#mhhe author spotlight
Text
From now until November, we’ll be spotlighting one of our MHHE registered authors every week. Want to be featured? Just fill out this form!
MHHE Author Spotlight: lunaraindrop
What piece of work best represents your writing style, and how would you briefly describe it?
I chose my one posted Queliot fic 'Let This Promise in Me Start Like an Anthem in My Heart' as a representation of my writing style.
I am a hopeless romantic and a comedian at heart. I am a bit of a mender when it comes to sadness and angst. In my stories you will find healthy doses of fluff, humor, and tooth rotting romance. There is always a happy ending in the works. Life if full of hardship and pain, and I don't want my work to contribute to that. That being said, my work is not all softness though. I try really hard to keep the character's voice intact (in fact they take over most times), so I do not shy away from letting them have their anxieties, fears, and boughts of melancholy.
They never stay that way, though. Why? Because I believe in letting the characters finding happiness. Besides that though, I do love to surprise my audience with plot twists and turns, (NOT like some show writers that shall not be named), and I like to drop subtle hints and some foreshadowing for my readers to pick up like clues. I do love a good mystery. :) So for people wanting to read my stories, know that you are in for an adventure full of heart and ridiculousness, and maybe some twists along the way. ;)
It was like the bunny broke Q from the impending anxiety attack and set him into action. For Eliot, it was like watching a scene in slow motion. Quentin had briefly looked up towards the ceiling before he underhand tossed the rabbit in a high arch to Josh. As soon as the General Woundwort wannabe cleared his hands, he hoisted himself over the bedrail. Q scrambled himself into a protective position over Eliot’s body, bracing his trembling arms besides his shoulders, and knees by his outer thighs. Desperate gasps of air fanned out across Eliot’s face as he saw Quentin screw his eyes shut. To Eliot’s horror, he realized that the stupid, brave man he loved was planning to take the brunt of the bunny fallout. Quentin Coldwater threw himself at Eliot’s body like skinny-ass Steve Rodgers on a grenade. (Yes, he knew sex with him was hot and explosive, but this really was not the time for analogies.) Before he could shove him away, he saw the cascade of rabbits falling from the invisible hole. While a bunch of bunnies would not kill Quentin like they probably would him, he still did not like the idea of him getting hurt. If the horde was anything like the other one, he would certainly get banged up.
Despite not being able to use magic for such a long time, using his telekinesis was as easy as breathing. He bumped the first two bunnies into Penny23’s chest and the side of Julia’s head, knocking her off her feet. He didn’t have the time to get the others.
At the very last second Eliot reached up and wrapped one arm around the younger man’s back, the other cupping the back of his head. He pulled him into a crushing hug before turning them both to Margo’s vacated side. He knew he wasn’t careful enough, that Q was smashed hard between the bedrail and Eliot’s own body. He could feel that cute, pert nose pressed into his carotid artery, and a trapped hand twitching against his ribs.
This was not typically how they fit together.
If he could, he would shift and curl his body around the man, like they used to, like he never thought they could again.
They fit.
They fucking fit.
They were bespoke.
And Quentin loved men in vests, (and apparently men, and hope to God he read that right and that meant he still loved him and that he still had a chance ) and he’d be damned if he let some beefy bastard bunnies bruise Q’s precious kidneys before he got to parade around in a dark vest and gun holster to give his super nerd a visual orgasm.
Would you like to read more? Click here!
What piece of work are you most proud of and why?
That is a hard one. I have too many that I have really enjoyed making, but I think a few of my Teen Wolf stories are where I would go. I think the ones I am most proud of are the stories that make people laugh and swoon all in the same chapter.
What tropes can we look forward to in your MHHE fic?
I really don't know yet, tbh. My fic is a little different. I can say though that while the original movie has an established relationship, this one will be a getting-together story. There will be a first kiss, and maybe a declaration of love. Someone might wipe off flour from someone else's cheek. They might have to get close because of a stakeout. I would love to hear other ideas and suggestions about tropes people would like to see! I adore prompts. :)
Fuck, Marry, Kiss (under the mistletoe) with three Magicians characters of your choice!
That's tough. Can't I just Fuck/Marry/Kiss Eliot, Quentin, and Margo at the same time?
10 notes
·
View notes
Text
Author Spotlight: @thursdayeuclid
Every week we interview a writer from The Magicians fandom. If you would like to be interviewed or you want to nominate a writer, get in touch via our ask box.
First things first, tell us a little about yourself.
I'm a thirty-something disabled bipolar queer trans guy who publishes original m/m romance novels when I can tear myself away from fandom long enough to do so. I'm pretty blind without my glasses. I usually have blue hair, a nose ring, and a man bun. As Thursday Euclid, I write lots of happily ever afters, and as prettyclever, I do pretty much the same thing, except with other people's characters that I'm just borrowing from a surfeit of affection.
How long have you been writing for?
My first stories were written when I was a very young child, but I didn't try a novel until I was nine. It didn't quite work out--I couldn't sustain the work to complete a work of that length, and I was writing long-hand---but I tried again at twelve and managed to finish about 50k words. I had a tumultuous adolescence but eventually found myself in Harry Potter fandom in the early aughts, and then I took a long break trying to be a professional. Turns out, I couldn't stay away from tragic magical boys.
What inspired you to start writing for The Magicians?
I was irritated with how season four was playing out. I overly identify with Eliot Waugh--he's who I want to be when I grow up; I'm 37 so I'm running way behind schedule--and his relationship with Quentin was *so* important to me. When Quentin got back together with Alice, I was like, "This is it. I've gotta write fic."
That was the beginning. A few thousand words came of it. Ever since the season four finale, though, I've done nothing but write oodles of Queliot fic with my cowriter and best friend clancynacht/charlotteschaos in my every free moment. I was already reading Magicians fic, but there just wasn't enough novel-length Queliot to suit me, so me and Char are remedying that in our own weird way.
Who is/are your favourite character(s) to write? What it is about them that makes them your favourite?
Eliot, because he is me in so many ways, and in all the ways he is not me, he is pure fabulosity and sex appeal. Kady, because she is just the baddest bitch. She delights me to no end. Penny 40, because his sass is killer, as is his tsundere ish, and I just really miss him. Char always writes Quentin and Margo when we collaborate because she's fantastic at channeling them, so I stick to my own faves.
Do you have a preference for a particular season/point in time to write about?
I didn't really start writing fic until s4, but (extrapolated) S5 has been my favorite thing to write. I've also loved the Mosaic fic we're writing based on 3x5 and 4x5. Most of what I read is totally AU, though.
Are you working on anything right now? Care to give us an idea about it?
We've now posted like 225,000 words of Queliot fic, still working on Sound & Color, and we're also working on another novel-length fic for Magicians Hallmark Holiday Exchange as I type this. Since it's all anon, I can't tell you much about our story except that we've already written 65,000 words of it, and the mutual pining is real, y'all. It's very festive, and Quentin is an adorable sad boi and Eliot is very soft and spook and also protective.
How long is your “to do list”?
Char literally made a Basecamp list of everything I should be doing outside of fic, but when it comes to fandom, it's really just MHHE and Sound & Color. We write together really rapidly. For example, when we wrote It's Never Over, we were done with over 100k in a month.
What is your favourite fic that you’ve written for The Magicians? Why?
Definitely It's Never Over. It's crackalicious and full of book canon references, and it's the Magicians Season 5 Queliot fans deserve. I'm so proud of how that one turned out. I've never written a story in fandom that people were so passionate about, either. It was published immediately after that heartbreaking finale, and people really responded to how we resurrected Quentin. Also all the smut, because there's so much smut in that story. Sex magic left and right.
Many writers have a fic that they are passionate about that doesn’t get the reception from the fandom that they hoped for. Do you have a fic you would like more people to read and appreciate?
I hoped Sound & Color would get more attention than it did. It's a long, weird (not quite complete yet) trip through 3x5 A Life in the Day. There's already a lot of Mosaic fic out there, and it's a crowded field, although I think Sound & Color stands apart for being so complete and slice-of-lifey. It's not just focused on the most dramatic moments, but on their entire lives together from beginning to end because I couldn't get enough of imagining it. It's a long, thorough exploration.
What is your writing process like? Do you have any traditions or superstitions that you like to stick to when you’re writing?
I like to listen to Radiohead when I write. It's inspiring and relaxing and keeps the words flowing. Also, Char often creates Spotify playlists for our stories, and I'll listen to those to set the mood as we write. Sometimes I listen to Kpop while writing too, because I only understand one word in fifty and it provides excellent background rhythm.
Because I collaborate with Char on just about everything, we used to write together in Google Docs before migrating our process over to OneDrive through Microsoft Word, which also lets us see each other's work in real time and edit each other's additions to the story. In a lot of ways, it's similar to roleplaying, which is why we can write 100k in a month without getting burned out. We've been working together like this for more than ten years now, so we've got it down.
