#but being stared at wide-eyed with full attention if just very freaky in my brain. thankfully has never actually happened to me irl but stil

[lovelesslittleloser]

Headcannon that with Watcher powers, Grian is able to make anyone think he is staring unnervingly at them when he’s actually looking somewhere else, which he uses in business meetings to play Pesky Bird on his phone while making his boss uncomfortable

[ilovereadingandilovebreathing]

Sorry to ask lol but could you do a teacher AU where the students find Roman or Virgil on Tumblr and just freak out

Lol you’re good; I haven’t done teacher stuff in a while. This is a very real fear, soo...this’ll be fun.

I’m not sure if you want the kids or teachers to freak out, but trust me, there’d be way more freaking on the teachers’ end of things.

I went back and forth on this because on one hand Virgil might be too paranoid to have a tumblr as a teacher but on the other hand if he had it in high school....Roman doesn’t have time for tumblr these days, tbh, but I’ll include him since you asked for him specifically!

Idk if this is as freak out as you wanted; I’m boring and went for realism so sorry if it’s not up to standard lol

That Tuesday started out like any other:

His Tuesday/Thursday homeroom kids were as chatty and apathetic to announcements as ever.

His first two classes of Honors American Lit. kids were as attentive as always, offering brilliant and insightful connections between themselves, society, and The Crucible.

By all accounts, it was a normal Tuesday.

Until his Mythology students came trailing back from lunch, some of them barely hiding giggles and elongated stares from their desks.

“Alright.” Virgil began teasingly as the final bell rang. “Do I have something on my face? My shirt?” He threw a glance behind his back. “Did Randy tape something to my back again?”

Half of the small class exploded into laughter, but the other half gazed between their teacher and peers wondering what great joke they’d missed out on.

“It’s nothing, Mr. Anderson.” An outspoken and bright student named Cam spoke up. “Kya just made an interesting discovery last night and shared it with the whole lunch table.”

“I’m sure I don’t even want to know.” Virgil grinned and rolled his eyes as he passed out their class set mythology texts to each of his 15 students.

“Today we’ll be tackling a classic story: Baucis and Philemon. It includes love, hospitality, and a couple of God’s playing make believe.”

A choral snicker ran through a certain side of the room again, but Virgil fixed them with a look and pulled up an interactive PowerPoint.

The rest of the lesson went off without a hitch, and the students seemed eager to jump into their assigned tasks to teach the class (finding allusions to Jupiter’s and Mercury’s roles or Baucis and Philemon’s roles in movies, books, or TV shows.)

Partway through work time, though, Cam sauntered up to Virgil’s desk and perched there for a minute before cupping a hand over his mouth with a conspiratorial glint in his eye.

“So, Mr. Anderson, I have a question.”

“Sure, Cam; what’s up?”

“Well, I’m wondering: is ‘student A’ in ‘A Crazy Halloween Story’ referring to Jessica Simmons or Kaley Aldrin? Because both have you for honors and dressed up as Harley Quinn for Halloween.”

Virgil’s brain stuttered to a halt, and he took all of his energy to school his expression, making certain his eyes didn’t give away the screaming anxiety erupting within his chest. “I’m not sure what you’re talking about, Cam.” Virgil cocked his head to the side in an effort to lighten the tension only one of them felt. “What do Jessica or Kaley and Halloween have to do with Baucis and Philemon?”

“Oh, right. You gotta play it cool. Can’t let the kids know about your social media. I gotchu.” Cam nudged Virgil with an elbow and a stage wink. “Secret’s safe with me, Anxious Orpheo-I mean, Mr. A.” Cam pushed off of the side of his desk and went back to his group, the other members having abandoned their work to stared wide-eyed and open-mouthed at Cam’s boldness.

“I told you-”

“Holy crap-”

“You’re full of it, Cam; he never confirmed it.”

“You heard me, Emily! He can’t!”

Virgil inhaled and exhaled deeply, hands gripping and releasing under his desk as he fought to keep the fear from his features. Thank god he had planning after this.

-

When the bell rang some time later, Virgil let out a huge sigh, smiling at his last student, Kya, as she meandered toward the door, paused, and rushed over to his desk.

“Mr. Anderson. I’m so sorry I told everyone about your Tumblr. I mean....everyone in this class. Well, really on that side of the class, but anyway, I haven’t told anyone else I swear! And I didn’t even mean for Cam or Emily or anyone else to find out; I was just showing your posts to Liam at lunch, but Cam was being nosy and overheard. I’m so so sorry, and I’ll try to make sure he doesn’t tell anyone so you don’t get in trouble! Oh my god I’m just so sorry.” Kya took a deep break, and Virgil let his guard fall just a hair, his eyes turning down at the sides.

“It’s alright, Kya. Students have spread far worse rumors about teachers before. Me having a Tumble isn’t the worst thing someone can say.”

“Tumblr.” Kya corrected.

“Right.” Virgil smiled. “I appreciate your apology, Kya, but don’t worry about it too much, okay?”

“Okay. Thanks, Mr. Anderson, and I really am sorry.”

“I know. Now go on before you’re late.”

“Oh, yeah, right. Bye!” Kya waved and sped out the door.

As soon as she was definitively gone, Virgil slumped into his chair, eyes staring dejectedly at his dark computer screen before sighing and running a hand through his hair. Well, this was certainly not how he expected things to go today.

-

“Oh, Virge, you’re in here!”

Virgil’s head shot up to see Roman peeking around his doorway.

“Yes, it’s shocking to find me in my own classroom.”

“Well usually Ortega is in here during planning.”

“They’re in the computer lab working on a paper.”

“Oh, nice...Anyway, your copies have been sitting in the work room since this morning.” Roman strutted into the room revealing the large stack of copies against his hip.

“Thanks, But...Roman....you’re not on planning right now.”

“As per usual, you are correct, my dear darkling, but you also know that those kids are pretty self-sufficient. Plus Remy is staying all day today since our first show is tonight.”

“They might as well not have a teacher at all.”

“Take that back! Remy is a great co-teacher!”

“When he’s working. He’s not even on the clock now. He’s probably on his phone.”

“Fair point, but you’re not Logan, so why are you pointing all of this out?” Roman set his stack on a nearby desk and pulled up another, sitting on the hardtop as he looked Virgil up and down. “What’s up? You’re tense.”

