#love and let’s say it. wine. eliot waugh i love you)

[durindaina]

i’m rewatching the magicians and on season 2 episode 12 “ramifications” quentin asks “what’s more important than a life?” to which mayakovsky answers “you talk like life means something” and quentin says “if it doesn’t, then what’s the point? this is what magic is for” and quite honestly i’m about to start biting

[nerdygaymormon]

Favorite LGBTQ movie and TV quotes

“Um, I do drink red wine, but I also drink white wine. And I’ve been known to sample the occasional rosé. And a couple summers back, I tried a Merlot that used to be a Chardonnay, which got a bit complicated… I like the wine and not the label. Does that make sense?”

— David Rose, Schitt’s Creek, Season 1, Episode 10

“That felt so good to say. I feel like I just solved an escape room I’ve been trapped in my entire life.”

— Fabiola Torres, Never Have I Ever, Season 1, Episode 5

“Look, I’ll be hurt either way. Isn’t it better to be who I am?”

— Eric Effiong, Sex Education, Season 1, Episode 7

“Everybody’s story is different. There’s your version, and my version, and everything in between. But the one thing that all of those stories have in common is that moment right before you say those words when your heart is racing, and you don’t know what’s coming next. That moment’s really terrifying. And then once you say those words, you can’t unsay them. A chapter has ended, and a new one’s begun, and you have to be ready for that.”

— John, Happiest Season

“The good thing about being different is that no one expects you to be like them”

— Ellie Chu, The Half Of It

"When I'm with Brittany, I finally understand what people are talking about when they talk about love. I've tried so hard to push this feeling away, and keep it locked inside, but every day just feels like a war. I walk around so mad at the world, but I'm really just fighting with myself. I don't want to fight anymore. I'm just too tired. I have to just be me."

— Santana Lopez, Glee, Season 3, Episode 7

“Now, there is a long and honorable tradition in the gay community, and it has stood us in good stead for a very long time. When somebody calls you a name…you take it and own it.”

— Mark Ashton, Pride

“So I'm bisexual. So what? It's LGBTQ for a reason. There's a B in there and it doesn't mean Badass. Okay, it does, but it also means Bi.”

— Callie Torres, Grey's Anatomy, Episode 1105

“We’re standing here in Philadelphia, the, uh, City of Brotherly Love, the birthplace of freedom where the, uh, founding fathers authored the Declaration of Independence, and I don’t recall that glorious document saying anything about all straight men are created equal. I believe it says all men are created equal.”

— Joe Miller, Philadelphia

"Yes, I wear foundation. Yes, I live with a man. Yes, I'm a middle- aged fag. But I know who I am, Val. It took me twenty years to get here, and I'm not gonna let some idiot senator destroy that. F*** the senator, I don't give a damn what he thinks."

— Armand Goldman, The Birdcage

"Being gay is your thing. There are parts of it you have to go through alone. I hate that. As soon as you came out, you said, "Mom, I'm still me." I need you to hear this: You are still you, Simon. You are still the same son who I love to tease and who your father depends on for just about everything. And you're the same brother who always complements his sister on her food, even when it sucks. You get to exhale now, Simon. You get to be more you than you have been in... in a very long time. You deserve everything you want."

— Emily Spier, Love, Simon

"The greatest gift we can give each other is our authentic selves and sharing that. Sharing our truth is what will make us strong. So here I am. I am both human and alien. And I am a trans woman."

— Kara Danvers, Supergirl, Season 4, Episode 19

"But I feel more when I look at a picture of Kristen Stewart than I do when I kiss him."

— Elena Alvarez, One Day at a Time,

"You can’t change it. You can’t fix me. Because I’m not broken, I don’t need to be fixed, OK? I’m me!"

— Ian Gallagher, Shameless, Season 5, Episode 12

"Becoming me was the greatest creative project of my life."

Eliot Waugh, The Magicians, Season 1, Episode 1

"Every time someone steps up and says who they are, the world becomes a better, more interesting place. So, thank you."

—Raymond Holt, Brooklyn Nine-Nine, Season 5, Episode 10

"I might be…bisexual, and you guys know I hate labels, but this one feels important right now to own the space I’m in and to make sense of it."

—Kat Edison, The Bold Type

[maximusthewolfe]

I just need to talk about the mosaic kiss for a minute, okay? I was encouraged to do so by @coldwaughtersquentin​ (who blessedly made these gifs for me to include and is actually the best)  and @ahundredloveboats​ sooo, buckle up ladies and gents, let’s take a walk down adorable, mushy, emotional memory lane together, shall we? 

Here’s the thing. I love everything about this kiss, from Quentin’s and Eliot’s perspectives. I’ll probably focus a little more on Eliot here because he’s my child and I adore him endlessly, but you’re crazy if you think I’m not also going to go bonkers over the sweet bravery that is Q making this first move. 

The way Quentin talks himself up, mentally, to do things he wants has always been adorable to me, but here you can see him just thinking, Do it, Coldwater. Do it before you don’t, and spend the next six months wondering why the hell you didn’t do it. And don’t even get me STARTED in “Hey. Hey.” Because “Hey” has never sounded more like “I think I might love you” in my entire life than it does when those two exchange it softly, like a casual greeting even though they’ve been sitting next to each other and chatting for probably a couple of hours. 

And then he nervously starts to try and explain himself. “I, um -” and he realizes, if I try to talk about it, I’m not going to do it. So instead of waiting, or overanalyzing or making some stuttery, beautiful, heartfelt speech about how he didn’t expect the last year to mean so much to him, and how he didn’t expect Eliot to mean so much to him when they started, but now he does, and so, would it be okay if he, you know, kissed him?? He just does it. He goes in, like Now or never, Coldwater. And never’s not an option. 

And then Eliot. God, sweet, “confident” Eliot. The way he looks so dazed when Quentin pulls away. The softness in his face (don’t get me STARTED on those eyelashes, folks), the slowest blink in the history of blinks. Eliot wasn’t expecting this. He probably made jokes about it, about it being just the two of them, about getting stir-crazy, about falling into bed with each other, the kind of flippant, sexual jokes he always makes, especially when he doesn’t want to be seen, but he never really expected anything to come of it. I mean look at the way his eyebrows shoot up into his hairline. El is so clearly taken aback, in the best way. He takes a minute, with half-open eyes, to internalize the feeling of Quentin’s lips against his own, realizing in this exact moment how many times he’s thought about this without really letting himself think about it. And then, when he lets himself think about it, it’s a revelation. It’s Oh. OH. Oh, Finally. 

And Quentin pulls away, maintaining eye contact, being brave. But he doesn’t say anything - words have never really been his strong suit, anyway. He just looks at him, purses his lips in this little self-conscious smile that says Your move, Waugh. But he’s not defeated. He’s hopeful, he has the feeling of that quick kiss to lean on, the way Eliot looks like he’s actually been affected by something, for once in his life, to sink into. He has reasons to believe that this move might just work out in his favor. And after a quest that has sent them in a thousand directions, only half of which seem to yield the desired result, that feels pretty damn good. 

This. Two things about this. The first, which I know has been discussed at length but is WORTH mentioning again, is the little hand flip that Q does, the tiny, nervous gesture that speaks to the fact that even with those reasons to believe, he’s still insecure, still unsure. Well, I did that, it says. It’s out there. I kissed you and I can’t un-kiss you, so what’s next? And then there’s Eliot. Eliot, who immediately leans in, reassuring, to cover Quentin’s hand with his own. And I have a theory about this, about why he’s so quick to tell Q, in a physical way, that hey, it’s ok. Because he grew up in small town Indiana. He was ridiculed, constantly, for who he was, shouted at and told he was worthless by his own father. But here’s the thing about being visibly queer in a small, rural community like that - you become a magnet, for anyone else questioning their sexuality. So I have a headcanon that Eliot, well, he’s done this before. He’s been “the experiment” for the “straight guy.” It’s familiar territory. (And YES, Quentin is bisexual, but as we all know Eliot has some internalize biphobia he needs to work through so if we’re talking about Eliot’s POV here, which we are, I think that’s worth mentioning.) 