Do you write while the seasons are airing or do you prefer to wait for hiatus? How does the ongoing development of the canon influence and inspire your writing process?
I prefer writing canon-compliant stories during hiatus and writing AUs while the seasons are airing. Historically, I tend to only read in a fandom until hiatus, and then I start writing. Coming from a book-based fandom (Harry Potter), Magicians feels very different dynamically and has different demands.
What has been the most challenging fic for you to write?
Definitely The Fake Dating One Where El's Parents Come to Visit, because it was different from what I'm used to writing. For one, it was short(ish) and two, Eliot's parents were drawn from my parents, who are also extremely religious, conservative, small town bigots. It cut closer to the bone in a lot of ways, but it was also different because Quentin ended up taking a more dominant, protective role, really exhibiting his innate bravery, and it was a little uncomfortable letting Eliot be rescued by Quentin just because I identify so much with El.
Are there any themes or tropes that you like particularly like to explore in your writing?
Idiots in love, mutual pining, fake dating, dicks & daddy issues, biphobia and bi erasure in queer culture, mental illness, family of choice, friends-to-lovers
Are there any writers that inspire your work? Fanfiction or otherwise?
Lev Grossman, JK Rowling, JRR Tolkien, George RR Martin, Stephen King, NK Jemisin, Owlet (her Infinite Coffee series is incredible if you like Stucky), and Olen Steinhauer.
What are you currently reading? Fanfiction or otherwise?
I just finished reading Sapiens by Yuval Noah Harari, which I admit I read just because Chris Evans recommended it, and wow am I glad I did. Changed the way I look at the world.
Now I'm working my way through the Inheritance Trilogy by NK Jemisin, the Raven Tower by Ann Leckie, the Fever King by Victoria Lee, and All the Old Knives by Olen Steinhauer.
What is the most valuable piece of writing advice you’ve ever been given?
Practice makes perfect. If you don't give it your best every day and work on it even when you don't feel as inspired, you'll never develop the muscles it requires to perfect your craft.
Are there any words or phrases you worry about over using in your work?
My characters murmur way too much. Also honestly, just, like.
What was the first fanfic that you wrote? Do you still have access to it?
It was called "Isildur's Bane" and it was a really insanely nerdy LOTR fic about Isildur and the One Ring. It was gen, and it had none of the characters/pairings people actually wanted to read about, but I was damn proud of it. I have no idea what happened to it. It's been almost twenty years.
Rapidfire Round!
Self-edit or Beta?
For fic, Char and I edit each other as we go. I'd love to have an actual beta, but I do not have one.
Comments or Kudos/Reblogs or Likes?
Comments feed my soul. They used to give me anxiety, but now they are my everything.
Smut, Fluff or Angst?
angst with a happy ending
Quick & Dirty or Slow Burn?
slow burn, to read and to write
Favourite Season?
Season Three
Favourite Episode?
All That Hard, Glossy Armor
Favourite Book?
The Magician’s Land
Three favourite words?
herculean, susurrus, callipygian
Want to be interviewed for our author spotlight? Get in touch here.
5 notes
·
View notes
Text
From now until November, we’ll be spotlighting some of our MHHE registered authors. Want to make art for them? Register here! Artists who register before July 6th get early access to claims.
MHHE Author Spotlight: Page161of180
What piece of work best represents your writing style, and how would you briefly describe it?
I think that my most representative piece is one called "You're a Story (I Can Follow)". It's a take on the Orpheus and Eurydice myth, that involves Eliot rescuing Quentin from the Underworld after the events of season four-- which, *heavy sigh*, I wrote in the middle of season four, before I realized how badly I would eventually a crave a story that gets Quentin back.
I think it speaks clearly to the things I like to do as a writer: the plot is there but not overly complex, the focus is on the characters (specifically Eliot and Quentin) and how they understand themselves and each other and who they are to each other, there are just an absolutely gratuitous number of flashbacks and memories and little moments that show the truth of any relationship (in my view), it's deep in the feels but ends joyfully, and it takes as both thesis statement and rallying cry that the beating heart of love is knowing someone really damn well and taking care of them as best you can, even if you are a full disaster every time you try to express it.
One of my favorite bits, which takes place near the start of the story, when Eliot is trying to convince himself that Quentin is actually following him out of the Underworld, follows below. If you want to know how I see Eliot in his relationship to Quentin (that is: desperately romantic and desperately dysfunctional about it), this is all you really need to read:
He cleared his throat once. It would have been almost comically affected, except for the fact that he actually did need to clear the choking lump that had formed if he was going to get a word out. “The thought occurs,” he said, keeping his voice deliberately casual, “that if we’re going to make it up however many stairs are in the Underworld Branch without me losing what’s left of my mind, the whole ‘ascending in silence’ thing isn’t going to cut it. I know there’s not much you can do about that at the moment--”
He grabbed the banister to cover the tremor in his hand, “--so you’ll just have to suffer through my sparkling conversation. Fortunately, I’ve cultivated a real gift for speaking to imaginary versions of you recently. And on the off chance you’ve bailed on the whole enterprise already, we’ll just-- chalk this up to the stage of the grieving process where I go full season 5 - season 6 hiatus Spike.”
Eliot actually could feel Q, then, but he knew it wasn’t coming from behind him, but inside him, the shard of Q that was a part of him, always, even all the months Eliot had repressed him. The part that was always watching Eliot with disappointed (but unsurprised) eyes as Eliot pretended every little thing about Q didn’t make him want to carve a shelter out of his body for this reckless little stormcloud of a man, with his awful clothes and embarrassing earnestness and the eyelashes that Eliot honest-to-God couldn’t not kiss every. Single. Time. he’d watched them flutter while Q flew apart with Eliot’s name in his mouth.
“Sorry,” Eliot said quietly, letting out a sigh. “I told myself that I was going to be better--” braver “--if I ever . . . saw you. Again. Ever so slightly less full of my own bullshit. But this is--”
Nothing like he thought it would be , for starters. In his relentless planning for what he’d do when he was free, he’d imagined what he’d say if Q was happy, if Q was furious, if Q had already fucked off and married Alice and they had 2.5 magical prodigies and Q hadn’t even thought of Eliot in thirteen years of however the fuck much time had passed. But never had he considered coming back to find Q-- gone . It hardly would have been conducive to maintaining his sanity. Nor had he considered what it would be like to find Q but to have lost the words . To be too chickenshit to say them, sure. To fumble them, abso-fucking-lutely. But to have mortgaged them away?
“-- it’s hard, Q,” he finally settled on. “It’s just-- really hard.”
He could imagine the Q behind him, and the Q inside him, both furrowing their brows.
“Oh stop it,” he shushed, in the familiar way born of having the time to learn every one of a person’s textbook moves. “You know you’re always worth it. To me.”
And: bonus answer! While I think "You're a Story" is probably my most representative work overall, it is a bit mournful in tone until the ending, so perhaps not the best representative of what my MHHE work will be like! For that, I'd recommend, "The Honor of Your Presence," which is the fully indulgent, outsider-POV, Queliot wedding piece that my heart needed: . A snippet (and strong contender for my absolute favorite piece of dialogue that I've written) follows below:
“Fine,” King Quentin says. “Forget the whole ‘obey’ thing. What about just love and honor ? That’s-- unobjectionable, right?”
King Eliot doesn’t answer immediately, and because he is wearing one of his looser tunics today, without the high-collared jackets he prefers, Rafe can see that the pulse in his throat begins to pound at a pace not unlike the palace’s fleet of messenger bunnies.
“Seriously,” King Quentin sighs.
“It’s not that it’s objectionable , per se,” King Eliot says, his voice a note higher than normal. Rafe might say it was verging on the hysterical, were that a word that could be fairly applied to a king. “Isn’t it just-- a bit gauche to come out and say it? What happened to preserving the mystery?”
What piece of work are you most proud of and why?
While I'm embarrassingly attached to everything I've written in this fandom (because I'm embarrassingly attached to the characters themselves), I think my personal proudest moment is a piece called "A Little Disguised, or a Little Mistaken". On one level, this is all about Eliot and Quentin's memory-wipe personas Nigel and Brian meeting and falling in love like the nonsensical soulmates that they are. But on another level, it's also about the parts of Eliot and Quentin that are immutable and come through no matter what, and the way that they keep making the same mistakes with each other (and getting the same things right) across their various timelines and identities. It's also, in large measure, about Jane Austen, for reasons. If you want to know what me writing a no-magic, modern AU romcom would look like (cough cough, MHHE!, cough), the first three-quarters of this are a pretty good indication.
“What can I make you tonight? And keep in mind-- we’re celebrating.”
That was right, Nigel’s text had said he had good news. Well, at least one of them did.