Virgil sighed. “Shut the door first?”

Roman scurried to the classroom door and made a show of closing it quietly. “Ooo something juicy?”

“Kind of. Not really. More horrifying and embarrassing.”

“Oh joy which was it this time?” Roman asked dramatically as he perched back on the desk, his feet in the chair and hands steepled over his knees.

“....one of my mythology kids found my tumblr and accidentally told half of the class about it.”

“1) That sucks. 2) How do you ‘accidentally’ tell 8 people about something?”

“Another kid was being nosy.”

“Unnamed kid you tell me about?”

“One of them.”

“Ah.” Roman considered for a moment. “I mean there are worse things.”

“I know. That’s what I said too when the bean spiller apologized, but...I’ve had that thing since I was their age, Roman, who knows what kind of shit they can dig up! I can’t remember half of the emotionally charged stuff I posted on there, and I know there’s posts about my sexuality on there, too.” Virgil froze. “Oh god, what if they find my old fan fiction?!”

Roman couldn’t contain a small chuckle at that. “Then they’ll know you’re a legit writer.”

“Ro, this is serious.” Virgil folded his legs into his chair and leaned back, sighing again and staring at the speckled ceiling. “What if they find something...objectionable and tell their parents? And the parents tell the principal? What if I get fired?!”

“Did you post anything that bad?”

“Probably not....but I did post stories about stuff that happened in class.”

“Oooo...yeah that can be tricky territory. Did you get super specific?”

“In the story part, I guess.”

“Did you drop names, kids or the school or anything someone could use to identify?”

“No.”

Roman sighed. “Well, I mean what can you do, you know? You didn’t explicitly give names or the school or any concrete identifying information, right?”

“Right, but all they’d have to do is look at my phone.”

“What reason do they have unless the kids complain about it? You can always put a lock or something on it, right? There are private accounts.”

“I don’t know if I can at this point, but I guess I can try. Don’t know how much good it will do when I already have a few hundred followers.”

“Just 300?”

“Almost 1000.”

“Ooo yeah that is a little more significant. Geez tumblr has millions of followers, and somehow they stumbled on you.”

“Yeah. It sucks.”

“I mean....the initial kid apologized, right?”

“Yeah. She claims she won’t spread it anymore and will keep blabbermouth kid quiet, but we’ll see.”

“Don’t stress about it too much. They seem like good kids, so I’m sure it’ll be fine.”

“God, I hope so.”

“Well, it’s probably about time I get back to my little rugrats. You’re coming to our show, yeah?”

“If I don’t self-combust first.” Virgil pulled out a small smile. “Yeah, I’ll be there.”

“Great!” Roman vaulted off of the desk, grabbed his stack of papers, and made for the door. He paused for a moment in the doorway and turned, his expression softer than Virgil ever remembers seeing. “It’s gonna be okay, Virge. Don’t let it get you too worked up, okay?”

“I’ll try. Thanks, Ro.” Virgil waved him off and sighed before sitting back up to try to get something done.

“Uh, Mr. Anderson?”

Virgil’s jaw clenched involuntarily at the familiar tone, and he looked up to find a familiar blonde in the doorway. “Cam. I thought you had chemistry this period.”

“I do, but I finished my lab already, so Mr. Harris let me ‘go to the bathroom.’” He accentuated with air quotes. “Um but I really came here to apologize.”

“What for?”

“Kya kinda ripped me a new one during chemistry. She has this really scary way of being really angry and really quiet at the same time. It’s freaky.” Cam made a show of shivering violently. “But yeah she chewed me out during lab because of what I did during class, so....I just wanted to say I’m sorry if I freaked you out. I promise I won’t tell anybody. It was just kinda crazy to hear that our favorite teacher is like us, you know?”

Virgil forced up a smile. “We are human, as crazy as it sounds.”

“So....is it you? Wait, I probably shouldn’t ask that, so there’s no evidence or whatever....I’m just gonna assume. Scientific method.”

“Apology accepted. Go back to chemistry before he sends someone after you.”

“He won’t, but I’ll do it just for you, Mr. A. See you tomorrow!”

“Bye, buddy.” Virgil calls as the kid disappears. He pulls out his phone and sends Roman a quick message.

[Virge]: Blabbermouth just came and apologized. Promised not to blabber. I don’t know if I trust it, but I guess it helps.

[Ro]: wow

Nice

It’ll be okay

And if it’s not I’ve got your back, okay? Don’t stress.

[Virge]: Thank you, Roman.

Virgil sighed for the last time and put his cellphone away. He picked up his favorite dark purple grading pen and pulled out the American Lit. kids’ written responses, gearing himself up to grade by playing his Grading Playlist from Spotify on his personal laptop.

Everything will be okay.

Again, sorry if it’s not as crazy as you wanted or is really too neat, but a lot of students I interact with as was around as a student were chill, so. Yeah.

[quentinsquill]

Fic: “Turnabouts, Treaties and Truffles” (The Magicians)

Author: Lexalicious70

Fandom: The Magicians

Warnings: None

Rating: Teen and Up

Word Count: 5,215

Summary: After a magical malfunction in a Neitherlands fountain, Eliot and Quentin find themselves body swapped the day before a visiting king is set to attend a dinner that will cement a treaty critical to Fillory’s inhabitants. Can Margo transform their Moderately Socially Maladjusted king into what visiting royalty and his courtiers expect, or will it all fall in around them?

Author’s Notes: This is for week 4 of the @whitespiresarmory’s Challenge theme, “Body Swap.” All mistakes are my own. I don’t own The Magicians, etc., writing is like air for me, so that’s why I do this. Comments and kudos are magic: Enjoy!

Read it on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20004787

Turnabouts, Treaties and Truffles

By Lexalicious70 (all_hale_eliot)

 “El, are you sure we need all this?”

 Eliot turned and regarded Quentin with a stare that was half disbelief, half offense. Margo scoffed from somewhere behind Eliot’s form, currently that of a startled exclamation point, and Eliot motioned to the dozen or so bottles of wine in the cart between them.

 “Of course we need it all, Q! Royalty is visiting! Do you want to serve them Kool-Aid in jelly jars?”

