#and inch or so in the wrong direction and say goodbye to hiccup

[ashleybenlove]

Did... Spitelout tell Stoick that Hiccup almost got brained by that harpoon?

That came far too close for comfort.

[hopelesshunny]

the love languages part ii: physical touch (f.w.)

pairing: fred weasley x fem!reader

summary: fred has always felt the need to touch y/n and after a drunken night he realizes he can't sleep without her.

warnings: very, very light profanity, drinking/underage drinking, kissing, bed sharing.

word count: 2.4k

a/n: my second instalment is here - i did in fact say i would wait until monday but i was really excited to write this one!! i am so grateful for all the love i have received on this series so far, i cannot thank you guys enough. i still feel like i have a ways to go in improving my writing - but as always my ask is open if you have comments, questions, concerns, luv or just wanna chat:)

*all photos are from pinterest*

series masterlist // part i // part iii // part iv

For as long as Y/N had known Fred he had always been touchy. Fred’s need to constantly touch her was never unwelcomed, she relished in the way he’d wrap an arm around her shoulders when he’d walk her to class or how he’d lean into her when he laughed uncontrollably. However, she had always assumed that he was like this with everyone he was friends with, that he just needed to touch people in some way in order to feel close to them. This was very true but Y/N never knew that it was her touch that he craved the most, that as soon as he saw her, he longed to feel the soft skin of her cheek, the way her shoulders shook when she laughed or the rise and fall of her chest while he laid on her stomach in the common room, gentle sighs leaving her mouth every so often.

Fred couldn’t count on two hands the amount of times he almost told Y/N his feelings for her, the words sat on his tongue so often that he was starting to believe that they felt more comfortable in his mouth which is why they never launched themselves into the air. He didn’t know why he couldn’t force the confession out, there was always just a cloud of doubt and fear that swarmed his mind whenever the thought presented itself. But alas, here he was sitting across from her watching her flip her hair over her shoulder and let out a light laugh as she found whatever George was saying quite amusing.

“Y/N! You have to come, you literally can’t miss a party like this!” George practically shouted, a shocked look on his face.

“I’m so behind on my studies.” Y/N started, resting her chin on her hands. “I’ll be practically chained to the library all weekend as is, I can’t go to a party.”

“Y-You’re not coming tonight?” Fred questioned, his eyes hopeful as if he had heard the conversation wrong.

“Sorry Freddie.” She pouted. “You can tell me all about it at breakfast tomorrow.” At that Fred reached across the table to run his finger across her knuckles, relishing in the way her skin felt under his calloused fingertip, he couldn’t help but let his mind wander to how they would feel against his lips. However, he was pulled out of his daydream by the sound of George making gagging noises to the side of him as Y/N giggled.

“In that case I’ll have to drink a little extra.” He threw a wink her way. “To make sure I don’t bore you back to sleep tomorrow morning.”

“You never bore me, Trouble.” She smiled before saying her goodbyes to the rest of the table and making her way to the library. The nickname brought a gentle smile to his face, it was the first thing she’d ever called him. During her first year Y/N had been studying in the common room when the twins busteled in, laughing and hollering about another successful prank. When she asked what they were so excited about, the two boys were more than happy to explain, Fred wildly acting out the look on Snape’s face before George asked her name and introduced himself in response. Before Fred even had the chance to open his mouth to follow suit she stopped him.

“You sound like trouble, that’s what I’ll call you.”

George laughed at his twins new-found nickname but it made Fred’s heart swell - the fact that she had specifically given him a special name, the smile on her face when she said it and the way she never left their side since that day, produced a swarm of butterflies in his stomach. Now, here he was, years later, with the same girl, same nickname, same smile and the same butterflies.

Fred kept his promise to Y/N, he was drunk, very, very drunk. He stumbled through the Gryffindor common room, his feet feeling like they were trying to carry him off in different directions until he finally found an armchair to ground himself with. Plopping himself down into the chair he looked out into the crowd of people, some laughing others whispering, couples hanging off each other, it made him miss Y/N. If she was here she’d be sitting next to him, his arm slung around her shoulder as she giggled over the way he slurred his words and she’d always made sure he got to bed safely before finding her way to her own room. Fred groaned as George sat in the chair across from him, pushing a glass of water towards him, causing his twin to chuckle at his annoyed state.

“At least you’ll have something funny to tell Y/N in the morning.” He laughed. “Tell her all about how your drunk ass could barely walk straight.” Fred leaned his head back on his neck.