“Um. Something, like, fruity?”
Nigel smirked and it made Brian want to simultaneously slide to the floor and also reach over and pull Nigel in by the collar, but he did neither.
“Okayyy,” Nigel said. “Do I get anything more to go on?”
Brian shrugged one shoulder. “Surprise me.”
Nigel’s hands, always deft and sure, fumbled the glass for a moment, but he recovered it. “Why don’t you tell me what you don’t like,” he said once he had.
Nothing you’re offering , Brian wanted to say. But instead he cleared his throat and said, “Uh. Peaches, I guess? I don’t like them.”
Nigel nodded. “What don’t you like about them?”
They hurt to eat , Brian thought. “Too sweet, I guess,” he said instead.
“I’ll take your word for it,” Nigel said, already starting to gather ingredients.
“You’ve never eaten a peach?”
Nigel shook his head as he started muddling something with something else. “Allergic. Even the smell’s kind of overpowering, though. I get how they could be too much.”
As Nigel poured and shook and stirred, Brian watched entranced and a little sad that something Nigel did so naturally was so dangerous for him. Or maybe it wasn’t natural at all. Maybe Nigel was just a much better actor than New York had given him credit for.
Nigel finished his creation and placed it on a napkin, before sliding it across the bar to Brian. It was reddish-gold in color, shading down to a deeper purple-red at the bottom of the glass.
“Gin fizz with a plum shrub,” he said to Brian’s inquisitive look. “Anyway. Brace yourself. Good news incoming.”
What tropes can we look forward to in your MHHE fic?
Let's see . . . There's going to be about a millisecond of enemies-to-lovers, but let's be real-- these two are far too charmed by each other to stay enemies for long. Not sure any of the following are within the strict definition of "tropes," but they're among my personal favorites, so you can go ahead and expect some gratuitous cuddling of a puppy, some deep-meaningful-late-night-talks-even-though-we've-only-just-met (time is an illusion! they bond fast!), so so so much expressing of thinly-veiled feelings through artistic expression, and actively pining while also actively sleeping together. Also, am I going snow these ridiculous gentlemen in? (I'm going to snow these ridiculous gentlemen in.)
Fuck, Marry, Kiss (under the mistletoe) with three Magicians characters of your choice!
My fully honest answer is Eliot, Eliot, and Eliot. But my even more honest answer is that I'd rather sit back with a cup of tea and a plate of gingerbread cookies and sigh with deep appreciation while Quentin handles all of Eliot's mistletoe needs.
19 notes
·
View notes
Text
From now until November, we’ll be spotlighting some of our MHHE registered authors. Want to make art for them? Go make a claim! Art claims are open through July 14th.
MHHE Author Spotlight: rizcriz
What piece of work best represents your writing style, and how would you briefly describe it?
Personally I think Three Words is my most representative style-wise, even if it’s one of the ones that flew under the radar.
“Sleep, Q.”
Perhaps it’s the ease of it.
The way the nickname snaps reality as it bends and twists everything around it. Forces his world into perspective.
That it.
Just.
Appears.
Not everything. Not even close.
But three words.
Three agonizingly simple words.
Oh.
It’s the reflection clanging around in his chest, bouncing around as he makes eye contact with the amber again. It’s the void, finding itself, and wilting in, like a black hole has suddenly appeared to eat up all the emptiness. Like his innards are galaxies, and Eliot is the life waiting to take up that space.
“Q?”
He licks his lips.
He’s Quentin.
He knows that.
Feels it in the way Eliot’s watching him. In the soft caress of his hands on his elbow. The thumb pressing into the pulse point at the crook of his arm. Familiar warmth. A lifetime of love.
A lifetime of love.
Of Love.
That’s…
It’s what he’s been missing. Even before the creature stole him away in broad daylight. Before he became a professor. Before everything. As far back as he can remember, he knows it now, knows it more than he’s sure he’s ever known anything—
This is what was taken from him.
Not his name. Not his identity.
Not his life.
He pulls his arm out from under him, reaching up to cup Eliot’s face. “You.”
Eliot quirks an eyebrow. “Me.” It’s question and a statement. Like he’s not sure what to think. And Quentin can’t blame him.
He doesn’t even know who he is, not really.
He just feels it.
Feels a connection that can’t be severed or explained.
“You,” he repeats. Because what else can he say?
Eliot leans into his touch, closing his eyes. And Quentin aches for the amber. Aches for proof that the creature is gone. That this person in front of him is his.
What piece of work are you most proud of and why?
Lifeboat! It’s the longest thing I’ve written and is the only long fic I’ve ever completed. It’s super angsty so I’ll... leave out the excerpt. But it’s basically Todd is Quentin, Margo, and Eliot’s son time-traveling from the future to save them all from a tragic death.
What tropes can we look forward to in your MHHE fic?
Idiots in love, mutual pining, fake dating, did I mention idiots in love? Because oh god they’re dumb
Fuck, Marry, Kiss (under the mistletoe) with three Magicians characters of your choice!
Fuck Margo, Marry Todd (because he deserves love), and kiss Kady
15 notes
·
View notes
Text
From now until November, we’ll be spotlighting one of our MHHE registered authors every week. Want to be featured? Just fill out this form!
MHHE Author Spotlight: Jeannie
What piece of work best represents your writing style, and how would you briefly describe it?
My piece "Plums and Mugs" I believes highlights the best of my style. I'm very good at vitriolic prose. Writing can be a release for me and so when I think that comes out in my writing. I was so devastated by the season four finale that I jumped on the "fix it" bandwagon. I hadn't written fanfiction in an amount of time that will admit my age lol and that finale just sparked something within me. And what came out was this fic.
The tone of her voice indicated the deeper meaning. The connection and bond between the two. Bambi told him that they saw their past selves, but he didn’t want to inquire further. She started talking again and Eliot had to tell himself to pay attention. “I didn’t… I didn’t want to let it go at first, you know? Letting it burn meant that he would be gone. Really gone.” She pressed the tissue against her cheek capturing the tears that fell.
“Yeah… I don’t think I could ever eat a peach again.” Eliot said half dazed.
Alice nodded. “But… where did it come from?”
“Our life in Fillory.” The statement was so matter of fact. Someone could see Alice trying to compute the information and thinking of when that would be significant. At Alice’s silence Elliot came back to the present. She didn’t know. No one…knew. Quentin hadn’t told anyone. That’s why he wasn’t being treated like Alice was. Everyone knew about their relationship and it seemed that there was more of it he had missed. How long after the destruction of the keys did he forgive her? But, of course Quentin didn’t tell anyone about Eliot! Wasn’t that the whole reason why Eliot went on those fucking mind quests?! He had rejected Quentin solidly. Why would Quentin want to broadcast that pain to the world?
“During the quest last year, we had to go back in time to Fillory to solve this puzzle of a mosaic. It took much longer than expected. We spent… over 50 years, I guess, trying. The mosaic was our job but we had a life. We had a son. I died.” Eliot wondered about their son. But it was so long ago; and, it became a pocket timeline because Margo came back with the key. “No matter how hard it got we always had peaches and plums.”
Alice had gone rigid. Her demeanor could have eased the spring warmth. Penny-23 was in front of them. Eliot was unsure if he was reading their thoughts or just that good at reading a room. “I’m going to go check on Julia. She’s been outside for a while. Alice will you be okay?”
“I think… I think I need to lie down. I don’t think I can take much more of today.” 23 held out his hand for her and she used it to stand and gather her wits. Turning to Eliot, her face softened to the point it began to break, “I’m sorry about your peaches.” It took Eliot too long to form words, the realization of what he had just said hitting him like a brick wall, causing Alice to make her leave.
What piece of work are you most proud of and why?
While Plums and Mugs have been the most well received, I think I'm most proud of "When Are You Gonna Come Down?" because it is an old-fashioned song fic. These aren't around anymore but they used to be everywhere. There are song fics and then fics that are inspired by songs. They are not the same thing. This is a classic, true to form, song fic. It you can read it without listening to the song, but it really loses the magic if you don't have it. If read correctly, the words of the lyrics will line up with the song being played. That is what makes song fics so difficult. You have to find the pace of your writing and make sure it meets up with what you are putting it to.
The unity key. It was the link. If Quentin was still connected to them then it should be the apparatus to catapult him back. The spell took each one of them on a separate journey. Julia's started with childhood, Josh relived forgotten inside jokes, Eliot went back to the Fillory of his private timeline, and Margo got to feel the touch of Quentin's hand again. It was her best kept secret. Her and Q sitting next to each other holding hands when it all got to be just a little too much.
