#hey when eliot makes promises he follows through

[ghostlyarchaeologist]

Leverage S01E12 The First David Job/S02E12 The Zanzibar Marketplace Job.

[party-gilmore]

...well, I managed to get to literally JUST BARELY before the actual smut starts, so please enjoy this unbetaed 2k word teaser prologue of "demi/grayace Parker doesn't feel like she's Enough for Eliot without Hardison around, so he sets the record straight."

Set during The Hurricane Job, because who gives a damn if the ep is even OUT yet, am i right? XD

“Room 236.”

“What was that?” Eliot hums. His voice is muffled beneath the heavy, sopping weight of his jacket as he tugs the damn thing over his head. His shirt peels off right along with it, so he just shucks the whole shebang in the generic direction of his luggage. He’ll have plenty of time to see to it properly tomorrow - the storm will have them trapped at least another day. With a groan, he stretches out his bad shoulder. It’s not quite dislocated again, but it’s not quite right either. Two nimble hands sneak up from behind and flit their way over the shoulder blade, one bracing against the wet neck of his white tank top while the other presses swift and hard on the joint - and ‘pop’ goes the weasel.

Eliot flashes Parker a pained but soft smile through the old dresser mirror, but it falters when he catches her eyes peeking over his shoulder. There’s a look in them he isn’t familiar with, but doesn’t think he likes.

“Park-” he starts to turn around, but she manhandles him back away from her and shoves her hand into the back pocket of his jeans. No small feat tonight, they way the rain has soaked and damn near suction cupped them to his ass. “H-hey, woah, alright there darlin’, slow it down a bit,’ he chuckles, reaching back to feel for her, but she’s already hopping back and flashing a small, colorful rectangle at him.

“Room 236,” she repeats, flipping it around her fingers like a coin. Eliot frowns. They’re in room 225, just down the hall. They’d found what the crooked cops were after with time to spare, so there was nowhere left to search. Why then, would he still have a room key for-

Oh. He reaches back and pats the offending rear pocket, flushing as he remembers Marshall Shipp’s parting flirtatious wink and accompanying gentle smack on the ass as they’d parted ways a half hour ago. He hasn’t exactly been… discouraging her interest. It's felt good that women are still interested in him even as he’s put a few more miles on, and he’d be lying if he said he didn’t like the attention - especially from someone as 'his type' as Maria.

Well, what used to be his type, at least.

He shoots a sheepish, apologetic grin at Parker. Maria’s ‘interest’ was quickly becoming ‘intent,’ and now Eliot needed to find a way to nip that in the bud sooner rather than later.

“Damn, I should’ve noticed the reverse lift,” Eliot clears his throat, toying with the edge of the pocket absentmindedly. “She must’ve slipped it to me after we completed the radio broadcast. I was uh, distracted by our success I guess.”

“Bet that’s not all she’d like to slip you,” Parker’s voice takes on a bit more of a playful tone for a moment. Cheeky, teasing. It feels like solid ground.

“Hey now,” Eliot teases back, starting to undo his belt, slow and deliberate, as he begins toeing out of his boots. “I can’t help that I still ‘got it,’ darlin’. I can think of a couple folks I know offhand that might like to, uh… 'slip me a little something' right now, 'specially since I'm properly alone with one of 'em for the first time since-” The only problem is, he forgot how damn difficult these boots are to get off on a good day, let alone when soaked through with salt water. Swearing under his breath, he abandons his attempt at being suave to sit at the end of the bed and fumble with the ties. He should know better than try to look cool for either of his partners nowadays. It never works out quite right, and he’s starting to get to the age where he doesn’t even see the use of that kind of posturing anymore himself. They’ve seen him at his worst already - mentally, physically, emotionally - so what would be the point, really? On top of that, he may make a fuss about his ‘cool points’ in front of Breanna, but he knows Hardison’s sneaky ‘dorkification’ process he's been slowly contaminating Eliot with over the last decade is almost complete. He's still drawing the line at DnD, but he doubts that'll last much-

“...or, if you wanted, you could go let her slip it to you.”

Eliot is too caught up in his own head to really register the suggestion at first. He's busy ruminating on how differently his younger self would be handling this whole situation - all smooth moves and hot edges, shucking off clothing with a kind of casual grace.

‘Yeah, those days have long passed,’ he thinks, hunched over and fighting the waterlogged leather of his boots with fumbling, aching fingers. He gets the first one yanked off his foot less than gracefully, wincing at his ankle’s unsubtle protest, before what Parker said finally processes.

Slowly, he sets his singular boot the side and shifts enough to face her. Parker’s tone didn’t hold any bitterness or bite, just nervousness and a bit of resignation. She isn’t looking at him, but out the window, arms wrapped tight around her midsection in a way he hasn’t seen her do in a while. She bounces restlessly on her heels. There’s a clear energy inside her looking to get out. The thunder rumbles lowly through the suddenly silent room, murmuring a warning through the curling reverberation in Eliot’s gut.

He starts out gentle. Easy.

“...now why would I wanna go an’ do somethin’ like that?” Sometimes it’s easiest to bring things to Parker head on, and she’ll respond in her usual stark, frank manner. Just lay it all right out in the open to be picked apart. This isn’t one of those times. Eliot can read that much in every restless tap, every rapid twitch of her eyes to some place else in the room, any place that isn’t him.

“She’s your type, isn’t she?” Parker’s voice is a higher register than it should be, but not quite into her panicking zone yet. That’s a start. “She’s badass, sexy… passionate.”

Eliot notices her leaning heavy on that last word, and frowns.

“So are you, Parker.”

“Not in the same way!” She turns a bit, still looking outside, but her arms unwrap from herself to gesture between them. “Not the same way you and Hardison are!”

It’s quiet for another beat. The white noise of the hissing rain against the window settles into the room with a steady, thrumming tension. Eliot doesn’t jump to demanding clarification like he might’ve done a decade ago, doesn’t snap and tell her to stop beating around the bush. He’s learned that Parker tucks away all the information he needs to understand in every phrase, no matter how inane or incongruent it may seem. So Eliot holds his tongue and chews on the words for a while.

“Me and Hardison, huh?” He leans forward, elbows on his knees, and rubs his jaw in a performance of pensiveness. The movement draws Parker's attention and she finally looks over to him, following the back and forth of his fingers. He presses on, carefully. “Thought we were talkin’ bout me and the marshall. What’s Alec got to do with this?”

“Because he isn’t here!” Parker breaks, not enough to falter or crumble but enough to say what's on her mind before she can overthink it. "He isn't here and it's different! I can feel it! I'm not-" she fumbles her words for a minute, just waving between them again. "-all passionate about the whole sex thing like he is!"

There's that word again. Eliot knows where to go from here, at least. It's all about that word. He stands up, albeit a little awkwardly with one foot still in an inch high boot.

"Sure it's fun and I like it sometimes, but not like you two do! Alec balanced me out, could give you what you needed! I'm not… by myself, I'm not enough for… for y-..." Parker cuts herself before she can grow any more manic, bunching her face up and looking away again like she does when trying to stave off any waterworks before they can start.

Eliot can see her closing up again as her words fail her, but that's alright. What needed to get out made it out. He can take it from here. He hobbles over in his awkward, single-socked gait until he's close enough to take her shoulders in hand, but he doesn't pull her in for the hug. Not yet.

"Now I want you to listen to me, and listen good." Eliot makes sure his tone is firm, but gentle. Parker responds the way he'd hoped - still not looking, tilting her head down, but leaning toward him. Into his space. Receptive, and ready to hear him. "Yeah, it feels different. That's cause you and me? Are different from me and Alec. We're always gonna be. 'That makes us, us,' remember? Just like that's different from you and Alec. It's all part of 'us,' yeah, but it's… we got our own thing, Parker. And sure, we might like it best when it's all three of us, just because we love him so, so much, yeah?"

He lifts one hand from her shoulder and tucks a bit of hair back behind her ear, giving her a chance to respond if she wants. Parker murmurs a quiet "yeah," and steps in a little closer. Eliot tugs her in the rest of the way now, assured that she's open to the touch. She pillows her chin on the shoulder she fixed, and Eliot lays a light kiss to the outside of her ear before continuing in a lower voice.

"So… we miss him, when he's not here, and we don't have the 'all three of us' thing right now. That doesn't make our thing, the you and me thing, any less good. It doesn't- Parker, you're so much more than just enough for me. You're who I need... especially when we don't have Hardison. Don't ever doubt that."

"I'll try," Parker turns her head and mutters it into the crook of Eliot's neck, and he loves her all the more for it. It's better than any empty promise of 'I won't,' because he knows the honesty of it. Knows it's not just an empty platitude of 'I'll do it,' but the vulnerable admission of 'I want to, but don't know if I can.'

"That's all I ask, darlin'."

Because it is. That's all Eliot ever asks of her. To try. Never demands that she change, never insists she should be thinking of herself differently or more kindly than she does. Just that she tries to.

"Now. About this whole 'passion' thing," Eliot sighs, pulling back so he can do that thing he does to Hardison that Parker loves to watch him squirm under, but likes it a lot less when it's turned on her. That thing where he ducks his neck and tilts his head and looks up at her through his hair with that serious, intimate look that makes her want to run because he for sure can see all of her secrets like this but also want to sink deep into that comforting gaze and never leave it. "I don't know where you got this idea that you're not passionate from, but-"

"Yeah, but it's not-!"

"The same?" Eliot cuts off her half-hearted attempt at argument. "Course it's not the 'same' as us, Parker! You aren't us. So, you… you don't lose yourself in it the same way me and Hardison do, okay? Him and me, how we get high off each other, the way we act... so you don't do that. That's fine! That’s only one type of passion, darlin'. You can't tell me,” he lets his hands skim down Parker’s arms until they meet her own palms. “That the way you focus so damn hard on taking us apart - taking me apart…”

Eliot brings Parker’s hands to his hips, and her fingers start to fidget with the hem of his shirt. Anchoring herself with the ribbed texture of the tank. Starting to explore up his stomach the way Eliot knows that Parker knows he likes. She’d ferreted that one out of him ages before they’d even thought up this whole ‘you and we makes three’ train. He lets his voice go a little breathy, a little raspy, makes sure she notices how she's affecting him. “-the way you always know exactly how to do it, piece by piece, single-mindedly pulling me apart like a damn puzzle, Park… you can’t tell me that ain’t some kind of passion.”

“Yeah, but that’s just the same way I steal stuff,” Parker giggles a little, the familiar flutter of Eliot’s sides under her deft fingers grounding her and soothing some of the unease. He’s right about this. How she knows what to do with him. How good she is at it. But that’s not anything special, it’s just-

“Exactly, Parker,” Eliot is trying to walk them back toward the bed, but it’s not really working out well. Between his having only the one boot on and Parker actively seeking out the ticklish bits of his belly that make his knees go all wobbly when she scrapes her nails down them, it’s comical enough to startle another giggle out of her. Or it’s a sob. Or it’s a hiccup. Or it’s some weird combination of all three, she isn’t really sure, but it doesn't seem to really matter either. The sound is whatever it was, just like she is whatever she is.

“It's just like that. Just like how you plan your next score. And that’s your Thing. Like me and food, Hardison and his nerdery... Do you realize how that makes me feel? Knowing you treat me like a heist? Like the thing that you let define you?”

“Yeah but that’s not a sex thing, it’s just a me thing.”

“It doesn’t matter that it’s not a sex thing, Parker, it’s your passion. Your Thing. Yours.” Eliot finally makes it back to the edge of the bed and drops, pulling Parker into his lap. He guides her wandering hands to his chest so she can feel the rumble in his voice as he growls.

“Darlin’, you treat me like damn masterpiece. Like I’m standing smack under a spotlight in the middle of the Louvre, and the only thing in the world that matters to you is how you’re gonna pick through my security piece by piece until all that’s left under your hands is a canvas stretched tight as it’ll go and a picture meant only for you and the people you choose to see it."

Parker’s nails scrape against the skin of Eliot’s collarbone as her fingers instinctively curl in, wanting to grip take steal hold climb, and he barely restrains himself from throwing his head back in a moan. He needs to make sure Parker’s in the right place first, before he gives himself over to his own wants.

“Wow,” she whispers, damn near reverent now as she looks down at him. There’s a dawning in her eyes that tells Eliot they’re alright. That they’re gonna be good. That it’s okay to pull her tighter and ask her to go ahead and steal him again tonight, since he knows her rigging is secure.

"I can't imagine anything more passionate than that."

“Uh-huh, ‘wow' is right,” he laughs breathlessly, and reaches up to take hold of her chin. It’s a light grip, barely any pressure where he between his thumb resting on the front and the rest of his fingers curling around under her jaw, but she lets Eliot guide her down until their lips touch. Not kissing, yet, just touching. His mouth moves against hers as he speaks, tongue briefly darting out to wet two pairs of parched lips. “-so tell me, why the fuck would I want to go to anyone else?”

“Maybe if you got some bad advice,” Parker murmurs, voice strong and confident again for the first time since they wrapped up the con. “From someone who didn’t realize she made you feel that way?”

“Hmmn, that could make sense,” Eliot hums back, resisting the urge to roll up against her in wet jeans that would only serve to chafe rather than provide any of the friction that having Parker in his lap always makes him crave. “If someone could help me get this damn boot off, maybe I could get to work making sure she’ll never forget it?”

[aethersea]

May I request 41 - First Kiss and 94 - Hair Brushing/Braiding for the Leverage OT3, please? (Also extra bonus points if you give Eliot beads in his hair like in The Ice Man Job, because we didn't get NEARLY enough of that in the show) Thank you!

I cannot believe I wrote this whole thing out and then never published it. I’m so sorry, it’s been at least twenty-four years since you sent in this ask, please accept my humble apologies and also this ficlet.

However, this prompt is just pure fluff, and I hate to tell you this but I am not a fluff writer. I just can’t pull off that unadulterated sweetness. I am in this fandom for the shenanigans, first, last and foremost! So this fic is now a 5+1 of Eliot and Parker trying to seduce Hardison.

1. Parker thinks they need to give him gifts, so she goes through her stash and picks out the largest, fanciest jewel she’s ever stolen. Then she realizes: Hardison likes stories. He spends hours giving their aliases histories and pets and allergies and favorite foods, he can get a whole sordid history of jealousy and betrayal from a single corporate email chain, and Parker knows for a cold fact that he writes little stories with his online friends about being wizards together.

She goes through her stash again and picks out the most cursed thing she’s ever stolen.

It’s a jeweled statuette, almost as tall as her forearm, made of gold and studded with precious and semi-precious stones. Mysterious deaths have befallen five separate owners of this thing. Its base is dented from the time it was used to bludgeon Owner Number Three to death. The tiny rubies it has for eyes follow you across the room.

Parker puts a bow on it and leaves it in Hardison’s room while he’s sleeping. He wakes up to this horrible little statue watching him from his bedside table.

He texts the group chat, Hey did anyone put an evil little gold guy in my bedroom last night? But Parker chickens out and says nothing (drunkenly betting Eliot that she can seduce Hardison is one thing, but admitting that she likes him is something else altogether). Everyone else texts back variations on “nope.” (Except Sophie, who just sends back a string of heart eyes emojis and a wikipedia link. She loves cursed artifacts.) So Hardison puts the statue away in a closet somewhere and figures he’ll deal with it later.

Parker is mildly offended that he put her gift in a closet. She goes into his room the next night and puts it back on the bedside table, where it clearly belongs.

This goes on for a week. Hardison puts the statue in a desk drawer, then in one of the cabinets in the office downstairs, then in the dumpster down the street. Every day he wakes up to those glittering red eyes watching him sleep. He’s asked his internet buddies if anyone knows a good exorcist. Hardison doesn’t really believe in curses, but also? What the fuck. What the fuck.

~

2. Eliot assumes the drunken bet will be forgotten by morning. What kind of world would it be if people always followed through on promises they made while they could barely stay vertical? So he spends the morning nursing his hangover and cleaning his knives. Cleaning guns is no good while hungover—all the snaps and clicks of popping things in and out of place sound like actual gunfire when you’re hungover, it’s a nightmare—but knives are quiet and have no moving parts. Buffing and polishing them is soothingly repetitive work, and every once in a while he can throw one at one of the dartboards on the walls and reassure himself that his reflexes are still sound even after that much tequila.

It’s only when he gets Hardison’s text about the golden statuette that magically appeared in his room overnight that Eliot realizes Parker’s actually going for it. After some internal debate about whether he’s going to stoop to this or not, Eliot decides what the hell and starts making plans.

Eliot agrees that gifts are the way to go, but not stolen gifts. Not things. Anyone can give a thing. Proper wooing is about giving experiences.

Eliot plans for three days. On the fourth day, he and Hardison have their irregularly scheduled monthly coffee date, and Eliot texts him beforehand to say he wants to do it at the brewpub this time. Hardison arrives to find a deceptively simple meal: basic country fare perfected through years of experimentation, made with the best ingredients Eliot can get his hands on. And Eliot, after all, is still a retrieval specialist. There’s very little in the world he can’t get his hands on.

And yet the night ends and somehow he has not gotten his hands on Hardison.

This is just not right. Eliot knows how to deploy a smolder, okay, Tangled reference aside he is damn good at flirting and he knows the looks he’s giving Hardison are clear as day. It’d be one thing if Hardison had turned him down, or if he’d been uneasily unwilling, or even if his eyes had widened slightly in suppressed panic and he’d abruptly found a reason to leave. Eliot can take rejection, bet or no, and he’d have bowed out graciously without a fuss. But this was much, much worse.

Hardison didn’t even notice he was flirting.

He’s going to have to up his game.

~

3. “How do you seduce people?” Parker asks bluntly, turning up at Sophie’s door just past midnight.

Sophie, despite the hour, is utterly delighted by the question.

This goes as well as you would expect.

~

4. Eliot’s taken a lot of dates to sports games. Hardison may prefer sparkly elves with purple lightning magic to a decent MMA fight, but baseball is the American pastime. Eliot gets them perfect seats, hot dogs from the best vendor in the stadium, even chilled beer that he smuggles in without letting it get warm. It’s going to be a perfect game.

And it is. At first. Hardison, it turns out, has a lot of opinions about baseball. What he does not have is an understanding of the rules. They’re not even into the second inning by the time Eliot finally snaps and starts arguing with him about it.

They make it all the way to the fifth inning before Eliot realizes that Hardison’s basing his complaints off the rules of a game from a Star Wars novel.

They’re at the bottom of the eighth before Eliot will speak to him again.

~

5. Eliot and Parker are drunk again. This is not intentional. They didn’t even mean to come to this bar, but the smoothie place with the fried oreos that Eliot had brought Parker here to try was playing such incredibly bad music that they’d ordered the oreos to go and fled. The bar was just the coziest looking place on the block, and of course they’d ordered drinks to avoid being rude––Eliot had entertained himself for a few minutes scouring the menu for something that would pair well with fried oreos and popcorn chicken.

And now they’re drunk. The conversation has, perhaps inevitably, turned to the ongoing bet.

“I tried everything!” Parker wails. “I laughed at every joke, I touched my hair constantly, I got him talking about things he likes.” She thunks her forehead on the bar. “All that happened is now I know the complete history of orcs in western literature.”

“Hardison wouldn’t know flirting if it pinched him on the ass,” Eliot grumbles.

Parker slaps his arm. “No pinching Hardison!”

“I’m not going to—I don’t pinch people!”

Parker’s ignoring him. Eliot pouts and takes another sip of his drink. He’s not entirely sure what this one is––it’s blue and kind of fizzy, that’s all he can say for sure. Parker took over the drinks menu several glasses ago, and she’s been picking them based on what has the most fun name to say. Eliot’s pretty sure the alcohol content’s been doubling with each order.

“Eliot,” Parker slurs, “we need to work together.”

“What?”

Parker lifts her head from the bar and frowns at him, the way she does when she’s figured out the obvious solution and is just waiting for everyone else to get on the same page. It’s adorable. It’s always adorable, but right now her eyes are wide and slightly unfocused from the alcohol and she’s listing sideways a little, almost as if she’s unbalanced, and it is the most adorable thing Eliot has ever seen. Parker’s never unbalanced, but some part of Eliot’s fuzzy brain thinks she’s about to fall on top of him and cannot wait to catch her.

“You can’t seduce Hardison,” Parker points out. Eliot is drunk enough to get offended by this, but too drunk to get out a complaint before she continues, “I can’t seduce Hardison. But if we work together, the two of us can definitely seduce Hardison. Together.”

Eliot stares at her. Then he takes another sip of his fizzy blue drink. Later, when questioned, he will blame his next words on that drink.

“Worth a shot.”

They take Hardison to a movie. They research for three weeks beforehand. They find the best movie theater in town, with the nicest seats, the biggest screens, and concession snacks that Hardison likes, and they buy tickets for the midnight premiere of the superhero movie that Hardison hasn’t shut up about for the past month. Parker even hacks into the theater’s computers in a last-minute fit of nerves and cross-references the credit cards with drivers’ licenses to make sure the people sitting in front of them won’t be too tall.

Parker witnesses a kidnapping in the parking lot while the boys are getting popcorn. They don’t even stay long enough to catch the commercials.