 Quentin struggled to push the cart along the aisle. Outside, Manhattan buzzed with its usual constant activity, and the upscale liquor store where the three magicians shopped hummed with conversation and the constant noise from the multiple checkout lines near the exit. `

  “No, of course not, it just seems kind of like, overkill, that’s all.”

 “There’s no such thing as overkill when it comes to entertaining royalty—especially royalty that may or may not be willing to sign a treaty with you at the end of the evening.” Eliot curled a long finger at him as they rounded the corner into another aisle. “And that’s our goal. Fillorian winemaking is still in its infancy, and we want to do our best to impress King Idri and his people.”

 “Speaking of which, we better wrap this up.” Margo said as she plucked Eliot’s pocketwatch from his vest and checked the time. “We’ve only got about 26 hours to set all this up, and we still have to go over the menu with Tick.”

 “I hope the wine travels okay through the fountains,” Quentin said as Eliot chose one final bottle of rosette before heading toward the registers. “Do you think it might sour?”

 “We’ll ward it, Q, don’t worry.” Eliot pulled some bills from his wallet and handed them over to the cashier, who cashed him out and gave him a wide smile along with his change.

 “Thank you!” Her gaze lingered on him and Quentin shook his head as they left the store and headed into the alley with the boxes of wine.

 “Don’t you ever get tired of people hitting on you?”

 “It usually doesn’t mean much to me, Q.” He replied as he watched Quentin fish the traveling button from his Sharo bag. A wink and a joining of hands put the three magicians in the Neitherlands a moment later, near the fountain that would take them to Fillory. Quentin frowned.

 “Usually? So when is it meaningful?”

 “When you do it,” Eliot grinned, delighted as Quentin’s ears and neck turned pink. He touched the end of Quentin’s nose with the tip of his long index finger. “You are so cute when you’re jealous of strangers!”

 “I was not jealous! Just . . . all the attention you get, especially as high king. It must feel pretty great.”

 “Sometimes. Sometimes not.” Eliot said as he warded the wine boxes and sent them through the fountain, where he knew Tick or one of his people would be waiting to take them to the castle. “Ready?” He asked, and Margo frowned.

 “I hate these fucking fountains! It always makes me feel like I’m some cosmic enema being squirted up the multiverses’ colon!”

 “Margo, I cannot stress this enough: eeww.” Eliot replied, taking a deep breath before he dove into the fountain. Quentin jumped in at the same time in a clumsy half-dive, and as they drifted up toward the surface that would take them to Fillory, a magical surge made the water bubble. Eliot struggled to hold his breath as his inner ear went haywire and sent signals to his stomach that vomiting was imminent. He caught a glimpse of Quentin, his eyes rolling, before another surge seemed to knock his consciousness from his body. His head broke the surface of the water and he was aware of strong, sure arms grabbing his own before darkness took him and he went down like a hard-tagged boxer.

 *****

 “Eliot? Eliot, wake up!”

 The voice traveled down a long hall of semi-consciousness and Eliot groped for it like a drowning man with a floating rubber donut. Sounds and awareness crowded his brain.

 “Eliot!”

 He turned his head and coughed up a fair amount of the fountain’s strange, thin water to reply to the voice, when his own answered from several feet away.

 “What . . .what happened?”

 Eliot opened his eyes. He was staring up at Fillory’s slate-colored sky with its massive crescent moon, the spires of his castle visible. He struggled to sit up but his limbs felt wrong, like they were unfamiliar. Tick leaned over him and put a hand on his shoulder.

 “Easy now, your majesty. You had quite a struggle returning here!”

 “What happened?” Eliot asked, then put a hand to his throat as he cleared it.

 Must be the water . . . that didn’t sound like me at all.

 “Tick, what happened?” He asked again, but the voice persisted. And not just any voice.

 It was Quentin’s voice.

 “What—what’s going on?” His own voice asked, but from several feet away, as if he’d suddenly learned to throw it. He turned his head and found himself looking at—

 “What the fuck?” The other him asked, amber eyes wide. Eliot looked down at himself, but himself wasn’t where he was anymore. The body he stared down at was clothed in baggy jeans and a green sweater. A leather strap crossed his chest at an angle and he reached down to touch it.

 Quentin’s bag. But why am I—

 “Eliot?” The other him asked, the tone rising with an anxiety so familiar he marked it at once as Quentin’s. He sat up, and the central gravity of the body his consciousness currently occupied told him it wasn’t his own.

 “Oh, fucking Christ!” Margo stepped into his line of vision as she raised both hands, making a square of her fingers so she could look at him, then at the other him—Quentin—through a lens of magic. Tick stood nearby, his fingers tapping against each other as he looked from one king to another. Margo sighed and glanced at the fountain. “Something went bugshit on our way back here! I felt it—some kind of magical surge.”

 “But what happened?” Quentin got to his—Eliot’s—feet and swayed like a newborn colt. He took a few stumbling steps to the fountain, looked in at his reflection, and gave a wavering cry as he put both hands to his face. “Oh shit! Shit, shit, shit!” He turned to look at Eliot, his eyes huge and wet. “I’m not me! I’m not me anymore, oh nonononono—”

 “Quentin?” Eliot took a few steps forward as he tried to get a handle on being much shorter than he was used to. Quentin’s bag thumped against his chest and he paused to take it off and set it aside. “Q . . . that is you in there, isn’t it?”

 “Uh huh!” A few tears coursed down Eliot’s face and Eliot reached out to grasp his own shoulders, frowning as he had to reach up to do so.

 “Okay. And I’m—in here, so don’t freak out on me, okay? We got switched somehow, it was probably that magical surge we all felt!”

 “We have to find a way to reverse it!” Quentin said, gripping his own forearms with Eliot’s big hands. “My magic is all scrambled, I don’t dare try to cast!”

 “Then fucking don’t!” Margo stepped forward. “Here’s what we’re going to do. We’re all going to go to the castle, and we’re going to look in the library to see if there’s a cure for this freaky Fillorian Friday shit. Then we’re going to fix it.” She eyed Quentin. “Quentin, you have got to quit crying because I don’t think I can handle seeing your expressions on Eliot’s face!” She marched forward, pulled a handkerchief from Eliot’s vest pocket, and cleaned off his face with precise, businesslike strokes. “There.” She tucked the hankie back where it belonged. “Now come on. Tick? Bring the wine!”