For Alice, she went back to their first year. The study groups, next to the mirror, and cottage parties. She saw them at Brakebills South in the freezing cold. Felt the electricity of their first coupling. She saw the absolute devastation he wore after he cheated on her. Their declarations of love, from the unspoken in Fillory to the last in the kitchen of the loft. Throughout her journey a blue thread shimmered between them. Connecting them. Alice followed the thread, ran for what seemed like miles, to a black wall where it disappeared into. Alice pounded, kicked, and screamed at it. All of it in silence. The spell absorbing all of her pain and anguish.
This was her good-bye. She could throw as many mugs into as many fires as she wanted. But if she was honest with herself, she had never let go. She was upset at Eliot for letting go. He moved on. Alice’s entire life was spent with her head and heart at war with each other. Tonight felt like that final battle. Alice’s mind and heart screaming at each other to let go or hold on.
Alice's soprano hushed the crowd; the barista had dimmed the lights to ease the busyness of the house, but not enough for her to get lost. She could still see each face. Eliot had trained her voice well enough for her to move between light soprano and a heavy chest voice. It was that heaviness that kept the tears threatening to fall at bay.
“Oh I've finally decided my future lies…”
The tears welling in her eyes began making the crowd a blur. The final notes were approaching, if she could only keep her vocal chords loose until the end.
Alice exhaled softly, one tear falling on the plastic keys of Eliot’s keyboard. Gathering the last of her wits about her she took one of her last breaths.
“I've finally decided my future lies…”
It was that same focus that reminded her that the shop was busy tonight. So many acts had come before her and were going to follow her. The crowded ambiance allowed her to filter out the jingling bells from the door opening.
“Oh I've finally decided my future lies…”
Expelling the war from within her Alice looked out to the crowd, all of them waiting on baited breath to see how she would finish. What choice would she make? If only she knew.
What tropes can we look forward to in your MHHE fic?
What can I say that won't give the plot away? (Hey, that rhymed!) You've got a bitchy ruler, drama between the High Queen and the Girlfriend, and political plots to overthrow the throne! And that's just in the first quarter of the story!
Fuck, Marry, Kiss (under the mistletoe) with three Magicians characters of your choice!
Ooo!! Right off the bat, I'd fuck Eliot. He just oozes sex appeal. I would marry Quentin because duh. And hmm... I would kiss... Fen. In a totally Katy Perry cherry chap stick kind of way.
7 notes
·
View notes
Text
From now until November, we’ll be spotlighting some of our MHHE registered authors. Want to make art for them? Register here! Artists who register before July 6th get early access to claims.
MHHE Author Spotlight: Mtothedestiel
What piece of work best represents your writing style, and how would you briefly describe it?
The Queliot fic that best represents my style is my pirate AU, “Saltwater”! In my previous fandoms I’ve been best known for AUs, especially historical ones. I love finding the perfect time and place to fit the characters, and doing research. I love Eliot’s swagger and passion, and Quentin’s loyalty and his openness to new experiences. This seemed like a beautiful environment to explore their relationship in. Here’s an excerpt:
“For god’s sake, Eliot, just bed him if you want to so badly.”
Eliot ignores his queen in favor of refilling his tumbler from the crystal bottle of gin they’re sharing in his stateroom. After three drinks Eliot has become maudlin, as usual, and after three drinks Margo has lost all compassion for him, as usual. Eliot doesn’t mean to drag their evening into the quagmire of his sexual frustrations. He simply can’t seem to shake the memory of that little mock duel this morning. Quentin, uncertain and clumsy, his technique rudimentary but his eyes, bright and determined like Eliot has never seen him. Then—good god—the heat of him, pinned to Eliot’s chest, the softness of his hair tickling Eliot’s cheek as he teased—
Do you yield, doctor?
The flush on his cheeks as Quentin tipped his head back, baring his throat with a helpless grin as he bites out—
Never.
Lord, Eliot had nearly had him right there on the deck, and his conscience be damned.
What piece of work are you most proud of and why?
For Queliot, I’m most proud of my alternate season 4 ending, “Struck from a great height”. Given the shit show that was the real finale, I’m prouder than ever that I gave Eliot and Quentin the soft epilogue that they deserve. What could be more important than a tender reunion?
Excerpt:
“Ok, not overthinking, here’s what I need right now.”
“Yeah.” Quentin’s eyes light up. A quest. A mission. Eliot almost laughs. But.
This is serious.
“I need to kiss you,” Eliot continues, hands on Quentin’s face, sliding up into his hair—so nice so soft so short why— “Probably fuck you, at least twice. Really hard the first time and then really slow and soft the second time until we’re both crying fucking anime tears.”
“Eliot.” Quentin looks, wow, almost drunk, and he stutters a little when he says: “Yeah, we’ll—we can do that, baby—“
“The tears might c—come first,” Eliot admits, throat slowly closing at the sound of that hushed, tender baby, “Because, you know, I’m mercurial like that.”
Quentin pets over his jaw, the pads of his fingers catching on Eliot’s stubble and It.
Feels.
So.
Good.
“It’s—El—it’s okay, I’m gonna cry too.”
“You promise?” His voice is a croak. Not sexy.
“I—Jesus, I thought you were dead, Eliot. Yeah, I’m gonna fucking cry. Come here—“
Eliot’s vision blurs with it as the first sob shudders through him. Gravity rocks him forward, until he can press his jaw to Quentin’s temple, both of them leaning against the door, against each other. Eliot is—he’s so warm, held in. Feeling so full in his own body that it’s spilling out in saltwater down his cheeks.
“I’m really glad to not be dead.”
Quentin breathes in, ragged.
Laughs.
It’s wet.
“Christ, so am I.”
What tropes can we look forward to in your MHHE fic?
Found family, single parents getting taken care of for once, instant attraction, airport reunions, tenderness, finding a place to call home
Fuck, Marry, Kiss (under the mistletoe) with three Magicians characters of your choice!
Fuck Eliot, marry Fen, kiss Quentin
16 notes
·
View notes
Text
From now until November, we’ll be spotlighting some of our MHHE registered authors. Want to make art for them? Register here! Artists who register before July 6th get early access to claims.
MHHE Author Spotlight: milominderbinder
What piece of work best represents your writing style, and how would you briefly describe it?
"to be unbroken or be brave again”
Quentin’s a mess in the kitchen, so he just perches on a counter, watching Eliot cook, and talks about how he thinks they’d survive in a zombie apocalypse. Eliot has apparently also had a lot of thoughts on this.
“I’ll show you my disaster notebook sometime,” he promises, while he forces a wooden spoon full of some kind of delicious sauce between Quentin’s lips. “More salt? No? Great. Anyway, I’ve got all the best spells figured out for every sort of apocalypse. They’re colour coded. There’s a skull-cracking one that’s technically part of the healing set rather than battle magic, did you know? I figure that would work beautifully on a zombie.”
Quentin feels inexplicably pleased by such an answer. “Uh, I’m sticking with you if zombies happen, then. You can cook and crack skulls? I’d, like, definitely die without you.”
What piece of work are you most proud of and why?
“don't ruin this on me”
“Hurry up,” Eliot whispers from the doorway, where he is wearing nothing but a mostly-open silk robe, and his soft curls are tumbling into his bleary eyes. And then, when Quentin steps closer without even meaning to: “You take so fucking long to brush your teeth, Q, Jesus. Come on, which pillow do you want?”
So, trying not to look a gift horse in the mouth (but definitely looking Eliot in the mouth), Quentin stumbles into Eliot’s room, and slides between the sheets of his bed, and looks around at all the little Eliot Things that make up this special room, the first room El maybe ever really considered a home –– and then kisses him and kisses him and kisses him, lazy and sleepy and soft, across the canyon of their pillows. They don’t end up having sex, but, like, Quentin thinks, the ‘benefits’ in ‘friends with benefits’ can totally just mean gently kissing until you fall asleep in each other’s arms, too; the sex thing is never specified in the name.
Anyway. It doesn’t take long before Eliot is snoring, so Quentin forces himself to stop overthinking things, tucks his head into Eliot’s chest so that he can hear his heartbeat, and succumbs to sleep as well.
What tropes can we look forward to in your MHHE fic?
slight enemies-to-lovers, high king eliot, part-time-brakebills-professor quentin, heaps of mutual pining, ridiculous fillorian politics
14 notes
·
View notes
Text
From now until November, we’ll be spotlighting one of our MHHE registered authors every week. Want to be featured? Just fill out this form!
MHHE Author Spotlight: prettyclever & charlotteschaos
What piece of work best represents your writing style, and how would you briefly describe it?
The work that most exemplifies our writing style is probably "It's Never Over," a season 5 AU in which Eliot's marginally less afraid of commitment, Quentin is less clueless than he used to be, & Margo is a sassy alpha bitch. There's sex magicky shenanigans, a giant turtle, talking pegasi, and a plot to overthrow the Dark King and reclaim Fillory, all done Queliot-style.