~

+ 1. “Hey Eliot,” Hardison says during movie night, a little over a week later. “Remember the Ice Man Job?”

Eliot groans. “I try not to.”

Hardison throws a piece of popcorn at his face. “Shut up. Remember how you did your hair for that one? With the little—those little beads on, like, a braid?”

Eliot shoots Hardison a suspicious glance. “Yeah, I remember.”

“Teach me how to do that.”

Eliot shoots Hardison another, more deliberate look, this one pointedly directed at Hardison’s complete lack of braidable locks.

Hardison rolls his eyes as if that’s a silly detail to get hung up on and leans forward to dig around in one of the boxes he has under his coffee table. He emerges with a ziplock bag of plastic beads in no time flat and hands it triumphantly to Eliot. Then he yanks a few cushions out from behind Parker, who’s sitting on his other side, and puts them on the floor in front of him. “Sit here?” he asks Parker, patting the cushion pile.

Parker takes a moment to consider being offended at having her cushions stolen, but curiosity gets the better of her and she just plops down between Hardison’s legs, grabbing the bowl of popcorn as she goes, and waits.

Hardison lifts her hair with sudden gentleness, drawing it over her shoulders and letting it fall down her back in a golden wave. His fingers brush against her neck. Parker shivers. Eliot is distantly aware that he’s gone perfectly still, focused with a hunter’s intensity on Hardison’s dark, graceful fingers carding through Parker’s hair.

Hardison leans back, hands on his knees, and Eliot breathes again. “Well?” Hardison looks over at Eliot, a tiny smirk of challenge on his lips. “Show me how it’s done.”

Eliot is suddenly, brutally aware of how close they are. Hardison’s couch is obscenely comfortable, which is half the reason movie nights are at Hardison’s in the first place, but it is not large. Their thighs are touching. Hardison leans away, to give Eliot access to Parker’s hair, and he’s still so close that Eliot would barely have to reach out a hand to—

Eliot ruthlessly shoves that thought down into the dark where it belongs. He dealt with this, he dealt with this years ago, and accepting Parker’s stupid bet doesn’t mean he’s forgotten the way Hardison and Parker look at each other. It just means he doesn’t mind losing for a good cause.

So he keeps his tone steady and his fingers brisk as he shows Hardison how to braid the clunky plastic beads into Parker’s hair, and if he flushes with heat when their hands brush each other, well, nobody has to know. He’s been trained to withstand eight different schools of torture. It won’t show on his face. His voice never once falters.

Parker has had no such training. Her lips have parted, and her breathing is shallow. She’s staring glassy-eyed at the TV. Hardison can’t see her face, sitting behind her, but Eliot watches her carefully, worried that they need to call this off. Parker’s not used to intimacy, to closeness that means something, and for all the three of them have spent half their movie nights literally on top of each other, this is something else. This has weight.

Eliot puts a hand on her shoulder, pressing down just enough that Parker startles and cants a glance over at him. Eliot raises his eyebrows in question, and Parker glares back: don’t you fucking dare. Eliot backs off. Hardison, frowning in concentration as he threads a wisp of Parker’s hair through a green bead, graciously pretends he didn’t see the exchange.

Hardison gets the hang of the beading fairly quickly, and Eliot shows him a few different techniques. He’s almost managed to convince himself that nothing is actually happening when Hardison says, conversationally, “You two are really bad at this.”

Eliot glowers his confusion. “At movie night? You started this, if you wanted to actually watch Alien then you shouldn’t have—”

Hardison’s smile is soft, but Eliot decides for his own safety to focus on the laughter at its edge. “No, at this.” And then he slides his hand onto Parker’s neck, caresses her cheek, and isn’t the slightest bit surprised when she gasps.

Parker whips around, and there’s hurt on her face but it dies in the glow of Hardison’s gentle, unteasing smile. Hardison pulls her up with the lightest of touches, and she goes, eyes fixed on his like salvation.

They kiss sweet and slow, and Eliot’s heart twists in his chest and he can’t breathe. He needs to leave now before he shatters in half, but if he moves then they will look at him, and he would rather never breathe again than meet their eyes right now.

Hardison breaks off the kiss, gazing at Parker with something just this side of wonder, and then he does look at Eliot. Eliot flinches. He opens his mouth to…say something, make some joke or hasty excuse and scramble out the door, but Hardison raises a hand to Eliot’s face, slides his long fingers to cup Eliot’s neck, and pulls him forward, as gently as he did Parker.

It’s a chaste kiss, no more than a soft press of lips, because Eliot is too stunned to respond and Hardison doesn’t push. It lasts a long time. A whole era of change happens in the span of that kiss, as everything Eliot thought he knew tears out of place and then settles, gingerly, into a new understanding.

Hardison pulls away, his hand still warm on the back of Eliot’s neck. His smile is pure sunshine. Eliot finds himself smiling back, helpless.

Hardison’s grin turns smug. “And that,” he says, looking between Eliot and Parker, “is how you do it. Y’all are disasters, honestly, I can’t believe two master criminals working together couldn’t manage a single real date—”

Eliot heaves a deep sigh and drags Hardison into a headlock, pinning his arms when he flails. Parker surges to her knees and starts tickling him mercilessly.

They don’t finish the movie.

[fiction-boys-rule]

Imagine...joining the Leverage team and liking Eliot.

Pairing: Eliot Spencer/(Y/N)

Warnings: slight violence, fluff

Word Count: 2,200

Boring real life has been very stressful lately so writing has been non existent. If any of you have any ideas or requests, I am happy to take them. The characters I write for are very limited and this year I’m working on changing that, so my apologies. Hope you enjoy :)

You blow out the candles, smiling as the team claps and cheers. Nate holds up his glass from his position on the couch, making you roll your eyes and smile. 

“Did you make a wish?” Parker asks, gazing up at you. 

“Yeah.” 

“What was it?” Hardison asks. 

Parker quickly slaps his forearm, making him protest and glare over at her. 

“What the-“

“You know that if you say a birthday wish out loud it doesn’t count!”

“Why not? That’s kids stuff.” He frowns.

“It doesn’t come true! And it’s not kids stuff!” Parker glares at him. 

“Alright, guys. I won’t say my wish, okay? Let’s just have some cake.” You intervene.

Sophie smiles over at you before you cut the cake and serve everyone. Later, you gratefully take a glass of whiskey from Nate and enjoy the silence of the apartment. Everyone else has gone off to do other things while Nate and you  decided to stay behind. 

“I know I promised I wouldn’t say my wish, but can I still say it?”

Nate leans back in his chair, lazily looking over at you.

“Well, I don’t believe in those things. If you don’t put it out there and chase it, how will you get it? I guess you can consider me the devils advocate here.”

“Alright. I’ll indulge you. My wish was to finally be able to go out and help you guys.”

“Help us?” He eyes you warily.

“Yeah. I mean I know I do already in my own way but I just really want to see what it’s like out there. Even if it’s just being in the background.”

“You’re already in the background. With Hardison. Safe background.”

You roll your eyes.

“Not what I meant. Don’t you want me to see how this works? I mean you always complain that I don’t get it. So let me get it. Come on. I promise I’ll listen to you and play it safe. But let me have some fun, please!”

“That’s the problem. It’s not ‘fun’ out there, kid. It’s a job. I don’t know if you can handle it.”

“Handle it? You know what I can’t handle? Hardison for one more day! No offense to him but I can’t stand another day stuck with him in that hot van! I can’t, Nate! I’m going crazy! Stir crazy! Can you at least let me do this once? Please!”

“What’s so bad with Hardison?”

“Parker this, Parker that. He’s always talking about her and I wouldn’t mind it if he actually went and told her how he feels! He reminds me of someone I know and I can’t stand it!”

“That person you know is that bad?”

“Yes, he is! And he’s not granting me my birthday wish!”

You lean back and sigh, glaring at him. He sighs, holding his face in his hands. 

“Bad enough I have to accommodate everyone else and now you? You’re the one I like because you never ask for anything!”

“I’m asking for one thing and suddenly you don’t like me?”

He grumbles, sighing heavily and rubbing his face. 

“The alcohols not going to kill me, it’s going to be you or Sophie.”

“Oh, I guarantee you that. We’re already planning your murder. We have plans A to C done. How much does your ex hate you by the way?”

He suddenly looks up and sends you an annoyed glare. You laugh softly, running your fingertips on the rim of your glass. 

“You remember how I had that friend whose dad owns a whiskey company? Well, they offer care packages for people they know and the discounts are so good. But it’s not my favorite and I don’t want it to go to waste. Don’t want my friend to think I’m taking advantage of them. But they did offer me a full tour of their distillery. Full of test tasting, complimentary dinner, drinks-“

“Sophie is going to kill me.” He groans, shaking his head side to side.

“Well that was going to happen either way.”

He groans, taking a bigger swig. 

“Just listen to everyone and don’t get in the way of them doing their job. I’m pairing you with Eliot. So far you’ve been getting along. I think he likes you.”

“Likes me?” You stutter. 

How would Nate know about your crush on Eliot? How would anyone know?

“Yeah, well he brings you your favorite drink every day and he got you that gift.”

“He doesn’t like me.”

“I’m not doing this right now. Leave me in peace and regret and I’ll update the team later.”

You slowly get up and smile as soon as you close his office door. Checkmate.

Time Skip

"While I'm proud of you, we don't know who we are dealing with exactly. You've seen it before. Us, the professionals, even get in trouble sometimes. But we trust Nate to make a plan to bail us out." 

You frown as you see all of the orange soda in the fridge. Choosing to just grab bottled water, you close it and turn to a very worried looking Sophie. 

"I'm going with Eliot. It'll be fine. I’ll be fine." 

"By any chance, did you have a say in who you were joining?" 

She peers innocently at you. 

"No. Nate just said and I went along with it." 

You take a swig and watch as she looks away. 

"Ah, I see.” 

“Why?" 

"It's nothing." 

She gives you one last undecipherable look before heading to the couch and sitting next to Parker. You frown. Even being with the team almost a year, you didn't know everyone that well yet. When you had applied for a “secretary title with a concoction of ever changing duties” position working alongside Nate, this was the last thing you expected. You’re glad you took a risk and gave them the benefit of the doubt. It took a while to gain their trust, but they eventually liked you and included you more and more in what they actually did. It was probably because they liked the extra manpower and variety than their already established and constant team members. You sit on the couch and wait for Nate to come reveal the big plan. 

"So, you're tagging along with Eliot?" Hardison asks while typing away at his laptop. 

"Uh, yeah." 

He clicks his tongue while shaking his head. 

"You're going to regret it. Eliot isn't the best or easiest to work with." 

“Then who is?" 

He looks over at you with a “really?” look.

"Obviously me. I would love to teach someone my skills." 

You nod slowly and laugh. 

“What's so funny?" 

"Eliot also said that about you, remember?" 

"You mean the Denzel case?" 

"Yeah." 

"He doesn't know what he's talking about." 

You laugh and look over at the door opening. You see Eliot and he comes in, sitting next to you. 

"Hey." You smile. 

"Hey. Where's Nate?" 

"Probably getting drunk in his office. Want me to go get him?" 

"You shouldn't. He'll come out eventually. Probably thinking about his big plan." Sophie says. 

"Alright! Is the whole team here?" 

You all turn your heads towards Nate. 

Time Skip

"A basement is a pretty bad place to hide a bunch of cash. Just saying." You mumble as you follow Eliot through a hallway. 

“Yeah, well some people aren't as smart as others." 

You quickly turn your head around a corner to check for any guards. 

"You know, I thought you would be mad, or even annoyed, that Nate let me tag along." 

He turns his head around a corner. 

"Yeah, well I think it's a good way to learn something. I like to teach. Just don’t make Hardison my student.” he grumbles.

You run towards a door. He opens it and you squeeze in. 

"Alright. That's the control room. See a metal box?" Hardison says. 

You tune out Hardison's orders to Eliot while you look for any guards. 

“Hey, I'm going to go check the other door. That should be the door to the basement. If it's a basement." You whisper. 

Eliot nods, cutting a cord. 

"Yeah, go. Tell me if you see anything." 

"Y/N, be careful. Just because there haven't been any guards yet, doesn't mean you should get confident." Nate says. 

"I'll be fine. The door is right here." You whisper.

You open it and look in. 

"It's just a big room with nothing in it. Just some vaults. There could be something in here.“ 

You hear footsteps behind you and turn to greet Eliot before a fist comes at you and you feel pain before darkness greets you.

"Y/N, hey. Hey. It's okay. How you feeling?" 

You groan, adjusting your eyes to a bright light. Your head is pounding and your jaw is feeling sore.

"What? Where am I?" 

"She's alive!" Parker yells, making you grimace.

"You okay, Y/N?" Nate asks. 

Eliot clears his throat forcefully. 

"A guard found you. Knocked you out pretty good. The guard blew us. We're going to have to find another way out. You okay? Not feeling dizzy? You might have a concussion."

"Yeah, I'm fine. What about the basement?" 

"Forget about it. We just need to get out of here." 

“We could use the window in the basement. It's small, but I bet we could fit. It leads to the backyard. All we have to do is run across the yard in the blind spot of the cameras, climb the fence and we're out of here." 

"You remember all of that? Damn, Nate. She deserves a promotion." Hardison says. 

"Thanks." You say softly.

Eliot shakes his head, "Lets get out of here, then." 

The moon is bright after you had escaped the house and were waiting for the team to pick you up. You were leaning against a wall next to Eliot, letting the cool night breeze hit your face. You were listening to Hardison and Nate bicker about something. 

"Thanks for uh-saving me, I guess." You say suddenly, breaking the silence. 

Eliot looks over at you. He motions for you to take out the ear pieces and you do. He takes yours and his, and puts them in his pockets. 

"What was that for?" You ask. 

“We don't need to hear Hardison complaining. We get that enough already." He says. 

You both laugh. 

“But seriously. Thanks for helping me. But I just want you know for the future I would rather get caught than risk-" 

He shakes his head, frowning. 

"I don't like to think about that. Point is, it didn't happen." 

You nod, looking at the moon. 

"I think you did good. For your first time. I wouldn't mind having you tag along again." He says. 

You smile, looking into his beautiful blue eyes. "Thanks. I enjoyed myself. And I think I’ll have a bump on my head to remind me about this little adventure." 

“Well, at least you’ll still have a head, darlin’.” 

You both laugh softly. He moves to stand in front of you and lays a hand on the wall.

"Just be more careful next time, alright? I don't want anything bad happening to you." 

"What, I worry Big Bad Eliot?" You tease. 

“Yes, you do." He says. 

His low voice sends shivers down your spine. He slowly starts to lean in until his face is inches from yours. His eyes gaze at you softly. You move a hand up to his neck and gently move him closer. You both close your eyes as his lips place a small kiss on yours. Soft and slow. You shiver from an incoming gust of wind and pull him closer. You kiss him back harder as his other arm hugs your waist. He grips your waist harder and pushes you more against the wall. You moan, gently scratching at his neck. As he pulls away slowly, he bites your lower lip. He moves back and nuzzles his face in your neck. His lips press against your shoulder blade and his facial hair tickles your skin. 

“Happy Birthday, Y/N.” He whispers. 

You bite your lip and your arms surround his back. 

“Two gifts in one day. Wow.” 

You both laugh softly and he kisses your neck, holding you and comforting you with his warmth.

"So...." you whisper. 

He pulls back to look down at your face and smiles.

"So...the team is here." 

You quickly look over and see the van waiting at the end of the alley. Eliot grabs your hand and motions with his head. You smile and walk beside him as he leads you to the curb. He opens the van door and Hardison's shocked face greets you. 

"One time. One time. And Eliot's stupid charm overtakes you. Unbelievable." 

You laugh and hide your blush as you get in the van, sitting next to Eliot. 

"So, I take that it went well?" Nate asks, looking at you with a knowing look.

“Yeah. Perfect." Eliot says, looking over at you with a smile. 

You blush and lay your head on his shoulder. 

“Surprising but it worked out in the end.” You chuckle.

Nate laughs, shaking his head as Hardison mumbles rapidly, driving all of you away.

[moonlight-breeze-44]

Em’s Febuwhump 2021 Masterlist

Hey, guys! So, as some of you may know, I participated in Febuwhump this year! I didn’t manage to complete all 28 days, but I did complete 21. I worked with multiple fandoms, but mainly Shadowhunters and Leverage. All pairings, fandoms, ratings, and warnings will be noted. <3 With that, let’s get on to the masterlist! 

Em’s Febuwhump 2021

1. reveilles toi, mon amour | Supergirl | Prompt: coma | Rated: Teen | Alex/Maggie & minor Kara/Lena | Hospitals, experimental drug, comatose character | Happy ending |

Alex is in a coma. The only way to save her life is to let Lena Luthor give her an experimental drug that's never been tested on humans before. Maggie is less than happy with this, but the younger Danvers sister assures her that she has nothing to be worried about.

2. Rooftop Promises | Shadowhunters | Prompt: “I can’t take this anymore” | Rated: Teen | Alec/Magnus | Self-worth issues, suicide note, suicidal thoughts, suicide attempt | Happy/hopeful ending |

After they break up over the Soul Sword, Alec sends Magnus a voicemail suicide note. Luckily, Magnus is there to make sure he doesn't follow through with it.

3. A Soldier’s Promise | Leverage | Prompt: imprisonment | Rated: Teen | Hardison/Eliot/Parker | Minor self-esteem issues, imprisonment, guilt | Happy/hopeful ending 

After he and Parker wind up in adjacent prison cells, Eliot realises that he's been wasting precious time and makes a promise to himself. And, though they don't know it yet, it's a promise to Parker and Hardison, as well.

4. Closer for It | Shadowhunters | Prompt: truth serum | Rated: Teen | No pairings | Past child abuse, manipulation, non-consensual use of a truth serum, emotional/psychological abuse | Happy/hopeful ending | 

After a Circle member doses Alec with a truth serum, a few shocking revelations come to light and Alec realises that he & his siblings, blood-related or not, have a bond that can never be broken.

5. Angel | The Mortal Instruments | Prompt: “Take me instead” | Rated: Teen | Alec/Magnus | Canon character death, grief/mourning, guilt | Happy/hopeful ending |

After Max's death, Alec retreats to a nearby hill and prays to the Angel to bring his brother back. Magnus makes sure he understands that he doesn't need to hide how he feels, and that he's never alone as long as Magnus is around.

6. some nights, there are no fights | Shadowhunters | Prompt: insomnia | Rated: Teen | Background Alec/Magnus | No warnings | Happy ending | 

Alec finds an ally in Raphael while walking the city one sleepless night.

7. Enkeli Tyttö | Leverage | Prompt: “I can’t lose you, too” | Rated: Teen | Parker/Eliot (QPR) | Mentions of past violence (including gun violence and murder), self-hatred | Happy/hopeful ending |

After the shootout with Moreau's goons in the warehouse, Eliot has a hard time dealing with the fallout. Parker is there to help.

8. Home | Leverage | Prompt: “Hey, hey, this is no time to sleep” | Rated: Gen | Hardison/Eliot/Parker | No warnings | Happy ending |

While they're doing surveillance for a con, Parker thinks about Eliot & Hardison, and she comes to the conclusion that they are her home.

9. Blue Eyes and Blonde Hair | Shadowhunters & Leverage crossover | Prompt: hostage situation | Rated: Teen | No pairings | Mentions of/allusions to past torture, hostage situation, violence, blood & injury | Happy/hopeful ending |

When Alec and Jace are being held hostage and tortured by the Circle, they receive help from two unlikely sources.

10. Silent Angels | Shadowhunters | Prompt: “I’m sorry, I didn’t know” | Rated: Mature | No pairings | Rape/non-con, molestation/pedophilia, PTSD symptoms & flashbacks, panic attack, references to underage drinking, implied/referenced self-harm | No happy ending |

Alec usually likes silence. He never has all that much to say, anyway. But sometimes silence can be stifling. Sometimes silence is laden with secrets and ghosts that haunt him no matter what he does, and sometimes silence means not that he doesn't have anything to say, but that he's too trapped to know the right words.

11. we’re able to be just you and me (within these walls) | Leverage | Prompt: “Please come back” | Rated: Teen | Hardison/Eliot/Parker (QPR) | References to past violence, scars, brief mention/allusion to foster care system abuse | Happy ending |

After the events of The Carnival Job, Hardison & Parker talk to Eliot about kids, and it leads to something Eliot never would have expected.

12. Shades of Shame | Shadowhunters | Prompt: “Don’t try to pin this on me” | Rated: Teen | Alec/Magnus | Self-harm, references to depression | Happy/hopeful ending | 

After a hard day, Alec goes home to Magnus and they have a much-needed talk about Alec's self-harm.

13. Support | Shadowhunters | Prompt: hiding injury | Rated: Teen | No pairings | Canon-typical violence, hiding injuries, implied self-harm | Hopeful ending |

It’s been a rough week. Alec is dealing. But when things go a little too far, he needs some support from a trusted friend.

14. Rough Around the Edges | Leverage | Prompt: “I didn’t mean it” | Rated: Mature | Hardison/Eliot/Parker | Trauma, mentions of past violence (including murder and gun violence), guilt, self-hatred, mentions of panic attacks and flashbacks | Happy/hopeful ending |

Eliot is learning how to ask for help. It’s hard, but luckily, Parker and Hardison are great teachers.