But then he covers his hand completely, brushes the back of Q’s so tenderly I could die about that alone. It’s this silent reminder that Hey, I’m here, Q. It’s just you and me. And it’s an allowance, too, a door Eliot lets himself open, to be okay with this, at least in this moment, meaning what it means to him, as he brings his hand up to Quentin’s face. And the microexpressions here, how Quentin adjusts his body, leaning in ever so slightly, already positioning his head in anticipation of Eliot kissing him back. Their bodies are so in tune here it’s like this gorgeous, tiny dance. 

Eliot leans in, wrapping his hand around the back of Quentin’s neck. And you all KNOW he did the thumb swipe across Quentin’s cheek approximately .2 seconds after this shot ended. There is this open vulnerability in Eliot’s face here, this quiet sensuality, in the small smile on his face. The tiny lower lip bite that likely murders Q as much as it murders me. The way his eyes flit down to Quentin’s lips as he leans in. It’s so soft, and sweet, and beautiful. It’s You bet your ass we’re doing this, Coldwater. It’s I’ve been waiting for this. It’s Me, too. 

And the kiss. THE KISS. The way Eliot’s eyes stay open for a half a second and then they slide shut, and he sinks into it, holding Q close. Eliot knows, that they aren’t planning on being here much longer. He said it himself when he offered the toast: “To our first, and last, year at this thing.” But that doesn’t matter. Because even if they figure it out tomorrow, Eliot wants this moment to have happened between them. He wants to remember the feeling of losing himself in Quentin’s kiss, he wants to memorize the way Quentin’s hair feels brushing against the back of his hand, the way he tastes like bad Fillorian wine and sunshine from a day spent working hard at the mosaic and a tiny bit of smoke from the torches they light every night. He never wants to forget exactly what it felt like when, for even just a moment, Quentin Coldwater was his. Quentin wanted him, and Eliot wanted him, too, and they both let themselves, for once, hold the thing they really wanted in their hands without being terrified of breaking it. 

[campchitaquamemories]

What are your top 10 Queliot moments?

Nonny, thank you so much for waiting patiently for this one! 

I was just going to write out a list (after I got done being EXTREMELY stumped because- you expect me to just pick 10??! Rude.) but then I realized that I just hit 600 followers (what?!), and I wanted to do something a bit more to say thank you to all of you for putting up with me while I’m on my bullshit. So I went back through my favorite episodes and made some gifs for you, too! 

Here you go. Hope you like it!!

Gigi’s Top 10 Queliot Moments (YMMV):

10. This is from 1x03, Consequences of Advanced Spellcasting, and… it’s such a great breathing space. This whole episode, the Eliot + Quentin sideplot to retrieve the book was a delight, and it only happened because Eliot is so far gone on this boy. He could have taken literally any of the Physical Kids with him, but no, he’s got a crush on the super cute nerd that just moved in and so it HAS to be Q that comes with him. Eliot is highkey flirting with Quentin here, both as emotional support, and - I will maintain until my dying day - if Kady hadn’t blown the hinges off that door he was planning to make a move on Q that afternoon.

9. I have so many feelings???? This is from 2x01, Knight of Crowns. Things are complex interpersonally between the whole gang right now, but out of everyone parting ways with Eliot, Q is who we get to see saying goodbye. Eliot is actually high king now, and he’s not any less depressed, or damaged emotionally or mentally. It didn’t immediately fix him like he wanted (much like how magic didn’t immediately fix Quentin, but that’s a meta for another time), and now he’s staring down being all that and an unknown future ruling this frankly odd kingdom (from books he apparently never bothered to read? El, baby. SMH.) potentially for the rest of his life without his friends. The two of them are so tender, Q initially leaning against Eliot to provide support, and then he doesn’t hesitate even a moment when Eliot asks for a hug. What at that point could be the very last hug he ever gets from Quentin in this lifetime. There is such a depth of feeling here between the two of them and I’m so glad the show gave us this (in S2! I’m!).

8.  1x11, Remedial Battle Magic. Look at our babies and how happy they are?! I know they’re drunk on wine and emotions and about to seriously fuck their friendships up, but have they ever gotten a moment to breathe and be happy in each other’s presence since this? They haven’t. It’s been arguments and recriminations and quests and beasts and averting world-ending disasters since they woke up from this night. So I treasure this moment of soft smiles and touches (even Margo, I am not opposed to Marqueliot in this list at all). And of course, the threesome it is leading up to, and all of the implications and interpretations of that night that they take forward into the series with them.

7. “I’m trying to tell you, you are not alone here.” From 1x02, The Source of Magic, this bonding scene has always felt very profound to me. These two boys have literally known each other, what, less than a week now? And here is Eliot “feelings are for other people” Waugh, opening up about his past traumas to try and connect with Quentin. The only other person we’ve ever seen him do this with is Mike - Eliot’s other love interest - and we know he told Margo during their Trials. This is Q confessing his biggest fear - that if he loses magic, he will lose his tenuous hold on his mental health - and Eliot reciprocating that confession: inducting Q into the very, very select circle of Eliot’s confidantes. This is each of them accepting some measure of comfort from the presence and understanding of the other, and a moment that underpins their entire relationship from this moment forward.

6. I’m cheating with this one, but I wanted to show both sides of this dynamic, and Quentin and Eliot have not had a chance to fight for their relationship together in the main timeline yet, so these will have to work for now. The first gif is from 4x06, A Timeline and Place, and the second is from 3x13, Will You Play With Me? It’s so, so important to see these moments - even if our boys are dumb and they don’t start fighting until the very last second - when they are willing to lay down everything, and burn down the world for each other. Quentin will NOT let the Monster kill Eliot’s body, and Eliot will NOT let Quentin throw away his future to play jailer to a sociopathic child-god. When push comes to shove, they will choose each other every time. Now if we could only get them to do that when the stakes aren’t life and death, am I right?

5. Another moment from 2x01, Knight of Crowns. This coronation scene is just… Remember that they are fractured leading up to this: we’re coming right off of the fall out from the threesome, and Eliot has been spiraling for episodes now. But then we get this super tender declaration from Quentin: “So, destiny is– it’s bullshit…. For what it’s worth, I think you’re going to be a really good king.” And Eliot’s eyes just, light up, his whole face lifts. Because here is someone who believes in him, wholly and truly. Even after everything they just fucked up together, and separately, Q (someonee good and true) has faith in Eliot, and it’s infectious. They’re both looking at each other here like no one else exists in the world, like nothing is important in this moment except each other. And thats?? Beautiful?!

4. I fucking love this shot. Q kicking over those tiles and then saying “Oops.” is a whole-ass mood. Okay, so this is obviously from 3x05, A Life in the Day, and I could easily have made and entire top 10 list of JUST moments from this sequence because it’s all SO AMAZING. The beauty of all life, amiright? But this moment is so important to me. Making a conscious choice, every day to choose this quest and choose each other takes a toll. Ask anyone you know who’s been in a committed relationship for years. Sometimes it’s just fucking hard. They’ve been at this for so long that their clothes from Earth (which, I’ll remind you, they were still wearing at their 1 year anniversary) have worn thin, and they’re wearing traditional Fillorian garb. This was supposed to be over years ago, but they’re still going.  And Q is struggling. And Eliot is struggling. And they argue, but neither of them walks away. I always have to stop and pause at this part of the episode, because this is so domestic and realistic that it makes me cry. And if I start crying here, I’m useless for the rest of the sequence once we get to Arielle and Teddy.

3. 1x01, Unauthorized Magic. So, so many people have talked about Q and El’s first meeting, how Eliot spread himself out on the Brakebills sign elegantly and Quentin’s one bisexual braincell shorted out to the point where, for a moment, he couldn’t even words. But I so rarely see people talk about this moment, when Quentin asks Eliot if he’s hallucinating. This look, right here, is so soft, and sweet. I’m sure Eliot gets hit on all the time, and he was 100% flirting with Quentin when he jumped off that sign and gave him an “I could eat you up” once over. But this is the moment Eliot decided that Margo needed to know about the cute new boy who thought Eliot was exactly the kind of person he would dream into existence, if he made those kinds of decisions. Right here. The beginning of it all.