Basically it's smutty, fluffy, cracky, intense, and full of pure love between Quentin and Eliot.
Excerpt:
Quentin frowned but hopped up to follow, squeezing past Eliot to stand behind Margo, probably so he wouldn’t have to manage the door. It was a little strange. Eliot was about to ask why, but it suddenly got a lot strange when a giant turtle head zoomed at Eliot, hooked mouth open.
“Whoa! Prince of the Mud, we talked about this! No!” Margo cast a massive spell, blowing back the fifty-foot snapping turtle.
“You said there would be food,” the giant turtle—Prince of the Mud?—wheezed.
“You ate five goats on the way!” She turned toward Quentin and Eliot with her hands up as if exasperated. “And not all of them were the non-talking kind, either.”
Eliot had ducked and covered, instinctive, but he slowly stood as the turtle no longer seemed hell-bent on devouring him.
“I am not a goat,” Eliot pointed out, looking between Margo and the Prince of the Mud. “In fact, we are all deposed Fillorian royalty, as I’m certain Margo has informed your highness the Prince of Mud.”
Sidling closer to Quentin, Eliot ran his hands over Q’s shoulders, making certain he was still solid and okay. Standing behind Q, he looked to Margo and said, “You don’t do anything by halves, do you, Bambi? Find a turtle, we say, and you bring us goddamn Turtlezilla.”
No wonder she’d been so proud of herself.
She nodded, smiling to herself with her hands up. “Right? You say bring back a big turtle, I brought a fuckin’ big turtle.”
“I said old turtle.” Quentin seemed bit tense. He’d jumped toward Eliot when the Prince of the Mud had made his move, but apparently the Prince didn’t see him. Or couldn’t grab hold. “Old. Has to—”
“It’s been a thousand years,” the Prince interrupted. “I was a hatchling when this world was born. Ember and Umber—”
“And how did he get through the wards? He could’ve eaten Eliot!” Quentin was trembling, with rage or fear, it was hard to say.
“All right, so I didn’t think he could walk through them. Sorry I didn’t think to ward off house-sized talking reptiles. I thought you were the Fillory dork who knew these kinds of things.” Margo’s eyes flashed as she approached Quentin, but Eliot knew she was probably about as angry with herself as Quentin was.
“I—” Quentin turned to appeal to Eliot. “Did this turtle even vote?”
They all turned to look at the Prince of the Mud, who had sneaked back toward the cottage and was slowly stretching his head, mouth open near Eliot again. He stopped when everyone looked at him and slunk back.
“I consider myself apolitical.”
“Do you also consider yourself expendable?” Eliot glared and twisted his fingers through some preliminary battle magic, just in case. “Because if you keep trying to eat me, you’re going to end up very dead. Ember and Umber aren’t going to save their little hatchling this time around. It’s every royal for himself.”
The Prince of the Mud huffed, then pulled his head into his shell. “I was told there would be snacks.”
Margo gave a little shrug. “He’s got us there. El is a snack.”
Quentin started to pace. “A thousand years? Fillory is much older than that. Democracy was just three hundred years ago! How were you here at the dawn of Fillory?”
“I might be unclear on what a year is, exactly.” The Prince’s legs emerged from his shell, and he started to back away. “This seems like a bad time. I’ll go back to the Northern Marsh.”
“The hell you will!” Margo charged toward the Prince. “Listen, you overgrown amphibian wannabe. You came with me from that stinking marsh to help me persuade the talking animals to my side, and that is what you’re going to do!”
What piece of work are you most proud of and why?
We're most proud of "It's Never Over" because it's been so popular and touched so many people. We got so many beautiful comments from people hurting over the season 4 finale and needing to feel good and see a fix-it, and finding that sense of community with others who were feeling like we did really made it memorable.
Excerpt:
Eliot shifted to nuzzle into Q’s face, kissing the corner of his eye and down his cheek. “I was so afraid to invest in you that I made you think I didn’t even want to. I’m… I’m sorry for that, Q.” He exhaled against Q’s lips and kissed him softly before opening his eyes to look at him. “That first day, after we… When we’d been here a year, and you wanted to talk about it… I thought you were going to freak out on me, and I shut it down because I couldn’t deal with your regrets and identity panic. It had been so good for me, and I just wanted it to have been good for you. So when you let it drop, I was just…so relieved I never wanted to talk about it again. But that—”
Eliot bit his lip and searched Q’s face. “That doesn’t mean I didn’t want to do it every day before that and every day after. It doesn’t mean I didn’t think about you all the damn time, or that I wasn’t fighting so hard not to fall for you that it took up every ounce of my strength. And when we were finally just…just us, and we were experimenting and doing everything I’d ever wanted to do with you, I maybe exerted my will on the idea of us as… You know.”
Though Q hung on every word, Eliot couldn’t bring himself to just say it. “It’s too stupid to even put words to, even now, but….” He breathed deeply, glancing again at Q’s rapt expression.
Q deserved to hear it, didn’t he? To know what he’d meant to Eliot?
“Without Margo, I was… She’s like my platonic life partner. And that position’s, you know, it’s filled. It was filled before you met me. But this… Q, this”—Eliot gestured between them—“has never been platonic. I wanted you the minute I laid eyes on you. And if Margo’s my platonic life partner, then you’re my true love. That’s what I put into that magic we worked here. That’s what was in my heart.”
Quentin closed his eyes, seeming to glow softly even beyond the bright sun shining on him. He cupped the side of Eliot’s face and gazed up at him, drunk on emotion.
“What I wanted from you was unrealistic. It—I think it played out how it had to, painful as it was.” He moved to his toes and kissed Eliot tenderly, then nuzzled his face. “It was what was in my heart, too. I just didn’t want to scare you away being so intense. That doesn’t scare you anymore, does it?”
Eliot inhaled deeply and shrugged a little. “I’m still scared shitless, but I’m… I’m gonna be brave for you, Q. Like you were brave for me.”
What tropes can we look forward to in your MHHE fic?
Friends-to-lovers, Mutual Pining, 12 Days of Christmas, Winter Wedding. Dramatic Christmas Presents, Domestic Fluff, Magical Holiday Baking, Christmas Shopping, Childhood Home, Protective Father, Sibling Rivalry
Fuck, Marry, Kiss (under the mistletoe) with three Magicians characters of your choice!
Char: Fuck Penny, Marry Margo, Kiss Eliot
pc: fuck Eliot, marry Kady, kiss Penny 40
7 notes
·
View notes
Text
From now until November, we’ll be spotlighting some of our MHHE registered authors. Want to make art for them? Register here! Artists who register before July 6th get early access to claims.
MHHE Author Spotlight: Nemainofthewater
What piece of work best represents your writing style, and how would you briefly describe it?
I tend to like weird canon AUs with (hopefully) a good mix of angst and humour. For this exchange, I am going to be sticking on the humour/fluff side of things! I'm showing an excerpt of one of my pre-finale fics, Divinity in disguise, where the Questers fall into the lake of magic and become gods. It's in a series of little ficlets, and generally has a small introspective-like exploration of each character.
“Come on, seriously?” Eliot groans.
He stands, dusting his hands off absently. Not that he needs to-he figures that dirt and germs just…seem to avoid him nowadays. He definitely could have used that during his childhood.
“Yeah yeah you’re cured don’t do it again,” he says to the man crouched by his side.
“Thank you, my Lord, how can I ever repay you…” the man gasps, staring at his chest in wonder. Considering that a few moments ago he’d been half-dead from some sort of wasting disease he’s probably a bit overwhelmed.
Eliot though? Eliot is so over it. He hates curing illnesses, they always leave him feeling unclean afterward. Give him a nice broken back any day.
“Do you have any decent alcohol?” Eliot asks without holding out much hope.
The man gapes at him.
“Yeah, I didn’t think so. Just-be good.”
What piece of work are you most proud of and why?
I'm really proud of “the violence that we do to ourselves”. It’s an AU while still being canon compliant, has an exploration of a complicated relationship (Henry Fogg & Eliot Waugh father-son exploration) and once again smallish sections that I broke up by timeline.
Here's an excerpt:
“First lesson Eliot,” Henry says to the bundle in his arms, “If you want a job done well, do it yourself.”
Eliot isn’t listening, fascinated with Henry’s fingers and the elegant movements that he makes with them while creating their portal back to Brakebills.
“Really,” Henry says, “I don’t see what’s so hard about raising a child.”
No more than two hours later, he is forced to admit he was a tad overconfident. With the help of several parenting spells that he had smuggled out of the library, Eliot is clean, changed, fed and burped. He will not, however, go to sleep.
“Eliot, this is illogical,” Henry says, “Your body needs sleep. You need to conserve your energy so that you’re able to grow as quickly as possible.”
Eliot cries even harder.
Henry desperately considers the legalities of childhood-quickening spells. And then, later on as Eliot still hasn’t settled, of silencing spells."