15. hold me tight tonight | Leverage | Prompt: “Run. Don’t look back” | Rated: Mature | Hardison/Eliot/Parker, can be read as platonic | Nightmares, past violence (including gun violence, murder, and child murder), self-esteem issues, trauma, guilt | Happy/hopeful ending |

Sometimes the dark is a little too dark, and everyone needs a hand to hold in order to make it through the night.

Or, 5 times the OT3 shared a bed.

16. born like this (i hate this) | Shadowhunters | Prompt: broken bones | Rated: Teen | No pairings | Self-harm, broken bones, guilt, self-hatred, internalized homophobia | Hopeful ending |

Alec is in charge of a mission that goes wrong, and Jace inadvertently makes the situation worse. Alec just wants to be normal, but he's not and he never has been.

17. as long as you’re here with me | Leverage | Prompt: field surgery | Rated: Teen | No pairings | Canon-typical violence, blood & injury, stitches, amateur/field surgery | Happy/hopeful ending |

Eliot gets injured on the job and needs stitches. He trusts Parker more than he trusts any doctor, but Parker isn't so sure he should. 

18. kiss on your lips when you’re in my arms | Leverage | Prompt: “I can’t see” | Rated: Teen | Hardison/Eliot/Parker (QPR, fic focuses on Hardison/Eliot) | Trauma, mild guilt, phobias | Happy ending | 

Some wounds take time to heal, but luckily for Hardison, out of old wounds sometimes come new beginnings.

Or, I tried to write an angsty post-The Grave Danger Job fic, and it somehow turned into the OT3 getting together.

19. Universal Love | Shadowhunters | Prompt: sleep deprivation | Rated: Gen | Alec/Magnus, Jace/Oberon/Qinemru | No warnings | Happy ending |

Alec is working late one night when he really should be sleeping, but luckily, he has a parabatai who’s anxious to get Alec home to Magnus so he can go home to his own partners. 

20. you’re just too good to be true | Leverage | Prompt: time travel | Rated: Teen | Hardison/Eliot | Imprisonment, mentions of past imprisonment/capture, guilt | Hopeful ending |

After a rather impulsive stint with Hardison's new time travel machine, Parker, Eliot, and Hardison find themselves trapped in an underground prison, courtesy of Eliot's old friends. Eliot feels responsible, but Hardison is there to make sure he knows he's not.

21. if love is what you need (a soldier I will be) | Leverage | Prompt: torture | Rated: Mature | Hardison/Eliot/Parker | Torture, blood & injury, imprisonment/capture, broken bones, extreme (but brief) violence, mentions of past violence, attempted rape/non-consensual touching | Happy/hopeful ending |

Eliot is being held and tortured by a man with a personal vendetta against him, and the stakes increase tenfold when Parker and Hardison are captured, as well.

~ ~ ~

I hope you enjoy these, and thank you so much for reading! <3

[princessconsuelapark]

my ultimate Sam and Dean are soulmates playlist | 61 songs, 3 hr 59 min

I started putting this together over my summer SPN re-watch, and I thought I'd share it with you all, so we can all cry over our Wincest feels together. It has all the usual cliché songs, and some of my own favourites. (Very country-heavy, so if that's not your thing proceed with caution.) I'm a writer, so lyrics are very important to me - I linked them for every song. All songs are individually YouTube linked, alternatively you can find the Spotify version above. I included some comments and explanations for all my choices, as well as quotes from the show. Happy listening! | Last updated: 18 November 2020

Carry On My Wayward Son by Supernatural: The Musical Cast // lyrics // Cliché and all that, but a good place to start.

Somewhere Only We Know by Lily Allen // lyrics // Even as children - as tumultuous and layered their relationship has always been - it was just the two of them, alone, in their own little world. I Found by Amber Run // lyrics // I found love where it wasn't supposed to be.

Fade Into You by Mazzy Star // lyrics // Unhealthily codependent Weecest vibes.

I Wanna Be Yours by Arctic Monkeys // lyrics // Secrets I have held in my heart / Are harder to hide than I thought. Something's Gotta Give by Christian Kane // lyrics // Wanting to get out of town as a metaphor for Dean wanting to act on his feelings for Sam? Yes, please. Christian Kane being a country god? Absolutely. The fact that this man was actually on SPN as Dean’s freaking love interest, and Jensen and him got to sing together still makes me the happiest person on this planet.

Don't You Wanna Fall by Frankie Ballard // lyrics // So, I love the lines Fall down here where an angel should know better than / To walk around this world with me, because god, Dean so often thinks he belongs in Hell, and is terrified of forcing his little brother into anything he doesn’t want. But still, he can’t stop himself: Don’t you wanna fall? (Shoutout to any Destiel shippers out there, because what a perfect song for you guys too, wow.) Thinking of You by Christian Kane // lyrics // Dean, just before Sam leaves for Stanford. (Link is for the Leverage version, because I love that show, and because Eliot Spencer is an angel. Funnily enough, Alona Tal was actually in that very episode, and did actually sing this song - you can find that here.) Hold On by Limp Bizkit // lyrics // I'm waiting for you, I know you're leaving / I'll still adore you, you never need me. LOST BOY by Troye Sivan // lyrics // Thinking about little Sammy’s stolen college admissions guide. Arms of a Stranger by Niall Horan // lyrics // Some jealous!Dean, while Sam is at Stanford angst.

Walking Away by Lifehouse // lyrics // Silence is all we have to give / And the memories of a life I wish we'd lived.

San Francisco by Niall Horan // lyrics // Listen, it’s a song about pining and not being able to let go and love in San Francisco. I mean, where do you expect my mind to go? Stanford Wincest all the way. How Did You Know? by Jedward // lyrics // I don’t wanna hear a bad word about Jedward, they are good lads. It’s a cheesy song, but hey, I love it. Sam comes back. Well, here I am / I couldn't stay gone. Drive by Halsey // lyrics // All we do is drive / All we do is think about the feelings that we hide. And the California never felt like home to me line! So perfect. "We made a hell of a team back there." (01x01 Pilot) Belong by X Ambassadors // lyrics // This is where Sam belongs, really. Riding shotgun, in his brother’s car, on the open road. Link is a fanvid that makes me feel things. Go and watch it, because it’s everything.

You Could Be Happy by Snow Patrol // lyrics // “Sam, you were right. You gotta do your own thing. You gotta live your own life.” (01x11 Scarecrow) Do the things that you always wanted to / Without me there to hold you back, don't think, just do.

Big Black Car by Gregory Alan Isakov // lyrics // "Who was that?" "My brother." "What did he say?" "Goodbye." That soft, disbelieving, confused look on Sam's face when Dean tells him he's proud of him. When it turns out Dean loves him enough to let him go. It should make him feel happy and free, it should make him loathe his childhood, defiance should fill him to the brim. Instead it makes him run straight back to Dean. (01x11 Scarecrow) Hey Brother by Avicii // lyrics // Faith. (01x12) Link is a fanvid, because reasons. Oh, if the sky comes falling down, for you / There's nothing in this world I wouldn't do. Sober Me Up by Frankie Ballard // lyrics // Sam always seems to make the world all fall into place. (Sort of 02x03 Bloodlust vibes?) But baby when you kiss me all the demons seem to disappear.

Always Gold by Radical Face // lyrics // “Killing this demon comes first, before me, before everything.” “No, sir. Not before everything.” (02x07 The Usual Suspects) And they said you were the crooked kind / And that you'd never have no worth / But you were always gold to me. Sold My Soul by Zakk Wylde // lyrics // Bit on the nose, but my god, how fucking real. (02x22 All Hell Breaks Loose: Part 2) Let Me Sign by Kirk Matthews // lyrics // "Well, then let it end!" & "I'm gonna take care of you." (02x22 All Hell Breaks Loose: Part 2) Follow You by Bring Me The Horizon // lyrics // “I mean, you sacrifice everything for me.  Don’t you think I’d do the same for you? You’re my big brother. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you.” (02x22 All Hell Breaks Loose: Part 2) Say Something by A Great Big World // lyrics // "I just wish you'd drop the show and be my brother again. Cause... just cause." (03x07 Fresh Blood) Take Me To Church by Hozier // lyrics // “This obsession to save Dean? The way you two keep sacrificing yourselves for each other? […] Dean’s your weakness. And the bad guys know it, too.” (03x11 Mystery Spot) Outlaws of Love by Adam Lambert // lyrics // "You're my weak spot. And I'm yours." (03x16 No Rest for the Wicked) Everywhere we go we're looking for the sun / Nowhere to grow old, we're always on the run / They say we'll rot in Hell, but I don't think we will / They've branded us enough, "Outlaws of Love". Wanted Dead Or Alive by Bon Jovi // lyrics // Well, I had to include this one, for obvious reasons. (03x16 No Rest for the Wicked) In Other Words by Ben Kweller // lyrics // Dean's going to Hell. Sam's not okay. In his eyes I see the fear. Real With Me by Cady Groves // lyrics // Dean is not dealing well with remembering Hell. Sam is upset that he's not opening up. And it was never about what you were not / But I don't know how much longer I can hold on. Devil's Backbone by The Civil Wars // lyrics // None of it matters. Leaving for Stanford, choosing Ruby, the demon blood, that he’s Hell’s chosen. Dean will always come for his brother, no matter what.   Stay by Florida Georgia Line // lyrics // Sam leaves. It's fucked up. "Hey, you, uh... wanna take the Impala?" Dean doesn’t trust him, not like he used to, but he would say anything to make him stay. (05x02 Good God, Y’all) Hotel Room by Calum Scott // lyrics // They die in a motel room. They find out they share a Heaven. Sam can't find the words to explain. He wishes Dean would just give him time. (05x04 The End) So I kind of wrote a ficlet about this...? Read it if you fancy. Here Tonight by Brett Young // lyrics // The Wincestiest Wincest song to ever Wincest. The lyrics! Sometimes they can just take a minute to sit on the hood of the Impala and watch the stars, Apocalypse be damned.

I Hold On by Dierks Bentley // lyrics // “Sam, it’s okay. It’s okay, I’m here, I’m here. I’m not gonna leave you.” (05x22 Swan Song) Dean believes in his brother, and I’m a sucker for pick-up truck metaphors Lifeboats by Snow Patrol // lyrics // The look on Dean's face when he hugs Sam, when he realises that Sam's back, that he's alive. (06x01 Exile on Main St.) Potentially also some Purgatory vibes. Wild Horses by The Rolling Stones // lyrics // The moment Sam turned up on his doorstep, there was no question he'd choose him. Choose him over Lisa and Ben. Choose him over everyone. “But the minute he walked through that door, I knew. It was over. You two have the most unhealthy, tangled-up, crazy thing I've ever seen. And as long as he's in your life, you're never gonna be happy.” (06x06 You Can’t Handle The Truth) Heavydirtysoul by twenty one pilots // lyrics // “Pick one... Sam’s soul or Adam’s.” “Sam.” (06x11 Appointment in Samarra)

H.O.L.Y. by Florida Georgia Line // lyrics // Oh, this song. A bit of religious irony and whatnot, but my god. The lyrics are everything. You're the healing hands where it used to hurt immediately makes me think of how Dean helped Sam turn the pain from his scar on his palm into “stone number one, and build on it”. (07x02 Hello, Cruel World) I mean, Sam can't even tell what's real anymore, but he trusts his brother. Blindly and with everything he has, because that's who he is. But then there’s also Dean making his promise in the church, and Sam choosing him over dying in 09x01 (I Think I’m Gonna Like It Here). God. Just. I love this song for Sam and Dean.

Through The Dark by One Direction // lyrics // "We'll figure it out, okay? Just like we always do." (08x23 Sacrifice) Leave Out All The Rest by Linkin Park // lyrics // Sam is okay with sacrificing himself. He is ready to die. When my time comes / Forget the wrong that I've done. Demolition Lovers by My Chemical Romance // lyrics // “There is nothing, past or present, that I would put in front of you... I need you to see that." (08x23 Sacrifice) Okay, but look at the lyrics, and try and convince me this song is not about Sam and Dean. Love Will Tear Us Apart by Fall Out Boy // lyrics // "You wanna know what I confessed in there?" (08x23 Sacrifice) TALK ME DOWN by Troye Sivan // lyrics // The look in Sam’s eyes changes, his face falls. "How do I stop?" He chooses Dean like he always does. (08x23 Sacrifice) Brother by Kodaline // lyrics // “Come on. You and Dean? That’s something special, don’t you think?” (09x08 Rock and a Hard Place) Link is a gorgeous fanvid, go watch it and cry. Little Lion Man by Mumford & Sons // lyrics // Dean really messed up this time. Gadreel fall out stuff. Sam breaks up with him in a motel car park in Wisconsin. (09x12 Sharp Teeth)

better off by Jeremy Zucker & Chelsea Cutler // lyrics // "Something's broken here, Dean." (09x12 Sharp Teeth) & "No, Dean, I wouldn't." (09x13 The Purge)

I Can't Go On Without You by KALEO // lyrics // Sam taking Dean’s body home, laying him on his bed, drinking by himself in the dark. (09x23 Do You Believe in Miracles) I Won't Give Up by Noah Guthrie // lyrics // "I am going to save my brother." (10x01 Black) Sam never gives up on Dean. Brother by NEEDTOBREATHE ft. Gavin DeGraw // lyrics // “I never even said thank you, so…” “You don’t ever have to say that, not to me.” (10x04 Paper Moon) Link is another beautiful fanvid, because I can’t help myself. Sittin' Pretty by Florida Georgia Line // lyrics // Sam's sunshine and he’s endless planes of warm skin, soft long hair, and sometimes Dean looks at him. Really looks at him. (No, okay, but the Chevy line really made it for me.) Blood Brothers by Luke Bryan // lyrics // "I don’t need a symbol to remind me how I feel about my brother.” and "The two of us against the world!” "What she said.” (10x05 Fan Fiction) I don’t know, country songs just make me think of Sam and Dean, okay.

I Will Follow You Into The Dark by Daniela Andrade // lyrics // “This is my life. I love it. But I can’t do it without my brother. I don’t want to do it without my brother. And if he’s gone, then I don’t…” (10x18 Book of the Damned)

Golden by Fall Out Boy // lyrics // Dean is so so broken. “No, there is no other way, Sam. I’m sorry.” (10x23 Brother’s Keeper)

Church by Fall Out Boy // lyrics // This whole song screams Sam and Dean to me, and initially I thought of Sam’s Wall breaking down, but then I got stuck on the lines And if death is the last appointment / Then we're all just sitting in the waiting room / I am just a human trying to avoid my certain doom and that’s so clearly Dean killing Death, unable to murder his little brother in the end, because his devotion to Sam runs too deep. (10x23 Brother’s Keeper) In which the SPN writers and Pete Wentz really should get together and discuss over-the-top religious imagery. You are doomed but just enough. Right Back Home by Lifehouse // lyrics // “We are home.“ (11x04 Baby) Be There by Seafret // lyrics // "Bring him back. Bring him back and take me instead." (11x17 Red Meat)  You're my way out / You're my way through / And I can't, I can't / Be without you.

Only the Brave by Louis Tomlinson // lyrics // “I need him, he needs me.“ (11x23 Alpha and Omega) With or Without You by U2 // lyrics // The absolute poetic tragedy of 12x09 (First Blood). The way they don’t even have time to really look at each other after six weeks apart, that they are both ready to die for each other without a moment of hesitation.

I Won't Mind by ZAYN // lyrics // “I'm good with who I am. I'm good with who you are. Because our lives? They're ours and maybe I'm too damn old to want to change that.” (14x13 Lebanon)

Fine Line by Harry Styles // lyrics // "Just us.” (15x19 Inherit the Earth)

[goldenraeofsun]

in my defense, I have none

A redo of the first installment of this verse!

Castiel scrawls his name on a nametag and offers Becky at the makeshift welcome desk a hesitant smile.

She beams back. “Hope you enjoy the reunion!”

Castiel strides down the familiar halls of Edlund High School and does his best not to regress to his teenage self, dodging glances and hunching his shoulders to make himself smaller. It’s been ten goddamn years; he has changed. 

He passes a couple of his old classmates - he doesn’t recognize them - pointing at a poster with old pictures, excitedly naming names.

“Look at Dean Winchester, oh my god, I haven’t thought about him in years! I had the worst crush on him, you know?”

Her companion snorts. “You and everyone else.”

Castiel snorts. Everyone else, indeed.

He walks deliberately on, following the music to the gym. The bass thumps in a vaguely-familiar rhythm, but Castiel can't name the song or singer for the life of him. In high school, he didn’t listen to much contemporary music. His mother preferred the classical stations at home, and Dean, of course, only played his version of the classics in his car.

“Music stopped being good after the mid-80s,” Dean said as they drove down the dark highway, no headlights, only them. “Don’t let anyone ever tell you any different.”

Castiel doesn’t remember what he said in return, but he remembers the way Dean laughed, how his eyes crinkled, how he tapped his fingers along the steering wheel, how he looked, looking back at Cas.

Castiel steps into the reunion. The gym has been festooned with what looks like old prom decorations. Streamers hang off the walls in Edlund’s school colors, and bunches of mostly-inflated balloons are taped along the collapsed bleachers spelling out their graduating year. A slideshow of old yearbook photos flashes against the far wall of the gym.

Castiel stares out at a room full of strangers.

Inwardly, he sighs. He was hardly a social butterfly in high school. The exact opposite, actually. He can’t name a single person - except one - that would be able to put a name to his face. 

“Clarence!”

Make that two. 

Castiel spins around at the familiar voice. “Meg?”

He should have known. But if Castiel has learned anything over the past few years, it’s Meg Masters defies all expectations. He’d been surprised enough when she marched right up to him at his old school - Morning Star Academy - and asked him out to lunch.

After listening to him awkwardly explain that he was gay, Meg rolled her eyes and told him she just wanted to catch up. They had gone to the same high school, she said.

She didn’t seem very bothered when he said he didn’t remember her. All she did was make him pay for that first lunch, and that was the extent of his punishment for forgetting. 

When Castiel took his current job at Carver Preparatory in their hometown school district, they started meeting up for drinks instead of lunch.

Meg smirks. “I didn’t think you were going to this little shindig.”

“It didn’t come up,” Castiel says distractedly as he scans the gym.

“Yet here you are, skulking the old hallways.”

“I didn’t skulk.” Castiel turns to her, offended.

“Unlike some people, my memory of high school is impeccable,” Meg says loftily, “You skulked in that coat with all those books in front of your face. I was always surprised you didn’t mow down more unsuspecting freshmen.”

“I -” Castiel breaks off, unable to deny any of her accusations. It’s true he wore his old trenchcoat nearly every day (in his more poetic moments, he saw it as a foil to Dean’s everpresent leather jacket) and he tried to shut everyone out by reading while walking from class to class.

“Don’t worry about it,” Meg says with an easy pat to his shoulder. “Teenagers are the worst. I thought I was so cool back then, with the boots and the bleached hair.” She shudders at the memory.

“I’m sure you were very cool,” Castiel says diplomatically.

Meg snorts. “You bet your ass I was not cool.” She tips her head over to where a group of well-dressed alums stand below the basketball hoops. “They were cool. And now look at them.” She sighs. “I would still set their extensions on fire if I could. Oh well, some things never change. Look at Victor. Talk about aging like fine wine.”

Castiel vaguely recognizes some of them from the poster outside the gym. But for the life of him, he can’t identify which one is Victor.

Meg smiles at his clueless expression. “You seriously didn’t pay attention to anything but your books?”

“I - ” Castiel breaks off, the faintest twinges of embarrassment curling in his gut. He paid attention to exactly one thing outside of his studies in high school.

Meg eyes him critically. “You’re usually chattier than this. I think you need a drink.” She steers him towards the makeshift bar on a folding table.

With newly acquired drinks, they retreat to the far end of the gym. Meg makes a game out of forcing Cas to try to name people from their class.

“I want to say, Jeremy?” Castiel guesses as Meg not-so-subtly points out a man at the end of the drinks line.

“Close,” Meg says with a smirk. “That’s Gordon Walker. He was captain of the football team.” She subtly points to a very pretty woman scrolling through her phone near Gordon.

“She looks like a Mina to me,” Castiel says critically.

Meg throws him an incredulous look. “How did nobody know you were gay in high school?”

“I’m guessing her name isn’t Mina.”

“Bela Talbot,” Meg corrects. “You don’t remember her English accent? Pretentious as fuck. Just like Principal Crowley - not that you have to deal with him any more, since you’re over at Carver, you lucky bastard.”

Crowley was one of the main reasons Castiel left Morning Star. In tightening the budget, he cracked down on students’ late lunch bills among other unacceptable measures. Crowley was not pleased when he found out Castiel regularly squirrelled away peanut butter and a loaf of bread in his desk for emergencies. 

Castiel tried to explain it was for his lunch emergencies, but Crowley wasn’t hearing any of it. Castiel was fired, and, after a harrowing year of substitute teaching, he used his family connection to get his current job at Carver Preparatory. 

“Eliot,” Castiel tries next.

“There isn’t a single Eliot in our class,” Meg says, laughing. “How can you not remember Lee Webb? He wore that stupid cowboy hat all sophomore year.”

