#obviously half of the side chars in the shows are way more famous now but they were pretty early roles for most of them

[georgieluz]

the homosexual urge to gatekeep masters of the air from anyone not in the hbo war fandom

[5-falsehoods-phonated]

Four Years and Counting

A gift fic for @vindicatedvirgil! I hope you enjoy the soft Virgil bonding content^-^

Summary: Virgil just wanted to make a surprise breakfast when Janus and Remus show up and interrupt him. He ends up being grateful for the intrusion. Familial holiday fluff.

Ships: Familial DRLAMP

Warnings: food and holiday mention. Ask to tag others!

WC: 1809

Four years.

Virgil grinned in the darkness as he crept silently down the hall towards the stairs. It had been four years since he had done this the first time, sneaking down to the kitchen to grab snacks before the light sides would wake up to start their holiday celebrations. He had shut himself up in his room- pointedly ignoring Patton’s tentative “Merry Christmas, Logan’s straightforward knock, Roman’s stomping footsteps; even Janus and Remus Visit had gone ignored as he simply turned up the music and buried himself further in his blanket nest, so sure that if he would come out no one would really want him around or he’d be passively persuaded to go back to the dark sides territory where he belonged.

The subsequent years had gotten easier, especially after he had been accepted. He still snuck down to get snacks and a couple of Logan’s famous peanut butter cookies before retreating to his room and waiting for someone to urge him down the stairs for breakfast, still not entirely convinced he was actually wanted. This year though, this was the first year he was coming down the stairs at five in the morning for reasons other than sneaking snacks under his mattress and shoving a couple water bottles behind the dresser. This year he was coming down, phone shoved in his pocket and one headphone in playing softer music as he made his way carefully down the steps, knowing just where to plant his feet so as to not make a sound. This year he knew he wouldn’t be doing anything unwelcome or stepping on anyone toes if he made breakfast for everyone. This year he knew Roman would smile and Logan would brush their fingers and Patton would ruffle his hair and they’d sit down and be a family. 

His smile turned bitter for a moment before he shook his head and continued forwards, mentally ticking off the ingredients he’d need to gather to make what he was planning, hoping to everything emo related he could make it right even if he didn’t have the most experience baking out of all of them. That honor oddly went to Logan, who’s precise nature led to the least amount of fires being accidentally (or on purpose in Remus’ case) being started in the kitchen. Patton and Roman tried but they definitely needed supervision when it came to making food. Virgil shuddered at the thought of charred to a crisp lighter-fluid flavored hot dogs having been made as recently as this past July. 

Moving to the fridge he grabbed out the butter to soften before puffing out a breath and looking around the kitchen to figure out where the rest of the ingredients would be kept. It took him a few minutes but eventually everything was set out surrounding a large mixing bowl. Apparently dumping the flour straight into the bowl wasn’t the way to go as he quickly turned to sneeze it out of his nose, stilling and listening for any sign he may have woken anyone up. Breathing out a sigh of relief as he heard nothing he turned back around and prompty shrieked before clapping the hand previously holding the measuring cup over his mouth while said cup bounced harmlessly off of Remus’ forehead. The side didn’t react at all, not even blinking as he took in the ingredients on the counter he was currently perched on.

“Watcha doin’ Virgin?”

“Remus what the fuck get off the counter!” Virgil hissed, ignoring the nickname in favor of shooing the other off his space.

Simply levitating a few inches Remus stayed where he was still gesturing to everything laid out. “I didn’t know you baked, you never did when you lived with us!”

“Because this,” Virgil gestured to the now pouting creativity. “Would have been a regular occurrence and I was not equipped to handle you at six in the morning. Now get the hell off the counter so I can make these in relative peace-”

“Remus how many times have I told you to grab and go, the others will be down soon and I do not need another speech telling me that we aren’t-”

Janus’ voice cut through the kitchen abruptly, making Virgil swallow down an instinctive hiss as he stared at the deceitful side who now stood stock-still in the doorway taking in the counter space and Remus’ hovering, coming back to rest on Viril’s conflicted face. “I didn’t rea;ize- usually you’re gone by now.”

Virgil raised an eyebrow. “Stalker much? And what do you mean ‘grab and go’? What have you been taking?”