What tropes can we look forward to in your MHHE fic?
lots of fluff, misunderstandings, supportive friends, Marina being Iconically Bitchy (TM), Eliot's Dark and Traumatic Past
13 notes
·
View notes
Text
From now until November, we’ll be spotlighting some of our MHHE registered authors. Want to make art for them? Register here! Artists who register before July 6th get early access to claims.
MHHE Author Spotlight: coldwaughtersq
What piece of work best represents your writing style, and how would you briefly describe it?
I would say I'm a very sensory/descriptive writer. I usually start each scene with a dialog frame, and then I do a lot of mentioning little details about the character's environment - the sunlight, the chalk, the fact that Quentin hasn't really been out of bed or changed clothes in days - that help make the space they're occupying feel more real. I tend to give examples in threes, like when Eliot thinking back on his past experiences with Quentin's depression in the excerpt. It just feels more nicely balanced when I read back over the text later.
“my heart restarts”
“Tell me something true.” Quentin says, another instruction, and for a moment it’s Eliot that’s gone-
Snapped back into a memory of Fillory like he’s riding a rubber band. The afternoon sun shining in through the windows of the cottage, Eliot -chalk striped and tanned, laying on top of the covers while Quentin shook beneath them, still in the same clothes he’d worn three days ago, lost to the quest and to Eliot while his brain attempted to eat him alive. The first time they’d been through this cycle, it had been terrifying, the second, they’d borne it miserably but determinedly together. The third time, Eliot had gotten so frustrated by his helplessness he’d smashed their wine jug, and had to put it back together himself. This time, Eliot laid down next to him on the bed, his shoulder just barely bumping up against Quentin’s back, and said “I know you have- a lot… Going on in there right now. Speaking from my own experience, most of it is bullshit.” Here Quentin had huffed what might have been a laugh, and Eliot remembered the elated, floaty feeling of having broken through the fog. “But I’m going to tell you something true.”
They’d made it a tradition, when Quentin was starting to disappear into himself - when he already had, because nothing could prevent that completely. They would sit on their bench, or in their bed, or on the mosaic, and Eliot would list off things that Quentin could trust - especially when he couldn’t trust his own mind."
What piece of work are you most proud of and why?
I really love Recovery!verse, even though most of it is sitting in half-finished files on my google drive. After the finale, I needed a universe to play in that felt narratively satisfying, and from that I ended up with this story: where Quentin didn't die, and where he and Eliot get a little space to work through their respective traumas in the background of the next Big Story Arc. What would that look like, and how would the events of the show as we've seen them so far affect that recovery? What would being brave actually look like, for Eliot, in that universe? And I feel like what I've posted so far has been a good start to that. I've gotten a lot of positive feedback about "my heart restarts", and it's really been great to see other people resonating with that desire for the story to continue.
“Sweetheart,” Eliot says, helplessly, as it clicks with him finally, what Quentin is doing here. And yes, he’d heard about that night from Julia but it was one thing to hear from an observer what had happened and another entirely to see his hands, under his control, wrapped around Quentin’s throat. To see Quentin’s fear, to feel it in the bunching of muscles and tendons beneath him palms. To hear Quentin breathe, shallow and quick, through the memory playing beneath his eyelids.
“Yellow, yellow, yellow.” Quentin doesn’t wait for him to ask, chants the word under his breath like a prayer, and so Eliot waits, misery and nausea and hope swirling in his gut as he watches his hands, unmoving, before he remembers.
“The first time we did this, you said it made you feel safe.” His voice betrays him, tripping over the idea of safety, which had made so much sense in their peaceful mosaic bubble, and had to seem preposterous after a year of being dragged on a godly murder spree. “Truth.” He feels Q’s eyes on him before he looks up, and sees the sheer naked trust there, the soft-hearted sharp-edged center of Quentin. It was nearly overwhelming.: that Eliot had ended up here, in this reality, with this man, with his belief.
A year and a half ago, Eliot had seen that trust and chosen to run.
He was not going to make the same mistake again.
What tropes can we look forward to in your MHHE fic?
Oh gosh, okay, so, for starters: you can go back home again, he's good with his hands, mistletoe kissing... I feel like anything else would be giving too much away!
Fuck, Marry, Kiss (under the mistletoe) with three Magicians characters of your choice!
Fuck: Margo
Marry: Quentin
Kiss: Alice
11 notes
·
View notes
Text
From now until November, we’ll be spotlighting one of our MHHE registered authors every week. Want to be featured? Just fill out this form!
MHHE Author Spotlight: textsfromumbridge
What piece of work best represents your writing style, and how would you briefly describe it?
I've never finished a thing for the Magicians before, so I'd have to say "All the men and women merely players". It's a Crazy Ex-Girlfriend high school theater AU, which allows me to get that side of nerdiness out.
But also, internal monologues are kinda my strong suit, so you'll find a lot of that. Free indirect speech, I guess? I love me some banter and UST, so there will probably be a lot of that!
Excerpt below:
"His father would not approve. Any after school activities had to involve money or networking - that’s why he’d been in Future Business Leaders of America since the fifth grade. It is why he’d started attending networking events in kindergarten. Diversifying his interests to appeal to colleges was completely unnecessary. His father would get him in anywhere close enough to keep an eye on him - Stanford was at the top of Plimpton Senior’s list.
So telling his father he’d been forcibly enlisted into Rodgers Academy’s theater program, yeah he’d prefer for this to remain a secret for the rest of his natural born life. Because if (please, not when) his father found out, that natural born life would end very shortly.
But not joining the theater program stopped being an option when he was caught deflowering the pastor’s daughter under the stands in the auditorium. Mr. Whitefeather was not above blackmail.
Auditioning for the school musical became mandatory. Casting a mere formality - he would be on that stage, humiliated in front of the entire school, no matter how badly he tanked his audition. He might as well do himself proud and be the best actor and singer their school had ever seen.
Yes, he had heard of Rebecca Nora Bunch before the cast list went up. She was a notorious theater freak with a serious lady boner for Josh Chan, the football captain who for some reason called everyone his bro. She’d also gotten the lead in every show ever since she walked into Rodgers Academy freshman year looking like she masturbated to the Glee soundtrack."
What piece of work are you most proud of and why?
I wrote a sort of Pygmalion/statue come to life AU for Les Mis. It is the crazy kind of magical realism that I adore, and I think it came off well. When I finally get that last chapter done, it'll be the most epic thing I've done and I'm incredibly proud of it. Link here.
Excerpt:
“Please be real,” another whisper before she turns away from him.
The lights in the other galleries are still on, so she makes her rounds in the rest of the museum, making sure there are no stray people or animals around – nothing that could trip the alarms she is supposed to turn on as she leaves. She finds each hall and each gallery completely empty, so she starts turning off the lights, one by one until she finds herself back in her favorite gallery.
She does not even notice that something is off, at first. There is a light flickering in the back, so she gives the old bulb a few twists until it works properly again – the damn thing always acts up at night. She picks up a few guides that fell to the floor during her struggle with the Bulb of Doom – and that is when she feels it. Something feels wrong, and she trusts her gut feelings, even though they have occasionally led to some dubious decisions. Still, she would always trust her feelings.
Her eyes scan the gallery until she sees a tiny bit of movement from the corner of her eye – and nothing is supposed to move in an empty gallery at night. So she turns around slowly, hands forming fists as she ponders where the nearest weapon would be.
But when she turns around and faces the place where her statue is supposed to be, she instead finds a half-naked man crumpled on the ground. His face is scrunched up in severe pain, and he barely seems to know that she is there – giving her enough time to run away. But the moment she thinks of running, he looks up, blue eyes boring into hers and golden curls tangled up on his head – and she is lost for breath, a silent scream trapped in her throat.
What tropes can we look forward to in your MHHE fic?
Only one bed (whatever will they do?), matchmaking, suit!porn, slow dancing, and working up a load of sexual tension.
4 notes
·
View notes
Text
From now until November, we’ll be spotlighting some of our MHHE registered authors. Want to make art for them? Register here! Artists who register before July 6th get early access to claims.
MHHE Author Spotlight: thoughtsappear
What piece of work best represents your writing style, and how would you briefly describe it?
I tend to write slice of life stories, usually AU in some aspect. I like character studies that explore quirks and small details. I'm big on economy of words, and I enjoy giving my readers space to add their own interpretation.
This is a Yuri On Ice work I'm rather proud of.
Sleepover
Yuri comes off the ice completely elated. He’s flushed and his makeup is smeared, and his braids are coming loose. He bypasses the crowd of people waiting for him, and motions at Otabek in the crowd, shouting for him to come over. Otabek feels awkward, but security lets him through. Yuri looks so alive and so vibrant, that when he rushes Otabek afterward, Otabek simply accepts him into his arms.