2. Back to 3x05, A Life in the Day, and if you’re surprised this is my #2 moment you must be new here. This is a kiss that has been brewing for a long time. One not rooted in emotion bottles, and not one that can be passed off as being too drunk to know what you’re doing. Quentin sets his cup down, and starts to say something, but ends up finishing his thought with this kiss. It’s short, but not tentative, and Eliot is… look at his face. He’s surprised, because he’s pretty sure they fucked up their chances at this a season and a half ago. But Q is there and he’s not apologizing and he’s not panicking, and that gives Eliot the courage to reach out and pull Q back in. And for a little while, it’s not about the quest, it’s not about defeating a monster, it’s not about fixing anything they’ve fucked up. This is just about them. 

1. “Fifty years. Who gets that kind of proof of concept? Peaches and plums, motherfucker. I’m alive in here!” 4x05, Escape from the Happy Place.So, this scene is where I live now, my trashcan, if you will, with these dumb boys and their dumb faces. Eliot’s absolutely perfect timing, and his delight to see Quentin is just- Just beaming out of his face here. This is the first of many chances he’s going to have to set the record straight, and he does it with style. This was a declaration of love - peaches and plums - and one that only Eliot would be able to give, and only Quentin would be able to understand. Q has been so beat down and defeated this episode, like he’s walking through a world that has faded into black and white, but we can see the moment he understands and the light comes back into his eyes. “Eliot’s alive. He’s alive.”

Honorable mentions to: “I’m Team Eliot.”, “Could I maybe have Eliot back?”, “I find you, and I don’t say magic is real, but I do seduce you”, and the extended throne room scene from 3x05/4x05 - which only didn’t make the list because I couldn’t pick a single shot to slice up for a gif.

[lunaraindrop]

Dream Running in Airports (part 2)

Unlike being involuntarily sucked in like the last one, Penny had to put in a little effort into finding Eliot Waugh's dream. Unlike Quentin, Eliot always remembered to ward his mind to keep his thoughts to himself. That was something Penny really appreciated. Normally he didn't hear a peep from the King of the Physical Kids mind. He obviously valued his thoughts being private and staying private.

Fat luck it did for Penny now though.

Sleeping made it easier for him to step into Eliot's mind.

Penny whistled.

Penny: Shit. Nothing can be mistaken as Christmasy in here.

Eliot's dream took him to a place he swears has to be that Oculto place he had heard people whisper about.

It was a balmy night with a slight breeze. There was a raging party to his left. Out of the sand rose a lit up dance floor covered in writhing bodies. The party goers were dancing to some crazy remixed club versions of Hungry Eyes and Dido's Here With Me. There were fire dancers, laser lights, and people swimming in giant champagne glasses.

To his right was a large orgy. Out of the sand was a padded looking platform covered in swaths of gauzy fabrics from an unseen ceiling. The fabric made the movements behind it more muted. Less porno, more sensual interpretive dance. Of fucking. So much fucking. Like, goddamn. Moans and gasps floated through the gauze like music.

Penny had to admit, he was not eager to look for the man in either place. But, he realized he wouldn't have to.

In the middle of the two, was Eliot. Not dancing. Not fucking. Alone. Something about that didn't seem right to Penny. Eliot was always the life of the party. He and Margo were two of the most flirty, openly sexual people he knew. Yet he wasn't in either scene. Hell, even Margo wasn't with him in his dream. He was sitting in a lone beach lounger, sipping on what looked to be a glowing purple cocktail. In the dark.

That spoke of some fucked up shit.

But just like how this was not a Christmasy dream, this dream was unlike the saddest elf on the shelf, because Eliot was obviously aware that he was dreaming.

Eliot: *sips his drink* *stares at Penny* This is new. You've never been in one of my dreams before. So either my brain is putting you here because I either subconsciously want you to have more fun or get laid...or you're trespassing.

As Penny walked closer to the lounger, the pleasant breeze started to feel more cold. From his vantage point, Penny could tell that Eliot could see everything happening in both the scenes going on that he was not apart of.

Being far enough away from both the party and orgy, Penny could finally see that he recognized some of the people. Among some of the other names less Physical Kids that he had seen come and go from the cottage parties, he spotted Eliot's partner in crime.

The absent Margo seemed to be having the time of her life drinking from a bottle of wine and twirling around the dance floor in a cleavage-friendly red and white striped minidress and tiny Santa hat. She was the center of attention at that party. Eliot seemed happy to see her so.

A loud noise drew their attention towards the orgy. Where most of everything had been ethereal and muted, the loud bark of familiar awkward laughter might as well have been a sonic boom. Through a peachy gauze was the dorky silhouette of one Quentin Coldwater, smiling for a change. He was looking at who appeared to be a naked Alice like she was a Fillory book offering him a lifetime of magical blow jobs. They were kissing, but not full on lustful tonsil hockey. No. The kisses were tender things, in which the hobbit would pull back, laugh and look at her in wonder. He touched her in cherished, soft strokes.

Eliot...did not seem to like that. What's more is that this is a dream. It's harder to hide the truth from someone when they are standing in your head.

By the way Eliot was looking at him, he knew that too.

Eliot: Yeah, you can fuck off now.

Penny really didn't need this shit...but he had already gone this far. Plus, it seemed that Brideshead Revisited was pathetically pining too.

They deserved each other.

Penny: Look, I have better things to do than to do favors, but I must have had some funky magical egg nog because now I have a fucking Christmas spirit. It is making me want to do good things. So for my *one* good deed charity work this year, let me just say what I need to say and then I can get the fuck out of your weird sexual pity party, okay?

Eliot: *eyeing him* Your "good deed" has nothing to do with your dick, right?

Penny: *rolls his eyes* Fuck no. You're not my type.

Eliot: *sighs in relief* *more devil may care relaxed* Oh good. That would have been awkward.

Penny: Yeah...awkward is the word for it.

Eliot out of nowhere whips up two more or the glowing drinks, and hands one to Penny. This one is red and seems to have crushed candy canes around the rim.

Eliot: It is a recipe I am trying out with peppermint Schnapps. It seems festive.

Penny knew the drink wasn't actually real, but it didn't stop him from drinking it.

Eliot settled back into his seat and indicated Penny to continue.

Penny: Look. Your nerd boy has never had a good grasp at remembering to put up wards so I don't have to hear him all the time. This time I actually got sucked into his dream.

Eliot: *pretending to not be intrigued* Oh, a Q dream. What does this have to do with "charity work".

Penny: I'm getting to that. The idiot was dreaming of being a character from Love Actually and-

Eliot: Was he Sam?

Penny: Who?

Eliot: The little boy that runs through the airport.

Penny: That's freakishly accurate. Are you sure you can't read minds?

Eliot: *smiles fondly* It's just Quentin. Brave little boy that believes in love and hope? Has a good relationship with his dad? Yeah, that just screams Q.

Penny: *annoyed that he is feeling a little sad for Quentin* Yeah...so that airport scene. He dreamt it. But it didn't go so well.

Eliot: *unable to hide his intrigue* *slightly concerned* Like how not well?

Penny: Like the love of his life got on the plane before he could tell him he loved him, and he sat on the floor in a pathetic heap telling himself that he wouldn't want him anyway.

Eliot: *stands up* Shit!

Penny: Yeah, so what I need is-

Eliot: *realizes something* Wait wait wait wait wait. Did you say "he"?

Penny: Did I stutter?

Eliot: You must have heard wrong. Q is straight.

Penny stared at the well dressed man before him incredulously.

Penny: *shakes head* I don't know how the fuck you made it into Brakebills, because you are dumb as shit.

Eliot: *about to say something smarmy*

Penny: No, you listen! You've actually met him, right?! I have literally seen him drool over you AND heard his little nasty thoughts on begging you to bend him over any available surface. He is the fucking poster child for disaster bi! Have you seen him try to sit in chairs?! He can't! It's like he either has a stick up his ass or he's allergic to the floor! Come on!

Eliot: *wide eyed* *slack jawed* Repeat that about Q wanting me to "bend him over"...?!

Penny: *losing patcience * I have had to hear it too many times how the hardwood desk in your room looks sturdy and the perfect height. I've never even been in your room, dude! I know this shit though.