Janus sniffed indignantly and tugged his gloves further up his wrists. “Logan’s cookies are something Remus and I refuse to miss because of some idiotic grudge the ‘Light Sides’ have against us. And if you say anything against us taking some you are a raging hypocrite since you snuck in here to do the same thing years before you were even known about.”

Smushing his mouth to one side of his face Virgil looked down for a moment to take in the knowledge that the others had been doing the same thing as him for a taste of familial normalcy for as long, if not longer than he had. His thoughts were interrupted however by a quiet squeal from Remus.

“Gingerbread pancakes? You can make those?!”

Virgil turned back to him. “I don’t know yet, I was interrupted before I even started.”

“Well we wouldn’t want to interrupt you further. We’ll come by at a later time, come on Remus.”

The darker aspect pouted once again as he finally got off the counter and dragged his feet towards Janus, muttering something about comparing batters which Virgil dutifully extracted from his brain. Taking a breath He reached out a hand and tugged on Remus' somewhat greasy sleeve.

“If you guys wanna- stay...and help...I could probably use it.” He met Janus’ eyes very briefly before dropping his hand, anxiety spiking minutely as he shuffled awkwardly in place. “Only if you want to, obviously.”

Remus bounced back to his former position but now closer to the ceiling, grinning wolfishly as Janus hesitated before stepping into the room fully. “I don’t know that the other’s-”

“It’s the holidays Janus. Just- set the table while I figure out how to mix this up.” So saying Virgil turned his back and turned his phone back on to go down to the steps in the recipe, holding his breath until he saw Janus grab a stack of plates while snapping quietly at Remus and mouthing “Down now” making Virgil roll his eyes fondly. He had missed this; though their dynamic wasn’t as easy as it once was they were still learning and Virgil- was more willing to take steps than he had been previously. They both still pissed him off to no end the majority of the time but he figured that was pretty normal for them at least. He could handle making pancakes with them in the room as long as Remus left the batter alone.

Some time later the batter was mixed, Remus now resided on top of the fridge swinging his legs joyfully while he licked the whisk and Janus was dutifully ignoring him in favor of brewing strong coffee with the occasional exasperated sigh. Virgil grinned as he flipped the next pancake for the stack feeling surprisingly at ease in the kitchen. The pancakes smelled great and he had only burned one so far which Remus had swallowed whole as soon as it had come off the griddle, getting an earful from Janus that was promptly shrugged off. The others would be waking up to pancakes and coffee soon and hopefully wouldn’t blink at the extra company this morning and there was barely any mess to clean up since Janus couldn’t seem to figure out hoe to sit still. It would be a good morning, he told himself. It was the holidays, it had to be a good morning.

“Good morning , Remus. Janus. Virgil.”’ Virgil squawked surprise at Logan’s entrance, having not heard him over Remus’ chatter over something or other he wasn’t inclined to pay attention to. Logan didn’t bat an eye at the extra company, simply getting out the appropriate amount of mugs and setting about making everyone’s coffee. Virgil grinned weakly as Logan turned to him, pointedly dismissing Remus dumping half a container of garlic seasoning into his mug and Janus smacking him in the back of the head for it. “Are you in need of any assistance?”

“I uh- no, I think I'm good L, thanks though.” He eyed the generous stack of pancakes on the counter. “I’ll be done with these soon so-”

“Wha-”

“Oh!”

Roamn and Patton stood still in the doorway taking in the sight of everyone already gathered around the stove, Virgil wielding the spatula defensively as he glanced around nervously. Thankfully Patton broke the silence first, grinning happily through his confusion and sitting at the table so he wouldn’t be in the way.

“I didn’t know you’d be making breakfast,this is such a nice thing to wake up to!’ Janus and Logan distributed the coffee with Roman and Remus found their seats, the latter staying surprisingly civil even as Roman eyed his twin wearily for any weapons he was almost never seen without. Virgil shrugged and placed the last pancake on the stack, turning off the griddle and placing the stealing plate in the middle of the table. 

“I thought it’d be a nice change from hiding in my room all day.” He winced at his wording but no one paid it any mind, grabbing for the sweet smelling cakes before they cooled. Patton hooked an arm around his waist in a quick side hug before he sat down, making him smile and lean into Patton’s shoulder a bit before getting his own stack and smothering it in syrup.