 “Yes, your grace!” Tick nodded as he juggled the boxes. Eliot picked up Quentin’s bag and followed Margo toward the long path that led to Whitespire’s main gates.

 ***

 “I can’t fucking believe this,” Eliot said for the fourth time that hour as he and Quentin stood in front of the large, full-length mirror in the royal dressing room. Quentin nodded, his expression miserable.

 “I can’t either. This feels so weird, El . . . I can sense your magic and it feels so different from mine. And your body, it’s—” Quentin held his hands out and studied their shape and size. “I feel like a giant!”

 “And I feel very . . . compact,” Eliot replied, looking up at his own face. “And does your shoulder always ache this way?” He touched it under the sweater’s material, but the synthetic skin the centaurs had used to repair Quentin’s badly-wounded shoulder gave off no sensation.

 “No. The muscles around the prosthetic get sore when we travel through the fountains, but other than that, I usually forget it’s there.” He paused and tried to smooth down Eliot’s dark curls. They were soft and much thicker than his own fine, tawny hair, which most people described as ‘floppy.’ “Do you think Margo and Josh will find anything about this in our library?”

 “I hope so, Q. No offense to you, but I’m a lot more comfortable being in my own body.” He turned away from the mirror, squirming in Quentin’s oversized sweater. Quentin glanced after him and then pulled the waistbands of Eliot’s tailored slacks and boxers open to peek inside.

 Whoa.

 “Bad news!” Margo said as she and Josh entered the room, causing Quentin to start and adjust the slacks. To his relief, she was looking through a spellbook as she spoke.

 “What kind of bad news?” Eliot asked, and she sighed and closed the book.

 “The kind that means we didn’t find a cure. We have something that’s close—” Margo held up the spellbook. “But the reversal spell we found only applies if the switching was cast by another magician, not caused by a magical surge. We’re going to have to ask the librarians for help, but that means calling in a favor.”

 “I’ll go,” Josh nodded. “I have a friend who knows someone who knows one of the librarians. Hopefully that should be enough to get me in. In the meantime, you two just, uh—chill out.”

 “Sure,” Eliot drawled. “We’ll play charades.”

 “If you guys start having an existential crisis, Margo knows where I keep my good kush.” Josh opened a portal and stepped through it. Margo set the spellbook aside and faced her friends.

 “There’s more bad news. King Idri and his people are already on their way, and there’s no way we can cancel tomorrow night’s banquet.”

 “But—he’s expecting to be entertained by High King Eliot!” Quentin said.

 “I know, Q.”

 “But I’m not High King Eliot!”

 “Also noted.”

 “Then what are we going to do? Margo, you have to stall them when they arrive! Say that I’m—that Eliot—is sick or something! We can’t have the banquet this way!”

 “I have to agree with Q here, Bambi,” Eliot put in, and Margo winced.

 “Okay. First, that sounded very weird coming out of Quentin’s mouth so please, let’s not, ever again, and two, you agreeing will not change the fact that King Idri will be beyond offended if we delay the banquet. Delayed banquet, unsigned treaty, very good chance of war in the next six months!” Margo ticked these facts off her fingers. “There’s really only one thing we can do.” She looked over at Quentin, housed in her best friend’s body, and sighed. “I’m going to have to teach you how to be High King Eliot.”

  ***

“No, that’s not it at all!”

 Margo sighed, the sound filled with frustration, as she watched Quentin cross the room in Eliot’s body.

 “You’re rounding your shoulders and walking like you’re waiting for some cosmic ape to throw shit at you from the sky!”

 Quentin looked down at Eliot’s feet, dressed in calf-high black leather boots with a block heel.

 “Do I have to wear these?”

 “You’d rather meet King Idri in a pair of Nikes and your grubby grey sweats?” Margo asked. “Come here, come look in the mirror.” She tugged him over to the full-length mirror in the corner. “Look how you stand, Q! That’s not now a king holds himself! Straighten your spine, lift your chin—better!” Margo nodded. “Now, think about how Eliot approaches you, about the way he moves.”

 “I can’t move like him!”

 “Of course you can, dummy! You’re in his body, aren’t you? Look—like this.” She turned him and put her hands on his hips. “Now walk! Confident strides . . . open your stance up, Q!” She pushed at his hips from behind as he walked. “You can’t walk like some eunuch monk!”

 “I don’t walk like a eunuch monk!” Quentin snapped, glancing at her over his shoulder. “If you want me to do this, quit insulting me!”

 “You guys sound so married right now,” Eliot said from the doorway, leaning against the jamb, his arms folded. Quentin blinked at him.

 “What are you wearing? Or more accurately, what did you put on me?”

 “Just a Fillorian outfit I had Tick bring me. You never dress like a king, Q . . . and look how nice you look!” Eliot gave a slow turn, showing off the black trousers that flared at the ankle, the black boots, the ivory shirt and dark blue blazer. A silver stick pin with Whitespire’s crest glittered on the blazer’s breast. Margo smiled.

 “You should let El dress you more often.”

 “Can we focus on—whatever it is we’re trying to teach me here?” Quentin complained, and Margo shook her head.

 “No more walking lessons: we need to move on to banqueting. Come on.” She took his hand and led him to the dining hall, where Tick had made up several different place settings.

 “As High King, you sit at the edge of the table.” She pulled out Eliot’s grand chair and tugged him into it as if the body he was inhabiting wasn’t more than a foot taller than her own. “Now, as king, you command over the proceedings.” She motioned to the place settings. “You’ve dined at a few banquets with us before, so you probably already know how to use all the silverware.”

 “Uhm. Well? Usually I just kind of—fake it. No one really notices me at those big parties.”

 “Well guess what, Coldwater, there’s going to be plenty of noticing now!” Margo pointed to the silverware. “You start at the outer edge with your clam fork. If we have escargot, you’ll have a fork with two tines, not four. No one will eat until you touch your food, and the courses change as you command. You’ll also lead the course of dinner conversation.”

 “Conversation?” Quentin balked. “Margo, you know that I’m not—”

 “I know, you’re a level 100 introvert with the social graces of a confused flour beetle.”

 “Rude!” Quentin frowned, and Margo pointed at him.

 “Yes! That’s the attitude I want to see during the banquet!”

 “But how am I supposed to possibly remember all this?” Quentin asked. Margo put a hand on his shoulder.

