He glances up, raises an eyebrow, and then Todd is choking out some words and running up the stairs. Eliot smiles softly, before looking down at Quentin with a considerably softer gaze. "Hey, you. This is weird."

Quentin nods, burying his face in between Eliots thigh and the arm of the couch. "Today is weird." He mutters, voice muffled.

Margo chuckles, digging her fingers into the soft muscle at the base of his back in a motion that warms Quentin down to his core. "Come on. Tell Mama Margo what's happened."

Eliot raises an eyebrow. "Mama Margo?"

She swats at his shoulder with her free hand, "He's sad. I'm helping."

"Alice broke up with me."

Eliot hums, scraping his nails at the base of Quentins neck as he makes a face at Margo, not at all surprised. "Did she? And that's weird?" Margo pinches his shoulder, gives him a soft glare and nods down at Quentin with a shake of her head.

Quentin lifts his head up, turns to face them with a petulant frown. "She said I'm in love with somebody else."

"Little Alice is in love with someone else? Now that's a shock." Margo says.

"What?" Quentin furrows his brow with a shake of his head. "No. She says she thinks I'm in love with somebody else. That we've been trying to force ourselves to love each other. That we love each other, but not in a romantic manner because I'm so desperately trying to avoid feelings I have for somebody else." He huffs, turning over and sitting up so his butt falls in the divot between their laps, legs over Margos lap, and back resting up against Eliots thigh.

Eliots face is remarkably stoic.

Margo’s watching him with narrowed eyes, moving her hands to rest overtop his knees. "Alice broke up with you because she thinks you're in love with someone else?" Quentin nods, and she glances over at Eliot then back to him. "Did she say who?"

And she sounds remarkably naive, so ridiculously unlike Margo, that Quentin tilts his head. "No," he murmurs, low, "But she said everyone else knows."

"Did she?" And her voice is too high.

"You think you know who she thinks I'm in love with!"

She scoffs. "Don't be ridiculous, Q."

"You're acting innocent and too curious." He accuses, "I know you. Wait," He pauses, eyes going wide, "She doesn't think I'm in love with you, does she? Because you're great Margo, but really - ow!" He frowns, scrambling into Eliots lap as she pinches at his calves. "Fucking - stop! Ow!" Eliot laughs, wrapping one arm around Quentins waist and playfully swatting at Margos hands with the other.

"I do not think you're in love with me," Margo says, slow and concise as she lands one more pinch to his inner thigh. "Love you, Q, but no."

Quentin sighs, resting his head on Eliots chest. "Then who the fuck does she think I'm in love with?"

She stares at him incredulously.

"What?" He frowns, lifting his head to look between her and Eliot. Even Eliot has this small look of surprise behind the smile on his lips. "Who is it?"

"Oh, Q," Margo murmurs, reaching forward and ruffling his hair. "You poor, oblivious little idiot." She stands up, holds her hands out for him. "C'mon."

"What are you up to, Bambi?" Eliot asks, watching her warily.

"Well I'm not going to outright tell the sad sack," she says, flipping her arms at her side and resting her hands on her hips delicately, as she gives Quentin a soft glare. "But perhaps, I can make him realize it all on his own."

Eliot shakes his head, tightens his grip around Quentins waist. "He's too oblivious. You'll just scare the poor boy."

"Scare him?" She asks, raising an eyebrow with a slight smirk, "Or scare someone else?"

"Bambi," he warns.

She laughs, rolling her eyes. "Q. You can either come with me and figure out who you actually love because we all know it wasn't Alice - that was all Mayakovsky and your creepy nightmares that made that happen. Or, you can stay there and sulk in Eliots lap. Your choice."

"I -," he looks at Eliot.

"Don't look at me, this is all on you." He shrugs, "but if you want to sulk in my lap, I don't have any important plans for at least an hour, and I'd be at least a little willing to accommodate that time for you and your sad sack moping."

Quentin sighs, leaning his head back on Eliots chest, oddly comforted by the soft beating of his heart and looks up at Margo through his hair. "She just broke up with me. I kind of want to sulk."

"Of course you do." But she grins like she hadn't expected any other answer and turns to head up the stairs. "When you're ready to face reality," she stops at the base of the stairs and smiles at him, all predatory and so Margo, "I'll be in my room. Knock first, I don't want you to walk in on something that'll make you fall in love with me." She winks and heads up the stairs without another word.

"So."

Quentin leans back to look up at him. "Yeah?"

Eliot shrugs, "Did she give you any hints?"

Quentin groans, falling forward and burying himself in Eliots chest, inhaling the familiar scent of his cologne and something woodsy that is somehow so Eliot, and so not. "No," he mutters, reaching up and grabbing small fistfuls of Eliots vest. "She just said everyone knows, and it's mutual, and yeah."

"And yeah?" Eliot pulls away a bit, ducking his head to look at him. "I feel Alice might have been a bit more eloquent than that, Q."

"She said I have to know. That I'm purposefully ignoring it."

Eliot hums, "Are you?" He asks.

"I don't think I am." He sighs, pulling away and looking up at him. Eliot’s watching with guarded eyes, and a soft set to his mouth. "What do you think?"

An eyebrow perks at the question, "Why does it matter what I think? You're the one secretly fawning over some unknown suitor."

"Eliot," he whines, squeezing his fists around the vest. "Help me."

Eliot unravels his arms from around him, gently placing his hands overtop Quentins, "These aren't cheap," he murmurs, gently prying his fingers from the fabric. Neither of them move to separate their hands. "And how am I supposed to help you? I can't read your mind."

Quentin nods absently, gaze caught on their hands, wondering how the hell Eliots hands are so much bigger than his, completely swallowing his own whole in their soft warmth. But then, "wait," he says, eyes going wide as he looks back up at him, "Does she think it's Penny? Because he can read my mind, and he would be a dick enough to spread that kind of lie."