“These are delicious Virgil!” Janus complimented warmly, his usual cool put togetherness slightly ruined with syrup smeared across his face.

“These are really good cringerbread-man, you should make breakfast more often.” Roman winked at him playfully letting him know he was only teasing and Virgul relaxed as the table dissolved into easy banter, Remus getting smacked in the face with a pancake at one point that started a small food fight between the twins, Logan leaning back slightly while reading something on his phone and showing it to Janus as a pancake narrowly avoided the side of his head. As chaotic as everything was he found himself being grateful for it as his old family and his new family came together to become one big one. As cheesy as it sounded he couldn’t be more grateful that his fourth year being accepted was turning out to be the best one yet.

Hey the pancakes are actually a recipe!

[today-we-will-survive]

moodboard by @snowflakeu25

The Very Best

Pairing: trainer!Jungkook x trainer!Reader ft. Chikorita and Charmander

Genre: Pokemon!au, fluff, crack

Word Count: 1.9K

A/N: This is the last of my Pokemon!AU series! I hope you all enjoyed it 💜

“What do you say, Charmander, should we stop for lunch?”

“Char!”

You smile fondly down at the little, fire-type Pokémon. It’s been with you since before the beginning of your trainer journey almost nine years ago. Even though Professor Oak gave you the chance to choose one of the three newer starter Pokémon, you were adamant that you keep your Charmander as your companion.

The two of you are making your way through the Viridian Forest. You came through hurriedly your first time around when you were eager to get to Pewter City, but now that you’re long past battling in the Pokémon League, you’ve doubled back for more of a leisurely stroll.

You love the forest. How green it is. How you can hear the calls of the grass, bug and flying Pokémon all around you even though you can’t see them. You’ve stopped in a small clearing, the blue sky cloudless above you.

“I think this is a good spot,” you say before settling down in the grass and pulling your bag off your back.

Last time you were here, you were so bent on filling your Pokédex with new Pokémon that you never really stopped to just listen to the forest. But now you do.

Charmander chirps contentedly beside you as you pull a sandwich, some fruit, and a thermos of tea out of your pack. Its eyes settle on a shiny, red apple and it chirps again. With a laugh, you push the fruit toward it.

Two bites into your lunch and a new sound joins the ones surrounding you. Your sandwich hovers in front of your mouth as your ears strain to make sense of what you’re hearing.

I wanna be the very best like no one ever was…

You glance down to see if Charmander has noticed too but the Pokémon is happily munching away on the apple you gave it. Then you look up, your eyes scanning the trees as the singing grows louder.

I will travel across the land, searching far and wide…

Now you find yourself getting to your feet, abandoning your sandwich in favor of squinting into the breaks between the trees. At last an obnoxious Hawaiian print shirt comes into view.

“Pokémon, gotta catch em—oh!”

You stare at the boy that has just marched into the clearing. His doe eyes widen at the sight of you, the lower half of his face covered by a white mask. You cock your head to the side. Why in the world was he traipsing through the forest singing to himself? Your Charmander is still completely preoccupied having finished its apple and is now chowing down on the sandwich you discarded. You don’t notice though as you continue to peer at the stranger. Finally, you open your mouth to speak.

“Were you just—”

“Maybe,” he says cutting you off.

“So…what are you doing?”

“I’m on my way to the Pewter City Gym to get my Boulder badge.”

“Boulder badge?” you ask surprised. “How old are you?”

“Eighteen.”

Just a year younger than you. “You’re eighteen and just now getting your badges?”

The boy clenches his fists at his sides. “I started a bit late,” he says.

No kidding.

“Besides,” he adds. “I’ve been spending a lot of time training up my Chikorita to be the best, strongest Pokémon in all of Kanto.”

You glance down at your Charmander that has finally finished your sandwich and is now standing beside you, looking at the boy with an expression to match your own.

“Best, strongest Pokémon, huh?” you ask folding your arms.

“That’s right,” the boy says. “In fact, I bet my Chikorita is stronger than your Charmander!”

Now you and your Pokémon exchange an amused look. A grass type stronger than a fire type? Even if Chikorita was a higher level—which is pretty unlikely—it wouldn’t stand a chance.

“Listen, uh…”

“JK,” the boy says quickly, his hands still clenched.