Eliot didn't say anything. He just felt for his chair and sat down shakily. Penny didn't let him gather his wits to possibly try and talk around this. Penny knew what he knew.

Penny: This is my good deed. If you want him as much as I think you do, then go and get him. Right now he's fucking *sad* because he doesn't think you'll ever want him like he wants you. And hey, if I'm wrong, if you are not stupidly pining over his ass, then find him someone else that he can moon over. You're his friend. Help the guy out.

When Eliot did finally find his voice, it was strangled, yet thoughtful.

Eliot: For someone that isn't his friend, you sure are play at great wingman.

Penny: *preparing to leave* Seriously, that Josh guy must have spiked my egg nog. I'm going to punch him in the stomach if I start sing carols.

Penny started walking up the beach, noticing that the air around Eliot was warmer. The party was gone, and so was the orgy. Strangely though, Eliot didn't seem so alone anymore. Just before he blipped out, Eliot ran up to him.

Eliot: Hey Penny. Since you've been drugged into charity, I think I can help you with your good deed. I need a favor though. Is it possible for you to take me into someone else's dream?

[disasterbiquentin]

For the dialogue prompts list: 'if you love me, you'll get the hell out of my kitchen'

Eliot Waugh did not learn to cook from his parents.  

For one, that would have been considered far too girly in a court of small-town-Indiana public opinion.  The only thing he and his brothers were allowed to do in the kitchen was stack up the dirty dishes, or fix the pantry shelves when they periodically collapsed.  For another, his mother was a good cook, but in an Indiana sort of way; lots of cornbread, big slabs of meat and potatoes. She didn’t know how to rise a soufflé or make delicate shrimp puffs, turn quail eggs into an entree without breaking the shells or pipe tiny, pastel coloured macaroons which would have looked at home in a Parisian window.  That was the sort of cooking Eliot liked to do, and he’d learned it in college, with the help of a lot of internet recipes and trial-and-error dinner parties for his friends from the art department.

It was part and process of what Eliot joked was actually his undergraduate thesis project; turning himself into himself.  Into the sort of person who could host dinner parties that a particularly sexually liberated French dignitary would have felt welcome at, and do it all without spilling a drop of cooking wine on his perfectly folded cravat.  By the time he graduated the arts program and received his interview at Brakebills, he was far enough through this process that he felt comfortable announcing his incredible cooking skills to the whole Physical Cottage once he was assigned there, and swiftly stole the role of overlord of all social activities at said cottage by power of his high tea parties and a rather constant flow of chocolate eclairs.  After a few months, he began mixing more cocktails than cake batters, but that was okay, because by then everyone knew exactly what sort of man he was.  It was all part of the Eliot Waugh package, and that had to be an impressive package, no matter which way you looked at it.

Quentin Coldwater learned to cook from his father, which is to say that he never learned to cook at all.

He tries, though, so very seriously, which is the most endearing thing in the world.  He tries and he genuinely doesn’t understand why his instant noodles mixed with beans doesn’t, like, blow Eliot’s mind.  The first time he tried to cook a romantic dinner for Eliot, it all ended up charred to the bottom of Eliot’s favourite frying pan, and Eliot actually left the house.  “You’re such a bitch,” Q had complained when Eliot came back with arms full of takeout instead, but he was laughing, and Eliot would have stuck to his guns regardless.

And now —

“Q, if you truly love me, you’ll get the hell out of my kitchen.”

Quentin rolls his eyes, immune as ever to Eliot’s complaining, and continues slicing cheese right onto the counter with entirely the wrong sort of knife.

“I’m serious,” Eliot plunges on.  “You even being in here will make things burn.  I still haven’t decided whether I think someone put a particularly inventive curse on you or whether you’re just that tragic, but I will not let you ruin this dinner.”

“I’m just making a grilled cheese, El.  Nothing to do with you.  I’ll be out of your hair in a second and then you can get on with your — is that blood?”

Eliot rolls his eyes. His boy is so charmingly dumb.  “It’s pomegranate juice, darling.  I’m making it into a citrus glaze to go with the — okay, listen, you’re doing that wrong.”

Quentin gives a huffy, furrowed-brow look which, on his face, could indicate either begrudging amusement or extreme irritation; only the fact that he’s turned it on Eliot suggests the former.

“Okay, to repeat myself, it’s grilled cheese, El.  I have made it a thousand times before.  I know I’m not the best chef, but, like, not even you can make grilled cheese too complicated for me.”

After at least four years of knowing each other and possibly fifty-four depending on how you look at things, Eliot thinks Quentin should have more faith in his ability to class up anything he gets his hands on by now.  “I absolutely can.  Call it a vegetarian croque monsieur; sourdough bread, a layer of bechamel sauce with garlic and bay leaves, a hint of nutmeg.  Topped with baked gruyère and a sharp white cheddar.  Fried rather than toasted, of course, just enough to make everything melt but not quite enough to char the bread.”

Quentin grumbles, “I think at that point it’s stopped being a grilled cheese and started being a way for you to jerk off over your own culinary expertise,” but he’s looking a little forlornly down at his pile of unevenly sliced yellow cheese.  

Eliot, because he is hopelessly in love, and because it has only been three months since he got to step into his own body again and make his grand declaration and then mess things up a bit more before slowly finding their way into this, a rhythm of taking-it-slow while also being very aware of just how deeply they love each other and never spending a single night apart, sighs.  He abandons his pomegranate-citrus glaze and the duck it’s going on for later, and steers Q away from the counter with both hands on his shoulders.  Q only protests a little bit as he goes.

“Just let me do it, baby.  I promise I won’t sneak in any ingredients you can’t pronounce, but I’ll at least make the cheese slices even.”

Quentin makes a few half-hearted comments about how he is, actually, a probably 24-year-old man (because with how much time they spend in different worlds, nobody’s really managed to figure out how they should keep track of birthdays anymore) and doesn’t need Eliot to do everything for him, but he takes a seat at the island even as he’s complaining, watching Eliot pick out a sharper knife and finish up what he started.  Eliot doesn’t deign to respond to Quentin’s grumbling, but he doesn’t really need to, because the knowledge hangs perfectly clear between them: Eliot likes taking care of Quentin.

Quentin doesn’t need it.  His skills in the kitchen are tragic, but he wouldn’t straight up starve without Eliot there or anything.  It’s just that.  Well.  That.  Eliot just likes taking care of him.  And it’s been a long, long time since he got to do that, so he’s making up for it now.  He doesn’t like how Quentin noticeably lost weight while the monster had Eliot, how when Eliot came back one of the first things he noticed was that Quentin was now smoking more than he ate, more of an Eliot coping mechanism than a Quentin one.  He doesn’t like how everything else about Quentin seems just a little bit damaged since El’s been back too; how he never seems to sleep more than a few hours at a time anymore, how he’s a little quieter, how it’s clearly been a long time since he had a real conversation with any of his friends.  Now that Eliot’s back and everything’s growing towards being some semblance of calm again, Q is gradually doing better, but Eliot wants to help speed that process along in any way he can.  So.  He traps Quentin in bed with his own limbs to make him sleep, and invites all their friends to hang out whenever possible, and feeds him.  A lot.  Even if all Quentin wants to eat are things so simple that Eliot’s offended by having to make them.

So.  He cuts neat slices of cheese, and makes sure the sandwich is toasted evenly in a dash of herbs, and cuts it into neat little triangles with a flourish.  He hopes Quentin hears the I love you in every action, because it’s there, it’s all Eliot’s thinking.

“Et voila,” Eliot says when he’s done, trying to cover up the fondness in his voice, and clatters the plate down in front of Quentin.  Quentin looks tired, sat at the island with his head propped up in his hands, shorter strands of hair flopping in front of his eyes, but not as tired as he did a week ago, and certainly not the week before that.  Eliot’s heart goes warm.  “One grilled cheese for your unrefined palate.”

Quentin rolls his eyes, but he leans across the island and angles his chin upwards anyway, halfway between offering and demanding a kiss.  Eliot obliges.