Nobody around them bats an eye at the stranger following the gold medalist. The silver medalist is starting his skate. Otabek feels sorry for the man to have to follow such a performance. He follows Yuri closely into a deserted locker room.
He’s already pulling off pieces of his costume, combing tangles out of his hair, and there’s something so charming about how quickly the facade fades, that Otabek is completely disarmed.
“Did you like the song?” Yuri asks, pleased with himself.
Otabek smiles, opens his mouth to reply, but Yuri’s excitement takes control. He grabs Otabek by his jacket and pulls him close. Otabek lets himself be moved. This is the most passion he’s seen from Yuri since the night they first met.
What piece of work are you most proud of and why?
Sincerity is Scary
I'm very proud of this piece. It was my first big Magicians fic. It was very important to me to show Quentin and Eliot growing and beginning to recover from their trauma. I know a lot of people wanted to write fix-it fics and this was my contribution. I worked really hard on it, and I tried to make it realistic but hopeful.
Quentin gasped as Eliot’s lips traveled down his neck, and as Eliot pulled his shirt away from his neck to get at the skin around his collarbones. Eliot broke their kiss only long enough so they could pull Quentin’s shirt over his head, and then they worked together, fingers stalling at unbuttoning Eliot’s silk shirt until he made a few quick flicks of his fingers and the whole thing slipped off.
Then they were moving towards the couch, shirtless, kissing and crashing into each other, almost breathless with it.
Quentin fell to his back on the couch, and watched Eliot loom over him, his face flushed and his hair wild. He looked like a strange amalgamation of all the Eliot’s Quentin had ever known. Eliot crawled on top of him, kissed him again, and Quentin felt very fragile beneath him, like if he wasn’t careful, Eliot would grind him to dust.
What tropes can we look forward to in your MHHE fic?
Secret Santa, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Mistaken Affections, Uncle Eliot, Mutual Pining, fluff, mother son relationships
Fuck, Marry, Kiss (under the mistletoe) with three Magicians characters of your choice!
Fuck Penny, Marry Quentin, Kiss Margo
11 notes
·
View notes
Text
From now until November, we’ll be spotlighting one of our MHHE registered authors every week. Want to be featured? Just fill out this form!
MHHE Author Spotlight: imagined_melody
What piece of work best represents your writing style, and how would you briefly describe it?
I write a lot of fluff, a lot of hurt/comfort with super high levels of affection and intimacy, and a LOT of porn with feelings. My MHHE fic will probably be less porn and more h/c, so here's an excerpt from a fic I wrote a few years ago in that vein for the Shameless fandom, which can be found here.
“What the fuck did you do?!”
Ian let him grab the cloth out of his hands, staying still while Mickey inspected the skin underneath with narrowed eyes. His cheekbone was mottled with a dark bruise, and there was a cut above his nose that was still trickling blood. It must look bad, because Mickey’s face was taking on that tight quality that Ian associated with somebody getting the shit kicked out of them. “Got in a fight,” he said.
“I can fucking see that,” Mickey responded with hardly a pause. “What the hell for?”
Ian’s mind was buzzing, like it had when he’d taken party drugs in his early days at the club, except he was pretty sure he’d been sober all night. He struggled to retrace the events of the evening through the blur of his thoughts, and came up empty. “Dunno,” he said. “There was another guy at the club. Tried to take some of my tips.”
“So, what, you stopped him with your face?” Mickey tipped his head back to see the bruising better in the dim light. A sudden flash of annoyance went through Ian, and he jerked his chin away. Mickey frowned. “I do something wrong, Firecrotch?”
“I just—I can’t fucking do this right now,” Ian growled, suddenly overwhelmed with the impulse to get out from under Mickey’s scrutiny. He stood up, and was halfway to the doorway into the living room when Mickey’s voice, somewhere between confused and pissed off, came from behind him.
“Can’t do what right now? Bandage up your face? Answer my fucking questions?” He heard Mickey approach, and braced himself for a hand on his arm or shoulder, muscles already coiling in preparation to shake the other man off. But Mickey didn’t touch him. “Ian, what’s going on with you?”
“I can’t—“ Ian stopped, then began pacing, rubbing his hand frantically over his face. “I can’t think, OK?” His head felt like it was spinning, everything all wound up tight like a trip wire. “I’m just tired, I guess. Long night. I’m going to bed.”
He did feel exhausted in fact—the kind of exhaustion that slowly spreads into your bones, the kind that sleep doesn’t even fix. But it wasn’t because he was just tired, and Mickey knew that as well as he did. There was a reason Ian had been so erratic the past few days, and both of them knew exactly what it was.
“Ian.” Mickey sounded concerned. Ian became vaguely aware that he was shaking. Panic curled its tendrils into him, and he took a shuddering breath to fight it back.
“I don’t want this to happen again,” Ian finally admitted in a weak voice. “I just want to make it go away. I don’t want to be like this anymore.”
What piece of work are you most proud of and why?
I'm very proud of the current in-progress fic I have for the Spring Awakening fandom, "From God Above to the One I Love." You can find it starting from the beginning here, but here's an excerpt from the latest chapter (warning for slight dubious consent related to a moment of voyeurism, and some inappropriate talk regarding the attractiveness of monks):
“I wished I could say so much more, in my letters,” Ernst said wistfully.
Hanschen buried his fingers in the man’s curls. “I know,” he said. “Although, you never did answer my question about the monks there. How you liked them,” he added, inflecting pointedly.
Ernst looked scandalized, although Hans knew him well enough by now to tell that the incredulity was mostly for show. He couldn’t hold onto it for long, though, and dissolved into giggles. “Are you asking me if the monks—who have devoted themselves to the Lord—who have taken vows of piety and chastity—”
“—Were pleasing to look at,” Hans finished through his breathless laughter, and snorted with mirth when Ernst blushed and hid both his laughter and his embarrassment in Hanschen’s shoulder. He didn’t actually answer, and Hanschen hadn’t expected him to; the question was mostly just to tease him anyway.
They quieted to a peaceful contentment, and Hans listened to the sounds of the night around them: the chattering of nightbirds, the gentle pulse of the sea, the very faint strains of a stringed instrument native to the area coming from a house not too far away, where surely a celebration must be occurring. After a moment, he picked up on another sound: soft low voices, and rustling, from the alley below. He got out of bed to peer out the window, careful not to lean too far out lest he be seen. “They’re here again,” he said through a caught breath.
Ernst looked up. “Who is?”
Hanschen gestured him over. “Come and look,” he whispered; when Ernst came to his side, Hans pointed inconspicuously to a shadowy corner of the ledge below the house. In its dark hiding place were two men, only four or five years older than Hanschen and Ernst themselves, olive-skinned and dark-haired. They were pressed close together, hands everywhere; the smaller of the two had his lips against the neck of his companion, and their hips were moving in a way that could not mistake their intention, though they were completely clothed. They were so quiet that it was hard to hear much, but if Hanschen strained his ear he could make out the faint murmurs and sighs of pleasure that made his own blood run faster and hotter in his veins.
He looked at Ernst, who was staring, dumbstruck. “Hanschen. We should not be watching this. They do not know that we can see them.” He did not seem to want to look away, though.
It was not Hanschen’s first time observing a public display of this nature, but Ernst had never witnessed any sexual act other than those in which he had personally been involved. His face seemed to contain shame, discomfort, uncertainty, combined with a helpless arousal that he did not know how to respond to. Hanschen remembered being fifteen and virginal, seeing this very display for the first time. He had climaxed without touching himself or being touched, that night, so overcome by desires then unexplored. “They are in public,” he whispered, “and nearly in plain sight. We can watch for a moment.” These particular men had met in this spot once before, since Hans had been here; he had been reading near the window and seen a glimpse of them, and was not ashamed to admit that he had watched their tryst from his own obscured location. In his mind, there was no shame in watching, if such things occurred where they could easily be seen."
What tropes can we look forward to in your MHHE fic?
I can guarantee that my MHHE fic will contain more hurt/comfort than you can shake a stick at! I can't promise specific tropes yet, but lots of tender affection and slow-burn relationship development are in store for sure!
Fuck, Marry, Kiss (under the mistletoe) with three Magicians characters of your choice!
Fuck Eliot, marry Fen, kiss Julia! (And cuddle Quentin!)
4 notes
·
View notes
Text
From now until November, we’ll be spotlighting some of our MHHE registered authors. Want to make art for them? Register here! Artists who register before July 6th get early access to claims.
MHHE Author Spotlight: annelessbonny
What piece of work best represents your writing style, and how would you briefly describe it?
Probably "I'll be coming for you anyway", which follows Alice, Julia, and Eliot after Quentin's death, how they shatter in the aftermath, and come back together when they each start seeing Q in reflective surfaces. I love playing around with formatting and this story has a particular three part structure with poetic epigraphs that kind of exemplifies that. I also try to balance emotional intensity with humor and that really shines through in this story.
