#riz writes

The Magicians

Queliot

Summary: written for the #HappyAnniversaryQueliot fanart challenge. It's Quentin and Eliot's five year anniversary.

Excerpt:

When Quentin Coldwater sits down at the breakfast table, and Eliot Waugh sets a blindfold down on said table, his mind goes absolutely wild. 

But, Eliot, in a stunning display of seriousness, places a hand overtop it and says, “Mind out of the gutter, Q.” Before Quentin can so much as think of a lie through that , Eliot picks up his hand and adds, “I’ve got a surprise.” 

No Kidding , Quentin thinks, eyes still locked on the small scrap of silk sitting next to his eggs. They’ve been plenty adventurous over the years, but somehow they’d never quite traversed the land of the unseeing, as Quentin liked to call it. Or, would like to call it, if Eliot weren’t raising a knowing eyebrow in his direction. 

Quentin makes a noise at the back of his throat and lifts his fork to shovel some eggs—perfectly cooked, delicious eggs, also provided by his incredibly generous boyfriend. He stops mid chew, and looks between the eggs and Eliot, a sense of dread pooling in his stomach. 

“You’re being particularly perfect today,” he accuses. 

“Most people would say, wow, Eliot, how thoughtful, how kind, how wonderful. Thank you for being such an amazing, and attentive significant other.” 

And, oh, that’s dangerous talk coming from Eliot Waugh. 

Quentin swallows, narrowing his eyes. “What are you up to?” 

Red, White & Royal Blue

Alex/Henry

Word Count: 4k

Summary:

“Where are you going?” Henry freezes where he’s standing over his overnight bag, fingers still clasped around the tug on the zipper. His eyes slide closed of their own accord, dread pooling low in his gut. This was not how this was supposed to go. Alex is a deep sleeper, he should’ve been out the door and on a plane back to London long before he ever woke up. Not just for Henry’s sake, but for both of theirs. This was not a conversation Henry wanted to have. -- Or, Alex wakes up before Henry can sneak out.

Red, White & Royal Blue

Alex/Henry

Word count: 2.7k

Summary:

“Leaving so soon?” Henry curses, crashing into the kitchen island, and dropping his bag at his feet. Fuck, he thinks, tearing his gaze across the room to where Alex’s dad is sitting on the couch with a tumbler of what Henry assumes is scotch. “Congressman,” Henry murmurs, heart in his throat. -- Or, Oscar and Henry have a talk (when Oscar catches Henry trying to sneak out of the lake house.)

He can still hear the call that pulled him from nothingness, the desperate tinge lining every word like a wave of emotion that’s both his and not all at once. Can still feel the way his soul lunged from the darkness at the first aching syllable, not an ounce of hesitance to follow it into the void. To let it lead him from the weird nothingness of death to the chaotic everything of life.

Hearing his voice had felt like being welcomed home.

-

Red, White & Royal Blue

Alex/Henry

Word count; 5,748

Summary:

The first voicemail notification sits in Henry’s inbox when he lands in London. He stares at it for a long while before quietly dismissing it and shoving his phone unceremoniously into his pocket. His phone feels like lead in his pocket the entire ride back to the palace, fingers itching to pull it out and just listen. But he’s stronger than that, isn’t he? He left, he got on the plane, he made it home without once looking back. He had, though, contemplated the many steps it would take to turn around. Wondered if he could make it back with enough time to climb back into Alex’s bed and pretend none of this nightmare—the confession of love—had ever happened. But for every step he envisions himself taking back, three more lead him straight to Kensington Palace, because for whatever it is that he wants, there is only what he can have, and it is not a life with one Alexander Gabriel Claremont-Diaz. -- Or, Henry actually answers one of Alex's calls.

the magicians

word count: 22.4k (complete)

Summary: Eliot's seeing Quentin's ghost.

Excerpt:

“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.