He lets himself sink into the kiss for just a moment.  Chaste, close-mouthed, but so sickeningly domestic that it’s almost more thrilling than the filthy kisses they shared in the darkness the night before.  Eliot’s had a lot of passion in his life before, still does, but rarely has he ever had this.  Someone to kiss over a sandwich, just for a moment.  Someone so special that you’re just glad they’re there, even if they’re serving no great purpose.  It’s warm and comforting and so, so small, but Eliot can feel the fracture lines in his weathered heart healing every time Quentin sighs a little breath onto his mouth.

He lets himself enjoy it for a couple more seconds, and then pulls away.  Picks up his pomegranate again, and then raises a pointed eyebrow when Quentin sets about to eat his sandwich right there.  

“Hi, Q?  This is nice and all, but I wasn’t joking before.  Get the hell out of my kitchen.”

[themagiciansreccenter]

Five @ Five @ceeainthereforthat

As a part of our author spotlight, we’ve asked each writer to highlight 5 fics and tell us a little about their experience writing (or reading) them.

How Easy You Are To Need by @ohmarqueliot

If he tried hard enough, he could almost pretend that he’d lost track of who’s moans belonged to whom. Almost. Before he’d fled the common room, Alice and Kady had been making out on the couch right beside him, grinding against each other, Alice’s hands gripping tightly at the back of the couch as she moved over Kady. Penny had Julia pressed up against the wall, one leg hitched over his waist and her hips rolling against his. Several others had been in various states of undress around the room, their hands and mouths and bodies all over each other, and Quentin had quickly given up trying to pry people off of each other.

Sure, I dig the sex pollen, even if it's usually pretty dubious consent-wise. But even more, I really enjoy stories that take on the aftermath of the sex pollen incident--so I'm waiting for part 2 of ohmarqueliot's story with anticipation. This story was so damn hot, and then the end of part one had me yelling.

Tomorrow Past Tonight by veganshailseitan

He places the tile with a more care than is strictly necessary –a second to compose himself before he meets Eliot’s eyes– and wonders, far from the first time since they’d gotten to Fillory six months ago, how his fingers would feel elsewhere on Quentin’s skin.

For a moment he wants to ask him… something. If Eliot feels this tension between them. If he wants to do something about it. Or maybe just do Quentin. But how do you ask out someone you live with, and work with, and eat and drink and spend all your time with?

“Thanks,” he swallows, mouth dry, breaking eye contact after what he hopes was a normal amount of time.

He tries not to think about it for the rest of the day.

Ho damn this fic. This fic is the reason why I started writing Hedonism for Beginners stories--I made the terrible mistake of reading this fic while I was stuck waiting for a flight in an airport, and there were people all around me and listen I fucked up, okay? I should have bookmarked it and come back to it later but instead I devoured the whole thing while worrying that someone could see what I was reading out in public.

But I was also in deep admiration for the craft in that story, and I was left feeling like "Why can't I do that? what am i doing with my sex scenes? How do I put both the erotic, full on horny on the scene, and keep the emotional resonance there, and how do I get explicit without being indelicate--what do I need to learn?"

Routine Maintenance by @messier51

Routine maintenance is not exactly a simple task--the mechanical parts, the spellwork, and the user all need to be balanced and attuned. Mostly, Eliot’s wings are in superb shape. Fillorian Royal couriers often carry the most precious cargo and are popular targets of bandits and thieves. Despite this, they are the most efficient and safest way to move important documents and small items around the world. So they’re well-compensated for their work.

“It looks like your scapular bearings are worn down a lot more than they ought to be, can I take a look at you?”

“Sure,” Eliot says, starting to untie his shirt. “How do you want me?”

Eliot Waugh: Flirt of the Century. Angel of the Crown. Client.

“You can leave that on for now.”

I really love this story so far. Its worldbuilding is marvelous to me, and the promise of a plotty, twisty adventure has me wishing I had all the story right now...and the UST is making me smile. If you're looking for a fic that reads like a fantasy novel that reads like fic, then this one is the story for you.

Enfleurage, by @ceeainthereforthat

"Drink it," Eliot says. "It can't go back in the bottle, can it?"

Quentin lifts the glass and lets it hover just in front of his nose. It's like perfume, a forward, complex fragrance that carries the terroir of the land the grapes bloomed and ripened in. 2009--a near perfect year for French wine, and this one a sterling example of a tiny village in his favorite region.

Eliot watches him breathing in the bouquet, waiting for him to lift the glass to his lips and drink. The smooth glass tilts, and Quentin's tasting the first notes of plum in the second before—

Oh. Oh. Quentin holds the wine in his mouth and closes his eyes as sunlight caresses his face. The wine unfurls into round, earthy tannins, soft dusty violets, the power and delicacy of grapevines that were old before he was born. He opens his eyes and Eliot's studying him, a tiny, secret smile as he reaches out and caresses Quentin's cheek.

"Thank you," he says. "That was exquisite."

Quentin swallows his wine to a rolling, prismatic finish. "You knew. You knew exactly what this bottle was worth."

"Every cent," Eliot says. "I wanted to watch you enjoy it."

"Enjoy it?" Quentin asks. "It's--sublime. I've never had anything like it."

"If you're like that with all your first times, Quentin Coldwater, I'm going to find a new one for you every week."

This is the first of my Magicians fics. It's in progress, and so far it's 70k and about 2/3rds done, and I'm hopelessly in love with it. I never planned on writing such a long story, but it is what it is, and following the characters into this timeline 41 story is wonderful.

Videotape #1, by @ceeainthereforthat

"You can say no to anything," Eliot says. "You can ask me anything you want."

Quentin pushes his hair out of his eyes. "Does the camera work?"

"Yes."

"Is there even a VHS in the cottage?"

"There is."

Quentin stares at it for a long moment. "Do you want to keep the tape?"

"Only if you'll let me."

Quentin looks over the whole scene, and his tongue darts out of his mouth to lick his lips. "What do you want me to do?"

"Whatever you want. I have an interview I'd like to do while you do it."

"Okay," Quentin says. "Yes. Yes to all of it."

This is the second of the Hedonism for Beginners series. It's partially inspired by a 30 year old movie starring James Spader called Sex, Lies, and Videotape. I thought it was just going to be the sequel and I'd be done, but in writing it, I realized that it really was going to be a series, or perhaps more accurately, a serial where Q and El explore their desires together and inevitably catch feelings. My slogan for this series is "All sex! No disasters!" so it's not going to be a twisty dramatic thing like Enfleurage, with each of the stories focusing on the sexual adventures of the characters.

[childoftimeandmagic]

I know nothing about this but would something like, "you're the only one I wanted to be with tonight" work?

@sailormoonylupin Thank you so so much for this prompt it means the world that you sent it. 

Nowhere Else 

You can also read it on my AO3 or below. 

Quentin was stressed he had five projects to get done for clients and honestly having everyone buzzing around the apartment getting ready for their housewarming party hadn’t been super conducive to that need. When Fen and Tomas’ son had broken a plate for the third time just to see Uncle Q fix it, he’d lost it a little. Grabbing his stuff he’d apologized, kissed El’s forehead and left the apartment.

“Hey Q, you in here?” El’s voice broke through his concentration just as the old book finally finished mending itself. Quentin leaned back so he could see the front entrance of his shop.

“Why aren’t you playing the gracious host?” Q asked, checking his watch and cursing. He’d been working with this single book binding for almost eight hours. “Shit I’m late aren’t I?”

“I sent everyone home after an hour and you weren’t home or answering your cell,” Eliot admitted, walking over to his flustered boyfriend.

“I thought if I got the easy projects done first, I could handle the party at least not cause you to cancel,” Quentin groaned, covering his face with his elbow and leaning further back in his chair.

“Did the easy project work out?” Eliot asked, looking at the four other project boxes looking unopened nor touched.

“I just finished it. If you’d ruined the work I’ve apparently spent the day doing by interrupting me I might have thrown it at you..” Quentin trailed off feeling horrible. Eliot had put so much time into this party and all he’d asked of his people shy partner is that he attend.

“Wow, so the book really is that stubborn,” Eliot laughed, rubbing Q’s shoulders and leaning down to place a kiss to his stressed boyfriends forehead. “That being said, you’ve been on edge since I mentioned Fen and Tomas were bring Caleb.”