"Okay . . ." Eliot eyes him wearily, squeezing his hands. "Q. She said you love this person and that it's obvious. Penny may be able to read your mind, but the only thing that's obvious about you two is your reluctant friendship. And he's completely besotted on Kady. So, Alice dumping you thinking you love Penny? More than unlikely."

He sighs, leaning back into Eliots chest. "Then who the fuck does she think I'm in love with?" He sighs, softly, nuzzling his head in the soft fabric of Eliots vest, hands caught between his chest and Eliots stomach, "she said it's obviously mutual. I just. Don't know."

"Maybe you're not thinking hard enough," Eliot murmurs, resting his chin on the top of Quentins head.

"I'm thinking pretty damn hard. I think my heads starting to hurt."

“Are you thinking about your head hurting?” He asks, chuckling, “Because, forgive me if I’m wrong, but I think that could be the reason your head hurts.” Quentin huffs. “Look. All I’m saying is, maybe if you think it through - I mean, really think about it, without focusing on your relationship with Alice - you’ll figure it out without much difficulty.” He squeezes his fingers again, “You’re too smart to be this dumb, Q.”

Quentin pulls away to half heartedly glare at him. “Give me a break. Up until,” He turns to look up at the clock on the ceiling, “not even an hour ago I was, kind of still am, under the impression I’m in love with Alice. I - I’m just really confused.”

Eliot nods, swallowing as he lets go of one Quentin’s hands, to reach up and ruffle his hair. “Maybe you should go up and get some sleep. Wear off the shock. And when you wake up, I’ll be right here with a cocktail special made for you and your miserable little heart.”

“Okay.” Eliot watches him, waiting for him to move, but instead, he curls up tighter against him. “Is it okay if I stay here for a little while longer?”

“Yeah,” He breathes, running his hand through Quentin’s hair, “Just a little while. Cause I’ve got -,”

“Plans, I know.”

When Quentin wakes up three hours later, warm and more content than he’s been in weeks, it takes him a moment to register where he is. But there are voices talking all around him, and a hand running through his hair, calm and even strokes. There’s also a hand around his waist, holding him tight. A soft ba-bump echoing in his ears, and a pleasant smell all around him.

He opens his eyes slowly, almost unwilling to let go of the peace, and finds himself looking up at Eliot’s chin, while he talks animatedly with somebody Quentin cant see. But then there’s a response, and it’s definitely Margo and Josh. Part of him wants to close his eyes again, fall back into the peaceful slumber, but his breath hitches as Eliot’s tongue flicks out and licks his lips, above him. It jostles him just enough that Eliot’s gaze flickers from Margo down to him, and a small smile falls on those lips. Even the mocking shine behind his eyes doesn’t break the spell. “Well,” He says, smirking, “Look who’s finally awake.”

“About damn time,” Margo mutters, suddenly appearing in his field of vision, where she leans over him with a knowing smirk. “Sulking turn into napping, Q?”

"Shit," he mutters, moving to sit up, but Eliots arm is warm and firm around his waist. He looks at him, gut turning around and around at the soft smile directed at him.

Eliot rolls his eyes then, letting him go and helping him sit up. "Welcome to the land of the living."

"I didn't mean to fall asleep, El, I'm so sorry -,"

He waves a hand with another roll of his eyes, "Don't worry. Bambi supplied me with alcohol, and my plans got cancelled. You'll live to see another day."

"Still. I -,"

"Hush," Margo says, scooting down the couch so Quentin can sit between them. She eyes him for a moment while he gets settled in. Eliots arms moves to rest on the back of the couch. Quentin lets his head lean back just enough to feel the warmth emanating from Eliots left arm. "So," Margo finally murmurs, turning to face them. "Any ideas on who you're in love with?"

Quentin frowns. "I was sleeping -,"

"Dreams have been known to send a vision or two."

Eliots arm rustles Quentins head as he gently shoves Margos shoulder. "Leave the poor thing alone, he's suffering as it is. A full blown identity crisis."

Margo scoffs, "wait until he realizes."

"You don't think it'll be that bad, do you?" Eliot asks, soft, looking across Quentin, directly at Margo with a furrowed brow.

Margo eyes Quentin for a moment before shrugging. "Honestly? I'm betting fifty fifty on this one. He's a flight risk, but once he realizes it, it could be pretty good. Maybe he'll have to think for a little while, but . . . Yeah. Even if I were a betting girl, I would not go in on this one."

"Uh - guys, I'm sitting right here."

"We know," they chorus with matching grins.

Quentins about to respond, a small faux glare on his face when Penny appears in front of the couch, and storms across the room to the bar to grab himself a drink. "You know," Penny growls, pointing at Quentin with the hand holding a bottle of whiskey, "You're a fucking idiot."

Eliot balks. “Did I say he could touch my whiskey?”

Quentin blinks. "Uhm. What did I do, exactly?"

Penny swallows down his whiskey, eyebrow furrowing before he frowns, and looks at Margo and Eliot. “He seriously still doesn’t know?” They both shake their heads. “For - can I just tell tell him?”

“I’m serious - who said he could touch the whiskey?”

“Yes please.” Quentin nods.

Margo swats Quentins shoulder, “You’ll do no such thing.” She says, pointing a finger at Penny, “Because if you tell him, I will cut your dick off.” She smiles sweetly and turns to Quentin. “You need to figure your shit out on your own. We can’t hold your hand for you while you try and figure out who it is you’re in love with because you’re too oblivious to everything in the world surrounding you.”

“You were offering to tell me earlier!”

“I changed my mind. Circumstances changed.”

“What circumstances?” Her eyes flash over to Eliot for a fraction of a second, and Quentin turns to look at him. “What’s happening here?”

Margo shrugs, “Nothing you need to worry about, little Q. So,” She sighs, relaxing into the couch, “I was thinking we could party the night away. El, what do you think?”

Eliot’s fingers twirl around Quentin’s hair, “Hmm . . . could be a celebration. And maybe a little potion,” He eyes Quentin, “What do you say we all go on a magic trip? Maybe that’ll help you realize who you love.”