 “Don’t worry. I’ll be sitting at your right hand as High Queen, and you can always follow my lead. Just be imperious, confident, and commanding! That’s what King Idri will expect and it’s the only way we’re going to earn his respect and that treaty.”

 “Do you really think I can pull this off?” Quentin asked, and Margo and Eliot traded a glance over his head.

 “We know it’s not going to be easy,” Margo said at last. “But with a little work and some dumb luck, we’ll get through it.” She patted his shoulder. “For Fillory, Q.”

 “For Fillory,” he sighed.

 ***

 “You look every inch the High King of Fillory.”

 Margo stood next to Quentin as they looked in the mirror together. They’d dressed Eliot’s long, lean form in grey and black brocade edged with gilded stitching that gleamed and caught the light with every movement. Margo had arranged his jade crown just so, with a few errant yet artful curls tumbling onto his forehead. The black boots had been shined to a mirrorlike surface, and a chatoyant pendant hung around Eliot’s long, slender neck, bringing out the flecks of gold and amber in his eyes.

“As far as I know, High Kings don’t get stress diarrhea.” Quentin touched the pendant. Margo gave an amused scoff.

 “They kind of left that out of the Fillory books, didn’t they.”

 “Yeah.”

 “Q . . . I know this is hard, okay? But I know you can do it. El and I will be there, and we’ll do our best to try and get you through it.”

 “Thanks. I just . . . I’m not Eliot. I’m not what King Idri expects to see, and there’s a million ways I can fuck up or offend him!”

 “Let me tell you a secret about Eliot Waugh.” Margo led him over to a chair and pulled the vanity seat over to sit in front of him. “About 98 percent of Eliot’s confidence and bravado comes from that exact fear. The parties and dinners he’s thrown at the cottage—think about it, Q. Everything has to be right, and it has to go exactly as he plans it. So what does he do with that fear? He chases it into a corner, slaps a yoke around the fucker’s neck, and puts it to work. He lets it drive him. The perfection you see when you look at him—it’s a clever illusion. Of course, being as good-looking as he is helps—a lot—because some people appreciate surface details. So if you get stuck out there, just keep that in mind: being High King of Fillory is 90 percent attitude, i.e., looking you have control of your anal sphincter 24/7, and ten percent making your fear work in your favor. Got it?”

 “Uhm—yeah, I think so.”

 “No uhms!” Margo tapped the end of Eliot’s long nose with one manicured nail. Outside, in the hallway, a triumvirate of horns blew, announcing the start of the banquet.

 “Oh God,” Quentin groaned, and Margo tugged at his hand.

 “Sphincter control!” She hissed as she opened the bedroom door and slipped her arm through his. She wore a dress of fabric so light it almost seemed to dance as she moved. The colors changed with the light, iridescent blues, lavenders and seafoam, and the cut left her shoulders bare. Her crown glimmered.

 “I forgot to tell you—you look really pretty,” Quentin stage whispered as they entered the banquet hallway, and the corners of Margo’s cupid’s-bow lips turned upward as Eliot joined them, dressed in a dark blue Fillorian suit, Quentin’s tawny hair braided with gold filigree that gave Quentin pause—he’d never thought to do such a thing.

 “Thanks, Q.”

 “Presenting the Children of Earth, rulers of Fillory, its land, its oceans and people!” Tick announced as they stepped into the dining hall. “High King Eliot, High Queen Margo, and King Quentin!”

“Chin up, Q!” Margo whispered as they entered the room together. King Idri, a muscled, handsome black man in his middle age stood at the opposite end of the table, his complement around him. He caught and held Quentin’s eye and Quentin fought the urge to look away—eye contact topped the list of social constructs he despised—but finally Idri nodded and inclined his head. His people sat, and Tick cleared his throat.

 “We welcome King Idri of Loria and his most glorious complement! Ruler of the Organ Mountains, of the Crooked Forest, and the Cock Barrens!”

 Quentin bit the inside of his cheek as the urge to snort laughter all over everything rose in his throat. Margo squeezed his hand and he glanced over the assembly. Remembering Margo’s instruction, he sat and gestured for the others to do so as well. He avoided looking directly at Eliot, still housed in his body, as the visual was distracting and invited Quentin’s anxiety to build. Tick and his people began to bring out platters of food, and King Idri filled his plate.

 “This is quite a feast.”

 Quentin counted to five before replying to squash any pauses in his words.

 “We wanted to honor your visit and share the bounty of Fillory’s land and sea with you, your majesty.” Quentin glanced down at his silverware to see a clam fork on the outermost edge of the arrangement. Tick set a plate of fresh clams at his right hand and Quentin picked up the fork. “It’s not often we entertain people of such high renowned.” Quentin used the fork to open one of the clams as he spoke, but Eliot’s hands seemed to betray him. The clam squirted from his hand and he watched, wide-eyed, as it sailed across the table. Margo slapped the thing down before it could travel far and gave Quentin a brief but outraged glance. Idri, who was pulling chicken meat off the thigh he’d taken from the platter, hadn’t noticed the flying clam. Quentin dropped the clam fork and pulled a bowl of vegetable soup in front of him instead. “We—we’re very honored by your visit.”

 A noise escaped Quentin from nearby, a noise Margo recognized as Eliot’s ‘we’re fucked’ sigh. She glanced over and gave a slight shake of her head.

 Keep it together, El!

 “Ah, but is it our company or the treaty you desire, King Eliot?” Idri answered as he popped a piece of chicken into his mouth.

 “Can’t it be both? Especially when the treaty will benefit both our lands.”

 “I believe the benefits will be greater for Fillory,” Idri replied as he tore more chicken off a drumstick. “And as you know, my people are not entirely convinced about this royal family’s motives.”

 “Uhm—” Quentin’s eyes bugged as Margo kicked his shin under the table. “What I mean is—we’ll do all we can for Loria if you agree to the treaty. Isn’t it better to agree to peace rather than risk the well-being of our land and people with war?”

 “Perhaps. If I were concerned with losing such a war.”

 Quentin felt a tremor in his chest at the words, a kind of rumbling energy that responded to the veiled threat. He ate a few bites of soup and mentally scrambled for words.

 “It’s my view that war isn’t beneficial for anyone, no matter their might.”