It continues. The only person Castiel gets right is Tessa, and that’s because they had gone to the same church.

“You have to remember him,” Meg says as waves over a newcomer entering the gym.

Castiel’s mouth goes dry. Yes, he does recognize Dean Winchester. How could he forget?

Castiel might have been a friendless loner in high school with only his books for company, but he wasn’t dead. He knew who Dean Winchester was, with his leather jacket, muscle car, and stunning green eyes that would make a romantic portrait artist weep.

Castiel can recall with perfect clarity the moment he found out he’d been assigned to tutor Dean in Latin in the beginning of their senior year. A mixture of elation and dread filled his stomach before Ms. Siege had even finished speaking. He’d get to see Dean. He’d have to spend time, probably alone, with Dean Winchester. And, most terrifyingly, he’d have to open his mouth and actually say words in front of him.

When Castiel looks at Dean for the first time in ten years, he doesn’t think about when Dean would do his damndest to distract Castiel from tutoring and tease him to lighten up. Instead, Castiel remembers Dean’s flushed cheeks and grasping fingers the first time Cas made him come, and the way the Impala’s windows had fogged up, just like in the movies.

* * *

Castiel can tell the exact moment Dean spots him because he nearly trips over his feet.

“I - I need to go,” Castiel says to Meg, sheer panic flooding his veins.

“What?” she asks. “Already?”

“Bathroom,” Castiel blurts before he can think of a better excuse.

“That time of the month?” Meg asks with a faux-sympathetic frown.

Castiel doesn’t bother dignifying her question with an answer. Instead, he spins on his heel and makes for the second gym exit, the one that leads to the locker rooms instead of the rest of the school.

He breathes deep as the door closes behind him. Shivering from nerves with the close call, he takes a moment to get his bearings. Are his legs shaking?

At one of the sinks in the boy’s bathroom, he turns on the tap and pats his heated face down with a damp paper towel.

He’s such a mess, and he hasn’t even spoken to Dean yet.

What a goddamn joke. He hasn’t changed in a decade. Still running away from Dean like a coward.

Castiel has been - well, he wouldn’t say looking forward to this reunion - but he’s been mentally gearing himself up for it. Castiel promised himself, ever since he heard Dean took a teaching position at their old high school, to go to their next reunion and formally apologize.

He splashes more water on his face, grimacing as dark spots dot his tie. Somehow it’s already gotten turned around. Castiel halfheartedly fiddles with it, trying to get it to lie straight.

The door opens behind him. Castiel freezes, but it’s not Dean.

The stranger shoots him a weird look before slipping into one of the stalls.

The man’s belt unbuckles, and Castiel inwardly sighs. He can’t hide in here forever. He leaves just as the sounds of a clearly painful bowel movement start up behind him. 

Right outside the gym, he steels himself. He owes this to Dean; the worst Dean can do is make a scene, and it’s not like Castiel has any plans to ever set foot in Edlund High again, anyway. He teaches at their rival school, after all.

He’s here for Dean. He can do this and go home.

Back inside, he spots Meg without difficulty. She’s alone and tapping away on her phone.

Castiel approaches her, already bracing for a wave of uncomfortable questions. “Hello, Meg.”

“Hey,” Meg says distractedly. She squints up at him. “What was with the Houdini act?”

Castiel shifts his weight to the other foot. “Where did Dean go?”

Meg jerks her head to where their ‘popular’ classmates congregate, now with one added Dean Winchester. “Why do you care?”

“I don’t.”

Meg places both hands on her hips. “I think you forget that as a fellow educator, I have a stellar bullshit radar.”

“It’s personal.”

“Come on, Clarence,” Meg says, the faintest note of pleading in her voice, “This reunion is boring as hell. Nobody’s gone into porn or killed anyone since we graduated. I’ve been robbed. You have to tell me, what did Dean Winchester do to you way back when?” Her eyebrows raise as she takes in his conflicted expression. “Or should I say, what did you do to him?”

Castiel sighs. He frowns at the floor. “In senior year we were… involved.”

“Involved how?” Meg asks, her eyes gleaming. “Don’t tell me he broke your heart.”

Castiel slowly shakes his head. “The other way around.”

“Holy shit,” Meg breathes, her eyes as round as the balloons festooning the walls. She sneaks a peek over at Dean, still standing with his group of old school friends. “You’re serious.”

“I never pegged you as a gossip, Meg,” Castiel says dispassionately.

“Call me desperate,” Meg says, waving his criticism away with an idle hand. “It’s either ten-year-old gossip or watch that fucking slideshow for the fifth time in a row. If you have anything else you’d rather talk about, I’m all ears.”

Castiel jumps at the opening. “I have been wondering,” he starts, “how other schools have been integrating the state board’s recommen-”

Meg interrupts him loudly, “Anything except work.” 

Castiel snaps his mouth shut with a glare.

“Come on,” Meg wheedles, “You got the class loner act locked down, but it’s not like I particularly want to see any of these people ever again.” She gestures around the gym.

“Then why come at all?” Castiel asks, honestly baffled.

Meg smirks. “Did you not hear my comment about the porn and murder?”

“If anyone did, I hardly think they’d advertise it at their class reunion.”

“Can’t blame a girl for trying.” She shoots him a pointed look. “But we’re getting off topic. You and Dean Winchester. Spill, Novak.”

Castiel sighs. “I was assigned to tutor him in Latin at the beginning of senior year.”

“Ohh,” Meg croons, “Somebody got hot for teacher?”

Castiel grimaces at the crude reduction of Dean’s feelings. “You could say that,” he says cagily.

Meg turns to look out across the gym, her dark eyes zeroing in on Dean. “I imagine your little heart wasn’t made of stone either.”

“No, it wasn’t.”

Meg claps her hands delightedly. “What happened?”

“I ended things,” Castiel says hollowly. “We were about to graduate, and I had plans to go to college.”

“And he did not,” Meg surmises.

Castiel shakes his head. “He was considering community college.”

To set a good example for Sam, Dean had said. He didn’t particularly care for higher education one way or another, not like Castiel, who saw college as his one way out of their hometown, out of his family, out of everything he hated about his first 18 years of life.

But somehow Dean wound up getting his degree anyway - he must have, or he wouldn’t be teaching English at their old high school.

Castiel has so many questions, but the likelihood of getting answers from Dean dwindles smaller and smaller the longer he puts off doing the very thing he came here to do.

When Dean breaks off from the group to grab another drink, Castiel seizes his chance.

Meg lets him go with a half-mocking, half-supportive, “Go get ‘im, champ!”

Castiel flips up his middle finger over his shoulder as he takes off after Dean.

He shoves his tingling hands in his pockets, finds walking with his hands in his pockets awkward and removes them, and somehow doesn't bolt in the opposite direction. By the time he catches up to Dean, it’s hard to think through his cloud of anxiety.

He just needs to tell Dean he is sorry; Dean was right; Castiel should never have ended things between them like he did.

Dean always did like being right - that can’t have changed much over the past ten years.

Castiel waits for Dean to see him, staring hard at the side of Dean’s head until he’s noticed.

Dean’s eyes go round, and he almost drops his cup of beer. “Christ,” he says, staggering off to the side of the bar table. “Someone should put a bell on you.”

“My apologies,” Castiel says gruffly.

This is not how he would have liked to start his first conversation with Dean Winchester in ten years. Not that Castiel had expected much better - if he learned anything from their tutoring sessions and later hookups, Dean always had at least one surprise up his sleeve.

Dean inhales a deep breath. “Hey, Cas.”

“Hello, Dean.”

* * * 

Castiel swallows nervously. All that preparation at home and in the bathroom, and not a single word comes to mind.

“How, uh, how’ve you been?” Dean asks first. He takes a quick sip of his beer.

“I’ve been well,” Castiel says stiffly. “And you?”

“Can’t complain.”

The conversation is almost unbearably awkward, even for him. How in the world did Castiel get stuck making smalltalk with Dean Winchester? So much for best laid plans. 

 “I heard you teach here now,” Castiel says.

“I do,” Dean says, his eyes wandering around the gym. “English. Started this year. You?”

“Latin and French at Carver Preparatory.”

Dean’s eyebrows rise. “No shit,” he says, a bitter note to his voice. “You’re teaching those elitist assholes?”

Castiel blinks. True, he didn’t expect Dean to exactly welcome him after everything, but the deliberate antagonism is a surprise. “I wouldn’t - they’re not all assholes,” he stutters. He can’t bring himself to deny the elitism. He’s loyal, not blind.

“Hm,” Dean grunts, not giving an inch. “I hope you’re not here to sabotage anything.”

“Between Carver and Edlund?” Cas asks, baffled. “This is high school, not Soviet Russia.”

Dean tips back his beer and takes a large gulp. “Tell that to the seniors who got sued over a prank.”

“They stole five hundred dollars’ worth of Carver uniforms,” Castiel says incredulously, “for an internet fad.”

Dean’s mouth twitches. “I think you mean a meme. And it was hilarious.”

“A what?”

Dean snorts. “Never mind.” His expression closes off again. “And the seniors only borrowed them. All the uniforms were returned - no harm, no foul.”

Castiel has to put a sincere effort into not letting his disgust show on his face. The whole fiasco did not endear Castiel to anyone at Carver who called for the legal case. Even if they did not make up the majority of the faculty or parents, they had the numbers (and the money) to push it farther than it should have gone.

“The parents who paid for those uniforms definitely didn’t see it that way,” Castiel says to Dean.

“Sucks to be them,” Dean smirks, “If their biggest worry is leftover sweat from an Edlunder, better not tell them how bowling shoes or vintage clothing works.”

From Castiel’s parent-teacher conferences, he’d be surprised if any Carver parent had ever stepped foot in a bowling alley. He’s positive the Naomis and Bartholomews that make up the PTA would sooner give up their second homes than voluntarily wear a pair of bowling shoes.

Dean tosses back his drink. “Anyway, it’s not like they can’t afford to get the douchey uniforms dry cleaned.”

“I didn’t say they were right,” Castiel says carefully, “In fact, I think Carver’s reaction was completely overblown, but you probably don’t want to hear about our administration politics behind the decision.”

“Nope,” Dean says, lips popping.

After a beat, Castiel asks, “How do you like teaching here?”

“Can’t complain,” Dean says as he eyes the dregs of his beer. “Bobby - Principal Singer - retired last year, but he put in a good word for me with Principal Mills.”

“I’ve heard good things about her ideas for Edlund.”

“She’s all about finally bringing us into the digital age. She’s been talking with Charlie - do you remember her?” Dean explains, “She was in our history class junior and senior year.”

The name rings no bells for Castiel. He shakes his head.

“Really?” Dean pauses. “Red hair? Queen of the Nerds?”

Castiel gives another headshake, eyes narrowing.

Dean tries again, “You gotta remember her novelty tee shirts.”

Castiel says dryly, “I think you’re vastly overestimating how much attention I paid to our classmates.”

“But-”

“Dean,” Castiel says impatiently, “You are the only person I remember from high school.”

Dean balks for a moment, his cheeks flushing. “No way,” he says flatly. “You can’t seriously - I saw you talking to Meg Masters a while ago.”

Castiel eyes the mostly-depleted drink in Dean’s hands enviously. He doesn’t have enough alcohol to discuss his social deficiencies as an adult - or as a teenager. “We worked together briefly,” he admits, “at Morning Star.”

Dean whistles. “Well, I guess Carver is a step up from that.”

“Indeed,” Castiel agrees wryly. “I was only there a year. The administration at Carver is a nightmare, but at least they’re not sadists.”

“I haven’t heard great stuff about Morning Star,” Dean admits.

“There isn’t much good that goes on in that school,” Castiel says wearily. “Principal Crowley - well, the less said about him the better. Meg hates him. The students, though,” he swallows, “they deserve better.”

Dean’s expression hardens. “They always do.”

“Anyway,” Castiel says quickly because going down that road always makes him want to smite something - preferably Crowley’s smirking face, “I didn’t remember Meg either until she told me we went to school together.”

Dean lets out a surprised laugh. “I guess you always did have your nose in a book.” He makes a face and gestures around the gym. “Then why come to this snoozefest? The whole point is to catch up with old friends.”

“According to Meg, the point is to discover who went into pornography or to prison over the past ten years.”

Dean chuckles. “You can mark me down for ‘no’ on both counts.”

“I - I had thought so,” Castiel says awkwardly.

“Oh, so…” Dean drifts off, for once at a loss for words.

As the silence ticks on, Castiel’s reason for coming to the reunion crowds at the tip of his tongue. But he can’t make the words come out.

Dean drains his beer. He lets his gaze drift away from Castiel, lingering on someone or something over Castiel’s left shoulder. “Well, it was nice seeing you, Cas, I’ll see you ar-”

“I came here to apologize to you,” Castiel blurts.

Dean’s eyes snap to Castiel’s face. “What?”

Castiel swallows nervously. “For high school.”

“Okay,” Dean crosses his arms across his chest. “A lot of things happened in high school. Specifics would help.”

Castiel inhales a deep breath. “I’m sorry for how I handled our… relationship.”

Dean’s mouth twists, his expression darkening. “I wouldn’t call what we did a relationship.”

“Right,” Castiel says, biting his lip. “Our arrangement, then. What I did - what I did to you - it’s one of the biggest regrets of my life.”

Dean purses his lips. “What would’ve you done differently?”

“Excuse me?”

“Humor me,” Dean asks, and it doesn't sound like a suggestion. “If you could go back. Get a do-over. What would you do?” His eyes narrow. “Would you have come out? Or maybe stopped me before we got down and dirty in the Impala in the first place? ‘Cause I’ve played this game a few times, and I know which one I would’ve gone for.”

Castiel thinks it over. “Rationally,” he says,slowly, sounding the word out as he tries to put the rest of his thoughts into words, “I should have kept our interactions to our tutoring sessions.”

Dean’s jaw clenches. He nods.

Castiel can’t tell if his explanation is hurting Dean further. He feels like he’s been dumped out at sea while only knowing how to doggy paddle. Mouth dry, he barrels on, “But realistically, there’s no way that could have happened, so I probably should have asked you to wait for me.”

Dean blinks in surprise, his hardened exterior cracking the tiniest fraction. “Wait?” he echoes faintly.

“I couldn’t come out in high school,” Castiel says dully. What he wouldn’t give for another drink. “If my mother got wind of my sexuality, she would have put conditions on my college tuition without another thought, or forced me to take a gap year to do churchwork or something equally horrendous.”

Dean’s tense shoulders sag. “I didn’t know that.”

“I was ashamed,” Castiel drops his gaze to the floor, “You clearly loved your family, and your father… well, even with his flaws, he seemed to accept you. My situation was nothing like that.”

“Dad didn’t know about me either,” Dean mutters. 

“Sorry?” Castiel asks, raising his head.

“Dad didn’t know I went for dudes and chicks,” Dean explains. “But he was hardly around, so if I didn’t tell him and Sammy didn’t tell him, odds were he’d never find out.” He bites his lip as he meets Castiel’s stare head-on. “How long?”

“How long?” Castiel repeats, confused.

“How long would you have asked me to wait?” Dean asks, a hard edge to his words.

Castiel hesitates, wrong-footed at their backtracking conversation. “Until I had started my first semester at college.”

Dean’s mouth falls open. “What?”

Castiel frowns. “I had no plans to be in the closet after I moved away. My mother has too many connections here, with the junior league, the civics board, HOA, and who knows what else. But in my college town, she knew no one. I could finally be myself.”

Dean splutters nonsensically before he says, “You didn’t think to ask me to wait one measly summer for you to get your head out of your ass?”

“But I wasn’t just asking for ‘one summer’,” Castiel protests.

Dean’s outrage falters at Castiel’s air quotes.

“It would have been one summer and four years of long distance. I knew you had… feelings,” Castiel doesn’t pause at Dean’s wince at the word, “for me, but I had already taken so much from you. Are you saying you would have waited?”

“I don’t know!” Dean says, sounding slightly manic. He runs a hand through his hair distractedly, muttering to himself under his breath. 

Castiel inhales a deep breath to calm himself down. He forces himself to look Dean straight in the eye. “A part of me was looking forward to a completely fresh start, too. But, of course, I was the same as ever,” Castiel chuckles without a trace of humor, “friendless, caught up in the details, narrow-minded. It didn’t take long to realize I was only ever a different person when I was with you.”

“Jesus Christ,” Dean says, staring right back, “I had no idea.”

Castiel shrugs. “I never told you.”

“You should’ve,” Dean says shortly.

“I should have,” Castiel agrees.

Dean bites his lip, looking conflicted. His gaze flits around the gym, behind Castiel, where undoubtedly more of their classmates vie for his attention. And, that’s good, because Castiel finally said his piece. He can go home, and never think about Edlund High School or Dean Winchester again.

(Because that worked so well when he left Dean the first time.)

Castiel takes a step backwards. Personal space, he remembers. Stiffly, Castiel says, “Anyway, that’s why I came to the reunion. To see you. To tell you that. I shouldn’t keep you any long-”

“Are you single?” Dean interrupts.

Castiel’s brain takes an embarrassingly long moment to understand the question. “Yes?”

“Do you want to get out of here?” Dean asks, a strange glint in his eye.

“I do,” Castiel says truthfully. “I don’t like social engagements.”

“Some things never change,” Dean says with a small grin. He gestures to the door. “What do you say to a drive?”

Castiel blinks.

“For old time’s sake,” Dean says, with a fucking wink.

Castiel’s mouth falls open. “I - is this a joke?” His brow furrows. “Retribution for refusing to see you outside of our… trysts?”

Dean’s face goes through a multitude of expressions Castiel can barely hope to read - shock, guilt, perhaps cautious optimism? “God no,” Dean says quickly. He coughs and shifts his weight to his other foot. “Shit, I was trying to make a joke. Sorry. Not there yet.” 

“I don’t understand.”

“Look,” Dean starts, “since we’re apparently crap at asking for what we want - we’re both single,” Castiel’s eyebrows rise because this is news to him, “and this reunion is boring as hell, so I’m asking if you want to do something else instead.”

“With you?” Castiel asks because it sounds implied to him, but he can never be too sure when it comes to Dean Winchester.

Dean glares. “Yes, with me, Cas.”

Castiel chews on his lip as he tries to figure out why Dean would initiate an activity with him, apart from the obvious. As Castiel fails to come up with any sensible reason, and Dean’s foot tapping becomes audible in its intensity and speed, Castiel has to ask, “Are you asking me on a date?”

Dean throws both hands in the air. “I swear, you’re being dense on purpose. Since you need everything spelled out for you: will you go out with me, Castiel Novak?” Without waiting for an answer, Dean tacks on, “Jesus Christ, high school really never does end.” 

But he doesn’t really seem all that mad. So Castiel tells him, “Yes, I’d like to go on a date with you.”

Dean grins. He jerks his head towards the door. “Wanna go?”

“But,” Castiel waves one hand in the direction of the multitude of people behind them, “aren’t there people you’d rather talk to first?”

Dean shakes his head. “Not right now, no.”

* * *

Dean takes the steps down to the parking lot at a bit of a jog. He makes a beeline to the very familiar hulking beast, parked at least three spaces away from any other car. 

A frisson of anticipation thrums up Castiel’s spine at the sight, a dormant instinct he’d thought ten years dead. Castiel pauses outside the passenger side of the Impala and tries not to fidget as he waits for Dean to notice him. 

“Everything okay?” Dean asks as he yanks open the car door.

Castiel asks bluntly, “Does this mean you forgive me?”

Dean braces both elbows on the Impala’s roof, his face serious. “You were seventeen.”

That’s not an agreement. It’s an excuse.

“I was old enough to know what I was doing to you was wrong,” Castiel counters.

“Come on,” Dean rolls his eyes. “If there’s anything I learned from teaching, it’s that teenagers are morons. Uncle Sam allows them to go to war and vote, but I sure as shit don’t. Kids are idiots.” His mouth lifts into a tentative smile. “Even the ones with a 4.0 GPA and perfect attendance.” 

Dean taps his fingers on Impala’s roof, but he doesn’t seem impatient, more pensive. It’s a look Castiel never saw on teenage Dean. “I’m sure you were doing the best you could’ve under the circumstances. I might not have got it then, but I get it now.”

“It wasn’t perfect,” Castiel mutters as he gets in the Impala.

“Sure it wasn’t,” Dean says sardonically as he slams the door behind him and starts the engine. “It’s not like I can’t hack the old attendance records and see for myself.”

“That seems like a lot of work to make a point.”

“If you think I wouldn’t do it, you don’t know me at all,” Dean says gravely, eyes twinkling.

“Oh, I don’t doubt you’d do it,” Castiel says, “You broke into Principal Singer’s office to steal back the switchblade that you brought to school for some unfathomable reason.”

“You remember that?” Dean asks, surprised.

“Your detention derailed an entire week’s worth of tutoring,” Castiel says dryly. “We couldn’t finish Cicero in time for your exam.”

Dean chuckles. “Figures you remember that part.”

“I had also recently fingered you for the first time,” Castiel reminds him, “I was very put out about waiting a whole week to do it again.”

Dean chokes on air as they come to an abrupt stop at a red light.

“I forget very little when it comes to you,” Castiel finishes placidly.