Penny scoffs. “If he can’t see it at this point, not even god himself could break down the door and make him realize.”

Margo turns to look at him, “Who even invited you here?”

Quentin scoots a little closer to Eliot as the two argue. He relaxes against his side, eases out a slow breath. “What’s the magic trip?” He asks, soft, so as not to catch Margo and Penny’s attention. Eliot’s the only one who hasn’t been judgmental about this whole thing, and if Quentin can stick to just talking to him about it, he’ll be more than happy.

Eliot looks down at him, brows furrowing as he focuses in on the strand of Quentin’s hair he has rolling between his fingers. “It’s a potion. Knocks you out for a couple hours, but it helps you realize your inner desires. Let’s you see the world around you without pesky inhibitions.” He smirks, eyes flicking over to Quentins, “I use small doses of it sometimes. Makes sex more interesting. Small doses only, though, because I don’t make it a habit of passing out in the middle of a great fuck. Even bad sex,” He adds as an afterthought, “Is worth staying awake through. Sometimes.”

"So if I take this . . . Potion, I'll know who I'm supposedly in love with?"

Eliot shakes his head, frowning. "God, no. It's not some magic eight ball. If you choose to stay oblivious, you'll be oblivious to it. It's kind of like a probability spell, but different. You see all the different possible people you could love, but it's up to you to realize who it is."

"That sounds pointless."

He shrugs, "Maybe. But It can be fun when you're lonely, or," he pauses, eyeing him carefully, "Looking for love."

"I think I'm okay."

Eliot sighs, nodding, "Then you're on your own with this whole self discovery quest of yours. Because I'm all out of options." He unravels his arms from around Quentin and moves to get up.

Quentin frowns. "Where are you going?"

"Q," he says, slow, "You've been asleep on my lap for three hours. I require a. bathroom break." He tilts his head as he stands up and looks down at him, "Are you asking because you'd like to join?" Quentin shakes his head and Eliot nods to himself. "Didn't think so."

Quentin watches him until he disappears up the stairs.

"I fucking swear to god," Penny grumbles to Margo, "How does he not realize -,"

"Because he's special. Shut up." Margos hands come around Quentins waist as she rests her head on his shoulder. "Come on, Q. Let's get drunk."

Quentin nods, turning his attention back on her. "Okay."

It takes a week for Quentin to let it go. Part of him starts to think Alice had just been looking for an easy out, because no part of him feels particularly drawn to anyone. At least, not in the way he thought he'd been drawn to her.

He's not as upset about the break up as he thought he'd be, though. A couple nights of drinking and partying with Eliot and Margo eased what little pain he had about the whole situation. He's not mad at her, has no real feelings of distaste. He's not numb, but he doesn't really feel anything about it. That's the part of him that thinks she may be right. Because if he were in love with her, it'd suck. He should be consumed by grief, especially with how much his depression already fucks with him.

But when it comes to Alice, he's fine.

And honestly, despite all the usual inner turmoil, he's actually at ease, comfortable with his life. He has friends he loves, magic - so what if he doesn't have anyone he's in love with? It's not a big deal.

He's walking into the cottage, small smile on his face, when Margo yanks him by the arm to the dining room and places her hands on her hips as she narrows her eyes at him.

"What the fuck?" He asks, rubbing at his arm. "What's your problem?"

She chews on her lip for a moment before sighing. "Eliot met someone today," she says, careful, eyes widening a fraction as if she's trying to gauge his reaction.

"Good for him?" It's not like Eliot doesn't bring back new kids to see if they're worthy of being a part of their group whenever they get into Brakebills.

She huffs. "They're in the living room." She nods towards the living room. Quentin follows her gaze, sees the familiar back of Eliots head, but it's leaning on a less familiar block of blonde hair. Quentins face scrunches up as he whips back around to look at Margo. "Yeah," she says, lifting a hand and waving a finger at his face, "My thoughts exactly. It's weird. He doesn't like people." She sneers, turning to glare back at the blonde hair, "But somehow this guy weasels his way right on in. Which is ridiculous," she looks back at him, "Eliots not supposed to date people we don't approve of."

Quentin blinks, heart stopping for a moment of pure confusion as he turns his eyes back on the duo. "Dating?" He asks, quiet, like he isn't sure what the word means, or that it's even a real word at all. "Eliot . . . doesn't date."

Margo throws her hands up, "Thank you!" She exclaims, scowl fading just a bit. "That's exactly what I said?"

"And what'd he say?" He responds absently, watching as Eliots head falls back with a laugh that echoes around the room, vibrant and melodic.

"That he can date who he damn well pleases, obviously."

"But he met him today."

She sighs, moving over to stand beside him and rest an elbow on his shoulder, scowling across the hallway at them. "You're telling me," she mutters with a shake of her head. "He's cute, but he's not cute enough to be one of us." She turns her head and looks at him, appraising him, as her fingers come up to brush his hair out of his face. "Not like you, you're just cute enough," she adds, soft.

"I don't -," he pulls away from her. "Eliot doesn't date. Something's wrong here."

"No need to get jealous, Q," she says, crossing her arms. "Eliot wouldn't let some cock get in the way of us. He'll realize we hate him and he'll be kicked to the curb like yesterday's garbage."

Quentins stomach churns as he watches them. Eliot leans over and presses a kiss to the strangers cheek, laughing at something someone else says as the ashes of his cigarette disappear into the air, vanished by some unspoken spell. The smoke drifts around them, completing the stupid romantic image, that could only be improved on if Quentin suddenly loses the ability to see color.

She loops her elbow around his. “Come on. Let’s go play nice,” She side eyes him, “You can play nice, can’t you?”

He ticks his jaw side to side. “Why wouldn’t I be able to play nice?”

She smirks at him with a shake of her head, “Perfect.” And then she’s dragging him through the cottage until they’re standing beside the couch, staring down at Eliot and his new boyfriend.