 The older king made a show of ripping some stubborn tendons from his drumstick.

 “Kingdoms are made in such ways, High King Eliot.”

 “There are other ways to advance civilization!” Quentin replied, his tone teetering on annoyance.

 “What I think King Eliot means is—” Margo began, seeing Quentin’s ire in Eliot’s amber eyes, and Idri turned toward her.

 “You would speak for your king, and know his thoughts?” He nearly scoffed it, and Margo caught the narrowing of Quentin’s eyes: Eliot’s temper was on the rise.

 “Why don’t we all share some wine?” Eliot broke in. “King Eliot? We have that collection of earth wines that King Idri and his people might enjoy?”

 “Yes! Right, uh—wine! Tick, if you would?” Quentin asked, and Idri sat back in his chair, his expression suggesting he’d won the verbal spar.

 ***

 The banquet wore on. All the bottles of wine the royals had brought from earth were opened and consumed, and Quentin fought to maintain Eliot’s mannerisms as that odd sensation in his chest grew stronger with each passing hour. King Idri was as skilled with words as he was rumored to be with his sword, something Quentin’s mental wheelhouse wasn’t well equipped to handle. He drank wine to manage his anxiety and felt nothing but relief when Tick announced that the dessert course was ready. The servants poured more wine as four more brought an enormous layer cake from the kitchen. It was dressed in layers of yellow frosting and festooned with edible flowers. As the servants carried it in, Quentin winced as one of Idri’s people said something to the king and he boomed laughter that carried a mocking edge and picked at the fraying edges of Quentin’s temper. He closed his eyes.

 Barely thought the thought.

 The cake rose from its decorative tray, sailed across the room, and struck King Idri square in the face. Yellow frosting spattered onto the table, his chair, his people. The room went silent, horrified. Margo clapped a hand over her mouth and Eliot stared, Quentin’s face a mask of horror mixed with realization. Idri remained still until most of the cake fell from his face into his lap, where it stained his silken trousers.

 “Oh my God,” Quentin groaned, a sudden clarity gluing him to his seat. A memory echoed up, unbidden.

 And that’s how I found out I was telekinetic.

 Idri groped for his napkin and Quentin jumped to his feet before the other king could declare war on him and the rest of Fillory.

 “Your majesty, I . . .” Quentin fumbled for words. His anxiety jumped into the mental driver’s seat and popped the clutch. “This is all my fault, please, I’m not who you think I am, I tried—”

 Idri wiped his face clean and scowled.

 “Explain what you mean, King Eliot!”

 “There was an accident—some kind of magical surge at the fountain that brings us from the Neitherlands to Fillory. The truth is, I’m not High King Eliot. He is.” Quentin pointed to who everyone saw as himself, who currently had one hand over his face in a gesture of supreme disbelief. “And I’m King Quentin . . . uhm—the lesser king. That surge, it transferred our minds into each other’s bodies and we knew cancelling this banquet would’ve offended you and so we tried to make the best of it but Eliot has telekinesis—a natural kind of magic that I don’t know how to handle and—oh God I’m so sorry.”

 Silence filled the room as Idri took in the information, and then Idri’s dark eyes lit up as he began to laugh. Quentin, Margo and Eliot exchanged stunned glances as the big man continued to guffaw and wipe his face clean.

 “B-by Ember’s beard!” Idri said at last. “I knew there was something afoot but I couldn’t place it! Oh!” He chuckled and pointed at Quentin, then Eliot. “So you are he, and he . . .” More laughter. Quentin sighed.

 “I’m afraid so. Please King Idri, forgive us,” Quentin said. “Margo, can you cast Schak’s Cleansing Spell, please? I don’t really trust my casting after that.”

 “Sure.” Margo got to her feet.

 “King Idri, if I might ask, what did you find so amusing when I was sure you’d simply have us all slaughtered?” Eliot asked as Margo magically cleaned away the cake.

 “Your story of how the fountains caused you to switch bodies. The unpredictability of magic and the trouble it causes young magicians! When I was a young man, I thought it would be the pinnacle of romance to fill my intended’s bedchamber with roses. She loved them, you see. But the spell was too powerful for someone of my skill to control. Her parents’ home overflowed with roses. They filled every space, broke windows and doors, and even the roof! Her father had to help me reverse the spell—once I found the courage to admit it had been I who cast it.”

 “We tried to find a way to reverse it,” Quentin admitted. “But there was no time before the banquet and we didn’t want to offend you by calling it off.”

 “Your courage in the face of magic’s whims impresses me, King Quentin. And you too, High King Eliot, High Queen Margo. Come . . . I know of a spell that can repair what it has wrought, and once things are back in their proper order, we can go about signing that treaty.”

 ***

 “Hey . . . are you okay?”

 Quentin glanced up. Eliot stood in his bedchamber’s doorway, the usual grace back in his form, his consciousness back where it belonged, thanks to Idri.

 “Yeah El, I’m fine.” Quentin beckoned him in. “You?”

 “A bit of a headache, but nothing a few glasses of wine won’t help.” He handed Quentin a parchment. “Idri signed the treaty.”

 “And all it took was my frayed nerves and a telekinetic cake to the face. Who knew?” Quentin glanced over the document and signed it under Eliot’s name. Eliot pulled a chair over and sat down to face his friend.

 “Q . . . I want you to know that I’m really proud of how you handled King Idri.”

 “What? I fucked it all up! I used your telekinesis to shove a four-tier layer cake in his face!”

 “You did.” Eliot flashed him a grin. “And I honestly don’t blame you. He’s a total DILF but God he’s arrogant! But you handled yourself well before that, Q, and I wanted to let you know that Margo and I are really proud. We know how hard it must have been for you.”

 “What’s hard is being High King,” Quentin replied. “And maybe I don’t tell you often enough that I appreciate how difficult that is for you. Everyone wanting your attention, your ear, your thoughts . . . and there’s really nowhere you can escape from it. I guess I thought it was wine, fine food and the crown but . . .” Quentin shook his head. “There’s so much more to it, isn’t there.”

 “There is.”

 “I’m sorry I didn’t realize that before.”

 “You’re forgiven.” Eliot rose and tugged Quentin to his feet before sliding a long arm around his shoulders. “I had Tick order another cake from the royal baker—a little something special for the three of us. C’mon . . . I promise I won’t throw any at you.”