“Yea cause it’s a housewarming party and no one else has children. I just don’t understand bringing your toddler to a party with only adults,” Quentin shrugged, avoiding Eliot’s eyes as he placed the finished book in it’s protective box.

Standing he walked over to the bar cart that Margo had gifted him with when he opened his shop on 79th and Park Ave: Coldwater Mendings and Rare Books. Pouring a glass of wine for Eliot and himself, he handed out the glasses.

“Are you sure that’s the reason?” Eliot asked, taking the offered glass and sitting on Quentin’s workshop table.

“What else could be the reason El?” Quentin shot back feeling defensive.

“Teddy.”

“We promised that we wouldn’t let that time line guide us, why would you bring him up Eliot?” “Because my darling Q, he was your-our son. You loved him. Now we’re faced with someone’s little boy who’s just as excitable and energetic as Teddy was at that time, and we have nothing to show of our own little one.”

“Wow. You’ve actually given this some thought haven’t you El,” Quentin said, after a beat walking into his boyfriend’s arms. His wine glass forgotten on the cart.

“Well yea, we’ve been together almost a year and we live together, and the moment that Fen sent a bunny saying Tomas and Caleb were coming, you started acting all tense and snippy,” Eliot admitted, wrapping his arms around Quentins body. Tucking Q’s head under his chin.

“Would it be awful if you were right?”

“That seeing a child not your own made it hard to be in our apartment? Absolutely. What kind of monster am I dating. Q have you told your therapist about these feelings?”

“What no!” He pulled back looking at Eliot worry in his eyes. When he was met with sparkling humor filled brown eyes.

“Hmmm why not?”

“Because they’re stupid, and Caleb is lovely. I just-” he shook his head hiding his face against Eliot’s neck.

“You miss him. You want to hold our son and proudly show him to Margo and Julia. To see if his discipline is a combination of Arielle’s and yours or something completely different…” Eliot said softly holding his boyfriend tight in his arms. As he spoke he felt and heard the quiet noises of Quentin starting to cry.

Quentin was honest, and he’d meant it when he said that he wanted this relationship to progress naturally out of the shadow of their other life. Yet, Caleb had ignited an old hole in his heart. One that he’d thought he had moved on from…healed from. Surrendering himself to Eliot’s hug he let himself break down.

Eliot was crying himself. For all his bluster and imagined lack of fatherhood, Theodore Coldwater-Waugh had been every bit his son. As the tears tracked down his cheeks dripping into Quintin’s hair he just kept rubbing Quentin’s back and whispering how proud both Quentin’s dad and their son would be of them.

“You shouldn’t have to hold his candle all alone,” Eliot murmured, pulling way to cup Quentin’s face in his hands. “He was our son. Let’s hold his candle together.”

“Oh gods, I’m such a dick. You’re right, I should have talked about it with you. Let you know how I felt. I’m sorry I missed our party.”

“Honestly I wasn’t feeling like a host so I had Margo lead them all to Elysium and just came to find you,” Eliot admitted. Kissing Quentin slowly after wiping the tears from his cheeks. Q’s lips were damp from his sobs.

“Can we go up to the roof and just watch the city?” Quentin asked, after he pulled himself from the bliss that was kissing Eliot.

“Here or at the apartment?”

“Well the apartment has all the food.”

“Good point. Let’s go.”

Eliot grabbed Q’s coat and hat as they walked towards the door of the shop. Stepping out first so Q could set the alarm system and the wards behind them. Hand in hand they walked up Park Avenue towards their apartment on . Quentin leaning into Eliot as they bobbed and weaved through the crowds on the chilly April night in NYC toward 82nd street.

As they grabbed platters and then took the secret elevator up to the rooftop terrace they had conned their magician super into giving them access to. Also having Julia flex her godhood for the good of their relationship and her friendship with Q. Leaning back on a bench looking out at the bustling city around them Eliot turned to Quentin and smiled.

“If I’m entirely honest this was so much better than any party.”

“Oh really?”

“Yea, you’re the only one I wanted to be with tonight.”

“Have I told you that you’re so flamboyantly flowery?”

“Yes you’ve mentioned it.”

“I love you Eliot.”

“I love you too Q.”

[quentinsquill]

Fic: You’re Marvelous (The Magicians)

You’re Marvelous

Author: Lexalicious70 (TheChampagneKing70)

Fandom: The Magicians (TV)

Rating: M (graphic sex)

Pairing: Quentin Coldwater/Eliot Waugh

Word Count: 2,128

Summary: Eliot makes a startling discovery about his new lover; Quentin isn’t happy with his response.

Author’s Notes: I don’t own The Magicians, they own me. This fic is for the @neitherlandslibrary Challenge: Topic/Boys, subtopic/Eliot Waugh. Comments and kudos are love! Enjoy. 

Or read it on AO3: http://archiveofourown.org/works/11999442

You’re Marvelous

By Lexalicious70 (TheChampagneKing70)

 In retrospect, Eliot realized that the worst thing he could have done was to laugh.

 But it had all been so ridiculous . . . him and Quentin making out, really making out, for the first time since they’d gotten together a month earlier, Quentin’s skin smooth under Eliot’s fingers, the younger magician muttering “Please, please,” against Eliot’s neck, his lips warm and moist with wine, and Eliot had pulled Quentin’s sweater off and then undid those shapeless jeans the kid was so fond of, and then . . .

 “Are you still up here pouting?”

 Eliot glanced up to see Margo standing in his doorway, her hands on her hips.

 “I’m not pouting! I’m—I’m assessing my situation.” He said, and Margo stepped inside.

 “Uh huh. And you’ve been ‘assessing’ for a week now.” She frowned as she kicked aside an empty merlot bottle. “For Christ Sake El . . . just go talk to him!”

 “I’ve tried!”

 “You’ve been dating a month, it’s your first argument—over something stupid, I might add—”

 “That’s what I tried to tell him!”

 Margo sighed and sat down on the bed as Eliot gave a drawn-out groan and fell back, his head in her lap. She ran her fingers through his dark curls.

 “Okay. Let’s start from the beginning. So you were making out, and . . .”

 One Week Earlier

“Eliot . . . Eliot please, please . . .” Quentin groaned against Eliot’s neck as the older magician’s long, clever fingers slid up under his sweater and teased his nipples into hardness before tugging the fraying garment off completely. Quentin’s hips lifted slightly as Eliot’s hands went to the button fly of his jeans and undid them with eagerness. Eliot could tell by Quentin’s flinching and quivering that he’d never been this far with another guy before, and he wondered fleetingly if Alice had ever given him a blow job. He worked Quentin’s jeans down over his thighs, glanced down, and burst into laughter. Quentin jerked back, his dark eyes widening in surprise.

 “What—what’s so funny?”

 “Quentin, what on earth are you wearing?” Eliot asked in between giggles, and Quentin’s cheeks flushed rose as he glanced down at his boxers. The Incredible Hulk raged across a black background, in a variety of poses.

 “Boxer shorts?”

 “There’s cartoons on them!” Eliot peered closer. “The Incredulous Hulk?”

 “It’s the Incredible Hulk! He—he’s my favorite Marvel character.”

 “And I’m marveling over the fact that you’d own these at all, much less wear them on a date!”

 “I didn’t think we—I don’t—you—” A moment later Quentin was climbing off the bed, trying to reach for his sweater and button his jeans at the same time. Eliot blinked as his body tried to reverse its blood flow from south to north.

 “Quentin! Wait, where are you going?”

 “Out. Away!” The door slammed a moment later, leaving Eliot alone on the bed.

 ______________________________________

 “God, El. You might as well have viciously embarrassed an awkward teenager at her sweet sixteen party!”  Margo sighed once Eliot was done speaking.

 “I know, all right? I—I’ve just never seen a grown man in superhero underwear before! It caught me off guard!”

 “So now he’s embarrassed and likely thinks he’s not good enough for you. What are you going to do?” She asked, and Eliot sat up.

 “I’m going to go shopping.”

“Shopping? How will that help?”

 “I don’t know if it will.” Eliot moved off the bed. “Bambi . . . will you help me?”

 Margo looked up at him, her painted nails tapping against her thigh in thought.