Who is definitely not attractive enough to be dating Eliot - who deserves the best.

And this joke is definitely not the best.

And Eliot is entirely too touchy feely with him. He’s got googly eyes, and won’t stop touching him. Won’t let him out of his fucking sight. His arm is tucked around his back, and stranger danger is sitting there with one leg looped over Eliot’s thigh, with this stupid, dopey grin on his lips like he’s the cock of the walk. Quentin eyes them warily. Something about short, blonde, and ugly makes his stomach twist and turn uncomfortably. Especially when Eliot looks at him like he’s hung the god damn moon.

He’s known the loser a day, and he’s already completely fucking lost in him. He hadn’t even been like this when he and Quentin met - mostly stoic, slightly flirty. But nowhere near as attached.

It took a while for Eliot to get attached to people - or so Quentin thought.

But then again - maybe this is what love is. Quentin’s breath hitches, he should be happy that Eliot’s in love with someone. Maybe love works differently with actual decent Magicians. Maybe when they’re in love it’s this instant connection that neither of them can ignore, that makes it possible for them to get lost in each other so quickly.

What else could it be?

Margo clears her throat. “Boys,” She says, snapping her fingers when neither of them look at her.

Eliot’s eyes venture up towards them, then, frowning. “Margo? You’re not here to -,”

“No,” She sneers, glaring down at the dingbat next to him, “I’m here to introduce your lover to Quentin.” She turns her attention on Quentin, barely bothering to soften her gaze for him, and motioning to Captain Can’t Possibly Have a Personality - okay, even Quentin realizes that ones stupid - with her free hand and saying, devoid of all pleasant demeanor. “Q, this is Mike. Mike,” She says his name like it physically pains her, “This is Q.”

Mike tilts his head up at Quentin, examines him for a moment before shrugging. “Am I supposed to know him?” Margo’s jaw goes slack, and Quentin’s eyes dart over to Eliot - who isn’t even paying attention, he’s too busy playing with Mike’s fingers in his lap.

Of course that’s when Penny pops into the room, pauses for a moment, eyes going wide. “Jesus christ, my brain is getting fucking attacked with hate mail. Fuck this.” And popping back out before anyone can even respond.

Quentin looks at Margo, “I -,”

She raises a hand between them, “Don’t bother. C’mon. We’re going somewhere that doesn’t make me want to,” And she raises her voice, leaning over Eliot and Mike, “Physically vomit.” As she pulls him away, and Eliot shrugs to lean into Mike for a kiss, the last thing Quentin expects is to get pulled through a door leading to a fucking club in downtown London.

And not coming back to Brakebills for three days really throws him for a loop, too. But, he’s been drunk, and he’s pretty sure Margo slipped some drugs in a couple of his drinks, so keeping track of time has been a bit far off his mind. What hasn’t been too far off his mind, though, is the incessant thoughts of wondering if Eliot’s broken up with Mike yet. Or if they’ve moved past the stupid honeymoon phase. If Eliot is back home, staring at Mike like he’s everything. Kissing him, holding him like he’s the only thing keeping him alive.

He’d been going in for another vodka to wash away whatever this misguided anger at Mike is, when Margo slapped a hand around his wrist, dragged him through the club, and back onto the Brakebills quad. His whole world goes from purples and greens and blues, neon lights and dancing partiers, to the mystic shining sun that seemed to always light up Brakebills. She holds a mysterious clear liquid up for him, “Drink this. It’ll sober you up.”

He stumbles forwards a step, before she carefully places it in his hand, one of her hands draped around his back in an uneven attempt at holding him up, as she helps him sip the liquid. He makes a face, tries to pulled away, but she shakes her head, forces the rest of it down his throat. He coughs, feeling the effects almost instantly, and wipes at his face. “That - what is that?” He asks, “Other than the worst thing I’ve ever put in my mouth.”

Margo eyes him for a moment, as he reaches down for her purse to shove the bottle into it, “Instant sober up potion I made.”

“And why am I sober?” He asks, frowning as the sun beating down on him suddenly feels less magically and more vomit inducing. He squints down at her as she pulls out another bottle, holding it out for him. “What -,”

“Hangover cure, Q. Drink it unless you want to vomit all over the lawn in front of everyone.” He grabs it out of her hands, swallows it in one quick gulp, pleasantly surprised by the taste of something similar to bubblegum, and sighs with relief as the sharp pain creeping up on his brain disappears completely. He looks at her, and she rolls her eyes. “Yeah, I know. I’m a fucking goddess. Let’s go.”

He follows after her dutifully. “How long were we -,”

“Three days, I think.”

“Three days?”

She nods without bothering to turn back and look at him. “Three days of pure animalistic bliss,” She pauses, stopping to finally look at him, “You did get laid, right?” His eyes dart around the quad, and her jaw drops, “You didn’t get laid? We didn’t go there for you to pussy foot around a bunch of horny men and women, Q. We went there to let loose!”

“I didn’t feel like it.”

“You didn’t -,” She takes a deep breath, leveling herself out, “Fine, whatever. Did you figure out who you’re in love with or something? Brain stuck on them so long that you couldn’t just let the thought of them go long enough to get your cock sucked by some horny drunk brit?”

“What - no! I - uh. I -,”

She makes a face, pursing her lips. “You’re telling me, you were drunk off your ass - drugged beyond comprehension, thanks to a few goodies from the bartenders - and you didn’t once feel like fucking someone? Or getting fucked?” Quentin makes a face and she sighs, clearly done with him, “Q. Everyone knows you’re bi. It’s fucking fine. No one cares.”

“Bi . . . as in, bisexual? Margo -,”

“Unless this is another thing you haven’t fucking realized.” She eyes him, sighing, “Fuck.” Her head falls back, and she looks up at the sky, arms outstretched beside her, “Must I be the guiding light in everyones life? Why God? Why me?”

“What are you talking about?”

