Five@Five: @kaci3po
As a part of our author spotlight, we’ve asked each writer to highlight 5 fics and tell us a little about their experience writing (or reading) them.
Modified Aspect Ratio by @sabrinachill
“So how is this possible? This is supposed to be 1960s America and we’re…” He trips over finishing that sentence, over saying the word married to Eliot.
Eliot has no such qualms.
“No one at the office thought our marriage was strange at all. Apparently the monster is as tired as we are of seeing predictable, homophobic bullshit on TV.”
“Huh.”
“Yeah.”
This fic made the hiatus bearable and we are blessed as a fandom to have it.
spring sooner than the lark by @greywash
Eliot stares up at the ceiling. Silent.
He is peculiarly aware of his heartbeat. Its warm, trembling instability under his skin. Quentin is so warm, so solid, so present beside him: his one perfect, compact little anchor.
“You’re not—stuck with me, Q,” he says; and Quentin barks out a laugh.
“Oh, I—definitely am,” Quentin says, “but if you think that’s why I asked you to—why I’ve been. Fucking all in, on you and me, for the past—God, ten fucking years, while you—helped me raise our son and fell in love with my wife—I’m not pining for Earth, Eliot, I’m in love with you.”
I admire the hell out of this style of writing. It’s so punchy and says so much with very tight, compact sentences. Plus it’s turned out to be weirdly accurate to canon since 4x05.
Make a list of things you need by @longnationalnightmare
“What’s wrong?” Eliot said as Quentin was contending with that startling vision. He smirked and added, in a slow, condescendingly jokey tone, “Do you not think I’ll be a good fake husband? Because I promise—”
“Shut up,” Quentin finally actually said, and couldn’t follow it up with anything else because his breath was caught in his throat. He wished he could explain it: why it was so horrible to watch Eliot lean placidly against a wall and smirk in the face of marrying someone he didn’t choose.
The way Eliot looked right now—it was the same way he looked when he said things like, “Some people need their families,” ashing a cigarette in a careless, supercilious way that screamed, not me, of course, thank God. Eliot was like that with everything: acting as if it were better to make a joke about the impossibility of having something nice than it was to say, simply and plainly, I wish I could have it. I deserve it.
This fic is so lighthearted and fun. Eliot and Quentin have to get married Because Fillory which is one of my favorite tropes. This fic is a joy to read.
Shell Game by Giddygeek
“This is like a fairy tale,” Eliot said. “The sleeping prince, alone in his curse’d bower.”
Quentin’s body lay in Quentin’s bed. He wasn’t in the pose of a fairy tale prince, peacefully on his back, arms at his sides like a corpse in its coffin—like Sleeping Beauty. He was on his stomach, one leg drawn up, his face mashed blankly into his pillow. His pillow had a drool spot. The room was dark, and too warm, and everything seemed entirely normal, except for the fact that Quentin had never been outside of his body watching it sleep before.
It was enough to make Quentin sit down hard on his one uncomfortable chair. Dust rose around him. He bent forward, his elbows on his knees, and tried to take a deep breath.
“I’m in a coma,” he wheezed.
Eliot poked his shoulder. “A magical coma. There’s always a way out of those, Q. Maybe you just need true love’s kiss or something.”
“True love’s kiss.” Quentin sank lower, forehead almost on his knees. Eliot’s knees. He missed having his curtain of long hair to hide behind. “I’m a goner.”
This fic is so good. So very, very good at mixing humor and genuine emotion. I love everyone in this story, from the main characters down to the background OCs. It’s just so well done and put together.
All’s fair in love and war by @numinousnumbat
“Hi, I’m Eliot,” the man said standing in front of Quentin. He was wearing a suit with a flowered vest. It wasn’t what Quentin thought an epic quest outfit would look like exactly, but it was closer than his own getup. If only he owned more than black pants and t-shirts.
“Hi,” Quentin said, looking up at Eliot. He glanced to his right where the two new women were doing the magical equivalent of pulling pigtails against Julia and Alice.
“I did not flirt with a librarian to let you have our key,” Alice yelled.
“I’d flirt with you so hard that you’d forget what you were looking for,” said the other woman, who was somehow walking on sand in heels.
Quentin turned back to Eliot. “We should probably just let them figure it out amongst themselves, right?”
“Yeah, I’m wearing vintage cufflinks, so I’m avoiding magical battles today,” Eliot said. He reached out and brushed some coconut off Quentin’s shoulder. Stupid exploding locator spell.
This fic is such glorious, hilarious crack. It’s an AU where half the characters don’t know each other and keep running into each other and having meet-cutes while searching for the keys. I re-read this fic often when I just want to have a good laugh after a long day.
Thank you for the rec, @kaci3po!! *bluuuuushes*