 “Okay.” She said at last. “But you better give me an explanation on the way!”

 __________________________________________

 “What are doing here? You made your opinion of me pretty clear the last time we were together!”

 Eliot stuck out his foot and part of one leg into the doorframe of Quentin’s room before the younger magician could slam the door in his face.

 “Quentin! Wait . . . just listen to me a minute, okay? Give me five minutes of your time, and then if you want to kick me out and never speak to me again

 (like I could ever live with that)

 I’ll understand and I’ll never bother you again!”

 Quentin glanced away, his face flushed with emotion, and then he stepped backward to wordlessly allow Eliot entrance. Eliot slipped inside and then shut the door behind him. Quentin stood there, his arms folded over his chest, not looking at him.

 “Quentin—”

 “Four minutes and thirty seconds. You better talk faster.”

 “Okay look, I realize that I may have hurt your feelings the last time we were together. I laughed at you, I may have made you feel humiliated—”

 “May have?”

 “All right, more than may have!” Eliot loosened his tie and pulled it off. “But if you think I think I’m better than you because of this—”

 “That’s exactly what I think! Because you laughed at me! Poor Q, Sad little man-child in his cartoon underwear! We don’t have anything in common, Eliot! How is this going to work if that’s the case?”

 “Maybe we don’t right now. But we could learn from each other. I can teach you about fine foods and wine and all about life’s pleasures . . .”

 Quentin closed his eyes a moment before turning to face Eliot directly.

 “And what can I teach you?” He asked.

 “Maybe how to appreciate whimsy now and again.” He unbuttoned the first few buttons of his good shirt and Quentin frowned as it revealed something underneath, a glimpse of red. He stepped forward, his curiosity tamping down his anger, and undid a few more buttons. Curiosity then shifted to awe as he unbuttoned Eliot’s shirt all the way to reveal a form-fitting Flash tee shirt. It barely covered the lower portion of Eliot’s long torso. Quentin looked up at him.

 “Eliot . . .?”

 Eliot tugged off his dress shirt the rest of the way to reveal how the undershirt hugged the contours of his biceps, lean and toned from hours of casting. As Quentin watched, unable to stop staring, Eliot tugged off his shoes, then undid and dropped his trousers to reveal that he was wearing nothing underneath but a very snug pair of matching briefs—fire-engine red banded with yellow at the top—and Quentin put a hand to his mouth. After a moment, he found his voice.

 “Eliot, are those . . .?”

 “Underoos.” Eliot nodded. “I had to go to three different stores in Manhattan to find a set that fit, but I finally got lucky at this pop culture place near Times Square. Margo helped.”

 “You—they’re—wow.” Quentin managed, then pushed his hair back with one hand. “But why?”

 “I guess to apologize? And to give you a chance to laugh at me. I know I look ridiculous, so!” He spread his long arms out. “Go ahead, Quentin. Give it your best shot.”

 “Hmmm.” Quentin’s brow furrowed and he circled Eliot with purposeful steps. “I think we have a problem though.”

 “What’s that?” Eliot asked, and Quentin completed the circle before looking up at the taller man.

 “You don’t look ridiculous at all. In fact, I think this is—it’s—it’s the hottest thing I’ve ever seen!” Quentin finally blurted out, and Eliot blinked down at him.

 “You’re serious.”

 “I’m serious.” Quentin’s hands splayed out across Eliot’s chest, his fingers tracing the outline of the lightning bolt. “And you went all over Manhattan looking for these just for me?”

 “I did.” Eliot nodded, gasping a little as Quentin’s finger found a nipple through the cotton material and rolled it between his thumb and forefinger. “I wanted to offer a gesture of apology—God, Q.” Eliot groaned softly, and Quentin stepped closer.

 “You’re forgiven.” He murmured, and Eliot shivered as Quentin’s tongue and teeth started to worry and lick his nipple through the thin material. The sensations shot straight to Eliot’s cock, which started to stir and twitch. Eliot stroked Quentin’s hair, pushing back the long, tawny brown tresses, the long muscles in his inner thighs quivering as Quentin’s right hand slid down to cup his growing erection.

 “Bed.” Eliot managed to say, and a moment later they were falling across the mattress. Quentin tugged off his sweater, getting momentarily tangled in his excitement before tossing it over his shoulder and throwing a leg over Eliot’s lean thighs until their groins touched. Eliot stared up at his lover.

 “So. What are you wearing under those old jeans?” He grinned, and Quentin leaned over to whisper in Eliot’s ear.

 “I bought something for you, too.” He undid his jeans and slid them down to reveal a new pair of silk boxer briefs—dark blue with small white pinpoints. Eliot reached out to skate his fingers across the fine material.

 “Are those—?”

 “Calvin Klein.” Quentin nodded. “They cost forty dollars.”

 Eliot grinned and tugged Quentin down for a kiss as Quentin squirmed out his jeans the rest of the way. Once they were out of the way, Quentin positioned himself so their groins touched and then began to rock and shift against Eliot’s erection. Eliot moaned, the sensations so delicious they made tingles race up his spine and spread out across his body until his nipples peaked and his throat worked. Quentin pulled his legs up under him and braced his hands against Eliot’s shoulders so he could lean over to kiss him while he bobbed and rubbed, and Eliot finally whimpered against his lips.

 “Please, Q!”

 Quentin pulled back, grinning, and slid his fingers under Eliot’s tight tee, tugging upward and off.

 “Let’s hope the fastest man alive isn’t too fast!” He teased before crawling backwards. Eliot watched, then his back arched in pleasure as Quentin breathed against his erection before nuzzling and kissing it through the material. It was the first time his lover had ever made contact with his cock and Eliot’s head spun with sensation and happiness. He spread his thighs and Quentin slid both hands under Eliot’s ass, squeezing and lifting him into wet, smacking kisses until the surface of the briefs were wet with both saliva and Eliot’s precum.

 “Fuck!” Eliot groaned, and Quentin pulled back long enough to skim off the briefs and his own boxers. He wrapped his right hand in the red briefs and his left hand in the silk boxer briefs, and Eliot watched, breathing hard, his amber eyes wide, as Quentin started to jerk him off with the silk briefs while he jacked his own erection with the cotton ones. Eliot trembled and reached down to cover Quentin’s hand with his own, guiding him as the invisible string of climax began to tighten in his groin and vibrate in his lower belly. “That’s it, Q . . . fuck, yes . . . make me come!” He moaned, and Quentin matched those strokes with his own.

 “So good, El. So good, getting close . . .” Quentin’s dark eyes gleamed and then he leaned back, his long lashes sweeping down as his chin tilted upward, exposing his pale throat. “Oh . . . God!” He choked out as he came, and the sight of him coming all over the briefs and his own hand was too much for Eliot. He shuddered and spurted against Quentin’s pumping hand, soaking it and the silk boxer briefs. The pulses threatened to tilt Eliot off the edge of the world and he gave a wavering cry before they finally subsided. His lean frame flushed and he sighed at the resulting warm as his muscles finally relaxed. A moment later Quentin thumped down beside him, also flushed and grinning.

 “Wow.” He sighed, dropping the underwear to the floor, and Eliot slipped an arm around him.

 “Wow is right.”

 Silence spun out for a few minutes and then Quentin spoke up quietly.

 “Do you know why I wear superhero underwear?”

 Eliot stroked his hair.

 “Tell me.”

 “I don’t feel strong a lot of the time, El. Even as a magician. I wasn’t born with much emotional armor at all. Wearing the underwear . . . it makes me feel—well—a little more protected. It’s a reminder that a lot of superheroes don’t look tough on the outside . . . that it’s what underneath that makes them strong.”

 “Oh Q.” Eliot turned and kissed his temple. “You’re stronger than you think! But I understand. And I am truly sorry I laughed at them.”

 “It’s okay.” Quentin raised his head. “Just do me one favor?”

 “Anything.”

 “Take me shopping at that store in Manhattan?”

 Eliot grinned and pulled his lover close.

 “It’d be my pleasure, Q.”

 Fin

[ratcarneymain]

Summer Break(bills)

Welters Challenge Submission!! 