She lets her head fall forward, chin hitting the top of her chest. “Sweetie,” She says, soft and sweet, which is a little terrifying. Her eyes flicker up to him, “Your first guess to who you thought Alice thought you were in love with was a dude. Not the right dude, but a dude. Subconsciously, you have to know you like dick. Or at least the people attached to them.”

He shakes his head, because it isn’t entirely true, he’d thought it was her first, and her eyes slide closed. “I - I’ve never thought about it,” He says after a moment, “I like people. I don’t really think about whether they’re guys or girls or, I don’t know. I just don’t think about it.”

One eye peaks open, “So, objectively, you realize it’s possible for you to be bi.”

“I -,” He shrugs, “I haven’t really given it a label.”

She smiles, “Thank fuck for that.” She reaches out, loops her arm through his, “There is hope after all.”

“Hope? For what?”

She laughs, shaking her head. “Trust me, it’s better if I don’t say.”

But then Penny appears in front of them, frantic and angry, and looking a bit queasy. His arms flap around him as he stalks towards them, “Where the fuck have you two been?” He exclaims, “Jesus fucking christ! We’ve been looking everywhere.”

Margo nods. “I figured.”

“You figured?” He narrows his eyes at her, “What the fuck does that mean?”

She shrugs, “We disappeared without any notice. Figured you guys would be looking for us.” She smiles at him, “Though we are both grown adults, perfectly capable of taking care of ourselves. So, thanks for the consideration, but no thanks.” She moves to walks past him, but he puts an arm out in front of her, and she raises an eyebrow at him. “Move it,” She warns, “Or lose it. And I don’t make idle threats.”

“Look, I’d be more than happy to never speak to you again, but something’s wrong with your best friend.” At that, both Quentin and Margo turn their full attention on him. “And he’s not listening to anyone else. So maybe go talk to him. Because I’m disgusted, everyone at the cottage is freaked out, and honestly -,”

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

He stares at them for a moment, before nodding, grabbing both of their hands and traveling them to the cottage.

And there, in front of them, on the stupid fucking couch, is Eliot and Mike.

“I love you more.”

“No - I love you more.”

Mike reaches forward, poking Eliot in the stomach. “No, I love you more.”

Quentin’s eyes go wide, and he looks up at Penny. “What the -,”

Penny makes a face, like he’s genuinely disgusted by what he’s seeing, “They’ve been like this for two days. Just - disgustingly . . . mushy with each other.” He shakes his head, turning around so his back is facing the two of them, and looks down at Quentin and Margo. “We didn’t think anything of it at first, because it could have been him trying to get over -,” Margo glares at him with a short shake of her head and he rolls his eyes. “ - something, whatever. But then it just kept getting worse. And now they’re like that.”

Quentin looks over Penny’s shoulder, making a face as Mike leans in and nuzzles his nose against Eliot’s. He has a half a mind to punch him. “Maybe,” He clears his throat, gaze moving back over to Penny, “Maybe they’re in love.”

He’s not sure why the thought makes an uncomfortable knot form in his gut.

Penny tilts his head, narrows his eyes at him. “Are - are you reading my mind?” Quentin asks, “Stop it!”

“Why? Afraid of what I might find?”

“You’re the one who complains about my wards! They’re up. Get out!”

“Oh, but you’re so close . . .” Penny murmurs, looking over at Margo, “I could push him right over the edge, and he -,”

Margo raises a hand. “Stop. You were right. Something is wrong with him.” She runs a hand through her hair, frowning, and reaching up to readjust the strands so there aren’t any out of place. “Either a spell, or a potion or something. Eliot doesn’t fall in love this quickly.”

“I mean -,”

“That’s different, and you know it,” She snaps, looking mildly distressed as her gaze falls back on Eliot and Mike, “So why don’t you be useful for once and do us all a favor, and go get some books on love spells and potions that could explain all . . . that.” She pauses, making a face as Mike calls Eliot something along the line of ’shmookems’, and points a finger at Penny, eyes locked on the Eliot and Mike, “Make that all the books on love spells and potions. Jesus.”

As Penny vanishes, Quentin looks back over at Mike and Eliot. Something angry twists around inside him that he can’t quite explain, and before he knows it, he’s rushing out of the room and into the kitchen to be anywhere other than where they are. He stands over the sink, water running for a few minutes, before he hears the distinct clacking of Margo’s heels on the tile. She stops by the island, and her belt clinks against the marble as she rests her hip against it. “Problem?” She asks.

He turns around and looks at her. Her arms are crossed, an eyebrow perked as she narrows her eyes at him. “I,” he swallows, waving a hand vaguely, “Just think its messed up. That someone, would. Do that to hi - t-to them.”

Her head tilts. “Is that really the only problem, Q?” She asks, quiet.

“Yes,” He murmurs, turning back around to turn off the water. “What other problems would there be?”

“Oh,” She pushes away from the island, and he can hear her bracelets jingle as she waves her hands in the air around her, “I don’t know. You looked a little more than worried about him, is all.” Her heels click, clack across the tile one, two, three steps, until he can feel her right behind him. “Wanna tell me what’s really going on?”

He shrugs, leaning forward, pressing his palms onto the edge of the counter, where little droplets of water soak into his skin. “I just - I’m angry. For him.”

“For him . . .” She says, airily, “At him . . . Same difference really.”

“What?” He furrows his brow, looks over his shoulder at her. “Why would I be angry at him? This isn’t his fault.”

She makes a face, then shrugs. “Maybe. Maybe not.”

Before he can respond, Penny’s strolling back in with an armful of books. “Let’s get this started, because they’re fucking tickling each other out there, and I don’t know if I can handle actually knowing what Eliot sounds like when he giggles.” He shudders, tosses the books on the island and pulls up a stool. “The sooner we get this shit over with the fucking better.”

Five hours later, Margo makes a noise, and Penny and Quentin both look up from their books at her. She smirks down at the page, finger following the words. “Of course,” She murmurs, turning her smirk on the two of them. “I know how to fix them.”