“I should go see her.” He spoke quietly, just loud enough to convince himself of the idea but hopefully not loud enough for George to hear. He knew that his drunken state failed him however, when his brother quirked an eyebrow at him.

“And do what? Spill your guts?” George chuckled. “Either by finally telling her you’re bloody in love with her or literally?” This earned another groan from Fred as he shot daggers at him.

“That’s it.” Fred started, chugging the glass of water that was placed in front of him. “I’m going.”

“Best of luck mate.” George spoke as he watched Fred stumble his way through the crowd.

“Where’s he going?” Ron asked, suddenly appearing by his brother's side.

“On a death mission.” George responded.

Fred let out a sigh of relief when he finally made his way out of the common room and began the trek towards her dorm room. But his mind was running rampant, what if George was right? What if he was just better off going to bed? Maybe she wouldn’t want to see him, she was probably tired from studying all night and the last thing she wanted was him keeping her up. But despite his doubts his feet still carried him towards her, the walk was sobering, which he would need if he planned on getting a coherent sentence out when he finally made his way to her.

“Y/N?” He called softly when he opened her room door, trying his very best to keep quiet to not wake her roommates. He recognized her frame immediately, bundled under bed sheets, her hair messy and lips slightly parted. He stood over her, watching the way her chest rose and fell as soft breathes left her mouth. “Y/N.” He spoke again, shoving his hands in his pockets, fearing her reaction to his sudden visit. Her eyes shot open but when they found his, her face softened, a small smile forming.

“You scared me, Trouble.” She laughed lightly. “Are you okay?” She asked, the concern that laced her voice made him have to restrain from kissing every square inch of her face.

“I’m okay, just a little drunk.” He hiccuped, his response earning a bright smile from her as she scooted to the side and patted the bed, signially for him to sit next to her. He graciously accepted her offer, his hand immediately finding her knee, needing to touch her. She leaned into his touch as he slurred on about how Ron tried to flirt with Hermione but failed miserably and how red Harry turned when George dared him to kiss Ginny. Neither of them could remember falling asleep, they were too caught up in each other's whispered stories and soft giggles.

When Fred woke the next morning, his head pounding, his legs feeling as if they had carried him across the entire country, he looked down to find his best friend fast asleep on his chest. Y/N’s arms were wrapped tightly around his middle with his hand tangled in her hair as she shifted slightly on top of him. He felt like he should panic and apologize for last night’s antics but she looked so peaceful and he was so close to her that he couldn’t bring himself to worry about barging into her room at who knows what time.

“Mornin’ Trouble.” She spoke, her voice groggy and flooded with sleep. “How are you feeling?” She asked genuinely, pulling herself from his embrace to stretch her arms above her head, making him curse himself for ever moving and waking her.

“I’ve been much better.” He groaned, sliding his hands down his face. “Guess I don’t have to fill you in on last night's events at breakfast anymore.”

“No, you did a sufficient job of that last night.” She giggled. “But we can still go to breakfast, you need to eat something.” Y/N pulled him out of her bed, still fully clothed in what he was wearing the night before.

He grumbled his way through breakfast as George and Ron cracked jokes about how drunk and lovesick he was, Fred throwing warning looks their way as Y/N laughed seeming unbothered by the way they were pulling her into they’re jokes, taking it all as a way to poke fun at Fred. But his head was still swimming, the feeling of her weight on top of him and her hands pressed against his chest, all he wanted was to be back in that position again. He couldn’t get it out of his head for the rest of the day and no matter how many times he attempted to distract himself from her that night as he lied in bed his mind kept travelling back to Y/N. He lay awake staring at the ceiling thinking about how empty his arms felt without her in them - she was addicting, he had always known that, since the moment he met her he had not been able to pull himself away from her. But now he was in too deep, he needed to be there with her.

So, here he was, in his pyjamas, on his way to her dorm room once again, all shame and guilt left long behind, just needing to be near her. Fred padded into her room, his hands rooted in his pockets once again, fully expecting to have to wake her just as he did the night before. But she was wide awake, sitting on her bed, a novel clasped in her fingers, a smile forming on her face when he came into her line of vision.

“Did you miss me?” She teased, as he ran a hand through his hair, rocking on his heels.

“Can’t sleep.” He mumbled. “Was wondering if you were still up.” He said, offering her a grin.

“Well then Trouble, you’re in luck.” She smirked, moving to allow space for him to lie next to her. Fred laid his head in her lap as she turned her attention back to the book in her hand while the other snaked its way into his hair. All the trouble sleeping that had been previously plaguing him melted away with her nails lightly scratching his scalp.