Words: 1665

Summary: Eliot convinces Margo to stay with him at Brakebills for the summer vacation between first and second year. Margo tries to control her feelings for him, but a sudden blackout offers her a chance to act on them.

NOTE: I don’t ship them, I just enjoy writing Margo suffering over Eliot. Plus, we all know that this probably happened.

"I have literally no desire to live. That's how bored I am." Margo exhaled dramatically. "I can't believe I was persuaded to stay here with you all summer." She glared at Eliot. "We could have done something fun, but nooo--" "I just had to ruin everyone's summer and insist that my best friend stay with me during the break." Eliot smirked. "You're welcome, by the way." He took a drag on his cigarette so that grey swirls of smoke spilled from his lips with every word. He held his hand up and rubbed the tips of his index finger and thumb together. "Do you know what this is." He never truly seemed to raise the pitch of his voice to signify a question. Margo pressed her lips together to avoid laughing. "A tiny, tiny violin playing a sad song." Despite her effort, a laugh bubbled up around her words anyway. "Just for me."

"That's right." Eliot offered her his signature crooked grin. He had changed over the course of their first year, Margo observed. Grown into himself a little. He had gotten pretty fit, too--he was too thin before. Now it almost looked like there was more than just skin and bones on his frame. She pursed her lips. She had always had a bit of a crush on the tall boy, but now it was blossoming into something more intense. And it wasn't the kind of intense that she was used to. Margo didn't just want to fuck him, no. She wanted to love him. "I'm gasping." Margo groaned breathily, pushing down her thoughts. "Is there anything to drink?" Eliot laughed. "With me, there always is." He stood and stretched, almost touching the ceiling. Margo watched as he threw his head back to stretch his long neck and strode to the kitchen. "Merlot or Sauvignon?" He called. Margo smiled slyly. "Cocktail." She licked her lips, watching as Eliot sighed exasperatedly. He had already opened the wine cabinet, and seemed very annoyed at having to close it. "You drive a hard bargain, Margo Hanson." He snickered and made his way to the bar. "Like you would know about hard bargains, Eliot Waugh." She teased. "Mr. I'll-give-anyone-a-blowjob-for-exam-answers." "That was twice, and we passed, didn't we?" He made his voice high-pitched to imitate Margo. "Thanks, Eliot, for sucking some dick so that I can stay at the special magic school!" Eliot lowered his voice and glared at Margo. "You never did thank me, princess." Margo laughed. "Thanks, Eliot, for sucking some dick so that I can stay at the special magic school." She stood to rest her elbows on the bar. "And you know very well that I'm no princess." "My apologies, Queen Margo The Destroyer." Eliot dipped his head in a theatrical show of mock respect. "That's better." She laughed. Yes, alright, she had been kind of a bitch about having to stay with Eliot during the summer, but if the whole summer could be like this, she would be happy. And the whole summer was almost like that. Almost. They had been drinking, and the familiar heat of tipsiness washed over Margo like a lukewarm wave. She and Eliot were playing Push, a card game that was quite popular at Brakebills. Like all magician games (see Welters for example), it was hellishly complex, and drinking didn't help either of them comprehend the rules. The only people who knew the game well enough to win were the Finns, or fifth years, and that was only because they had been at it for five long years. "Wait, do I throw the card into the hat before or after reciting the suit and number in Old Church Slavonic?" Eliot furrowed his brow in confusion, the hand not holding a bottle of wine gravitating to his forehead to brush his dark curls out of his eyes. "Um." Margo tipped the contents of the wine bottle she held into her mouth. The alcohol felt good going down her throat, dulling her senses and ensuring that a warm, leafy branch of good feeling sprouted in her chest. "I dunno." "Well." Eliot announced. "We tried." He set his cards down, evidently uninterested in pursuing the game any further. Margo sighed contentedly, curling up on the couch next to him. "What time is it." She murmured. Eliot checked his watch. "8:45." He smiled. "The night is still young, my dear." "Let's watch a movie." Margo said. Eliot pursed his lips. "Sure. Why not. What movie?" Margo thought for a second. Maybe it was because of her intoxication, and maybe it was because Eliot was so damn distracting, but she said the first movie that popped into her head. "Bambi." She blurted. "Never took you for a Disney girl." Eliot smirked. "But Bambi it is." He got up and crossed to the shelf, picking out a movie with a big-eyed-deer on it. Popping it in the DVD player, he went back to Margo and allowed her to lay her head on his lap. Everything was going great. The deer were cute, the forest animals were chirpy, and the animation was subpar. Margo hadn't seen this movie in quite a long time, but a big warning sign flashed in her head. She knew what was coming next. She squeezed her eyes shut and held on to Eliot until the shot passed. "Someone's tense." Eliot observed. "What, did you have a particularly strong attachment to Bambi's mom that I didn't catch?" "Shut it, asshole." Margo smiled, slightly embarrassed at revealing her sensitivity. "She was a great mom." Eliot chuckled lightly, smiling down at Margo with his odd, twisted smile. "If you say so." They watched the rest of the movie in silence, each taking in the bright colors and choppy animations at their own paces. It wasn't an aesthetically pleasing movie, but it was relatively light and not very intellectually challenging. They enjoyed it. Once the credits rolled, Margo sat up. "What now?" She asked. Eliot opened his mouth to speak, but before he could say anything, the lights flickered and went out. Margo felt her hands grip the fabric of Eliot's dress shirt. He looked up nonchalantly. "Summer blackout." He assessed. "Nothing to freak out about, Bambi." He used the new nickname cautiously, with a hint of amusement chasing his words. Margo's hands relaxed so that they rested on Eliot's chest. "I hope that's not gonna stick." She snickered, but secretly, she hoped it did. They sat in the darkness for a while, each enjoying the silence of each other's company the way good friends do when they have surpassed the level of mere comfort and are venturing in near-familial territory. Not that that would stop Margo, of course. She was still in love with Eliot, but she felt like if she acted upon it, then everything would be fine the next day. Isn't that the dream. "Truth or dare." She said before she could stop herself. She couldn't see him that well, but Margo could tell that Eliot was rolling his eyes. "What are you, twelve?" He snickered. "Truth or dare, Eliot." Margo insisted. Hell, it's not like she could take it back. "Dare." Eliot stated clearly. Now was her chance. Margo inhaled slowly. "Kiss me." She murmured, moving closer to him. "You're drunk." Eliot narrowed his eyes. "So are you." Margo replied without missing a beat. "C'mon, El. Don't be a pussy." There was a pause. Margo was ready to give him a more appropriate dare when she felt soft lips crash into hers. Eliot cradled her jaw in his hands, carefully placing his thumbs on the apples of her warm cheeks. She had fantasized about this, sure, but she never knew that a gay guy would kiss so well. He pulled her close, and in that moment, she could forget that her love for him was unrequited. Margo's hands traveled the length of his collarbone, gently ghosting around his fragile neck. In return, he stroked her cheek with his thumb and lowered his other hand to firmly grasp her shoulder. His hands were cold despite the summer heat, and they sent a slight chill down her spine. It could have lasted seconds and it could have lasted years, but whatever it was was sweet and fiery and hot and passionate, passionate red. His lips were surprisingly soft and guaranteed to be smudged with her lipstick by the time they were done. At first it was just a kiss, but Margo parted her lips to allow Eliot's tongue to explore the inside of her mouth. He was uncharacteristically cautious, as if Margo was a glass figurine that he would break if he pressed her too hard or held her too carelessly. He held her close, so close that her breasts brushed his chest, so close that their hearts beat in unison, so close that each breath they took was synchronized. Finally, he pulled away, dropping his hands just as the light snapped back on, and the spell was broken. Margo panted softly, gazing at Eliot. He looked dazed and confused. he brought his fingers to his mouth to brush them against his lips, as if making sure that what just happened was actually real. Margo coughed, trying to play down her embarrassment. "What, I couldn't have been your first." She teased, tapping his nose playfully. "Well," He cleared his throat. "You were my first girl." His cheeks reddened, as if he were confessing something big. Margo laughed before she could stop herself. "How appropriate." She giggled. "You're my first gay." Eliot cupped Margo's cheek in his hand. "Never change, Bambi." He pressed one final kiss to her nose and smiled his signature crooked smirk.