Penny closes his eyes, and sighs with relief. “Oh thank god.”

“How?”

She flutters her eyelashes as she pretends to look thoughtful. “Nothing too big. One of them just has to be kissed by someone who loves them.”

“Oh. Easy,” Quentin grins, and both Penny and Margo look at him with matching slack jawed awe. “Margo can kiss him.” Their jaws snap shut, Penny face palms himself, and Margo shakes her head, closing her eyes. “What?”

“Not platonic love you dingus,” Penny mutters from behind hand. “Love love.”

“Like . . . true love?”

“This isn’t a fairy tale,” Penny grumbles, “But it is a lost fucking cause,” He says more to Margo.

She shakes her head, eyes locked on Quentin as she leans her elbow on the table, and rests her chin on her hand. “Not entirely,” She says, looking at Penny from the corner of her eye, “He was pretty damn mad earlier. And he didn’t have sex with anyone while we were gone - despite ample opportunity.” A slow, predatory smirk forms on her lips, as she leans ever closer to Quentin, “I think he knows, he just doesn’t want to admit it.”

Quentin frowns. “What are you talking about?”

“Q,” She asks, “When you saw Mike and Eliot together the other day. How did you feel?” He shrugs, and she narrows her eyes threateningly, “Come on, Q. Out with it.”

When he doesn’t respond, Penny supplies, “He didn’t think Mike was cute enough, apparently. And . . . his tummy was all up in twists.” He laughs, “Oh god. He was so jealous.” Penny tilts his head at Quentin, “Jesus have you never been jealous before?”

“I’ve been jealous!”

“Oh yeah? When?”

“When - when Julia got together with James!” Penny makes a face. “Get out of my head!”

Penny shakes his head. “You weren’t jealous of their relationship. You were afraid to lose her friendship. There’s a difference, dipshit.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I’m literally pulling this out of your head as we speak. I have a disturbingly good idea of what I’m talking about.”

Margo raises a hand between them, “Girls, less bickering,” She says, leaning back in her chair and crossing her arms as she examines Quentin. “What do you think jealously feels like?”

“I - I don’t know? Fear?”

She shakes her head, slow, brow furrowed, “No, sweetie. That’s fear. Jealousy is anger and nausea and confusion. It wraps up everything, and it’s all you can focus on. You can’t think about anything, for example,” She blinks at him, “but the way their fingers slid across someone else skin. The way their hair locked with someone else's because of how close, and how intimate you know they’ve gotten. You can’t help but wonder what they’re doing every moment you’re not around - and you don’t want to be around them, but you feel like you need to be. Because something in you might break if you aren’t. It’s wanting to snap someones neck for touching something that shouldn’t be theirs. It’s nasty, and it’s all consuming.”

Penny nods, “Pretty much.”

She ignores him, leaning forward, resting her arms on the top of the table, to stare directly into Quentin’s eyes. “So, tell me. What were you thinking about in that club that kept you from boinking every tom, dick and Jane around?”

Penny makes a face, rolling his eyes, as he looks back down to flip through the book in front him. But before Quentin can respond, attempt to explain to her that what he’s been feeling is just confusion, that it can’t possibly be jealousy because Eliot’s his friend, and that’s all they’ve ever seen each other as, Penny looks back up. “Holy shit.”

Margo slides her eyes over to look at him. “What?”

“What’s that spell?” He asks, jumping up and eyeing Quentin carefully. “That one that clears your head. Wipes out the confusion or whatever. Because he’s confused. It’s clouding everything else.” He makes a face as Quentin starts to push his chair back, “Relax, if I’m wrong you won’t realize anything. But if I’m right, it’ll just clear up whatever’s fucking with your thoughts.”

“Probably his depression,” Margo murmurs, “I know the spell.”

“Margo -,”

She shakes her head as she pushes out of her chair, “Sweetie, you may not be a virgin, but you have no idea what being in love feels like. And,” She shrugs as she raises her hands in front of her, beginning the motions of a spell, “You absolutely deserve to know what that feels like.”

“Or you just need to feel it long enough to make the shit show out there stop,” Penny adds. “We can wipe your memories afterward if you don’t want to be in love with him.” Margo whips her head around to glare at him. “What? He’s -,”

“Say one thing about Eliot and I will curse you and any children unfortunate to be yours. Got it?”

He rolls his eyes.

Quentin gets up as she turns her attention back on him, and he takes slow steps backwards until he’s trapped against the counter. “Margo - please don’t fuck with my mind.”

“I’m not. I’m temporarily clearing it.” She says, making a final motion.

All the air rushes out of him, almost as if it’s stealing away all the confusion. He falls back against the counter, grabbing onto the ledge, and looking up at the ceiling as everything he doesn’t understand comes coursing through him in waves of intensity. And suddenly, he’s reliving some of his moments at Brakebills, but they have something in common he hadn’t realized before.

He’s wearing all white, practically a beacon shining in the distance. When he jumps down from his perch on the Brakebills stone and introduces himself to Quentin, Quentin’s heart skips a beat, but this time he feels something seeping in that he doesn’t understand. It’s soft and warm, and cruises through every nerve.

“He’s not that cute.” Quentin’s heart leaps, but he assumes then that it’s just the pride that people are talking about him in pleasant terms. But now he can see himself looking up at Eliot after she says that, can feel the warmth dancing around and sinking into his cheeks.

“No, no, no. What I’m saying, is you are not alone here.” Quentin hadn’t realized it then, but when Eliot looks at him, sincere and open, that same warmth from the first day fills him from head to toe. And for the first time, despite everything he’s been saying, he truly feels like he belongs. And that Eliot is the one person he can depend on.

The warmth dances around the air between them, and Quentin longs to never let it go. But he pretends its the sun, and just nods gratefully before sitting across from Eliot at the table. Because, that’s all it can be. The sun, and this place that fills him up with contentment.