Dean shakes his head as the light turns green. “Christ,” he says, his eyes flitting briefly to Castiel’s face before settling back on the road. “You can’t just say things like that.”

“Why not?” Castiel asks. It seems they got into this whole mess precisely because Castiel refused to say exactly what he thought about Dean Winchester.

Dean opens his mouth, but no words come out. A ruddy flush crawls up his neck and face, just visible in the darkened car interior.

Castiel runs a disbelieving hand over the dash, reading the minute grooves and divots like he’s rediscovering his favorite book. “I never thought I’d be in the Impala again.” 

“You were the one who wanted to wait,” Dean rolls his eyes, “I think ten goddamn years is long enough.”

[leverage-ot3]

notable moments from The 12 Step Job

leverage 1.10

Hardison (brings up map on monitors): That look like a pattern to you?

Parker: It's like Billy from "The Family Circus," If Billy was a drunken sex fiend.

eliot straight up looked at her like ?????

- - - - -

Nate: Actually, it does. He's an addict, under stress. So he's not gonna be doing a lot of exploring. He's gonna stay well within his comfort zone. He's still in LA. Oh, yeah. All right, we're gonna do this old-school. Ah, Parker, you break into his condo, see what you can find. Sophie and I will hit the retail spots. You guys go to his favorite haunts. But don't spook him, just follow him. Let him lead us to the money.

Hardison: All right?

Eliot (to Hardison): Strip Joint.

Hardison: Mmm. (to Nate) You know, I'm - I'm gonna need change for $100... in singles.

Nate: I'm sorry. What? Y-you think I have 100 singles on me?

(Eliot and Hardison walk out)

they looked at each other giddily that the con was going to take them to a strip joint and immediately asked their dad nate for money

they’re children, your honor

- - - - -

Hardison: This dude, you see him trying to force his keys onto that girl?

Eliot: Yeah. It should be the other way around, huh?

(Hurley gets into the car and starts it)

Eliot: Oh, I’m sorry. I forgot. You don't know nothing about that.

Hardison: Really? I almost had it in me to wash this car. Almost.

Eliot: Ten bucks says you're washing the car.

Hardison: I know it ain’t

Eliot: I guaran- (he is cut off when a car pulls up behind Hurley as he’s backing up, and he hits it. Men get out of the car and run around to where Hurley is getting out of his car)

CHILDREN

also as soon as hardison spilled that slushie he was Dead™

(also when did they stop to get slushies ??? like did hardison beg eliot to stop at some place to get one ??? did eliot begrudgingly to it, complaining all the way but secretly not actually minding it that much ???)

- - - - -

eliot and hardison fighting goons in the parking lot ? two words: 🥰 crime boyfriends 🥰

- - - - -

Hardison: I got a gun. I got a gun.

Man: All right, man, hey, hey.

(the men back away. Hardison points the gun and shoots. The bullet goes into the engine of the men’s car, disabling it. Eliot pulls Hardison toward their car)

Eliot: Nice job blowing out the engine block.

Hardison: I was aiming for his leg.

(Eliot grabs the gun)

Eliot: Yeah give me the gun, Hardison

hardison can’t shoot for shit and it’s hilarious

- - - - -

Parker: Hi. My name is Rose. I'm a kleptomaniac. My parents are rich, but I shoplift anyway... (looks at notes on her wrist) because I hate myself.

HER NOTES ON HER WRIST LMFAO

- - - - -

making parker take the drugs without explaining the process or making her sign anything etc is unethical

- - - - -

Hardison: It-It's, uh, a computer bomb. I-I-I know computers. Computer bomb, um. We-we-we got to reboot the system. Yeah.

Eliot (stands up): You want me to kick it?

Hardison: God, I’m gonna die. No, just, look. (reaches under dash)

Eliot: Wh-wh-wh-whoa.

Hardison: J-just, no. Duck up under the hood and just tell me how it's attached to the electrical system. (pops hood)

I’ve seen meta for this scene where eliot actually obviously knows not to kick it, he’s just saying that to jumpstart hardison’s brain since he’s freaking the fuck out. and I believe that wholeheartedly.

- - - - -

Eliot: What's our margin for error here?

Hardison: About half a second.

Eliot: Run the bag of bricks by me again.

Hardison: You ready?

Eliot: No.

Hardison: Are you ready?

(Eliot reaches under the hood with a shaking hand and grabs the wires)

Eliot: Yeah

ELIOT! COULD! HAVE! JUST! LEFT!

they were a newly formed team and if worst came to worst, he could have just gotten himself to safety and have that be it. except he would NEVER do that. he’d never leave any of his team behind (especially hardison). in this scene and the one before it his hands were SHAKING because he was so scared for hardison and that hardison wouldn’t make it. eliot is the retrieval specialist and he’s the one that is supposed to get everyone home safe. he needed hardison to be safe.

- - - - -

Receptionists: Can I help you?

Eliot: You sure can. Here to see a patient of yours, Mr. Tom Baker.

Receptionists: What's your relationship?

Eliot: Why?

Receptionists: Second Act has a strict policy. Only family members can see patients. We want to make sure outside influences don't hamper our clients' recoveries.

Eliot: I think that's an excellent policy. I'm Tom's brother. Hi. Mark.

(Eliot kisses the receptionists hand. She looks at Hardison)

Hardison: I'm-I'm with him.

Receptionists: So, you're a friend of…

Hardison: No, no, I am—

(Hardison puts his arm through Eliot’s. Eliot stiffens)

Hardison: I am with him. See, he thinks the flirting makes me jealous, but it doesn't. You know, but if you was, like, Brad Pitt or Denzel or somebody, oh, girl, it would be on, seriously. (rings the bell) Bring your ass. Bring your ass. (pulls Eliot away from the desk)

ot3 foreshadowing in season one- we love to see it

(also what a fucking nerd, hardison, tom baker? you live to base aliases off of doctor who)

- - - - -

Parker: I thought my foster parents just wanted me so they could get money from the state, but now I realize they didn't love each other. They just wanted someone to love them.

Hurley: Like they need you to fill in the gaps for their relationship.

Parker: Exactly. But when that didn't happen, they just withdrew

Hurley: Yeah.

Parker: Which led me to steal.

Hurley: Yeah.

Parker: It's all so clear to me now

I’m not sure how much of this was true from her origin story but I’m keeping it as meta just in case

- - - - -

Hardison: He's not all bad. He did give some of the money to people in need.

Eliot: You ever notice how all bad guys know at least one stripper?

Sophie (answering phone): Hello?

Hardison: And you know at least a hundred, so what does that say about you?

Eliot: Hey, I’m a bad guy

stfu eliot you know you’re not a bad guy anymore

- - - - -

parker walking around all happy

- - - - -

Parker: Okay, Parker, get into the air vent, out to the front gate.

Parker: No.

Nate: No?

Parker: No, I feel like I’m making real progress here.

Nate (puts his hands on her shoulders): Listen, I need you to focus, okay?

(Parker smiles and looks down at Nate’s arms)

Nate: What?

Parker: You don't usually touch me, or any of us, really. It's the hole in your heart, Tom. It doesn't allow you to get close to people.

Hurley: She's right

parker got so insightful in this episode. like it was because of the drugs but it gave an interesting look into her mind and into her past

- - - - -

Hurley: Dr. Tanner?

Sophie: Hurley, jump on. Let's go. Now!

(Sophie is pulled away, but another creeper comes out from beneath the car. Hurley gets out of the car. Eliot is pulling on the rope from behind another car. Hurley is pulled away to safety. Eliot covers Sophie)

Eliot: Keep your head down. Keep your head down.

eliot covered sophie with his body and we love to see eliot protecting his family with whatever he’s got

- - - - -

Eliot: Ooh.

Hurley: Steel-Belted radials.

(Eliot pulls a knife and cuts open the tire, revealing the inside full of money)

Eliot: Ohhh.

Hurley: What do you think?

(Eliot hands Hardison a handful of money)

Sophie: I think you might have a knack for this.

that was actually really smart ??? tagging this as something useful for a fic maybe ???

- - - - -

Nate: Just-just take the win. Take the win. (grabs an envelope from Hardison and hands it to Hurley) Here you go.

Hurley: What's this?

Nate: That's your new identity. It's a driver's license, a passport, birth certificate.

Hardison: Your library card, Netflix membership, Sam’s club. Oh, I got you three months free at 24-Hour fitness. Maybe work off some of those tacos.

Hurley: You guys didn't have to do all this.

Nate: Yeah, well, actually, uh, we did. Uh, Jack Hurley is dead. We killed him. So this is your chance to kind of start over.

Hurley: Wow. Hey, d-do you think Michelle will forgive me when she gets the payout from my life-insurance policy?

Nate: Yeah, why don't we just, uh, go with the win? (escorts him toward the door) We're giving you a second chance, so don't screw it up. If you do, I promise we'll know. (hands Hurley tickets) Train ticket.

Hurley: Don't worry about me.

Nate: Yeah.

Hurley: I'm playing it straight from now on. In fact, as soon as I get to, uh... (looks at ticket) Rosarito, I’m gonna find the nearest support group. I promise. Thanks for everything, Tom. (shakes hand)

when the team has someone “die”, they take CARE of them

- - - - -

Dr. Frank: You're sure this is for the best?

Sophie: Absolutely. Second Act isn't the right place for her.

(Parker smells marker. Sam comes and takes it away from her)

Sophie: No, she needs to be around people who better understand the issues she's struggling with. People more like her.

parker sniffing a marker and smiling snjdnssjsj

also SHE NEEDS HER FAMILY. HER FAMILY UNDERSTANDS HER.

- - - - -

(Parker walks out of the building, laughing)

Parker: Hi. (runs up to the group, who are waiting for her) Hey! I missed you guys!

(Parker throws her bag at Nate and jumps into Eliot’s arms)

Eliot: Oh! (to Sophie) When do the happy pills wear off?

Nate: Usually about 24 hours.

Parker (hugging Hardison): I missed you.

Hardison: That's too bad. I kind of like this Parker.

(Parker puts an arm around both Eliot and Hardison and they start walking away)

Nate: Uh, Eliot?

(Nate throws Parker’s bag, Eliot catches it)

OT3 OT3 OT3

also PLEASE give me a fic of them watching over her while she comes down from the meds just in case she needs anything. fuck, I might have to write this if no one else does.

- - - - -

eliot and hardison having a mini argument in the background getting parker in the car

[sweetbitterpdf]

compte à rebours II (2.3k words)

chapter two (of two): ‘bonne année, eliott’

( chapter one here )

new year’s fic / determined eliott / a new year’s kiss

---

As Christmas comes and goes, Eliott spends time with family and friends. He exchanges presents, works on an assignment— criminal as it may be to assign work over break— and works on new art. It is, all things considered, time off from school that is well-spent.

So, naturally, he feels as if something is missing the entire time.

And, naturally, he knows that the something in question is Lucas.

He hasn’t been able to take his mind off of their almost-kiss since it had happened. He had been drunk enough while they watched the movie that the memory is a bit fuzzy around the edges. But he remembers Lucas’ warmth, as he leaned into him. He remembers Lucas’ little smile, when he asked if it was alright for him to curl up against him. He remembers falling asleep, and waking up considerably more sober.

He remembers needing to give Lucas a proper goodbye.

And Imane directing their attention toward the mistletoe.

And then—

Cowardice.

He could have kissed him, then. 

He can hear his therapist chiding him for worrying about what ifs and could haves, but there are times when he can’t help it. He had wanted to— he had wanted to so badly— and it seemed as if Lucas had wanted to, as well.

But he wants his first kiss with Lucas, if such a thing is in the cards for them, to be perfect. He doesn’t want an ‘under the mistletoe on the way out of a party’ sort of first kiss. He wants something that’s thought out, something that’s timed perfectly.

Something like a New Year’s kiss.

The idea dawns on him suddenly, and upon checking the date— remembering what day it is is nearly impossible on break, the days all blend together, for him— he realizes he only has a couple of days to set this plan into motion.

---

Vendredi 13:15 Message à: Imane Bakhellal

Hey, Imane, it’s Eliott. Are there any plans going on for New Year’s?

Vendredi 13:17 Message de: Imane Bakhellal

You’re asking me and not my brother because…?

Vendredi 13:17 Message à: Imane Bakhellal

Idriss isn’t responding

Vendredi 13:17 Message de: Imane Bakhellal

Typical

Vendredi 13:18

We’re getting together at Emma’s place again, yeah. Should be pretty similar to Christmas

Vendredi 13:18 Message à: Imane Bakhellal

Oh, cool!

Vendredi 13:18 Message de: Imane Bakhellal

You and the guys are welcome, she says.

And yes, Lucas will be there

Eliott’s breath catches as he reads Imane’s message. We wasn’t going to ask— since he was under the assumption that wherever she ended up for New Year’s, Lucas would, too— but to have Imane know his motives leaves him feeling vulnerable and exposed. He tries to type out a response, Oh, that’s cool— then I was assuming he would be, you’re best friends after all— then I’m glad— but he erases every single one.

Vendredi 13:21 Message de: Imane Bakhellal

Listen, I know you try your hardest to make your, frankly, enormous crush on him on the down-low, but you’re not good at it

Vendredi 13:23

And I have reason to believe that he feels similarly

Vendredi 13:23

I’m not typically one to give unsolicited advice, but seeing you both pine after each other has gotten old

Vendredi 13:24

I convinced him to talk to you about it last time, but you were kind of wasted

Vendredi 13:25 Message à: Imane Bakhellal

You did?

Vendredi 13:25 Message de: Imane Bakhellal

I did

Vendredi 13:25

And even if that wasn’t a success, I’m sure having you lay against him for that disgrace of a movie was good consolation

-

The information is hitting him like a whirlwind. It nearly knocks him back with its force, and all he can do to brave it is clutch his phone to his chest, take deep breaths, and process the information that Imane has just given him. To vow to tell Lucas how he feels regardless of reciprocation was one thing— but to hear that Lucas could feel the same gives him a whole new sense of courage. Because even if Lucas doesn’t feel the same— which is less of a possibility than he thought, surprisingly enough— he needs to know, where it is that they stand. He needs to know if he’s been pining away senselessly or not.

---

When he arrives at Emma’s on the 31st, he has something resembling a plan, in his head. This time, he vows to not drink nearly as much as he had the last time, to keep his mind at least mostly clear. He tells Idriss and Sofiance his plan. All teasing from them aside, they promise that they’ll keep an eye on him, in the event that he starts to get a little carried away. He arrives, and he knows what he wants to do, what he wants to say.

But then he sees Lucas, and all of his planning goes out the window.

He watches him for a few moments, and then flees instinctively to another room.

Idriss scoffs when he comes into the room to find Eliott alone. “You’re useless.”

“I’m not,” He whines, “I’m just… nervous. And I don’t want to intrude on him, at least right away.”

“Something tells me he wouldn’t mind.” He rolls his eyes at the way Idriss smirks at him. It only makes Idriss laugh at him, though.

“Hush. I just… Need to think.”

“Need to stall, more like. Eliott, listen— “ Idriss takes him by the shoulder, his face serious. “You’re going to go and talk to him, or I’m going to make you.” Normally with something like this, he would think Idriss was fucking with him— but this time, he’s not so sure.

“I’m going to, I swear.” And he is, he swears. If he doesn’t tell Lucas tonight, he doesn’t know what he’ll do— and he also doesn’t know when they’ll see each other next.

“You’re getting a New Year’s kiss this year, dude. I’m sure of it. You have until…” Idriss stops, to think for a moment. “11:50— if you haven’t talked to him by then, I will drag you two together myself, so help me.” 

“Okay, okay! You have my permission to do so.”

“I’m glad, but I wasn’t asking.”

He leaves them and roams around for the remainder of the party, chats with people here and there. Most of them bring up similar things as Idriss did— but Idriss is the only one he really believes.

Speak of the devil, he thinks, when he locks eyes with Idriss from across the room. He lifts up his arm, tapping his wrist— you’re running out of time— and Eliott checks his phone.

23:46, it reads.

He shoots Idriss a thumbs-up, and then sets off to find Lucas. He does without much trouble— Lucas is in the living room, chatting with his friends. When Lucas tosses his head back with laughter, Eliott’s reminded of the very first time he saw him— the way they bumped into each other on his very first day after transferring, the way Lucas hadn’t even noticed.

This time, though, Lucas notices.

“Eliott..” He says as he approaches, in a puff of air.

Arthur claps him on the shoulder in greeting. “Hey, dude!” Yann and Basile react similarly, and he greets them all, before returning his attention to Lucas.

“Can we talk?” This is a shot in the dark, a leap of faith. He expects an about what, or an in a minute, but instead, without missing a beat, Lucas simply says “Yeah.”

“On the balcony?” Eliott asks, gesturing to the door outside.

“Sure.” And so Eliott turns, and Lucas follows him out. It hits him, quite quickly, that he hadn’t thought this through— the winter air makes a chill run down his spine. “It’s cold.” He says, simply.

“Yeah.” Eliott agrees. “This shouldn’t take long, though.” Because he wants to keep things as short and straightforward as possible— despite the feelings that this involves, which are very much not. 

“It’s alright.” Lucas responds. Eliott takes a deep breath, to steady himself.

“I wanted to apologize. For last time.”

“Eliott, I told you, there’s nothing to apologize for.”

“I know, but I still feel a bit bad about it. I wasn’t planning on getting that drunk.”

“Happens to the best of us.” Lucas’ smile is gentle, when he looks over. It makes Eliot go warm all over, despite the cold.

“That’s not the only thing I wanted to talk about, though.”

“Oh?” Lucas turns where they’re sat, facing him. Eliott pauses for a long moment, unsure of what to say, of where to start.

“I talked to Imane, the other day.” Or rather, Imane talked to him. He hadn’t contributed very much to their text conversation, really. “She told me about how she convinced you to come and talk to me.”

“‘Convinced,’ okay, Imane.” Lucas scoffs, air quotes accompanying the convinced.

“She also told me what she convinced you to talk to me about.” Eliott’s quiet, when he says it. Lucas’ expression falls.

“Oh.”

“I’ve heard it from her, and from Idriss—”

“Wait, Idriss?”

“Consequence of them being siblings, I guess.” He shrugs. “But I want to hear it from you.”

“Hear what?”

“I want to know how you feel, about me, from you. Not from anyone else.” They’re both quiet, now that it’s out in the open. “And I want to be able to tell you how I feel about you.” Eliott steals glances at Lucas, looks down, than at him again. 

“How do you feel about me?” Lucas asks, after a long time. Eliott’s hesitant, but there’s something in Lucas’ eyes, even in the dark of night, that makes him want to be honest.

“I loved you from the very first moment I saw you.” It feels as if he’s stopped breathing, as if they’ve suddenly teleported to the vacuum of space. There’s no sound, between them— there’s no anything, until Lucas speaks again.

“When was it? That party?”

“No,” He remembers the one that Lucas is referring to, though. The first time he had seen Lucas drunk— clumsy and free as he danced around with his friends. “I saw you on my very first day, in January.”

“You did? I didn’t see you.”

“I know.” But I saw you, he nearly says. He remembers that moment, too— them bumping into each other, and the way that he was completely unable to look away from him, as he continued down the hall with his friends.

“Wow.” When he looks over again, Lucas is smiling. It’s a small thing, a smile for himself. His heart swells. Then— “Imane was right, you know”— and now Eliott’s smiling, too?

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” They’re looking at each other, now. It feels like he’s seeing Lucas anew, for the very first time. It’s beautiful. “What now?” Lucas asks, and he looks away for a brief moment, contemplating.

“Hmm,” He reaches over, taking Lucas’ hand gently in his own. “Now, we go on a date or two, live happily ever after, you know. The usual.” In reaction, Lucas laughs. It’s a soft sound, but it’s one he would give anything to keep hearing.

“Not a bad plan, if you ask me.” He leans in, without any hesitation this time, intent on far more than a quick kiss on the cheek— but Lucas pulls away, just as fast.

“Ah ah,” He tuts. “What kind of New Year's kiss would it be, if we didn’t wait for the countdown?”

“Lucas,” He whines, and Lucas laughs at him. He can’t help but smile, at the sound of it. “I just bared my soul to you.”

“Patience, Eliott.” Because he can’t resist, Eliott presses a kiss to the back of Lucas’ hand, as consolation. He loves the way Lucas’ breath catches, the way his eyes widen. Lucas blinks a few times, before moving to get up, pulling Eliott along with him. “You want another drink?”

“Just some water. I’m trying to make it through tonight hangover-free.” They go back inside, hand-in-hand, and their friends notice almost immediately. When Lucas’ friends do, he hides his face in Eliott’s chest. Eliott holds him there, keeps him close. Idriss notices, and Eliott shoots him another thumbs-up. 

Cheering erupts from the other side of the room, and Eliott quickly realizes that the countdown to the New Year has begun. 

Ten, he pushes Lucas away, just enough so that he can look at him. His breath catches, when he sees the way Lucas is looking at him, his eyes full of light.

Nine, as he looks around, he can see people coupling up, finding their partners. He can’t hide his grin, when he see that one of the pairs in question is Imane and Sofiane. 

Eight, he returns his focus to Lucas. When he looks at Eliott now, it’s through his long eyelashes, and it’s as if some sort of physical force is pulling him in.