Over the course of the next week Fred and Y/N fell into this routine, he would lay away in his bed before eventually giving into the knowledge that he could not sleep without her any longer before he would make his way to her room, crawl into bed beside her and fall into the soundest sleep that has ever graced him. In the beginning, he was apprehensive, worried that she would reject him at some point and tell him that she wanted to sleep alone. But she never did, every night she shot him a warm smile and opened her arms to him. As the week went on his worries morphed themselves into something new however, he was no longer concerned about her rejecting his company but that she would instead reject his feelings for her. That she would eventually realize that he was in love with her and tell him that she never felt that way about him and was just trying to be a good friend.

“I don’t think I can sleep without you anymore.” Fred spoke into the darkness of the room, his voice audibly shaking, the silence that filled the space causing his stomach to turn.

“Mhmm.” Y/N started, tightening her grasp on him. “I can’t complain, you’re a great pillow.” He let out a light laugh, rubbing small circles in her back.

“It’s true.” He spoke, more seriously. “I haven’t been able to sleep at all lately, but as soon as I get into your bed, I’m out.” She sighed. “They must have better beds in the girls dorms.” He added, which earned a giggle from her.

“I don’t know about the quality of the beds, maybe it’s who's in it.” She spoke, her voice quiet as she bit her lip now regretting her sudden burst of confidence. Fred was silent for a moment before he spoke, a deep breath filling his lungs before he had the nerve to confess to her.

“I always thought that the reason I always had to touch you was because I liked to feel close to people. But it’s different with you.” He shifted to look at her. “I need to touch you, need to feel your skin. Fuck Y/N, I just want to hold your hand in front of everybody and kiss you in between classes and fall asleep next to you every night.” He searched her face looking for any sense of emotion but all he could find was her typical soft smile. “It’s just that I-I-” He started.

“I love you too Fred.” She cut him off, placing her palm against his cheek, he turned into her touch despite the shock that was lacing his features.

“You what?” He said, a giggle falling from her mouth as she clasped her hand over her mouth in an attempt to save him some pride.

“The first night you came to my room, after you left the party, you kept saying you loved me in your sleep.” He groaned at her confession. “I was worried it was just drunk babbles but-”

“But I do love you.” He finished. “I’ve loved you for years.”

“I love you too, Trouble.” She giggled, placing a long awaited kiss to his lips.

taglist (join here!!)

@onlyfreds @fandomhideout @lilypad-55449 @youngblood199456 @thanxxskz

[carolinaflicker]

still - sam winchester

pairings: sam winchester x reader, sam winchester x eileen leahy

summary: when eileen leahy walks into the winchesters’ lives and steals the younger brother’s heart, how is his girlfriend going to handle this new development?

warnings: angst. like so much angst. swearing, broken hearted reader, mentions of cheating, sam being a dumbass, eileen hate (I’M SORRY)

word count: 1,320

a/n: this is based off of the song still by niall horan!! i haven’t been able to get this concept out of my head. also lmao see if you can count how many 1d mentions i crammed in here

Sam stood still in the middle of his bedroom. The heat of the room seemed to increase with every moment passing by, correlating with the tension rising.

The woman in front of him was silent, yet the tears falling down her cheeks were betraying the secret of her emotions. She seemed to be foraging for words as her eyes stayed focused on the corner of the bedsheet.

“What was it?” Her broken voice filled the room.

Sam cleared his throat, “What was what?”

She paused for a moment. She kept her body still; her left arm remained slung across her body as her right hand held loosely onto her right cheek. Some hair fell from her untidy updo and framed her face as she began speaking.

“Whatever it was that made you choose her. There must’ve been something, right?”

Sam’s eyes flitted immediately to her face, shocked at the insecurity of the usually confident woman in front of him.

“Hey, hey. There was nothing, Y/N. Please believe me. You have to.” He crossed the room quickly and reached down to hold onto her arms, attempting to make her meet his gaze.

“Nothing?” Y/N’s face had filled with anger as she finally brought her focus up to his face, “How could it have been nothing? You chose her.”

“Sweetheart, please listen. Eileen-“

“Don’t say her name.” His once beloved kept her gaze locked onto his as she ripped her arms out of his grasp.

Sam’s expression turned crestfallen as he shifted slightly, “It’s complicated.”

“It’s complicated?” Y/N scoffed in disbelief, evidently irate. “I gave you 5 years of my life and she walked in two months ago. It was clearly an easy decision for you.”