“Listen, JK, I don’t know that it would be a—”

“You afraid I’m gonna beat you?” he interrupts.

You let out an incredulous laugh. “Afraid? Not at all, I just don’t think you know what you’re getting yourself into,” you say.

“I know what I’m doing. In fact, I challenge you to a battle!”

Oh this poor, naive boy. You look back down at your Charmander again and it chirps back at you with a shrug of its shoulders.

“Well,” you say, flashing a smile back at JK. “If it’s a battle you want, it’s a battle you’ll get.”

The two of you are standing on opposite sides of the clearing, the amused smile on your face a stark contrast to JK’s own determined frown. Even though you can’t see his mouth, you can imagine it’s turned down in a grimace. Your Charmander stands several yards ahead of you and the two of you watch as the opposing trainer unclips a Pokéball from his belt and clicks the middle button to enlarge it.

“Go, Chikorita!” he yells as he throws the ball into the center of the clearing.

The familiar sound and white light bursts from the ball and in seconds, a Chikorita materializes in front of JK. Its own red eyes are set in a concentrated stare, one to match its trainer’s.

“Alright, well,” you say. “May as well get this show on the ro—”

“Chikorita, hit em with your Razor Leaf!”

What? You watch in surprise as the opposing Pokémon leaps into action, a throng of sharp looking leaves shooting from its back and heading right toward Charmander.

“Charmander, dodge!” you yell once you break out of your stupor. You definitely didn’t expect him to attack so quickly before you could even discuss the rules of the battle—ie. how many Pokémon you could use, whether there should be limits or restrictions etc.

Looks like he just wanted to get straight to it. Fine. If that’s how he wants to play, that’s how you’ll play.

“Charmander, be a dear and use flamethrower,” you say calmly, a sly smirk pulling a corner of your mouth up.

Charmander shifts on its feet, wiggling its tail mischievously before lurching forward and shooting a blaze of fire from its open mouth straight at the Chikorita. You watch JK’s expression as his eyes go impossibly wider. When the flames clear, Chikorita has the same astonished look on its soot-covered face. Then with a dramatic cough, it sways and falls to the ground in a slightly charred heap.

“What?” JK shrieks.

“Here’s the thing, JK,” you say stepping forward until you’re standing next to Charmander. “Grass type are weak against fire. As a trainer, you should have known that.”

The boy pulls his Pokéball back out and returns his fainted Pokémon to it. “I just thought my Chikorita would be strong enough. I’ve been training it for a while now.”

“Sometimes that doesn’t matter. It’s all about having a variety of Pokémon to battle with. What else do you have?”

“Uh…” JK reaches up to scratch the back of his neck. “Chikorita is kind of…it.”

“What?”

“Char?!”

“You have one Pokémon?” you ask.

“Well, I figured if I trained it up and made it really strong, I wouldn’t need any other Pokémon,” JK says defensively. “Give me a break, I’m still figuring this all out!”

You stare at him in disbelief. “You’re eighteen and just now becoming a trainer?”

JK frowns. “Hey, I’ve been busy!”

“Doing what?!”

“It doesn’t matter!”

“Obviously it does if it’s kept you from learning the basics of Pokémon!”

By this time Charmander is craning its head back and forth, following your argument like a tennis match.

“What I’ve been doing is none of your business!”

“If you’re traipsing around calling yourself a trainer and giving us all a bad name it is!” you yell back.

“Fine!” JK growls then reaches up, rips the mask off his face and throws it on the ground at his feet.

As he looks up to meet your eyes again, you feel your own widen, your breath catching in your throat. Now, this is something you definitely did not expect.

“You’re Jungkook.” you say.

The boy nods.

“Like from BTS.”

“Yeah,” he utters.

You’re horrified. This boy that you just annihilated and then proceeded to yell at is the same one whose face is plastered all over your bedroom walls at your parents’ house. “Wh-what are you doing in Kanto?”

“Extended vacation,” Jungkook says looking down at his hands. “We’re taking a few months off before we go on our next tour and I’ve always wanted to become a Pokémon trainer so I thought this would be a good time to try it out.”

At that, you unfreeze. “Try it out?” you ask and fold your arms across your chest. “Being a Pokémon trainer isn’t really something you just try out.”

“When else would I get the chance to do something like a normal person?” he asks.