 “I’m never going to live that down, am I?” Quentin asked as they walked down the hallway together.

 “You should be proud of yourself, Q! After all, you introduced a famous historical ideal to the people of Fillory.”

 “I did? What?”

 “Let them eat cake!”

 FIN

[jilyyall]

Lily showing the marauders scary muggle movies. The classics. for a writing prompt. (Bonus points if one or more are scared as heck)

Thanks for the prompt! Sorry it took a while. I don’tactually watch many horror films and haven’t seen any of the classics (boo, Iknow), so I wasn’t sure what to do with this one. It’s not exactly what you asked for, but it’s the best I could do with hardlyany firsthand knowledge of horror films, and I was in the mood for some Siriusx Lily friendship. Also, I don’t usually write Wolfstar because they’re not oneof my ships, but these two requests sort of overlapped (including all of the Marauders), soI decided to combine them.I’m sorry if it’s not very good

Who’s Afraid of the Big Bad Vampire?

“You’re all cowards, the lot of you.” She was pouting, butshe didn’t really care. All she wanted was for her friends to come over to herhouse and watch some moderately terrifying Muggle films with her. Seeing asthey were all in bloody Gryffindor, she had thought it wouldn’t be much of abattle, yet here she was. Maybe she wasn’t being completely fair to all of them. Really, it was only Peterwho had outright refused to come over because he didn’t feel like being scared.

“You slept in the same room as a werewolf and lived in ahaunted castle for seven years, Pete.” James, who actually had a good reasonfor ditching her, said with a scoff, his arm slung casually over Lily’sshoulders as the five of them lounged in the living room of the flat he andSirius shared. “I don’t see why you’re afraid of a Muggle film.”

Across the room, Peter sputtered, indignant and embarrassed,into his bottle of Firewhiskey.

“Did you actually just use me as an example of a presenthorror in his life?” Remus eyed James over the book he was leafing through,legs dangling over the arm of the chair he was sprawled in, one hand stroking through Sirius’s hair where he sat on the floor in front of him.

“Have you ever had to deal with yourself on a full moon?”James asked.

Remus stared at James as if worried he had suddenly losthalf his brain. “It’s sort of the entire reason you lot got the insane idea tobecome illegal Animagi.”

“Exactly. So you understand. You are, actually, a bit of ahorror that time of the month.” James only grinned when Remus mimed chuckinghis book at him. Lily suspected that if she hadn’t been sitting practically inJames’s lap Remus would have actually thrown the book.

“Something you have in common, eh?” Sirius joked, wagglinghis eyebrows at her from across the room. When she turned to glower at him, he rolled his eyes. “Can no onetake a damn joke today?”

“My parents are going out of town and no one wants to comekeep me company while I watch stupid horror films.” Lily frowned, feelingJames’s grip on her tighten, and turned to him. “I thought for sure that you,of all people, would leap at the chance.”

“Lily, I want to come over, believe me.” There was a heat inhis gaze that told her that, yes, he definitely did want to come over and takeadvantage of her parents going on holiday without her. “It’s just that Ialready promised Mum I’d go with her to her check-up at St. Mungo’s. You knowever since Dad died she doesn’t like going anywhere alone.”

She kissed his cheek, a gentle brush of her lips against hisflesh, and the disappointment softened into quiet adoration on her face. “Iknow.”

“I just don’t feel like watching Dracula for the third time,” Remus told her, moving on quickly, ashe usually did, from being offended.

“Yeah, if you picked a different movie…” Peter allowed hissuggestion to trail off hopefully.

“It’s October, though!” Lily frowned, looking around theroom. When she only got blank stares back, she rolled her eyes. Bunch of bloody wizards. “Halloweentime! It’s Muggle tradition to watch horror films when Halloween nears!”

“Not to worry, Evans. I’m not afraid of Muggle horrors. I’llbe there,” Sirius vowed. “I’m not a coward like the rest of them!”

—-

If Lily wasn’t mistaken, Sirius seemed to be presentlyregretting agreeing to come keep her and her horror films company. If only heweren’t so damn proud he might actually admit he was a bit afraid.

“There’s someone in the house!” he exclaimed, eyes wide. Theglow from the television in the otherwise dark living room lit up his face andwould have made him look almost spooky if he weren’t so ethereal. “I’m tellingyou, there’s someone in the house!”

“Yeah, two someones.” Lily rolled her eyes and pointed athim, then at herself. “You. And me.”

“No, Evans! Someoneother than the two of us!” he said. There was a quiet thud and he turned toface her, all triumph and poorly-disguised terror. “See? That wasn’t me, and itwasn’t you. Someone. is. in. the. house.”

Lily laughed and shoved him away when he leaned in closer toher. “You’re not trying to scare me into your arms, are you? And here I thoughtyou would never betray James and Remus like that.”

Sirius’s face contorted at the suggestion and he surged awayfrom her quickly, his eyebrows drawing together, eyes narrowing, nosewrinkling, mouth puckering. If she hadn’t been joking, known just how unlikelyit was for Sirius to ever even consider the idea of seeing her as anythingother than his best friend’s girl, she would be offended by the look of puredisgust on his face. Instead, it only made her laugh harder, seeing him crowdedinto the corner of the couch, not wanting to be too far away from her for thesudden unwelcome fear of the bump in the night but also not wanting to be toonear her for fear of being misread.

“I’m only kidding, idiot.” Since he was suddenly out ofarm’s reach, she aimed an affectionate kick at his thigh. “Look, if this is tooscary for you, we can change it.”

“No!” Sirius shouted, lunging forward to grab the remote controlbefore she could. “I’m not afraid, okay? I’m in Gryffindor. I’m the only one ofmy useless mates who was brave enough to come watch these scary Muggle films.”

“Remus has already seen them all,” Lily reminded him. “Andthe only reason James isn’t here is because he had to take his mum to herappointment.”

“They didn’t want to be scared,” Sirius insisted. “Which I’mnot, by the way.”

Lily arched one prim brow. Sirius frowned and sighed.

“Look, the first one… that… bloody hack-em-up film… thatdidn’t scare me, right? What’s a bit of blood and gore? But this… this isfreaky! I don’t like it!” He crossed his arms and stared at the wall next tothe television, hoping that maybe she wouldn’t notice he wasn’t actuallywatching the film. “But I’m notscared.”