Instead of answering, Sam looked to the floor, dismissing the topic entirely. Y/N noted the classic Winchester tactic.

“I hate seeing us like this. Seeing us broken up.”

Without permission, the flood of tears welled in Y/N’s eyes again as she choked on air, struggling to keep her composure with every fleeting minute. This wasn’t the Sam she had fallen in love with. She realised the man standing in front of her was a stranger.

“You did this to us, Sam. To me.” She could see him receding back into himself, unable to face the truth of his transgressions.

She continued, “Do you know how hard it is to watch it? To watch her wearing your shirts, walking around the bunker like she owns it? To see her sit in your lap as you read in the library? She took everything from me. And you let her.”

The look that Sam directed her way almost sent shockwaves through her body, but it only served as purpose for her anger to rise.

“What? Can’t handle the truth, Sammy? I know you think I have no reason to hate her cause she’s done ‘nothing’ wrong but, fuck, do I wish she were dead.” Y/N knew her words were harsh, however she had no intention of taking them back.

It was Sam’s turn to scoff. His hand reached to the slight scruff growing on his face, rubbing it in exhaustion. His steps fell heavy on the hardwood floor as he turned to take a seat on the end of the bed.

The two remained in uncomfortable silence for what felt like a lifetime. It was a strange feeling for her, to stand in unbreakable tension with the one man she had trusted everything with. She had never failed to speak her mind around him, yet here she stood speechless.

“I’m gonna ask you a question.” The sudden statement gained Sam’s attention, “You’re gonna answer me honestly.”

“Okay.” It was all he could say.

“Did you, um,” Y/N swallowed thickly, “Did you ever see her when we were still together?”

A beat.

“Don’t make me answer that.”

Y/N’s heart fell to the bottom of her stomach. The lunch that Dean had forced her to eat earlier threatened to rise to the top of her throat as she clenched her eyes shut and raised her hand to her mouth, breaking into silent sobs.

He let her cry in front of him as tears of his own spilled down his face, yet his expression remained as stoic as it could. The heaving from her chest grew louder and louder and Sam was sure it could be heard through the whole bunker.

Y/N hiccuped slightly and spoke as coherently as possible through her broken sobs, “You know, you were the first guy I ever met that didn’t turn on the charm for everybody else. I had so much pride knowing that only I got to see that side of you.”

“Things change, the night changes. I guess we lost it.” Sam didn’t even recognise the words coming out of his own mouth. Despite being the truth, he could never have imagined speaking to Y/N this way. He couldn’t seem to stop.

“Lost what, the spark? I’m sorry I didn’t manage to give you the honeymoon phase for half of a decade, Sam.” She rubbed at her stinging eyes.

“I love her.”

“No you don’t.”

He looked at her for the first time in 15 minutes as he gaped like a fish out of water, unable to process what he heard.

“It’s not real. I know your love isn’t real.” She seemed to drain with every sentence she spoke, “Maybe I should go out there and warn her. I’m never gonna be her friend but nobody deserves to be treated like shit by you again.”

“How can you say that? I loved you.” Sam seemed to be at his breaking point; his hair stuck in wild directions from where he had been pulling it in stress, his eyes were bloodshot and wide, and his clothes were a mess.

Y/N had become quiet and she sunk into the desk chair to the right of her old bed. She was whispering now, only releasing crackles of her voice.

“Did you, Sam? You know, I’ll be the first to admit that I’m reckless. I’m not stupid.” She ran both her hands up her cheeks and into her hair, “God, I can’t believe I let you use me for so long.”

“I never meant to hurt you.”

“But you did.” Y/N stood again, not sure of how to conduct any of her movements. She was on edge and uneasy, a stark difference to the comfortability she usually found in Sam.

“I’m standing here with you just trying to be honest. Why can’t you do the same?” She thought he at least owed her that much.

“I am! I don’t love you anymore.” Sam’s voice raised significantly higher as he now towered above her, shaking in exasperation. He noticed that she flinched when his tall frame rose and involuntarily took a large step back.

“I know, I know.” Y/N hugged her own body, exhaling harshly through her mouth, “But... I still love you. So please, just lie to me. Tell me you want me. Say it one more time.”

“I can’t.”

She already knew he couldn’t say it. She already knew that when they left this room, she was going to pack up and leave. It would break her heart, and would definitely break Dean and Cas’ too, but Y/N knew that she couldn’t handle 5 more minutes of Eileen draping herself across her ex-boyfriend.