Excerpt:
III. Eliot
“It is easier to tell a story of how people wound one another than of what binds them together.”
“And that, Not Q, is why every member of the band Creed should be arrested.”
Eliot’s been talking to hallucination Q for about two days now. He’s been appearing in Eliot’s impulse buy mirror fairly regularly, and if he isn’t going to leave Eliot to his alcoholism in peace, Eliot might as well get something out of this too.
So he talks. He talks about a lot of things he never thought he’d talk about.
“I don’t remember anything the Monster did with my body. I guess that sort of makes sense, given the tiny memory cage I was trapped in. But still. It’s my body. I should know.”
Not Q nods, but he looks frustrated, sitting cross-legged on nothing and staring at Eliot in that stupid, beseeching way of his, the details of which Eliot is honestly impressed his subconscious managed to capture so thoroughly, down to the nervous tick at the corner of his mouth and the way his eyes won’t stay fixed on one part of Eliot’s face for more than a couple of seconds at a time.
“Don’t look at me like that. It’s not fair.” Not Quentin huffs at that, and it's so familiar that Eliot can actually hear that tiny, disapproving sound he secretly adores.
What piece of work are you most proud of and why?
Definitely "I'll be coming for you anyways" again. I wrote more in the month I was working on this fic than I did all last year, and I am so, so proud of the story I was able to tell. Alice, Julia, and Eliot all had separate, but ultimately intertwined arcs allowed me to explore themes of regret, choice, consent, and grief in ways that I never have before, and I think the results are pretty special. Also, my dialogue in this one is just so snappy ;).
Excerpt:
Quentin rolls his eyes. “Thanks. Should I wait for the joke about all the other men who’ve fallen into your arms?” Q’s tone is light, matching his own, but his eyes, as always, betray him. Fear, vulnerability, longing: all the things he gives Eliot over and over even when he’s so far past deserving even an ounce of the trust Quentin keeps choosing to put in him.
And maybe that’s just what love is: handing someone your broken pieces and trusting them to hold them, handing them back to you as you put yourself together.
“No,” Eliot says softly. “Turns out, you’re the only one that matters.”
Quentin stares at him for a long moment, then sighs, a small, happy smile tugging at his mouth. “That was, like, really fucking romantic, El.”
“Well, you don’t have to sound so surprised about it.”
What tropes can we look forward to in your MHHE fic?
Idiots to lovers! Road trips! Mutual pining! Found family!
Fuck, Marry, Kiss (under the mistletoe) with three Magicians characters of your choice!
Fuck Margo, marry Julia, kiss Alice (I'm so gay for all of them)
10 notes
·
View notes
Text
From now until November, we’ll be spotlighting some of our MHHE registered authors. Want to make art for them? Register here! Artists who register before July 6th get early access to claims.
MHHE Author Spotlight: ohmarqueliot
What piece of work best represents your writing style, and how would you briefly describe it?
I tend to think of my writing as "a mess of emotions". I live in smut and angst and yearning because those are the things that I can put the most emotion behind. That's part of why I love writing Queliot so much -- they both feel so much, even if they're not always prepared to show it.
Can’t Let Go
The ceiling in this room was, if anything, less exciting than his own. It was lower, without the fancy embellishments to count the patterns of. And the hollow feeling in his gut had gotten, if anything, worse. Once his eyes adjusted enough to the darkness of the room enough that he was confident that the ceiling held no mysteries for him to discover, he turned his head to look at Quentin. He could make out the tense line of his bare shoulders before they disappeared beneath the covers, his hair loose across the pillow. He looked far too stiff to be asleep.
He shouldn’t. He -
Rolling onto his side, he shifted across the bed until he could curl up behind Quentin, slipping an arm loosely over his waist. Quentin stiffened immediately. “Eliot,” he said softly, his tone making it sound like a warning.
It really fucking hurt.
“This is how I sleep,” he said nonchalantly, knowing full well that Quentin knew that, knowing full well that Quentin saw right through him.
Quentin was still for a few minutes, but when he finally relaxed, shifting slightly to get more comfortable, dropping his arm to lie against Eliot’s, he let himself relax, too. Piece by piece, he felt all of his anxiety and worry and stress drain away, chased away by familiarity and comfort. His arm tightened automatically and he leaned closer, melting against him, into him, revelling in the feeling of Quentin’s back, solid and sure against his chest. Ducking his head, he pressed his nose against his shoulder, against his neck, breathing him in, centring him. “El,” Quentin whispered, his voice thick in the darkness, and he couldn’t help it, he couldn’t stop himself from pressing his lips against Quentin’s warm, soft skin.
And Quentin - was he trembling? - the sound that came from his throat, a quiet, longing sound, went straight through Eliot, filling up that pit in his stomach, so he parted his lips and kissed his shoulder again, spreading his fingers wide as he pressed his palm to his chest to hold him close.
What piece of work are you most proud of and why?
This fic would be a favourite of mine even if I hadn't put so much time and effort into it. I loved exploring the differences between Quentin and Brian, as well as Eliot's relationship with both of them, and with Alice in an alt S4 scenario.
Reaching in the Dark
Eliot tried to smother the curiosity and the triumph that flooded through him. It was entirely inappropriate; he wasn’t here to get Quentin to fall in love with him. This was only the third time they’d met for fucks sake. But despite all of that, despite how dangerous he knew this slippery slope could turn out to be, it mattered that there was something, that Quentin felt enough of a potential something to let a thought like that slip.
Reaching out, Eliot cupped Quentin’s cheek with a gentle touch. He drank in the way his eyes widened, his breath catching, and locked the moment safely in his mind. “Oh, ye of little faith,” he said softly, tracing his thumb lightly along his jawbone as he drew his hand away almost as quickly as he’d touched him. Grabbing the empty glasses from the table, he left for the bar, needing to give himself a minute to calm his racing heart.
Dropping his elbows on the bar, he took a deep breath as he waited for the bartender. He shouldn’t push this too far, he knew. He was having trouble toeing the line between someone who loved Quentin, and someone who’d met Brian two days ago.
In other circumstances, he’d happily seduce Brian without a moment’s thought. He was over thinking it, he knew he was, but that was because his urge to just pull Quentin into his arms and kiss him within an inch of his life was one that was getting harder to deny.
There might be plenty of differences between Quentin and Brian, but Brian pulled at his heart the same way that Quentin did.
He just had to be careful.
What tropes can we look forward to in your MHHE fic?
FAKE DATING! It's chock full of fake dating, which excites me so much because it's such a good trope. And fake dating always comes with a side of mutual pining.
Fuck, Marry, Kiss (under the mistletoe) with three Magicians characters of your choice!
Eliot, Quentin, Margo
(Is anyone surprised I said these three? Honestly we could put these three in any of these roles and I would be happy)
10 notes
·
View notes
Text
From now until November, we’ll be spotlighting some of our MHHE registered authors. Want to make art for them? Register here! Artists who register before July 6th get early access to claims.
MHHE Author Spotlight: Catiec21
What piece of work best represents your writing style, and how would you briefly describe it?
"The Knowing” is a short, tight, really emotional little character study that focuses on a relationship that the show never really delivered on—the turbulent but real friendship between Alice and Eliot. I love writing mostly plotless examinations of characters, and also "fill-in" scenes of things and I feel like a post-mortem (no pun intended) conversation between these two would be really satisfying, so I wrote it!
“You’re both such useless fucking romantics. In opposite directions, sure. But the same. Kinda.”
Alice straightens herself. Sets her expression, feels her cheeks redden. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“These stupid declarations. You want to honor his memory. That’s nice. He was always—” and he takes another long drag. “He was always saying shit like. Like." Eliot swallows. "Like he hoped he’d die first.”
What piece of work are you most proud of and why?
I am most proud of "The Knowing" because I spent about three times as long editing it as I did actually writing it. Dialogue has never been my strong suit and the effectiveness of this piece relied so heavily on the characters' back-and-forth that I absolutely agonized over it. In the end I'm really happy with how it came out!
What tropes can we look forward to in your MHHE fic?
Road Trips! There's Only One Bed! Overworked Cynic Learns the True Meaning of Christmas! Snowed In! Strangers to Friends to Lovers! Aggressive Domesticity! Emotional Vulnerability in a Waffle House! The list goes on!
Fuck, Marry, Kiss (under the mistletoe) with three Magicians characters of your choice!
Kiss absolutely all of them!
10 notes
·
View notes
Last Seen Blogs
la-hora-de-a
El Rastro
bizzporto25-blog
Untitled
estheruki10
Alegria A La Vida
hellogorgeousssss-blog1
Untitled
azranaurora
expert on the Azran