He has a point and now you feel even worse. Add “reminding him that he’s never going to be able to live a normal life” to the list of jerk moves you’ve made in the past twenty minutes.

“You’re right,” you say dropping your arms again. “I’m sorry. This whole thing just caught me off guard.”

“It’s okay,” he says shyly.

The two of you are quiet, looking at each other as you wait for the other to speak again. You still can’t believe Jeon Jungkook is standing in front of you. Not only is BTS your absolute favorite band, but Jungkook is your bias. To see him here in the flesh is about as unbelievable as it gets. You’re tempted to reach up and pinch yourself but you’ve already made enough of a fool of yourself. At last, your fire Pokémon that has been standing beside you watching this whole thing happen nudges you with its paw. You snap out of your thoughts, breaking eye contact to look down at your Charmander. It tilts its head to the side and trills softly. The thing ate an apple and the rest of your sandwich yet it still looks hungry. Your own stomach rumbles and you throw your arms around your middle to try and muffle the sound. Didn’t work. Jungkook’s mouth twitches up into a smirk and you feel your ears grow hot.

“Uh, would you happen to want to grab some lunch in Viridian City?” you ask the idol. “I mean, since you’re already headed to Pewter City and it’s on the way.”

Jungkook’s smirk stretches further into that famous bunny grin you’ve only ever seen through a screen and you feel yourself physically swoon.

“Sure,” he says with a sheepish nod. “But I might need to stop a couple times on the way.”

You look at him questioningly as Charmander scampers back to retrieve your bag.

“Well, I mean, I need to build up my Pokémon cache, right?”

“True,” you say with a smile and take your bag from your Charmander. You sling it over your back and make your way over to Jungkook. As you pass him, you give his shoulder a playful nudge, turning him around so the three of you can start heading down the path again. “Gotta catch em all, right?” You ask with a wink.

Jungkook lets out a mortified groan and you can’t help but giggle.

[r5h]

Little Witch Academia: Falling Stars

EPISODE 2: HOW TO MEET YOUR HEROES (PART 1)

AO3 LINK

PREVIOUS CHAPTER

NEXT CHAPTER

The dragon swooped down low over the students assembled in the Great Hall, and they screamed with fear.

But Chariot stood proud upon the stage. “Noctu Orfei! Audin Fraetor!” Her wand transformed into a magnificent bow, and she pulled the drawstring back. “Shiny… Arc!”

The arrow shot forward, piercing the dragon. It swelled comically, then exploded into a shower of lights, and the witches below cheered. All of them, even the ones who’d looked unimpressed at the start.

“Never forget,” she declared, “to believe in yourself! That is your magic!” She wove her wand again and disappeared into a vortex of light, which swirled away to nothing.

“Well, well, that was truly splendid!” Headmistress Holbrooke called out. “Let’s all give a big round of applause to one of our most famous and beloved teachers, Professor Chariot, for making this a very special convocation ceremony!”

The sound of clapping hands crashed like thunder.

Behind the curtain, Chariot sucked in huge breaths through gritted teeth. Her head was light, her eyes wide and strained, and she sagged to the ground against a nearby wall. All those people—missing their magic—

Shut up, she told herself. It wasn’t real, not this time.

But her blood pounded all the same, mingling with the cheers, the screams. She saw their smiling faces, saw little lights coming out of their chests—lights being stolen from their hearts, burning up—

“Pulse: elevated.”

Her head whipped up to see the floating red disk, whirring at her eye level. Out of it came a voice that was human, though still clipped. Sharp enough to cut through all the pounding. “Breathing: fast, irregular, increasingly shallow. Pupils: dilated. Diagnosis: panic attack.”

A hologram burst out from the top of the disk: Professor Croix, with her usual red cloak bundled around her. She was reading some sort of translucent display, but after a moment she waved it away. “These droids can be awfully redundant sometimes.”

Chariot tried to force a laugh, but it came out as more an exhalation. “Croix.” These rapid breaths were still coming.

“You did great.” Croix flashed her a smile. Light flickered across her face, suggesting she was near a fire. “It’s okay. No one got hurt, no Dream Fuel Spirits stole anyone’s magic. Not even actually using the Shiny Rod, just stage trickery. You did great. Deep breaths.”