It was a sad reality; sad that her life had come to this, sad that she had to leave it all behind, and even sadder that Sam wouldn’t miss her at all.

“It’ll be alright.” Sam mumbled.

Y/N’s eyes narrowed at him and she turned her body fully to reach the door handle. She glanced back over her shoulder and took one last look at him. She scanned up and down, remembering the nights she spent tracing every inch of his body, washing away his insecurities.

Looking into his eyes, she took a breath.

“Goodbye, Sam.”

[sadlittlenerdking]

These Goodbyes (Dance Like Fire)

The Magicians

Word count: 3.5k

Summary: 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.

“I, uh. I’m sorry I’m not very emotional.” Eliot reaches up, absentmindedly tugging at the pink bottle on the chain around his neck. It’s warm against his chest, against his fingertips. “I didn’t think I’d be able to handle coming here without my bottling them.” He looks down at the flowers at the base of the grave stone. “I woke up a few weeks ago. I’m sorry I didn’t come sooner. I was . . . I did not take the news well.”

His back is sore, pressed up against cold stone. No—wood. Cold wood. Barely blinking into consciousness when he hears Margo’s desperate inhale, and feels her hands sliding up against his shoulder, squeezing like she can’t believe he’s real. He opens his eyes, blinks blearily up at her, “Margo?” He asks, “What—“

She shakes her head, chin trembling, before she leans down and pulls him into a bone crushing hug, burying her face in his aching chest. Slowly, with lead heavy arms, he reaches around to hug her back. One of his hands comes up to wrap around the back of her neck, as something warm seeps through his shirt. He looks behind her—see’s Penny, Kady and Josh all staring at him with wide eyes and slack jaws. He furrows his brow.

“What happened?” He asks, voice hoarse and scratchy.

Margo hiccups, before pulling away to look down at him. The others all look away, like they don’t know what to say—or how to tell him something. Margo stares down at him with a pinched brow and a clenched jaw, as she brings one hand up to stroke his cheek. “So much,” She says. “But you’re back.”

He lets go of the bottle, feels the pressure of it back against his sternum, and moves to set down the bundle of roses beside the lilacs and daisies on the gravestone. One of his knees hits the ground as he kneels there, and his free hand goes out to trace the looping Q on the face of the stone.

“I spent the first week trying to find a way to get you back.” His hand slides down the face of the stone, until his fingers dig gently into the wet grass at the base of it. “But you weren’t in the underworld. You moved on.”

He sits up, Margo carefully holding onto his arm to keep him stable. His whole body aches, like he’s been beaten within an inch of his life. He blinks heavily, one hand coming up to press against his temple. His head is sore--like he’s hungover from a three week long bender.

He looks around the room, vision only slightly blurry, and takes in his surroundings. He doesn’t recognize the room--or, the apartment? But, it’s a mess--broken wood and glass litter the floors. There’s a door between two rooms, hanging off the hinges, swinging slightly. A soft squeaking that echoes in the virtually silent room. Kady moves forward then, kneeling on broken glass and pressing a hand to his other temple.

His headache fades after a moment, and she lets go, sitting back on his haunches as his vision clears. “You had us worried for a minute there,” Penny says, as he clears the distance between them in three short strides. “Welcome back.”

Eliot blinks. “Back?” He asks, looking at each of them individually. “From where?”

“Not so much as from where,” Josh says, moving to stand next to Penny. “Actually, I don’t even know how to explain it.”

Eliot’s gaze darts back to Margo, but she’s looking down at the space between them. Her grip tightens on his arm, almost worryingly so. He opens his mouth to ask her what’s wrong, but Kady shifts, moving to sit on the remnants of a chair.

“You were possessed by the monster,” She mutters. His gaze snaps up to her as she runs a hand through her hair shakily. “For about eight months.”

His heart stops for a fraction of a second. “The--”

“Yeah. That monster.”

“But--how--” He stops, shaking his head, “That doesn’t make sense. We were just--”

“At least he doesn’t remember,” Penny says. “That makes it easier, doesn't it? He can’t blame himself if he can’t remember.”

Margo scoffs. “Yeah--if you’d killed Kady while possessed by the monster would you feel any less guilty just because you can’t remember it?”

Something about her tone--choked off and violent--has Eliot’s gaze slowly sliding back over to her. There’s an implication he’s not getting. Something cold behind her words that he’s too tired to understand.