Seven, he reaches up with his free hand to cup Lucas’ cheek. He lets himself run his fingers along Lucas’ jawline, reveling in the warmth of his flushed skin.

Six, he thinks about where he was, this time last year. About how he had just finished fighting with Lucile, how she had just stormed out. Now, though, he’s here, holding Lucas. Holding the boy that he’s been in love with for nearly a year.

Five, and Lucas is looking at him like he’s worth something, like he wants to kiss him just as badly as he wants to kiss Lucas.

Four, he feels Lucas’ hands come to rest at the small of his back, and he pulls them back in close again.

Three, they’re so close that their noses brush, that their foreheads touch.

Two, Lucas’ eyes are hooded, and Eliott watches as they close fully.

One, he leans in that last little bit, and—

As the crowd hits zero, they kiss. 

Kissing Lucas is like a dream, it’s so gentle and soft, but it makes his knees go weak with how badly he’s wanted this, how long he’s wanted it. They pull away, and all Eliott can do is to breathe out a wow. Lucas smiles up at him, and he’s beautiful, he’s so beautiful, that as the first moments of the new year pass them by, he can’t help kissing him again, and again, and again.

[ladybirdcarina]

Eliot/Quinn, stitches and kisses.

fuck okay...here we go~~

It had been a very long day when Quinn finally opened the door to his hotel room.  He let out a deep exhale as he removed his jacket and shoes, not even caring where they landed.  The rest of his clothes followed as he walked into the bathroom for the longest shower that he could take.

Once the water was at the right temperature, just this side of scalding, Quinn stepped in and groaned happily as the stream of water beat against his sore muscles.

The job he had taken had gone sideways almost as soon as it began.  First, the client gave him faulty information on who was protecting it.  Second, the idiot neglected to inform him that he was not the only retrieval specialist that was hired for the job.   The blond was actually unable to secure the statue, but luckily still made out like a bandit as the client had paid him generously thanks to Quinn's 'persuasion'.

Thinking back on the fight, he found himself sulking at the fact that he never got a look at the other hitter that was hired.  As Quinn was arriving, the stranger had been leaving, merchandise in hand.  All he'd managed to do was get a shot off, not even sure that he had actually hit the man before the group of hired thugs showed up.

"The least he could've done was stay and help knock some heads..." he grumbled as he began scrubbing the dirt from his skin. 

It was another forty minutes before he finally shut the shower off, skin pink from the heat but as clean as he was going to get.  Wrapping a towel around his waist and grabbing another for his hair('How does Spencer deal with that much hair?'), Quinn padded back into the bedroom and dug a set of flannel pants out of his duffel bag and quickly dried off before changing.

He was in the middle of toweling off his hair when there was a knock an the door.  Quinn's eyes narrowed as he tossed the towel to the floor and reached for the gun that he had left on the bed.  Getting to his feet, he slowly went to the door and took a look through the peephole, only to pull back a moment later in surprise.

Eliot Spencer at his door was definitely the last thing he was expecting.

Another knock, louder this time, pulled him from his musing as he put the safety back on and tucked the gun into the waistband of his pants.  Opening the door, Quinn leaned against the frame and grinned at the other hitter.

"Eliot Spencer.  To what do I owe the pleasure?"

The glare that Eliot pinned him with sent quite the shudder down Quinn's spine yet his expression remained unchanged.  Pushing the younger hitter into the hotel room, Eliot closed the door behind him.  "You fucking shot me, you asshole."

Blinking in surprise, something that he seemed to do a lot when Eliot was involved, Quinn found himself running eyes over the other man before spotting the rapidly reddening spot on the man's right bicep.  At that, Quinn let out a groan of annoyance.

"You were the other guy that jackass hired?  That is so not fair," he whined before dropping down onto the bed, lifting his hips enough to remove the gun from his waistband and setting it on the nightstand after ejecting the clip.  "I thought you didn't do retrievals anymore."

Eliot shrugged at that.  "I was bored and we're between jobs," he explained, sitting on the bed next to where Quinn was splayed out.  

"But you got the damn thing so why are you here now instead of with your team?" He asked, one eye open and focused on Eliot.

The glare returned.  "Because you shot me, idiot.  I can't go to the ER with a gunshot wound and it's too awkward an angle for me to properly stitch up." "And your merry band of thieves?"

"Not with me, so I need for you to stitch me up, man."  Eliot paused as though debating with himself before letting out a quiet huff.  "No one else here that I trust to do it right, so take fucking responsibility for your actions."

It took a second, but Quinn found himself grinning at Eliot's words.  "Well who'd'a thunk it?  Is Spencer going soft on li'l ol' me?"

Another growl left Eliot's throat, though it did absolutely nothing to stop Quinn's almost manic grin.  "Quinn, I am actively bleeding right now.  Will you do it or not?"

"Say please."

Eliot blinked, surprise clear on his face.  "Say-fucking hell, man!  If you can't do it, just say so."  He went to get up when a hand took firm hold of his wrist. Looking back at the other man, Eliot listed a brow in question.

Quinn chuckled.  "How about you take a shower and clean up while I dig my kit and another pair of sleep pants out of my bag?  Maybe getting clean will make you less grumpy," he teased.

"Fuckin' hate you," Eliot grumbled as he got to his feet and headed into the bathroom.

Laughing quietly, Quinn rolled over and grabbed his bag.  He dug around a bit before pulling out a pair of shorts and the first aid kit that he had buried at the bottom.  Once he heard the shower start up, the blond hitter rifled through the kit to make sure he had everything he needed as it had been a while since the last time he had restocked.   He nodded to himself as he got to his feet and headed into the bathroom with the shorts.

"Shorts are on the sink," he called over the water, earning a thumbs up from the top of the curtain.  

Quinn returned to the bedroom and sat cross legged in the center of the bed as he waited.  It wasn't long before the water shut off and only a couple minutes more before Eliot exited the bathroom, dressed with his towel dried hair pulled back and a towel pressed against his arm.  Seeing the set-up, Eliot walked over to the bed and took a seat, mirroring Quinn's position with his bad arm facing the other man.

It was quiet while Quinn worked, focused completely on disinfecting the area and carefully sewing up both entry wound and exit.  "Good thing it was a through-and-through," he murmured as he tied off the end and wiped away any excess blood.  As he put everything away, he watched as Eliot bandaged the wound and rotated his arm, barely even wincing at the slight pull of the stitches.

"Thanks, man.  'preciate it," Eliot murmured, fighting off a yawn as the adrenaline began to wear off.  "I'll just get out of your hair."

"You got a place to crash?" Quinn asked before he realized what he was doing. He looked at Quinn for a few moments before his mouth turned up slightly.  "You offerin'?" he asked, drawl thickening from fatigue.

"As long as you don't mind sharing a bed with someone who shot you," Quinn shot back with a teasing grin.

Eliot let out a quiet snort.  "Wouldn't be the first time; prob'ly won't be the last." Rolling his eyes, Quinn stood up and hit the lights as Eliot pulled out his hair tie and ran his hands through the damp curls before shimmying his way toward the headboard and under the covers.

"Door or window?" Eliot asked, ready to move if need be, but Quinn just dropped down on the door side of the bed and crawled under the thick comforter, clicking off the bedside lamp and laying down.

Quinn was surprised at how quickly they were both able to relax as neither was used to sharing a bed beyond 'sharing a bed'.  "Hey Eliot," he murmured into the quiet, sure the man wasn't asleep quiet yet.

"Hm?"

"Sorry I shot you."

After a moment, Eliot rolled over and met Quinn's eye, tired but playful gleam shining in his own.  "Lucky for me your aim sucks," he snickered.

There was something in that look that Quinn, tired as he was, wasn't sure he should be considering.  Taking a minute to decide whether or not it would be worth either the maiming or painful death that would follow such an action, he figured 'what the fuck, why not?'.

Making sure to telegraph his moves, he slowly brought a hand up and ran his fingers through Eliot's hair before resting it against his cheek.  "Promise not to disembowel me?" he asked quietly as he shifted that much closer and ran his thumb lightly over the other's lower lip.

"Depends," answered the smoky voice, lips barely moving.

"On?"

"On whether you hurry the fuck up and kiss me already."

Well; who was Quinn to argue with that?

[uncle-eliot]

100(I know I said 20 uhhh) incredible things about Quentin Coldwater

(I meant to add gifs but I WILL NOT be limited to 10 so)

He looks gorgeous in a man bun.

He has a nerdy "hip thrusty" dance he made up with his best friend.

He sits like the bisexual icon he is which means he doesn't

He loves magic a lot and believes that it changes things for the better

He is extremely honest about the things he loves! For example: magic, people and books:)

When his best friend lost her goddess powers he called her a high level X-Men(!!)

He looks adorable holding a teddy bear

His true drunk response to having his wine taken away was "those grapes died for nothing now" (fhfxh)

He wishes magic could run on love (or cocaine) instead of pain

When his hair is down it's beautiful and floppy and iconic

His first power move on the show was probably singing and dancing to taylor swift's 'shake it off' in order to get a psychic's attention

He's bi and it's the "only thing he isn't anxious about"

It's a deleted scene, but while working on the first years test with penny and that other guy Q got frustrated and said "Jesus why are we using candles there are literal lights"

Q is so soft and pure that days after getting his heart broken by one of his best friends he still invited him to go on a magical boat quest together

He is "Jesus, I'm not a virgin"!!

He is nicknamed "the fool" around the kingdom and owning it

His reaction to penny yelling at him was to hide behind a tree

His mom has a girlfriend

He solved multiple problems just by remembering random parts from his favourite childhood book

While singing taylor swift, he did a HAIR FLIP and BLOCKED penny's way to the door

While he was high he grabbed penny's mouth while claiming that it's HIS MOUTH

His answer to "you haven't even touched your penis" was "I had a ton yesterday"

Within the first minutes of the pilot, he was seen sitting on the floor at a party hiding behind a plastic cup hjfhc

He is gorgeous with longer hair- but also!! With his shorter hair in season 4

He got poppy a bag of sand so she could feel like she was on a beach!!

He says "um so" like A LOT

In order to get into brakebills, he built a giant house of cards and then fainted

He wore a CARDIGAN in 4x10

He legitimately asked if magicians could die from eating oreos

Q made himself a quesadilla, then held it without a plate and burnt himself, only to drop it when jennifer jumpscared him

Q attacked penny and lost the fight lol.

When he was at a party and found out he could do magic again, he made A FLYING SHIP made out of weed smoke

According to the library's prediction system, his most likely death is getting distracted by talking about dogs

He was hella hot as the beast

His reaction to being called 'not fun' was to lie on the stairs with julia and drink champagne

He always wanted to be a dad, and he was, and then wanted to do it again

His mom has a strange hold over him, because once when he was a kid he broke an ashtray and now she still thinks he breaks everything

And he believes her

Until!!! He found out that his biggest talent is to UNBREAK THINGS

When Q's nervous, he runs his hands through his hair.

When they were kids and Q had a one sided crush on julia, he never said anything because he values their friendship

His reaction to being rejected by someone he loves was WIPING A TEAR whadkdmnxndns

Somehow his best idea to unite all his friends was to sing a freaking bowie song together

He was SO EXCITED about the possibility of Eliot choosing him to become a king too

He is such a nerdy bitch when Margo told him she loved the fillory books his reaction was to raise his eyebrows and say "..you did?"

When confronted by pretty boys, his reactions are reduced to: "uh huh."

"I didn't know you liked any of the quentins"

In the beginning of season 3, he was SO HAPPY about having a freaking quest

His iconic answer to "you're dying" is "aren't we all"

He never expressed ANY SHAME about his interest in men or his experiences with men

All vests look the same to him!

His first reaction to being told to blow a horse is to look at the horse's face. (What a gentleman!)

When he's wearing a man bun he leaves strands of hair to frame his face (they're TOTALLY long enough to fit in the bun sorry)

He high-fived Julia on screen at least twice

When he had to make up a mind prison for himself, he decided that both of his current crushes should be there and constantly hit on on him

The thing that made him lose trust in Alice is nothing but the fact that she couldn't trust the fact that he loved her

He told Julia that a hot boy is "sweatin' her"!!

He likes to read books under a tree in the middle of campus like a freaking fanfic girl

He has a hard time taking off sweaters jxbx

Hearing Eliot say that him and Margo should come to Julia's birthday party so he could find his way back to brakebills after made Q smile SO BIG

A chandelier nearly fell on his head and killed him, and his reaction was "Jesus shit"

Alternatively, his reaction to being abused by a depression monster was "Jesus fuck"

He's an easy target because he's honest about what he loves!!

He believes in magic, and loves it pure and simple

After only knowing Eliot and Margo for a couple of weeks, Q hugged Margo and promised that they were going to do whatever they can to help Eliot because he's been sad lately

While taking a tour in Christopher plover's house, he stopped to take a selfie!!

Q can't have a sex dream without his brain reminding him that he's not passing the bechdel test

Q jumped over a couch to get to Margo quickly

He used to describe himself as a nothingmancer

He looks very cute lying on the floor covered in ropes

His version of seducing is mouthing the word "fuck"

He doesn't have brain cells to spare!!

His reaction to Alice complaining about the cold is to zip up his own jacket

His reaction to past!alice aggressively trying to have sex with him was "oh god okay"

Followed by "i forgot condoms" (Which were on the nightstand right next to him)

Followed by running out of the room

After getting burnt by a hot dagger, he sucked on his thumb sadly looking at penny making the same mistake

He met three dragons and he's done with them

"You let go of Falkor'"

I still can't remember why he danced in a circle after Alice died while Eliot and Margo are watching but he sure did

That smile before dropping the towel when he was with emily sjdbb

When he realized that the arrow was from fillory and confidently said "we can do this"

"Royalty bitches" (!!)

Q tried to copy the answers from penny while taking the test to get into brakebills

His answer to "feel anything?" straight up was "super stressed out"

The idea of fillory saved his life

"Honestly, fuck fillory" jxbx

He voted to test the magical knife on plover!!

His smile to learning Margo's in love and still a bitch!!

That shot of him struggling with his sweater behind Julia looking gorgeous

"Phosphoromancy bitches!"

He loves card tricks so much jgcv

"Hey, I, mm.." (you know)

"Why the fuck not?"

Him smiling at Margo and Eliot barbecuing from afar, because he knows he found his people and his place.

He just LOVES wine

Not really a scene but that one pic of him on the mosaic passionately talking about something despite Eliot looking at him with confusion

"Not everything has to look like something, ELIOT."

Q accidentally killed the physical kids' immortal puppy by trying to cure him. "Oh no." "You killed cancer puppy."

when he gets back from brakebills South and sees Eliot made drinks so he says THANK GOD and takes them smndn

Bonus: he is definitely a huffelpuff

[all-things-skam]

Hey, would you mind writing something about Eliott seeing Lucas and going after him after Friday’s clip? Thank you 💕

Title: It wasn’t yours to tell (part II)

Ship: Skam France | Lucas Lallemant and Eliot Demaury (Elu)

When Eliott got to the door, he ran into Lucas’s friends. The three boys were huddled by the door, one of them holding a pair of broken glasses. Did they get into a fight?

“Have you seen Lucas?” Eliott asked them.

Yann shook his head and Arthur scowled at the sound of his friend’s name. “He left a few minutes ago. He probably went home.”

“Yeah, he’s probably crying to his mama,” Basile mocked.

Eliott furrowed his eyebrows. Wasn’t Lucas their friend? This certainly was not supposed to be the way you supported your friend when he was going through so much. Hadn’t Lucas told them anything at all? 

Yann glanced at Eliott who seemed to be feeling genuine worry for Lucas which was odd because Lucas had told them Eliott was ‘no one’. Something about Eliott’s worried look made Yann think that maybe there was something between them that Lucas hadn’t told them.

Eliott was about to leave when Yann put a hand on his arm. “Careful, man. He was in a mood…”

“If you see him, tell him he owe me a pair of glasses,” Arthur called after him.

.

On his way to Lucas’s appartement, Eliott found a figure sitting on the sidewalk, knees pulled to their chest. As he got gloser, he realized who it was and ran over immediately.

He looked a bit shaken up when Eliott got down to his level. “Lucas?”

Eliott took a seat beside him, moving closer to the younger boy to see what was wrong.

The boy didn’t reply nor look at him, staring straight ahead lividly. Eliott sighed gently, a million thoughts running through his head. This must’ve been all his fault, it was his idea in the first place to ditch the girls that day. He ruined Lucas’s coming out experience and left the younger boy feeling vulnerable and helpless. As he was trying to figure out what to say to him, he noticed the blood on his hands, still pouring from Lucas’s busted knuckles, the skin all scraped up.

“What happened to your hand?” Eliott asked, worriedly. He took it in his carefully, checking the damages but Lucas pulled away.

“Leave me alone,” Lucas said looking up at Eliott with teary eyes, it was clear that he was hurting both physically and mentally. His heart was beating fast in his chest, and his throat feeling heavy. He could barely get any words out. “Leave… I’ll be ok on my own,” he said gently.

“Lucas.” It killed Eliott seeing Lucas like this. He wanted to wrap his arms around him, kiss away every tear and take away the pain. He tried to take his hand again, this time using his other arm to pull Lucas close. “Let me look at your hand…please. It might be broken, we have to-”

“Go away!” he yelled, this time not being as gentle as he first was. His lips trembled as he built up the courage to say his next words. “Don’t you have a girlfriend to get back to? You know, the one who you were sucking faces with minutes ago.” Eliott looked down, he saw them together at the party. “I was an idiot to believe you were done with her. You promised me so many things that morning, don’t you remember? You said you didn’t want anything to do with her, that it was the end of your relationship. I fell for you…I fell for your bullshit,” he said, shaking his arm off. He groaned in pain as he tried to get up, his hand still clearly bleeding.

Eliott was not giving up, only wanting the best for Lucas. “You need to clean this cut. Come on.”

Lucas huffed and tried getting up, this time being successful. He began to walk away from Eliott. “I’m not going anywhere with you. I don’t need you or your help. I should’ve known that it was all too good to be fucking true.” Lucas laughed dryly. “I was so stupid to think that I could have a chance with you…”

Eliott was obviously hurt but he knew that he deserved it. “Lucas, please. You need to clean your hand before it gets infected. And, maybe even get it checked. This isn’t about us right now, it’s about your health, that should come first.”

Eliott was obviously hurt but he knew that he deserved it. “Lucas, please. You need to clean your hand before it gets infected. And, maybe even get it checked, it might be broken. This isn’t about us right now, it’s about your health that should come first.”

Lucas turned around and looked at Eliott, looking incredibly heartbroken still. “You went from saying all those intense romantic things to saying you needed a break in a week. You went from saying you were done with Lucile to looking so happy being with her and kissing her, in two days. You’re hard to follow, Eliott.”

“I said I needed to take my distance, not that I had stopped caring about you. I don’t think I’ll ever stop caring about you,” Eliott corrected. “Now, please Lucas, just let me take you home and take care of your hand. You don’t even have to talk to me, I’ll leave as soon as I’m done. You don’t have to forgive me for anything, just let me do this as someone who cares for you.”

.

Eliott went to the bathroom, remembering where it was from the last time he came over, and pulled out stuff from the cabinet to clean Lucas’s hand. He instructed Lucas to sit on the toilet lid as he poured some antiseptic on a cotton-round and applied it on the wounds. Lucas hissed, as anticipated. “Fuck!”

“Sorry.” Eliott smiled apologetically.

He continued cleaning the cut, wiping away all the dried blood, until it was clean and applied an ointment, wrapping it all up in gauze, fixing the white bandage with a medical tape.

“All fixed.” Eliott brought Lucas’s injured hand up to his lips and kissed it. He smiled softly at Lucas, the kind of smile that warmed Lucas’ heart and made him forget about all his worries.

He sighed gently as Eliott stood up to leave. “Eliott wait… It’s late and I don’t want you going out there alone at this time.”

Eliott chuckled. “I’m a big boy. I can walk home when it’s dark.”

But, it was clear that Lucas needed Eliott to stay more than he’d like to admit. His hand was still in pain and he hadn’t been able to sleep well since he received Eliott’s text message. He didn’t want to say anything because he was still incredibly heartbroken, but at the same time, he just wanted his Eliott. Wanted his warmth, his kisses, his soft heart beats and his smiles. He loved it when he played with his hair before they slept, he just…needed him right now. “Stay…please,” he whispered looking small, his blue eyes locking with Eliott’s.

After the whirlwind of emotions Lucas had gone through tonight, sleeping in Eliott’s arms sounded nice. Very nice.

Eliott smiled up at him softly and took his hand gently. “I can take the couch then. You can come to me if your hand hurts or if you need anything. Does that sound ok?”

“Erm, actually the couch is my bed…”

Eliott looked confused but didn’t bother to ask. “Then, I’ll sleep on the floor.”

Lucas sighed as Eliott put everything back in it’s place, cleaning the mess on the bathroom vanity. Was there a way to get his point across without blantly telling Eliott that he wanted to sleep next to him?

When he was done, Lucas went to Manon’s room, knowing she wasn’t home and stole a few blankets and pillows from her to make a makeshift bed for Eliott. He installed everything before picking clothes from his suitcase, asking Eliott if he wanted anything to sleep in.