“Do your lips move when you read?”

“About time you woke up,” Eliot whispers, sitting on the edge of the couch and patting him on the head. There’s a softness in his gaze that Quentin can’t appreciate, but the warmth is there, pulling them closer together even as the Dean orders Eliot away. Quentin makes sure Eliot never leaves his line of sight.

Suddenly the Eliot in the mental asylum makes a lot more sense.

All the nights they spend on the couch, just the two of them, drinking wine and joking. Quentin thinking it’s the wine that makes the curve of Eliot’s profile seem perfect, and just. Thinks it’s the wine that makes his skin warm, and Eliot’s glow. Thinks it’s the wine that makes him wonder what it’d be like to kiss him. Thinks it’s all the wine.

But he knows now.

All the times they curl up on that same couch, falling asleep on each other. At ease with one another, a calmness neither of them feel with anyone else. All the times they run their fingers through each others hair, and Quentin’s heart stops, and his breath hitches, when Eliot gave him his full attention. All the times Quentin tries desperately to perfect a spell just so he can show Eliot, and get that proud grin, and the bone crushing hug that both of them hang on to for seconds too long. All the times Eliot’s heart beat calms Quentin, brings him back from the edge of a panic attack.

All the breaths and small touches that are never necessary, but somehow unavoidable.

That warmth that dances around them like an aura every time they move. Shining and wonderful, and waiting for him to see it. But he never could before, because of the smoke shrouding his ever thought.

He can see it now, and oh god, it’s wrapping around his heart, and he knows why he’s hidden from it.

His breath hitches, and he’s expecting to feel an uncontrollable ache where his heart is. Expects to feel nothing but pain as this realization comes crashing down on him, but instead his breath comes easy and even. He opens his eyes, chest heaving. Expects the world to have changed, but it’s the same, clearer, but the same.

“Holy shit.”

Margo watches him, a hesitant smile attempting to form. “What?”

“I love Eliot.”

“Alert the fucking media,” Penny mutters, sitting down. “Welcome to the present. We’ve all been here for about a year.”

Margo shoves him, the smile slowly extending. “Yeah?” She asks.

Quentin nods. “I - I think I always have.”

“Thank fuck,” She mutters, flopping down into the chair and nodding to Penny. “Do us a favor and go restrain them in separate rooms so Quentin can kiss Eliot and break this whole thing.”

“Fuck that.” She shoots him a glare and he sighs, reluctantly getting up. “I’m only doing this so I don’t have to watch it anymore.”

She shrugs, calling out as he leaves the kitchen, “Nobody asked you to spend all your free time here!”

“Bite me!”

Pausing, she smirks at Quentin before replying, “Gladly.”

Penny doesn’t respond.

“How did I not know?” Quentin asks, quiet, as he makes his way across the kitchen to sit in the chair beside her. Because, he should have realized. He’d never felt as at ease with Alice. Never felt the need to protect her as strong as with Eliot. Never longed to spend time with her when he’s bored in the middle of the night. To go to her when his depression gets bad. To find comfort in her. How did he not realize?

She smiles softly, leaning forward and placing her hand overtop his. “It’s easy when you’re hiding,” She makes a face. “Everything told you you’re meant to love Alice, and you have this ridiculous belief in destiny and faith, that is absurdly enduring, but also incredibly dangerous. It’s okay to be confused. But, you need to stop letting your desire for a path to follow, keep you from living the life you actually want.”

He deflates, slumping back against his chair, “There’s always been something there. I just - I couldn’t . . . it was right there.”

“Trust me. I know.”

“I forget sometimes,” He murmurs, looking down at the table, at their hands, “That I can’t always trust my mind.”

She brings up her other hand, squeezing both around his, “Q,” She whispers, so much kinder and gentler than he’s used to, “Please don’t think that spell forced this.”

“I don’t,” He says, looking back up at her. “I don’t.”

“Good,” Her jaw clenches, “Because we’ve seen it in both of you for so long. I don’t think any of us could take you retreating. Especially him.” She smiles, eyes soft as he turns his palms up to lace his fingers through hers. “He’s so far gone on you. The two of you . . . You make each other happy. And El . . . it’s been a long time since he’s been happy. And you, too.” She adds, quickly. “I’m not trying to guilt you, here. I’m just -,”

“I don’t think I could turn my back on this if I wanted to, Margo.” Her jaw trembles a bit, and he smiles, squeezing her hands. “Come on. It’s not like you to get emotional.”

She nods. “It is. Because, he’s going to be so mad at me when he wakes up.”

“Why?”

She looks at him, lips curling as she shrugs sheepishly. “I may have been the one to give him the potion.”

“What?”

“Yeah,” She nods guiltily, “It was too much. I paid a first year to brew it, but she fucked up, and yeah. It was just supposed to make you jealous and knock some sense into you.” She tilts her head, nose crinkling. “Didn’t go exactly to plan. And he will never let me live down the fact that I made it possible for him to let someone call him shmookum.”

“Jesus christ.”

“Yeah.” She sighs, “When we left, I figured it’d be back to normal but the time we got back, but I wanted to avoid the blowback. And you literally looked like you were going to throw up, so I thought, let’s drive this nail in the head and test a theory in London.”

Penny appears in the doorway before Quentin can respond. “Can we get this over with, now? Please.”

Quentin looks up at him, attempts to force down a a laugh that comes out as more of a snort, and Margo turns around to see, as well, but she doesn’t even try to hide the quick, loud laugh that bursts out of her. “What the fuck happened to you?”

“Eliot didn’t appreciate being separated from his ‘one true love’.” Penny deadpans. “He’s locked in the closet under the stairs. Creepshow is busy walking around outside looking for his,” He makes a face, cheek twitching, before saying, “Honeybuns,” through gritted teeth.

Margo turns back around to Quentin. “You’re up.”

He nods shakily. “I can do this.”

“Yes, you can.”