“What did I do?” He asks, quiet, furrowing his brow. Margo refuses to look at him, gaze deadlocked on Kady, so he carefully turns to look at the others. Kady looks away, clenching her jaw. Penny looks down at the ground and licks his lips.

Josh takes a deep breath as Eliot’s gaze settles on him. “Oh come on,” He says, “I am not going to be the one to tell him!”

“Tell me what?” He frowns, twists his neck. Where are the others? Blinking, he shifts back around and looks at Josh again. “Where’s everyone else?” Josh shifts awkwardly, opening and closing his mouth. “Julia? Alice? . . . Quentin?”

Somehow it’s saying his name that starts to put things into perspective, and his gaze slams back over to Penny. “Where’s Quentin?” He asks, harder. He tries to move, but his ribs ache, and his stomach screams where all the muscles stretch and pull in agonizingly separate directions.

“Julia reached out to her god friends--none of them could find your soul. Nobody knew where you went. For a few days I thought that you . . . just moved on. That you didn’t want to wait for me, because of what I did to you. But then Iris told us what she thought happened.” He shifts as the knees of his pants grow damp, and opts to just sit on the plot of grass.

He moves until he’s sitting with his legs crossed, tilting his head down at the stone. His hands fall to his lap. “It bleeped you out of existence, Q. You didn’t move on. You died. In every way imaginable.”

Nodding to himself, he leans forward and plucks at the grass in front of him. “That’s when I finally broke. I was--operating on a body falling apart because of everything the monster did to it. I was exhausted, and dehydrated. Just--completely gone. But not like you were. I guess I fainted in the living room, and Margo found me. She put me on bed rest.”

He yanks a blade of grass out of the ground, and stares down at it for a beat, before continuing. “And then . . . I just refused to get out of bed entirely.”

“Margo?”

She heaves in a breath, but shakes her head. “I can’t.” She breathes, glancing up at him from beneath her eyelashes. “I can’t, El.”

Eliot stares down at her, confused, until her hears a defeated sigh. He looks up in the direction it came from, and finds Penny staring at him. “I’ll do it,” He says, moving to kneel in front of him. Eliot can’t even tell if this is their Penny or the Penny from the other timeline. “Before I do, though, man. You--you need to realize that what happened wasn’t your fault. You weren’t even here.”

Eliot shifts so he can give him his full attention. “What happened?”

He drops the grass and brings his hand back up to the bottle, closing his eyes as the heat of it fills him up. “I almost tried to kill myself,” He says without opening his eyes. “About a week ago. Everybody else was gone, except for Todd. He was babysitting me. He saved me.”

He laughs, humorlessly, to himself. “Up until an hour ago i hated him for it. For him ripping the knife out of my hands, and spelling me to the chair until the others came back. I wanted to kill him for it. But he sat there with me. Talked to me. Talked me down.” He opens his eyes then, nail scraping against the side of the bottle. “Did you know that Todd also has a really shitty upbringing?

“Yeah, me neither. But he told me about it. Some kind of Dumbledore level of trauma. He’s the reason his sister died. He understood, on some level, what I was going through. He was the only one who did.” Dropping the bottle, Eliot lets his gaze level on the lilacs. “Convinced me that coming here was the only way it’d get easier. That I wouldn’t be able to move on until I said goodbye to you.”

A breath eases out of him. “Problem is, Q.” His gaze follows along the side of the stone until it can focus on the Q again. “I don’t think I can say goodbye to you.”

“Quentin’s dead.”

Eliot stares at him for a few long moments. The words don’t register right away--like it’s a sentence that shouldn’t even exist. Like these words in this order don’t make sense to Eliot’s mind. Like he’s speaking an entirely different language.

But then they settle in the pit of Eliot’s stomach.

And he jerks out of Margo’s grasp, shakily moving backwards, scrambling against the slippery, bloody wooden floors away from them, as something heavy and cold and aching works its way through his body.

“No,” He says, shaking his head in three quick jerks, as his hands slip, and he falls backwards onto the wood. His back screams in pain as every nerve feels like it’s been lit on fire, and he struggles against the slippery-sticky mess, tries to get away from this world--this lie. This--whatever this fantasy is. It’s just a nightmare, it has to be. He’s dreamt this dream a million times.

Nightmares of killing the people he loves.

That’s all this is.

“I realized that night, that I can say goodbye to anyone else. That I would trade anyone else in that room for you. In a heartbeat. Without hesitation.”

He pauses.

“So I went to Fillory in the hopes of doing exactly that.”