Another flying roomba hovered close and beeped in a reassuring way. Chariot clutched it to her torso. It was comfortingly hot to the touch, and Chariot felt her breathing slowing down, if only a little. This felt real.

“Is that helping?” Croix asked, kneeling and leaning forward, her disk hovering closer. “It ought to be helping.”

“Yes. Yes it is.” Chariot took a shuddering breath, willing her heart to slow. “I can’t believe I let Headmistress Holbrooke talk me into this. I swore I’d never do another show, not after….”

“The moon?” Croix stood up and walked away, though her disk remained stationary, as though she were on a treadmill. She pushed open the flap of, presumably, a tent, and looked out at what had to be the sky—not that Chariot could see that through the hologram. “You know,” Croix said slowly, “I think I like it better this way.”

“Stop.” Blood pounding, hard enough she could hear it. Or was that the applause?

“I mean, the United States government is still furious with you for knocking over the flag, but that’s not exactly illegal. I think.” Croix shrugged. “Then again, what do I know about law? No one’s pressed charges against me yet.”

“Stop!” Chariot said, biting on her tongue.

Croix’s demeanor instantly changed from confidence to fear. “I’m sorry! I thought we were bantering! I…. Your show was great. Sorry to bring that up.”

“No, I’m sorry.” Chariot shook her head and forced herself to stand up. Still clutching the second disk to herself, she walked toward the back of the backstage and pulled open the drapes.

The moon greeted her, huge in the sky. The moon she’d put a scar in ten years ago. How hilarious: all those years, she’d dreamed of making her mark….

And she had made it, she reminded herself, clutching the disk tight. Akko and Diana were in the audience, and they’d cheered loudest of all. The school had more students now than in the previous thousand years. Magic was back.

“It was a good show,” she murmured to herself. Next to her, Alcor flew in and landed on the sill, and she patted him on the head. He felt real too.

Croix’s disk floated over beside her. Croix smiled, looking her in the eye.

“Where are you?” Chariot asked, smiling back, fighting down the panic and winning for once. “Last time we talked you were in Egypt, and then I got caught up preparing for the convocation… I wish I could have made more time these past few days to chat.”

“It wouldn’t have been that interesting anyway. I haven’t made much progress, I’m afraid.” Croix’s sigh quavered as she shivered. “And the Arabian desert, since you asked. These nights can get cold.”

Chariot hugged the warming disk a little closer to her body, and laughed a little. “Physician, heal thyself.”

“Good idea, but I want to conserve my droids’ power out here as much as possible.” Croix’s hologram flickered. She walked back toward the fire in her tent and sat down, wrapping her cloak tighter around herself. “Even after Yggdrasil came back, there’s some places where magic’s still thin on the ground, and I’ve walked into a dead zone here.”

“You know you don’t have to do this for me, right?” Chariot said, staring out the window. “I love that you are, but… you know I don’t resent you for any of it anymore. Not the Shiny Rod, not the Dream Fuel Spirit, not Wagandea. That’s all in the past.”

“Thanks, but that’s nonsense.” Croix sat cross-legged, her chin resting on her hands as her elbows pressed on her legs. She stared into the fire in front of her. “The past doesn’t stay in the past. It just keeps going until it becomes the present. You haven’t forgiven yourself either, have you?”

Chariot had no reply there. She just kept staring out the window, out at the cross-scarred moon.

“Yeah. So I’m going to find a cure for your curse.”

“While traveling the world. And continuing to be a professor at the most prestigious magical academy in Europe.” Chariot shook her head, a small smile on her lips.

“And making time to chat, don’t forget.” Croix looked up and winked.

“When do you sleep?”

“I don’t need much.”

“You mean you don’t get much.” Chariot rolled her eyes and turned to Croix. “It’s after midnight where you are, isn’t it, Croix? Get some rest.”

She leaned in for a hug, but the hologram fizzled as Chariot’s arms went right through it. After a moment to realize, she pulled away, and looked down. “Sorry,” she said. “I… wish you were here.”

“I’ll always be there for you.” Croix smiled, and tapped the ground at her side. “And here for you, too. Isn’t modern magic great?”

“Only as great as the witch using it.” Chariot put on another smile. “Good night, Croix.”