Awkwardly, Lucas undressed, suddenly feeling shy to take off his pants in front of Eliott. He had already taken off his hoodie, being stained with blood. Lucas wasn’t insecure with his body, it’s just, compared to Eliott… Damn, that boy was fine.

Eliott bit his lip and looked away, wanting the younger boy to be comfortable. He knew that Lucas was insecure and it shattered his heart when Lucas didn’t realize how beautiful he was.

They separately got under their covers, a thick silence filling the appartement. Lucas glanced at him phone and sighed: 11pm. How was he supposed to fall asleep so early? And, with Eliott so close yet so far from him?

“Eliott?” The older boy hummed, not feeling sleepy either, but Lucas shook his head. “Nothing…”

Eliott sat up and smiled at him. “What is it, Lucas? Whatever it is, you can tell me.”

I miss you and I want to feel you next to me, I want you to hold me while I sleep, I-

“Want me to join you?” Eliott asked cautiously, reading Lucas’s mind.

Lucas bit his lip and nodded slowly. “Yes, please.”

He watched as Eliott pushed she blanket away, raising from the ground, revealing his long legs and toned thighs, causing Lucas to bit his lip harder.

They were going to be cramped on the couch but, that also meant Lucas would be closer to Eliott so, he won’t complain about that.

They were going to be cramped on the couch but, that also meant Lucas would be closer to Eliott so, he won’t complain about that.

Eliott got on the couch, sliding in and taking Lucas’s spot at the back, so that he was the big spoon. He pulled the smaller boy close and wrapped arms around his waist.

‘’Is this better?’’

Lucas nodded, loving the feeling of Eliott’s strong arms around him, holding him close. ‘’Eliott?’’ Eliott hummed, again. ‘’Are you gonna leave me again?’’ he asked.

Are you gonna return to Lucile, he wanted to say.

Eliott took his time to think about his next words. ‘’I don’t want to.’’

Lucas put his head on Eliott’s chest, his injured hand resting over his heart, enjoying the moment while it lasted. If Eliott was going to return to his girlfriend, he wanted to bath in Eliott’s embrace until he had to leave.

A yawn came from Lucas and Eliott gently kissed Lucas’ hair. “Night Lucas, sweet dreams.”

Lucas finally felt safe and comfortable, a smile settling on his lips. “Night,’’ he said as he drifted off to sleep.

[thebeautifulspinster]

so. i wrote some porn. mostly inspired by the fact that quentin being fingered is never too far from my mind and also by @chaoticbisexualalien (hope that’s not weird).

it is not proofread. it is not revised. i am a dumb bitch with terrible taste. i will never change. that is a promise.

anyway- fic below the cut.

“How about that time we robbed a fucking bank?” Eliot asked, pouring Quentin another glass of his homemade plum wine. After much trial and error, this one was actually drinkable, if not particularly tasty.

It was post-dinner. They were sitting next to each at a makeshift table in their small cottage, lit by dim candlelight, reminiscing about their past exploits. This was something they did often in the first couple of years at the Mosaic, before the memories became too painful and distant to mention.

Of course, Quentin remembered the bank heist. How could he forget?

“Um, not necessarily one of my… favorite memories, actually.”

“Really? Again, we robbed a fucking bank.”

“I—um—well, I—” Quentin stammered, a slight blush creeping its way up his neck.

Eliot smiled, lifting his brow in amusement. “What is it, Q?”

Quentin groaned, scrubbed his hands over his face, and then mumbled something too low for Eliot to hear. Now he was definitely red.

“Come again? We have a lot of time here together. You know I’ll get it out of you, one way or another.” Gently, he pulled Quentin’s hands away from his face, keeping them in his. “Hey, look at me.”

Quentin sighed, releasing a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. “Remember how I had to steal that finger to get past security?”

Recognition began to creep across Eliot’s face, and then, he was laughing. Uncontrollably.

Quentin jerked his hands away, frowning with an eye roll.

“I’m sorry, Q,” he wheezed, tears in his eyes. “I can’t believe I somehow forgot that. That’s too good.”

“Penny made fun of me for months! Also, it—it was during the time that I was still sharing my body with Alice’s niffin.” He gulped. “She kept… giving me directions and pointers.”

“Oh, I know for a fact that you like being given directions,” Eliot said. He grinned mischievously and reached over to tuck a loose strand of hair behind Quentin’s ear.

Quentin shivered. His blush was back (did it ever leave?), but he couldn’t suppress a small smile.

Then, the smile was gone, and he was staring into Eliot’s eyes. “That’s not the real reason I hate that memory.”

Eliot gestured for him to continue without breaking eye contact.

“You died, El.”

That was clearly not what Eliot was expecting to hear. He shook his head. “That wasn’t me. It was a golem. Clay.”

“But it was you! You were in control of it. It had your face and eyes. And it died protecting me.”

“Oh, Q.” Eliot grabbed his hands, tugging slightly. “Come here.”

He stood up, walked the few steps between them, and then Eliot was holding him, crushing the still-standing Quentin against himself.

“My sweet Q.” He pulled back, head tilted, looking up. Quentin’s eyes were closed. Eliot reached for his face with his long arm and ran his fingers across his jaw. Quentin leaned into the touch. “I’m sorry for even bringing it up.”

After a moment, he added nonchalantly, “You know, we could make some new memories.”

Quentin’s eyes snapped open, and he looked down. “Uh… what did you have in mind?”

“Well,” he said, lascivious look on his face, “I was thinking we could start by giving you the proper and thorough fingering you deserve and go from there.”

“Eliot,” Quentin whispered, softly.

“Go. Sit on the bed.” He gave him a playful shove, shaking Quentin out of his thoughts.

Quentin obeyed, perching tentatively on the edge of their bed.

“Take off your clothes.”

Eliot’s eyes were on him as he scrambled to follow orders. He struggled with his shirt, which Eliot found endlessly endearing, but the rest of his clothes came off swiftly. He glanced sheepishly at Eliot, awaiting what was next.

“On your hands and knees.”

Slowly, Quentin did as he was told, pulling himself up, facing the headboard. His breathing was already affected, his chest heaving. Sparks of anticipation danced up and down his spine, as his cock twitched. He was completely exposed and vulnerable, and he loved it. He loved this. He loved how Eliot knew exactly what he needed and gave it to him, freely.

“Such a good boy.” Quentin actually whimpered at that, and Eliot laughed. He stood, then, and walked over to the bed. He ran a hand down Quentin’s back, and he bowed to the touch. “Such a good boy.”

Eliot, still fully clothed, moved to sit where he could face Quentin. He ran a gentle hand through the strands of hair framing his face. Then, suddenly, he roughly yanked Quentin’s hair free from its ponytail, earning a sharp gasp. “I’ve changed my mind. Get on your back. I wanna see you.”

Quentin wasted no time, flipping himself over eagerly. Eliot grabbed a pillow and shoved it under his hips. Without being told, he slowly opened up for Eliot, spreading his legs and holding them in place. Eliot settled there, looking up at Quentin with wide, worshipful eyes.

“You’re fucking beautiful, Q, you know that?”

He started to protest, but Eliot cut him off with a searing kiss, devouring his negativity. He ran his hands over Quentin’s stomach, his sides, his chest, finally settling on tangling them in his hair. Quentin was just trying to hang onto something, grasping at Eliot’s back, clutching his shirt. They broke apart for air, panting into each other’s mouths.

Eliot sat back, retaking his spot between Quentin’s legs. Softly, he said, “Sometimes I wish we could switch places. So you could see what I see when I look at you.”

Quentin turned his head away into the feather mattress, overwhelmed by the praise, still panting. “El...”

“I’m going to take care of you now, okay?”

Eliot traced an invisible sigil onto Quentin’s stomach and ducked his head down to briefly kiss that spot, activating the spell. Quentin felt a rush of heat as he was filled with lubrication. “Ah… aaaahhhh, Eliot.”

“I know, I know,” he responded, running a finger up and down the cleft of his ass, applying a bit of pressure where Quentin needed it. Eliot ghosted his other hand over Quentin’s cock, hard and leaking against his stomach. “Do you want me to touch you here?”

Quentin fervently shook his head in the affirmative.

“Hmmm,” he pretended to consider. He moved his hand away. “I don’t think I will. I think you could come just like--” he pushed a finger into Quentin, “--this.”

Quentin nearly jumped off the bed. “Fuck. Eliot.”

Eliot began working his finger back and forth, pulling a litany of beautiful little noises from Quentin. He added another finger, and began curling his long, elegant fingers, searching for—

“FUCK. ELIOT.”

Eliot smiled, placed a brief kiss to Quentin’s thigh, and began redoubling his efforts. Soon, he added even another finger. Quentin’s hands, for a lack of anything to grab onto, grasped desperately at the sheets. The sting, the pressure, the heat, the overwhelming sensation spreading out from his core to his limbs. Eliot was relentless, hitting his sweet spot over and over and over, making Quentin cry out.

“That’s it. Just like that. Fuck, Q. Gorgeous.”

Quentin responded unintelligibly, his eye rolling back into his head. Then, with a wicked look, Eliot ducked his head down, adding his tongue where his fingers were, lapping at his stretched hole, still working his fingers methodically.

It was too much for Quentin. He tensed, back arching off the bed, screaming as he came, dick untouched, onto his stomach. He was flooded with an intense, unnamable emotion. Finally, he collapsed, able to catch his breath. He looked toward Eliot as he pulled out of him, smug and almost reverent.

“You did so well for me. Always do so well for me.” Eliot leaned forward and placed a kiss to Quentin’s damp forehead. Quentin was too out of it to respond beyond a tiny moan. Then Eliot kissed him properly.

As he pulled away, Eliot said, “I’m going to give you a minute to come back online. After that, I’m going to fuck you so hard you won’t remember your name,” punctuating himself with a chaste kiss to the corner of Quentin’s mouth.

He shook in Eliot’s arms, and really looked at him. It seemed impossible that he could affect Eliot this way, and yet, the proof was in front of him, from the way Eliot looked at him like he wanted to swallow him whole to the way his hard cock was clearly visible through the linen of his new Fillorian pants. He would take anything Eliot was willing to give him. These were the moments he wanted to commit to memory. What he never wanted to forget.

“Okay,” Quentin said, smiling, and he reached up to pull Eliot down for another kiss.

[jaynaneeya]

And Then There Were More

To be clear, the entirety of Edgar Allan Poe’s Murder Mystery Dinner Party is perfect and I wouldn’t have it any other way, but here’s what I think might have happened if Chapter 5 had gone slightly differently.

***

“Miss Agatha Christie, we are indeed – Eddie?” Edgar Allan Poe gasped.

Agatha Christie was standing just outside the door, with a man whose arm she was twisting behind his back. The man was unmistakably Eddie Dantes, and he was very much alive. “You know him?” Agatha asked Edgar, releasing her grip on Eddie. “He just tried to stab me,” she added, holding up the small knife she had wrestled from his hand.

“I thought she was the murderer!” Eddie protested, massaging his wrist, as Edgar, Lenore, Emily, and HG all gaped at him in astonishment.

“The murderer?” Christie repeated.

“People have been dying here all night, right?” Eddie appealed to the others.

“Yeah, and you were one of them!” snapped Lenore. “How are you alive? And what are you doing out here?”

Before Eddie could reply, they all heard a scream. They hurried in the direction of the sound, and found Oscar Wilde pounding on the bathroom door, calling, “Mary Ann!”

“What’s going on? Where’s Annabel?” Edgar demanded.

“She went to find you,” Oscar told him. “Wait, Eddie? Are you…a ghost?”

“No, I’m alive, I was just…pretending to be dead, so I could catch the murderer.”

“But… you were the first victim,” HG pointed out. “When you faked your death, there was no murderer to catch yet.”

“George Eliot’s in trouble; let’s talk about this later,” Emily interjected, pushing her way to the front of the group and forcing in the door.

To their dismay, George Eliot was slumped on the floor, with his/her head in a picture frame. While everyone else was frozen in shock, Annabel Lee rushed in. “There you are! What’s-” she stopped suddenly. “Eddie?!” she cried. “You’re alive?!” she threw her arms around him.

“Yes, my dear, I’m so sorry, I-”

“She’s still breathing!” Edgar exclaimed, unsure whether he was more excited that George Eliot was still alive or that it gave him an excuse to interrupt Eddie and Annabel.

To Edgar’s delight, Annabel immediately broke away from Eddie and knelt beside George, who gasped and opened his/her eyes. “I have something important to say.”

“Yes? Who did this to you?” Annabel asked.

“You may not believe it, but I –” taking off the hat, “George Eliot –” and the mustache, “am a woman.”

“Yes, dear, we knew that already, but who-?” but George Eliot had died.

Annabel turned back to Eddie. “How are you alive?” she asked.

“Wait!” Edgar interrupted dramatically. “Where’s Ernest?”

“Let me get this straight,” Agatha Christie broke in. “There’s a murderer in this house, and you’re not keeping track of where everyone is at all times?”

“He was with us in the vault right before you arrived,” HG told her defensively.

“Maybe he’s in the study with Charlotte,” Emily suggested.

“Why aren’t you all staying together?” wondered the baffled Miss Christie. “No wonder you’re all dying. How many deaths have there been so far?”

“Five,” said Edgar.

“Four,” Oscar corrected, nodding to Eddie.

“Okay, now are you going to tell us how you’re still alive?” Lenore asked.

“First let’s make sure Ernest and Charlotte are okay. Then I’ll explain everything,” Eddie promised.

They all returned to the study. Charlotte was tied to the chair, just as they’d left her. Ernest was standing near the doorway, holding a bunch of knives, looking confused. “Where were you?” he asked them.

“We could ask you the same question,” Oscar countered. “What are you doing with all those knives?”

“I brought them for everyone, for protection.”

Agatha groaned and sank into a chair, her face in her hands. “You all are the worst!”

“Who’s she?” Hemingway asked.

“Agatha Christie,” Eddie responded.

“Aren’t you supposed to be dead?” Charlotte asked him. “And aren’t you all satisfied that I can’t be the murderer? How am I still tied up?”

As Ernest used one of his knives to cut through the wires that bound Charlotte, Eddie finally began his tale. “As soon as I took a bite of my soup, I could tell that something was wrong with it.”

“How dare you?!” Lenore cried.

“Someone had clearly poisoned it. I could tell they were trying to kill me, so I decided my best hope of escaping death was to pretend to be dead already. I’ve been trying to catch the murderer, and I thought I’d been successful when I saw Miss Christie at the door.” He glared at her. “I’m still not convinced I was wrong. Where have you been all this time?”

“I told Edgar I was going to be late, as I had a previous engagement. I got here as soon as I could, which wasn’t nearly soon enough, apparently, but shockingly, I don’t expect everywhere I go to give me inspiration for my next mystery novel.”

Emily spoke up. “I had some of the soup.”

“Is that how you died?” Charlotte asked.

“I’m still alive!”

“Which means the soup wasn’t poisoned, and Eddie’s lying!” Edgar hastily concluded.

“Did you eat soup out of my bowl?” Eddie asked.

“No, out of the pot in the kitchen.”

“Then perhaps someone just poisoned my bowl.”

“It must have been Lenore,” Oscar asserted. “She’s the one who served the soup with her weird ghost powers.”

“Okay, will someone please coherently explain exactly what has happened here tonight?” Agatha requested. “I need to know what I missed in order to solve this mystery.”

“I am clearly the best at explaining things concisely,” Ernest bragged, taking a swig from his flask.

“You’re also drunk,” Edgar pointed out, “and as this is my house, I will tell Miss Christie what’s going on.”

Edgar explained as best he could the events surrounding the fake death of Eddie and the real deaths of Louisa May Alcott, Mary Shelley, Fyodor Dostoevsky, and George Eliot. The expression on Agatha Christie’s face grew more and more incredulous as he described their reactions, and she burst out with a loud “WHAT?!” when he mentioned that they had split up to search the house.

“And aside from the vial of poison with the blood on it, you’ve found no clues whatsoever?” Agatha asked him when he’d concluded.

“None,” he confirmed. He hadn’t mentioned the handkerchief because it seemed to implicate Annabel, though the tender way she’d been caressing Eddie’s hand throughout his tale had almost tempted him to do so. Poe glared at the others present, daring them to mention it, but no one was saying anything.

Agatha considered carefully for a moment. “It almost makes sense… Edgar, what painting did you have in your bathroom that George Eliot could have been murdered with?”

Edgar raised an eyebrow. “What kind of person has paintings in their bathroom?”

“I have five in mine,” Oscar remarked.

“What happened to your sleeve?” Agatha asked him.

“Ugh, Miss Brontë spilled wine on it. I was going to change, but I didn’t get the chance,” he added, putting his jacket back on to hide the stain.

“Because you insisted that George go into the bathroom,” Annabel said accusatorially.

“She was covered in birdie bits! I was being a gentleman.”

“Shall we all return to the washroom to see what that painting was?” HG suggested.

“No matter, I know what it was now, thank you,” Agatha responded, to the others’ astonishment.

After a long enough pause to make clear that she was not intending on saying anything further, Ernest blurted out, “So, what was it?”

“What? Oh, a painting of Oscar Wilde, of course. But what I don’t understand is how… there must be… but who…?” she trailed off pensively.

“Eddie, darling, who do you think was trying to kill you?” Annabel asked quietly, trying not to disturb Agatha.

“I don’t know, my dear. I can’t think of any enemies or rivals I might have.” He stared pointedly at Poe.

Annabel followed his gaze. Edgar had clearly overheard them and was fuming. “No, Edgar couldn’t do this,” she insisted. “He’s a good man.”

Eddie snorted. “A good man?” he repeated loudly. “He can’t even hold a dinner party that more than half his guests survive!”

“Hey, way less than half have died!” Edgar objected.

“Yeah, so far,” Eddie scoffed. “Obviously the safest thing was to pretend to be dead.”

“I’m missing something…” Agatha muttered.

“M-may I make a suggestion?” HG stammered.

“By all means,” Edgar sighed.

“If Miss Christie needs more assistance, per- perhaps Lenore could, uh, contact the psychic who conjured her ghost to, uh, summon some of the people who died here tonight? I’m sure at least one of them saw whomever killed them.”

“Surely Miss Christie can solve this murder without the assistance of ghosts,” Eddie asserted.

Agatha considered him carefully. “Miss Christie would be very interested to hear what the ghosts might say,” she informed him.

“Great, I’ll contact Krishanti!” Lenore sounded more cheerful than anyone had all evening.

When Krishanti entered the study, her eyes were immediately drawn to Eddie, the man who was constantly pestering her to bring back his brother. But he pointedly avoided her gaze, so Krishanti followed his lead and hid her recognition. When Guy’s ghost appeared, however, Eddie couldn’t help letting out an audible gasp. When the others stared at him, he quickly whispered, “Who is that? He didn’t die in this house tonight, right?” at which point Guy started his speech, which Charlotte then interrupted by sneezing and blowing out Krishanti’s candle.

As Krishanti hurried out in search of sage, Agatha asked, “Who was that?”

“Guy de Vere, my fiancé,” Lenore responded. “Krishanti could never bring him back, until now apparently.”

“Ah, I see.” Agatha turned to Annabel. “And why did he point to you and say you weren’t a bell?”

Annabel shrugged. “I thought he was saying I wasn’t able, though to do what I’m sure I don’t know.”

“Maybe he was saying she wasn’t A. Bell, like that handkerchief we found in Miss Alcott’s mouth,” Emily suggested.

Agatha turned to Emily enthusiastically. “You found a handkerchief that said A. Bell on it?!” she exclaimed.

Emily blushed and looked at the floor. “Well, not exactly. I mean, I didn’t find it, and it didn’t exactly say A. Bell. It just had the letter A and a picture of a bell. Miss Brontë seemed to think it was Annabel’s, but maybe that ghost was saying it wasn’t.”

Agatha rounded on Edgar. “And you didn’t think this was important enough to tell me?”

“I didn’t want you to think that the beautiful, sweet, innocent, beautiful Annabel Lee could have had anything to do with-”

“Oh, how tiresome of you!” exclaimed Agatha. “That was the piece I was missing. We could have avoided this whole séance if you’d just told me everything like I asked. Well, come on, everyone, we have to stop her!” She started toward the door, but no one followed.

“Er, stop whom?” Oscar asked. “And from what?”

“Stop Anne Brontë from murdering Krishanti, of course!”

“Anne Brontë?” Lenore repeated. “You mean Charlotte?”

“Well, I would, if she wasn’t standing right there. Don’t you see? It must be the other one. Look, I’ll explain in a moment. First, Edgar and Lenore lead the way to the kitchen, which is where I assume Krishanti was headed. I’ll bring up the rear to make sure no one is left behind. Just hurry!”

When they arrived at the kitchen, Krishanti was dialing a number on the telephone, but she wasn’t alone. A woman most of them had never seen before was slowly approaching the psychic, holding a large knife. “Hey!” Lenore shouted, causing Kristanti to jump and drop the phone. When she saw the knife she started to scream, but the woman immediately lowered it and feigned a look of innocence.

“Who are you?” Edgar demanded of the stranger.

“I’m Anne Brontë. So sorry I’m late for dinner, I was just looking for the food.”