“Eliot, Eliot--you need to breathe.”

“Thing is. Not even the winters doe, or the great cock, or any of the other useless magical creatures could bring you back. Not even some monstrous, deformed, psychopathic zombie version of you.” His gaze strays back over to the lilacs on the side of the grave. “You were as gone as gone could be.”

He opens his eyes, gasping, trying to find air, but it’s evading him, coming and going too quickly. Long hair cascades over him as pain shoots down his spine. But a cool hand presses against his temple, “Shh, it’s going to be okay. You need to sleep, now.” Her voice is so familiar, so soothing, and his eyes close of their own accord, determined to obey her.

When he drifts, he’s back home. Watching Quentin and their son on the mosaic.

Eliot wraps his hand around the bottle again. “I was tempted. To not take the bottle off. To let all my feelings slip away into nothingness so I never have to feel that grief again.” He shakes his head, places his free hand flat against the grass beneath him and gazes down at it. “But that’d mean never feeling the good parts either.”

He sits there for a few long moments, before inhaling and yanking the bottle and the chain off his neck. It snaps, and the chain falls limply in his hand, clanking against the sides of the bottle.

“The good parts in the memories are all I have of you anymore, Q,” He sighs, bringing his free hand up to grab at the lid of the bottle. “And the grief. But . . . that’s life, I guess.”

It’s not long before he opens his eyes. A small smile flits along his lips, the vestiges of his dreams, dancing along his consciousness. Dreams of Quentin and their son. Of the three of them, living their lives. Of the grandchildren.

“You’re awake.”

He turns his head, and the image of Margo sitting by his bed, tear tracks on her cheeks, shatters the memories. It starts to come back to him; reality.

Reality.

Quentin’s dead.

“Maybe that’s why Todd’s stronger than me.” He yanks the top off the bottle, inhales angrily as all the emotions come back to him, bearing down and enveloping his every nerve.

His heartbeat stutters for a moment, as it waits to sync up with something that’s not there anymore.

“Quentin,” He says. His voice comes out as barely more than a whisper, but Margo must hear it because her eyes fill with tears, and her chin trembles as she nods at him shakily.

She doesn’t say anything for a long moment.

“Yeah, El,” She finally breathes, nodding. “Quentin’s dead.”

His neck stretches backward, as a long broken groan works its way out of him. It all comes back like a flash flood, grief and mourning showering him like bloody water crashing into shore. He drops the bottle into the grass, and grabs fistfuls of grass in its place in an attempt to anchor himself.

“How long?”

She sucks her bottom lip in and looks down at the bed between them. “Two days.”

“How?”

His nails dig into the mud beneath the grass, as he tries to level himself out. But he opens his eyes, lets them track over the words on the gravestone.

QUENTIN COLDWATER

July 1992 - October 2018.

Beloved friend and hero.

It’s not fair. His body wracks with a sob that shakes him to the core, and he closes his eyes again. He deserved a better epitaph.

He deserved a longer life.

“El . . .”

“Tell me how he died, Bambi.”

She clicks her jaw and looks away. “He figured out how to kill the monster, but keep you alive,” She murmurs, wringing her hands together on the side of the bed. “But the monster found out. It--it called him a traitor. And killed him.”

“How did it--” He breaks off, furrowing his brow. “I don’t understand. I--I killed the monster.”

She looks up at him from beneath her eyelashes. “El . . .”

“Didn’t I?”

Sniffling, she reaches out and grabs his hand. Squeezes it so tight her knuckles go white. “Eliot, you need to know that none of this is your fault.”

“What?”

He curls up on the ground, one hand laying flat, like he’s reaching out to touch Quentin’s. He sinks a little, and his clothes are sopping wet, clinging to his skin.

It starts raining again, and his tears disappear.

He’s fading with them.

“It--it could possess people,” She says, locking her eyes on him. “It--”

Something clicks, and he jerks away, eyes going wide as his heart stops again. She holds tight to his hand, even as he tries to move away. “No--” He says, reaching up with his free hand to try and pry himself free. “I--” A low whine works its way out of his throat, and he stops moving abruptly. He stares down at their hands for a moment, before slowly, so slowly, turning his gaze up to her.

“Me?”

“Don’t worry, Q,” His words slur together, barely audible beneath the pouring rain as it pounds down on him.

Margo shakes her head. “No--the monster--”

“I’ve got you.”

Fading fast.