“You fucking better.” Penny growls, “I didn’t get punched for you to pussy out.”

Quentin nods again, pushes himself up from the table, and makes his way out of the kitchen, through the living room, to stand in front of the hallway door. He grabs the doorknob tentatively, can hear some shuffling inside. He pauses. Rests his forehead against the wood of the door, gripping the doorknob tight in his fist.

When he told Alice how he felt, he hadn’t been nervous at all. It’d felt weird, but he never really felt like anything was on the line if she rejected him. But with Eliot, it’s everything. He feels that warmth dance around in his gut, familiar and strange all at once, urging him onwards, despite also begging him not to move forward, because this is it. Whatever happens after this, it’s over.

He can’t hide from his feelings. He can’t run away. Brakebills is his home - Eliot and everyone in the cottage are his family. But what if he kisses him and nothing happens? He doesn’t break the spell, and Eliot’s cursed to live eternity in love with the jackass looking through the shrubbery, while Quentin has to watch on confused and alone?

“He’s freaking out isn’t he?” He hears Margo ask Penny in the kitchen.

“He’s totally freaking out.”

He sighs, steps back from the door, and pulls it open. The sun shining from the backdoor crashing through the hall and illuminates Eliot -

Who is bound and gagged on the floor of the closet.

His eyes go wide, “Really, Penny?!” He calls out as he kneels down in front of Eliot, reaching forward to undo the gag.

Eliot glares at him, tries to bite him when the gag comes off, missing with a starling crack of his teeth. He narrows his eyes at Quentin. “What did you do to Mike? Where is he? I’ll fucking -,”

Quentin rolls his eyes and leans forward before he can talk himself out of it, pressing his lips gently against Eliot’s. For a moment, the feather light brush is all there is, but then Eliot stops moving, and everything goes quiet. He pulls away, opens his eyes, which he hadn’t even realized he’d closed, eyelashes fluttering against Eliot’s cheek bones, and then he’s looking directly into the soft golden brown of his eyes.

“Q?” He questions, soft and hoarse all at once. “What’s -,” He seems to realize he’s tied up, because he looks down, then back up and raises an eyebrow. “Are you planning to take advantage of me, or something?” He shrugs, “Not that I’d mind.”

“Do you - do you remember?” Quentin asks, scooting back just enough to reach down and work at the knots Penny tied into the ropes. “What happened?” Eliot’s quiet for a moment as he watches Quentin work on the ropes. As he gets the last knot undone, he looks back up at, worried, “El -,”

Eliot interrupts him, rushing forward, grabbing at the sides of Quentin’s face and pulling him in for another kiss. Quentin gasps into it, heart racing as the warmth that’s been swarming around them all year suddenly dives down and engulfs them whole and unabashedly. His breath hitches, billowing out against Eliot’s lips, and his hands come up to grab at the lapels of Eliot’s vest.

He pulls away, just as Quentin loses himself in the kiss, and looks down at him through half lidded eyes. “Vaguely,” He murmurs, “I remember everything vaguely, and we’ll get to all that. But - you kissed me. And,” He shrugs, tilting his head with an almost bitter smile, “I wanted to repay the favor in case its a one time thing.”

Quentin clears his throat, letting go of Eliot’s vest to reach down for the ropes tied around his ankles. “I - I hope it’s not a one time thing,” He whispers, lets the words sit out in the air between them as he works at the knot.

“Yeah?” Eliot breathes. Quentin nods, eyebrows furrowing as the knot stays stubbornly wrapped in itself. But then Eliot’s hands are waving around between them, and the knot falls away with ease. And Eliot ducks his head, reaches up to lift Quentin’s face so they can look at each other. “Why’s that?”

“You know.”

Eliot nods, swallowing, “I have an idea,” He confirms, “But,” He waves his free hand between them, “I want to know what this is to you. Because I know what it is to me.” A closed lip smile follows the statement. “What it’s been for me for a long time now.”

“I’m sorry it took me so long.”

Eliot chuckles, “Honestly, Q, I was expecting you to graduate before anything happening even appeared as a possibility to you.”

Quentin frowns, moving back in and grabbing at his vest again, “I’m sorry,” He repeats. “I’m sorry it took you getting dosed with a love potion, and a confusion clearing spell for me to realize. I - I’m sorry I’ve been fighting this. Or, avoiding this. Or whatever it is I’ve been doing. I’m sorry if I hurt you -,”

“Q,” Eliot murmurs, grabbing at his elbows, “Stop apologizing.”

“I can’t -,”

“You can, you’re just stubborn as hell.” Quentin looks up at him, but he’s smiling, leaning forward and pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Stop apologizing.” He repeats, resting his forehead against his, “The only person who has anything to apologize for is the person who dosed me with a love potion.”

“Uh -,”

“I already know who it is,” He sighs, pulling away and looking back into Quentin’s eyes. “It’s the same meddler who has been trying to kick your ass into gear all year.” Quentin makes a face. “I can’t stay mad at her for long. But I can try for a little while.”

Quentin nods, swallowing. “And - and, us?” He asks, “What do we . . . I don’t.”

Eliot nods, “We’ll figure it out as we go. I suspect a lot of things will remain the same, we just get to have a few extra benefits with this deal.” He smirks, “Can we get up off this disgusting pile of dirt we call the hallway closet floor now?”

Quentin laughs, pushing himself to his feet and holding his hands out for Eliot’s. Eliot looks down at them, before grasping both hands and allowing himself to be pulled up. But once he’s standing at full attention, he’s tugging at Quentin’s hands until he crashes into Eliot’s chest, and looking up at him.

Quentin smiles, wide and bright for the first time in longer than he can remember, as Eliot leans down for another kiss.

He makes a mental note to thank Alice later.

#the magicians #queliot #quentin coldwater #eliot waugh #alice quinn #penny adiyodi #margo hanson #this one is a fucking MONSTER #JESUS CHRIST #IT TOOK THREE DAYS TO WRITE #KILL ME

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