“Good luck finding any,” snorted Ernest.

“Anne Brontë wasn’t on our list, was she?” Annabel asked Eddie.

“Wait a minute,” said Edgar, “Eddie told you whom I should invite?!”

Agatha glared at him. “Haven’t you figured it out yet, Mr. Poe?”

Edgar furrowed his brow. “I’m getting there. But what does any of this have to do with A. Bell?”

Agatha pointed to Anne. “Her pen name is Acton Bell. I knew that Eddie and Charlotte were in on this, but as neither of them could have killed George Eliot, there had to be a third person. I couldn’t figure out if it was one of you or someone else, at least until you told me about the handkerchief.”

“What made you think I had anything to do with this?” Charlotte cried.

“You had the greatest opportunity to kill Dostoevsky, and you obviously stained Wilde’s shirt to send him to his death in the washroom.”

Oscar gasped. “You did that on purpose?!”

“Why would I work with someone who was about to foreclose on my house?” Charlotte countered.

“I imagine he told you he’d let you keep your house if you helped him. I also assume he offered to help you cover up the murder of Jane Austen.”

“How can you possibly know about that?” Anne wondered.

Agatha smiled. “Who do you think you’re dealing with?”

“You must be making a mistake, Miss Christie,” said Annabel. “Eddie’s a great guy.”

“Then why would he fake his own death before people started dying? And why would he cheat on you with both Charlotte and Oscar?”

“I thought he was dating me!” Anne protested.

“Ha, in your dreams,” scoffed Oscar.

Annabel had let go of Eddie’s hand and began to shrink away from him, her eyes widening in horror. “Eddie? It’s not true, is it? It can’t be.”

But Eddie was ignoring her, his eyes fixed on Agatha Christie. To everyone’s astonishment and confusion, he suddenly began to clap slowly. The Brontës attempted to join in, but he silenced them and continued his solo slow clap. When this had gone on far longer than anyone else was comfortable with, he stopped clapping and said, “Congratulations, Miss Christie. You figured it out.”

Agatha rolled her eyes. “Of course I did. You knew I would, or you wouldn’t have tried to kill me before I arrived.”

“But, why would you do this, Eddie?” cried Annabel.

He opened his mouth, but before he could reply, Agatha said, “Because he’s Guy de Vere’s brother and a descendant of Edward de Vere, who claimed that Shakespeare stole his work, so he’s trying to get revenge on authors.”

Looking very disappointed at having his villain monologue stolen, Eddie asked, “How could you possibly know that?”

“It was perfectly evident that you and Krishanti recognized each other, and that you recognized the ghost of Guy de Vere. That combined with the fact that all the authors were killed in manners that reflected their work made this the only logical solution.”

“Enough chatter, let’s call the police!” Ernest shouted, a bit louder than necessary.

As Ernest lunged toward the phone, Charlotte pulled a gun out of nowhere and pointed it at him. He leapt back automatically as the others gasped. “No one goes near that phone,” Charlotte ordered.

“It doesn’t matter,” said Agatha. “The police should be here any minute anyway.”

“Why should the police come?” Anne sneered. “Nobody’s called them. We’ve been watching the phone all night. Krishanti’s call was interrupted by all of you, and no one else has used it.”

“Nobody needed to call them,” Agatha responded calmly. “A few days ago, I staged my own disappearance. After making sure it was being investigated, I led a very clear trail to this house. They’ll be here soon.”

“You said you didn’t expect everywhere you go to provide inspiration for your next novel,” Charlotte reminded her.

“Not everywhere I go, certainly, but a murder mystery dinner party at Edgar Allan Poe’s house? It would have been foolish not to take some precautions.”

At that moment, the doorbell rang. Charlotte jumped and dropped the gun; Agatha quickly retrieved it. “I suppose that must be the police. Or were you expecting anyone else, Edgar?”

“No, I don’t think so. Unless Emily Dickinson decided to finally show up.”

“She’s right there,” Agatha told him, nodding toward Emily, who beamed. Agatha pointed the gun at each of the murderers. “Right, you three, let’s go answer the door.”

Everyone followed Agatha and the murderers out of the kitchen except Annabel. When Edgar noticed she wasn’t with them in the hall, he turned back to join her. She was crying softly. “Are you all right?” he asked.

“I courted Eddie because I thought my family would approve. He seemed like such a respectable, great guy. I never imagined he was capable of something like this.”

Edgar didn’t know what to say. “I’m sorry.”

“You don’t understand, Edgar. I’m trying to say that I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to apologize, Annabel. I know you wouldn’t have brought him if you knew he was going to kill people.”

“I mean, I’m sorry for wasting time we could have spent together.”

This was the last thing Edgar had expected. He was sure he had misheard. “What do you mean?”

Annabel took his hand and smiled through her tears. “I mean, I never loved Eddie. It was always you.”

***

Agatha Christie opened the front door triumphantly.

“Are you Mr. Allan Poe?” asked Constable Jim.

She stared at him in astonishment for a moment. “Um… no. I’m Agatha Christie.”

“Hey, we found her!” Constable Jimmy exclaimed.

“You’re going to want backup,” Agatha told them. “These three all need to be arrested for murder.” She handed the gun to Emily. “Miss Dickinson, hold them until backup arrives. I’m going to go home and divorce my unfaithful husband.”

[sadlittlenerdking]

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

A quick key for you: 

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

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

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

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

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

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

Home - Quentin misses Eliot. 

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

breathe it in - post season two finale angst.

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

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

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

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

And then the flames all go out at once.

Magicians Moon - Eliot’s a secret romantic. 

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

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

Which makes this even more confusing.

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

Morality. Eliot scoffs, pulling his flask out of his jacket pocket and spilling a fair amount of this weeks alcohol into his coffee. Who the fuck needs morality? He’s happy with general debauchery and a mild case of alcoholism. Who wouldn’t be? Just a week ago, Margo had been on the same boat as him, planning to float off into an actual universe of nothing but sex, drugs, and alcohol. But then she found out he’s been kind of, maybe, definitely, stalking Quentin, and practically kicked him off of the Ibiza trip.

She’s going to regret that decision when she comes back and finds all her clothes are cursed to make her look fat.

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

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

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

Misguided - Quentin starts getting texts from a stranger. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Well, none of them pleasant for him.

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

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

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

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

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

Power - Eliot’s a Niffin. 

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

And then he’s gone.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

There has to be a solution.

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

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

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

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

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

This Moment - Quentin and Eliot are finally reunited. 

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

It made Quentin realize a few things.

Hot Chocolate - There’s been some confusion. 

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

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

“Hot … Chocolate.”

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

“Eliot…”

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

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

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

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

“Sounds pretty par for course, Q.”

“– and kissed me.”

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

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

Oh.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

God, did he see anything?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sacrifice - Eliot finds out about the depression key. 

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

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

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

“Yeah, I—“

“Give it to me.”

Sharp - Quentin accidentally cuts his finger. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Too Late for Goodbye - Quentin makes a horrifying realization.

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

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

Maybe thinking about her is what makes him realize.

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

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

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

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

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

Rupert - Quentin and Eliot have the best son.

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

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

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

No More Goodbyes - another marriage proposal. 

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

He’s done saying goodbye.

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

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

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

“But it will–”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

First, he calls Quentin.

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

Promise Me - The monster gives Quentin his memories back. 

“You’re sad.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No, El. Two inches higher.”

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

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

Patchwork Love - Quentin’s grand romantic gesture. 

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

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

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

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

Maybe they’re all dead.

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

He doubts they’re alive.

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

and it’s no sacrifice - Todd sacrifices himself.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Is—is everyone—“

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“But you’re his best friend.”

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

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

Quentin & the clock - Post season two finale. 

i can hold you - Quentin has a bad day

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

Eliot’s secret - Eliot has a secret. 

R & R - Quentin needs a break. 

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

Glasses - Eliot has another secret. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Woods - Who thought hiking was good bonding activity?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Stupid Tattoo - Quentin has the dumbest tattoo. 

Roots - (WIP) Soulmate AU.

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

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

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

Home - Eliot’s finally home. 

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

Operation Friendship - Todd has a puppy. 

Fillory - Margo takes Todd to Fillory. 

Purple - A spell reveals all. 

Quentin’s an idiot.

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

Which is to say.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re sure?” Kady asks, soft.

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

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

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

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

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

codependent - Jane and Fogg set the loop further back. 

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

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

never send me roses - Eliot discovers a surprising allergy. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You want to do what.”

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

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

stargazing - Quentin wants to comfort Eliot. 

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

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

TADA - They’re about to graduate from Brakebills. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Rainbow Sprinkles - Quentin hates rainbow sprinkles. 

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

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

“What?”

Her eyebrow quirks. “What, what?”

“Why’d you make that sound?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Crossroads - Eliot and the Suicide Fountain 

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh, Brother - Todd is Eliot’s brother.

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

His jaw clenches unconsciously.

They left him again.

Ease My Mind - rarepair challenge -- Todd/Eliot

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

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

“When will you be back?”

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

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

--

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

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

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

It’s over. It’s finally over.

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

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

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

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

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

“Eliot’s alive, Margo.”

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

Unhinged - Todd finds out Eliot’s alive.

Too Much - Quentin has a panic attack. 

The glass shatters in slow motion.

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

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

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

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

Feels everything.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Quentin’s favorite color is purple.

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

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

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

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

This is Eliot’s happy place.

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

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

as a hello - Eliot makes a wish. 

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

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

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

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

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

“Uh, hey.”

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

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

hot water on wool -- Quentin takes a shower. 

Like the fucking world is doing to him.

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

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

Hot.

Hot, hot, hot.

Too fucking hot.

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

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

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

But.

“Something wrong?”

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

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

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

“Yes.”

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

“Where are you going?”

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

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

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

--

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But.

“Something wrong?”

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

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

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

“Yes.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Quentin Coldwater?”

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

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

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

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

“Hey, old man.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Written for the covenant house drabbles thing. 

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

written for the covenant house drabbles thing.

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

written for the covenant house drabbles thing.

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

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

And then he gets up, and follows it.

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

Relief - Quentin and Eliot have a talk (andthensome)

“You’re missing your own party.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

timekeeper - Eliot uses stoppards machine. 

(written for the covenant house drabbles)

“How the fuck did I agree to this?”

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

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

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

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

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

a whisper in the ear - another i love you.

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

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

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

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

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

dance with me - another i love you

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

Oh, right.

He promised to be brave.

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

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

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

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

And said no.

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

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

Fuck. That.

Golden - Quentin pines. Eliot’s oblivious.

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

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

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

delicate - Quentin just really loves Taylor Swift.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Too tired to breathe, sometimes.

[leverage-ot3]

notable moments from The First David Job

leverage 1.12

sophie organized the notecards for the intervention

- - - - -

Sophie: Drunk again?

Nate: Are we still unclear? I'm a functioning alcoholic, you know? And the trick is not to get hung up on the "alcoholic." But celebrate the "functioning" part of the sentence.

- - - - -

Nate: Yeah, I- I know all this.

Hardison: No, no, no. See, while you are well-versed in dead-guy art, I myself am not. My entire criminal career is based on technology built after 1981. So I am riveted. Quite so. Please, do go on.

- - - - -

Hardison: Man, am I glad I don't have to break in there. That is one sick security system.

Parker: What, with our tools? Give me three days of prep, it'd be like taking diamonds from the French national bank. That's like taking candy from a baby.

Hardison: I got it.

Parker: A very easy thing to do.

Hardison: Got...it

I love her

- - - - -

Parker: Oh, look, little buddy. (picks up fake statue) That's your new home!

Hardison: Can you please not play with the little naked man? Please.

Parker: I'm not. (sets the statue down)

- - - - -

Eliot: You guys--you know each other?

Ian: Of course. Maggie is Nate’s ex-wife.

Eliot (nervously): Oh.

eliot being completely RATTLED lmfao

- - - - -

Parker: Which conversation do you want to listen to?

Hardison: That's what stereo was invented for.

- - - - -

Hardison: Now, Nate, is Maggie a very good Art Inspector?

Nate: Yeah, she's the best.

Parker: No, no, no, we can't let your ex-wife anywhere near our little naked man!

parker: don’t talk to me or my naked son ever again

- - - - -

Hardison: No, no. Nate, we haven't done any prep. We don't have our tools.

Parker: You want me to break into a secure storage facility with whatever I can scrounge up at the buffet table?

Nate: Pretty much, yeah.

Parker: Cool. I think Sophie left some dresses in here. (turns to look through things)

Hardison: I'll go, too. I, uh, I got a white shirt. I can go wait staff.

(Parker takes off her shirt and Hardison looks the other way, turning the fake statue away from her as well)

hardison is a bashful lil respectful boy and we stan him for it

- - - - -

parker walking in in that amazing dress and everyone looking? good, it’s what she deserves (I’m gay)

- - - - -

Parker: Door's got a silent alarm. (to Sophie) You should hide. (to Hardison) We should pretend to make out.

Hardison: Make what?

(Parker grabs Hardison and they begin to kiss and she pushes the door open a little)

[Founder’s Reception]

(Nate and Eliot turn to look at the building as the sounds of making out come over the comms)

[Museum]

(Sophie goes around a corner out of sight)

Hardison: Let's talk about-- A little bit--

(Parker and Hardison continue to make out. Two guards approach and seem embarrassed. One clears his throat)

Guard: You, uh, bumped the door there. Sets the alarm off.

Hardison: You know what?

Parker: Oh.

Hardison: We, you know how it is.

Parker: Sorry.

(guards walk away and Sophie rejoins them)

Parker: Makeup. (takes makeup from Sophie) Come on. (goes through door)

Hardison: Can we talk about the pretending? That was nice.

(Sophie pushes him after Parker and returns to the party)

poor hardison’s heart must be beating wildly

- - - - -

Eliot: Which one of you did she kiss?

(Sophie sighs)

IMAGINE IF IT HAD GONE THE OTHER WAY THO

- - - - -

parker’s laser grid dodging skills are legendary + her delight when she stands up to see the first david !!!

also we stan a QUEEN who broke into a vault with only a glass of ice, a roll of aluminum foil, gum, and eyeshadow (and a fake makeout sesh)

- - - - -

Hardison: You did not just think about this on the way in from the van.

Parker: Some people do crosswords

- - - - -

Maggie: I-I just, I’m just trying to tell you that I still care.

Nate: No, I-I was –

Maggie: Care what happens to you, I mean. I've never stopped caring about you, Nate

maggie is such a genuinely good person and we love her for it

- - - - -

Parker: Ready?

(Hardison uses his phone to access remote system)

Parker: Come on, come on.

[Parking Lot]

(alarms begin to blare an all the cars)

[Security Control Room]

Guard 1: Hey, the vibration alarm just went off in the restoration room.

Guard 2: Wait. (points at monitor) Look. The car alarms all went off in the parking lot.

Guard 1: Little earthquakes.

Guard 2: Just another tremor.

that’s so smart tho???

- - - - -

Parker tosses the real David to Hardison who catches it)

Hardison: Wha-you-- Don't throw the David.

Parker: You caught it, didn't you?

Hardison: You're crazy

I would have had a HEART ATTACK

- - - - -

Maggie: Adam!

Eliot (turns): Uh, yeah?

(Eliot stops as Nate continues away)

Maggie: Let me give you my number.

Eliot: Great.

[Leverage HQ]

Eliot: I'm sorry your wife gave me her phone number.

Nate: Don't want to talk about it.

Eliot: I-It was only to coordinate where we were gonna go anyway.

Nate: Not talking about it.

hardison is enjoying it so much in the background dnjsjajsjsnnsnn

- - - - -

(Parker puts the statue on the table between them)

Parker: We just stole an $8 million statue on, like, our day off! (she shakes their shoulders happily)

SHES BABY

- - - - -

Pilot: Uh, work? W-what are you talking about?

Hardison: Spot inspection. FAA. Now, look, I want to see this plane's TCAS, VRSM, and 8.1 FM spacing in operation to make sure it's fully functional and in compliance with the new FAA regulations.

Pilot: New regulations?

(Hardison takes out a pen and writes on a clipboard)

Hardison: Pilot unaware of latest regulations.

Pilot: Oh, the new regulations. Of course. Please, come this way. I'll take you right up.

Hardison: Oh, no, no. It's cool, it's cool. I don't need to go up. Just taxi me around the building.

Pilot: Taxi? I thought you need to get up in the air.

Hardison (writes on clipboard): Uncomfortable with black authority figures.

Pilot: Sir, please don't write that.

Hardison: Oh, I will write a letter to your mama if I feel like it.

Pilot: This way, please. It's in order. I-I promise. This way. It's okay. (to copilot) FAA, he's a hard-ass.

(copilot tries to get bags)

Pilot: Screw the bags. Let's go!

this was really funny but also SUCH A GOOD WAY to con people

- - - - -

quinn’s hair did nothing for him in this episode. i said what i said.

- - - - -

(Sophie and Nate get into his car and leave while Quinn continues to take pictures from the open door of the hanger. Eliot walks up behind him)

Eliot: I'm gonna count to three.

(Quinn turns and hits Eliot hard, knocking him across the floor)

Eliot: Nate, we're blown. W—

Nate: Eliot, what’s--

(several feet away, Eliot’s earpiece is lying on the floor. Eliot tries to scramble away, but Quinn kicks him in the ribs, throwing him back, and kicks him several times more)

Quinn: That rib's broken.

(Eliot manages to get to his feet)

Quinn: He said you'd be tougher than this.

quinn: *is a really good fighter*

eliot: *surprised pikachu face*

ALSO the reason eliot was beat up so bad in the beginning was because he kept on trying to get back to his comm every chance he got INSTEAD of truly fighting back. his first priority was warning his team over his own personal safety and ugh we stan a man who cares about his family

- - - - -

,,, imagine you’re driving on a highway and see a chick jump off a bridge onto an armored car, pick its lock and then BREAK INTO said armored car ,,, wyd

- - - - -

poor hardison was ready to relax ,,, he got a soda and made himself some popcorn too

- - - - -

(Quinn and Eliot both stand hunched over, breathing hard)

Quinn: Why won't you go down?

(Eliot laughs, blood falling from his mouth to the floor. Quinn comes at him again, but Eliot catches him and knees him in the chest several times before pushing him away. Quinn falls to his hands and knees, gasping for air)

Eliot: Now that rib's broken.

(Eliot hits Quinn in the face hard, sending him to the floor. Holding his ribs, Eliot walks to the earpiece and puts it in)

payback is sweet

- - - - -

Sterling: Mr. Spencer?

(Quinn is still unconscious as Eliot walks out the hanger doors, breathing hard, limping and holding his ribs)

Eliot: Hey, Sterling. I got some dental work with your name on it. What do you say me and you hook up so I can give it to you?

- - - - -

Sophie: Sterling knows us. He knows how we think.

Nate: So we think like somebody else

THEY THINK LIKE THEIR KIDS

- - - - -

Nate: With a couple broken ribs and a concussion, I don't think Eliot can take out six guys.

(Eliot looks like he’d give it a try)

Nate: You know, but then I thought, "what would Hardison do?"

(Hardison looks at Nate in surprise)

(Eliot pulls out his phone and accesses the computer system, sending a high pitched whine into the comm. devices of the guards. They all bend over in pain. Eliot punches the one closest to him. Nate grabs Geary and slams his head down on the table. Hardison hits another guard in the face with his tied hands)

THAT MEANS ELIOT WAS ALSO THINKING LIKE HARDISON IF HE KNEW WHAT TO DO WITH THE PHONE AND WAS READY FOR IT

also YEET hardison is a badass but wbk

- - - - -

(Parker runs for Sophie. Sterling and his men run for Sophie and Parker. Parker reaches Sophie first and the dive from the roof, Sophie screaming and Parker laughing all the way down)

parker is the only character I’ve ever seen that can scream “yeehaw” and “yahoooooo” without it sounding ridiculous

- - - - -

(Eliot walks into the lobby, holding his ribs. He turns to yell over his shoulder)

Eliot: Hardison!

(Eliot follows Nate toward the door)

Hardison (breathing hard): Wait, Eliot. Eliot, come on.

(Eliot goes back inside)

Eliot: You've got to be kidding me, man.

(Eliot goes to help Hardison carry the painting out)

Hardison: Bring it out, come on.

Eliot: This is just weird.

Hardison: I painted this

okay so we all know that hardison actually hit a lot of cash in the painting but also, eliot actually goes back to help instead of just rolling his eyes and leaving hardison behind. eliot can get annoyed with him but he’d never leave him behind. not even on day one when hardison fell in the exploding building in the nigerian job. eliot was there for him then and he will be there for him for the rest of their lives.

ALSO I really hope eliot got his ribs checked out sometime soon after

- - - - -

Sterling: You're fired. Dust the whole place for fingerprints, okay? I want a forensic computer spec—

(the monitors come to life, showing Hardison’s face)

Hardison: Hey, Sterling. Get out of my house.

(display changes to a 30 second clock that begins to count down)

Sterling: Run. Run!

(all of the men run from the office, coming out onto the street)

Geary: Maybe he was bluffing.

(the entire floor of the building explodes, shooting fire)

Sterling: That's the funny thing about con men. They don't bluff.

- - - - -

the third “scattering scene” of the series