“There’s a spell,” He murmurs, letting his eyes fall closed, “You can poison--poison your own heart.” He digs his fingers into the mud again, pretends he’s lacing his fingers through Quentin’s. “Using an emotion bottle.” He laughs, the sound more like a sob, and barely a sound at all. “Told them--I’d stop trying to hurt myself. And that I’d come here--if they gave me an emotion bottle.

“I told them I just needed to say goodbye.”

“I killed Quentin?”

“They just didn’t realize, Q. I’m surprised they didn’t realize.”

“The monster killed him.”

He shakes his head. “I killed Quentin.”

“I could live without you,” He says, softer, as his face nuzzles into the cool grass. “But why should I?” He throat scratches angrily, forcing a hacking cough up and out. “I’ve been miserable for so long, Q.” His hands slides across the grass, gathering dew on his fingertips, where it clings to the mud beneath his nails. “Only time I was happy . . . was with you. Our son. Just . . . just us.”

“Eliot, you didn’t--”

He rips his hands out of her grasp, and moves to get out of the bed.

Her eyes go wide, and she looks to the door. “Julia! We need you in here!”

He heaves in a breath, struggles to open his eyes and look across the sea of grass back up at the concrete stone. He stretches his arm out, but it’s sluggish; takes a moment for his limbs to follow the command. He laughs, the sound hollow and hacking. “They thought--I--I could just say goodbye. It’s--It’s not like with Mike.”

“Eliot,” Margo says, sitting beside him on the bed. “You haven’t moved in days. I need you to at least eat something.”

“You,” He pauses, forces in a shallow gust of air, “You didn’t deserve to die.”

He can already feel himself slipping. Fading away. Drifting into the cool morning dew. His hands go lax in the grass, the tips of the blades of green tickling his palm. But it’s all distant. So far away, even as the water seeps in through his clothes.

He wonders who’ll find him.

“It’s okay,” He murmurs. It’s barely a sound. Drifts from his lips, and disappears with wind.

“I talked to Todd.”

“Okay.”

“Eliot--you can’t--”

“I’m tired, Bambi. Can we do this later?”

She’s quiet for a long moment, before she nods, the movement shaky and unconvincing. She clears her throat, before nodding again with a shake of her head. “Okay,” She mutters. It almost sounds like she’s holding something back.

He wonders if it’s anything like what he’s holding back.

“I’m gonna make it right, Q,” He’s not even sure he’s speaking anymore. Can’t even feel his lips or his body. It’s all just drifting into nothingness all around him. Is this how it felt for Quentin? The slow drift into death. Or was it abrupt? Did it hurt?

“I killed you.” He tries to open his eyes, but the blackness doesn’t give way to the cemetery, and he wonders if that means he’s gone. If he’s become a part of the wind, and is drifting away--towards the underworld. Towards Quentin. Towards hell, maybe. “But neither of us needs to be alone.”

He doesn’t even feel it when his heart stops.

One moment he’s shrouded in the dark, empty nothingness.

The next, there’s a hand squeezing his, and he looks down. When had his eyes opened?

“I’m worried about him.”

Soft brown eyes stare up at him, as a familiar, large hand laces their fingers together. He brings his free hand up, amazed as it follows the command, to cup the familiar shape of Quentin’s jawline. He can see the disappointment dancing in Quentin’s eyes as clear as his own reflection.

Quentin’s jaw clenches, as a small, sad smile ticks the edges of his mouth upwards.

“I can’t lose them both.”

“Look. This is going to sound cruel, but . . .”

“El,” Quentin breathes, his own free hand coming up to rest on Eliot’s hip. “What did you do ?”

“What?”

Eliot’s chin trembles, as he leans down to press the crown of his head to Quentin’s forehead and closes his eyes. “What I had to.”

“I think you’re gonna have to get used to the idea that he won’t survive this.”

"How are you here?"

Quentin makes a face, pulling away and reaching up to graze his hand along Eliot's jaw. "I'm not." His thumb strokes across his cheek bone. "You're dying, El."

Eliot nods, trembling as he leans into the touch. "I know," He says. The words are barely a breath, as he tries to hold onto the moment. Tries to hold onto Quentin for as long as he can.

"Where's Eliot?"

He feels the moment his heart stops, when the hands slip from him, and fade into the wind. When it all fades, and he finally falls, falls, falls . . .

And then there's nothing but another body finding it's home in a cemetery, eclipsed in grief, and drowning in the morning dew. A single hand lays limp at the base of the headstone, reaching out for someone it'll never find.

When Margo discovers his body, her scream cracks and breaks the wind.