“Why is Dracula freaky?”Lily asked.

“Because I don’t actually know any vampires personally and,for all I know, they could actually be like this!” he said, angling himself sothat he was facing her and not the television. “Murderous, blood-crazed, hypnotizingmonsters who take advantage of the people they don’t kill!”

Lily laughed, rolled her eyes, and returned her attention tothe television. Reluctantly, Sirius mirrored her position, only occasionallyglancing at the film and trying to block out the dialogue. They were quiet forseveral minutes, Sirius doing his best to ignore the film and Lily actuallyseeming to enjoy it.

There was another quiet thud and Sirius turned to studyLily, who didn’t look away from the television. He frowned and glanced aroundcautiously, gripping his wand tight in his pocket. “Did you hear that?”

“Hear what?” Lily asked.

He studied her more closely, noticed the innocent look onher face, thought to himself, wait, shedoesn’t usually look all that innocent even when she is innocent. Hefrowned and pointed one finger at her. “Evans, I swear to Merlin, if you’remessing with me, I’ll…”

When he trailed off, she raised one eyebrow.

“You’ll what?” she asked slowly. It was a clear challenge.

“Hex you,” he said bravely, knowing that he could nevermanage it.

Lily laughed and shook her head. “You won’t.”

“Oh, and what makes you so sure?” he asked, even though shewas right. Keeping her talking was distracting her from the fact that he was nolonger pretending to be interested in the movie. The only problem was that hewas fairly certain she knew what he was doing and that only made him moresuspicious.

“Because I’ll hex you right back, and Sirius?” She smiledsweetly, but her wand was suddenly in her hand, twirling loosely and impressivelythrough her fingers. “You’ve never managed to beat me in a duel.”

“There’s a first for everything,” he said, but didn’t botherdrawing his own wand. The fact that he almost certainly couldn’t beat her wasonly one of the reasons he didn’t try. The other was… well, she knew that oneas well.

“Besides,” she continued as if he hadn’t even spoken. “Jameswould kill you if you hexed me.”

And there it was, the other predominant reason he wouldnever attack her; James would never forgivehim. There was also the fact that he actually quite liked Lily –she was one ofhis best friends and he genuinely enjoyed her presence even when James wasn’taround – and he didn’t want to ever see her hurt.

“You’d kill him if he took it upon himself to avenge you.” Hespoke with the confidence of one who had witnessed several rows on the point.

It had long since been determined that Lily Evans could takecare of herself and most certainly did not need James Potter to step in forher.

“And then you’d both be dead,” Lily said airily. “And youdon’t want that, do you?”

Sirius pretended to think it over, but was really justdragging the moment out to extend this little reprieve from having to focus onthe blood-thirsty potentially realistic monsteron the screen.

“Well, we could always not tell h—“ he broke off with a garbled scream,fumbling to draw his wand from his pocket, when a tall, pale figure in drabgarb appeared in the doorway. “I fucking told you?!”

Another figure, this one masked, appeared outside the window,making Sirius jump. His head swiveled to and fro, trying to watch both thefigure creeping towards him from the doorway and the one watching from thewindow. When a third figure crept up behind him and grabbed Sirius’s shouldersroughly, he shrieked, a dozen curses half-formed on his tongue, and Lilylaughed.

Sirius froze, recognizing the familiar scent of chocolateand warm, soothing tea, and a different sort of cursing rent the air aroundhim. With a flick of her wand, a cackling Lily turned the lights on to revealthe pale, creeping figure in the doorway to be James, and the one currentlybruising Sirius’s shoulders to be, as suspected, Remus. With a soft crack, the masked figure outside thewindow appeared between Sirius and Lily on the couch; Sirius tore the mask fromhis face to glare at Peter.

The room was full of laughter and if he hadn’t been soshaken from the unfamiliar terror that had just coursed through his body, hewould have joined in.

“What the hell is wrong with you all?” he asked hoarsely,looking around the room. He had to crane his head back to look up at Remus, whohad yet to relinquish his hold.

It seemed that Remus, who was laughing nearly as hard asLily, was using Sirius’s shoulders to remain upright. It was so rare to seethat mirth on Remus’s face that it almost made Sirius not care that his ownboyfriend had plotted to frighten him. Almost.

“We got sick of all your posturing, mate,” James said,struggling to contain his laughter as he fell practically on top of Lily on thecouch. “About being a true Gryffindor.”

“I’m not afraid of alittle Muggle film,” Peter said in what was, truly, a terrible impressionof Sirius’s voice. “I’m not afraid ofanything at all. I’m a Gryffindor.”

“I think he was a little afraid, wasn’t he?” Remus managed.

“There’s someone in the house!” Lily shrieked.

“You’re all assholes. I wasn’t scared.” Sirius pouted,shoving to his feet and turning to face them all. “And you look ridiculous. Isthat make-up, Prongs?”

“Stage make-up,” James corrected him. “And Lily likes it,don’t you, love?”

She shrieked with laughter and shoved him away when he triedto kiss her. “Get away from me! You look horrid!”

Remus straightened up from where he had stumbled into thecouch when Sirius had abruptly stood up and moved to join him in the center ofthe room.

“You can admit you were scared,” Remus said, pulling Siriusdown on the loveseat and pressing a lingering kiss under his jaw. “We all loveyou here.”

“Yeah, but we’ll still judge you,” Peter added, prompting aone-finger salute from Sirius, who was quickly growing distracted by Remus’swandering hands.

He lasted all of a minute before he forgot he was poutingand embarrassed, and leaned in to kiss Remus full on the mouth, his armswrapping around the back of Remus’s neck to pull him close.

“Let’s get out of here,” Remus said, panting when theyparted.

“Best idea you’ve had all night,” Sirius said, and then theywere gone.

James and Peter were still snickering when Lily turned tothem, a brick-shaped object in her hand. “Want to watch a film with me?” sheoffered with a bright smile.

“No horror!” Peter said loudly, on the verge on whining whenshe smiled wickedly.

“No, no, no. This is Bambi,”Lily said gently. “It’s a cartoon. About deer.”

“I’m all for it!” James actually looked quite interested.When she patted his knee, he frowned. “Oh God, I’m going to hate it, aren’t I?”