“Good night, Chariot.” Croix reached to her side and grabbed a cup of ramen; then the hologram fizzled out. The disk which had been projecting it floated away.

Chariot sighed and looked out at the moon again, still holding Croix’s other disk in a hug. The moon was beautiful. It was the same moon Croix could see, thousands of miles away.

For a moment, something else in the sky caught her gaze, and she frowned. Something about the arrangement of the stars….

Then she yawned, and turned away from the window. Alcor hopped onto her shoulder as she walked. She was tired, and classes were tomorrow and she hadn’t even eaten yet. Time for an early dinner and an early bed.

“Char, get up!”

“Nnnnn. Too early….”

“It is eight o’clock in the morning, which is a perfectly reasonable time for any young witch to wake. So get up!”

“Go away. Let me die here.”

“Not funny!”

Mani and Tiff each grabbed one of Char’s arms and heaved her up—from the bottom bunk. She had demanded Tiff switch with her the previous night, with some explanation about gravitational potential energy, and from there there had been a general reshuffling. Tiff had gotten the top bunk, and Mani had the large bed.

Char moaned, then glanced at the sun streaming through the window and hissed like a vampire. “Put me back.”

“Magical Astronomy is in an hour, and we need to eat first. So no, we will not put you back.” Tiff shook herself and released Char, who at least wasn’t trying to fall back into bed. Apparently, trying to snooze wasn’t worth fighting Mani and Tiff.

“Fine.” Char yawned widely. “Getting changed.”

“We’ll turn around,” Tiff said. Mani dutifully did so.

“Meh. Don’t care.”

“We’re doing it anyway.”

To her credit, Char didn’t take much longer than five minutes to get dressed. However, that was still five minutes of Tiffany standing awkwardly with her back to the bunkbed, which at least gave her time to look around half of the room.

She squinted. The room was obviously constructed in a classical style, to match the rest of the school. The Shooting Star rested upright against the wall in one corner, having returned from its flight sometime last night. The shelf by the window was filled with the books Mani and Tiff had unpacked—Char had done no such thing. Overall, it all looked as she’d expected… and yet.

She wasn’t sure how to articulate it, but the room lacked the sense of age the rest of the building had. Somehow the walls seemed too clean, the windows too clear—not the cleanness of having been cleaned, but of never having been dirty. It was like a new car.

“If I didn’t know better,” she said, walking out of the room with Mani and Char in tow, “I’d say this whole wing was built within the last year.”

“Good eye! Construction finished a week ago.”

The voice was disembodied but familiar. Tiff looked around, but no other witches were in the corridor around them. “They really had to rush the new dorms,” the voice continued, “what with the influx of first-years this time. Up here! Hi!”

Tiff glanced up and saw a mouse. A mouse with bangs and a half-do. “Gah!” Tiff yelled.

The mouse grinned with buck-teeth, then hopped down. One burst of smoke later, and Akko was standing before them, hands on her hips. “Don’t do that!” Tiff blurted.

“And good morning to you too!” Akko rolled her eyes, but smiled all the same. “I was wondering, do you need help finding the Great Hall for breakfast?”

“Why would we?” Mani asked.

Akko shrugged. “The last couple groups needed it. Come on, follow me!”

Or maybe, Tiffany thought but did not say, they just didn’t have the heart to say no. Yet she was walking behind Akko anyway, as she led them with the enthusiasm of a parade conductor, so apparently Tiff didn’t have the heart either.

“Is the Shooting Star around?” Akko asked, turning a corner. “I was wondering if I’d have a chance to say hi. Not like it would say hi back, but we’ve got a history, y’know?”

“It’s resting in our room. Maybe even brooms need sleep.” Tiff frowned. “You were chosen by the Shooting Star, weren’t you?”

“More or less, but it didn’t stick around for the afterparty. Which is a shame, since it was a really nice afterparty. We had cake! I guess it wasn’t hungry.” Akko chuckled, although Tiff felt like her little joke didn’t even merit a groan. “In any case, I have no idea why it’s so interested in you. Any ideas?”

“I was going to ask you the same thing!” Tiff sighed. “Never mind.”

“Well, I know someone who might know, and she’s basically the smartest and greatest witch of all time… but you’ve got classes first.”

They came to a spiral staircase and descended it. From there, it was only a minute’s brisk walk before they were at the great hall, yet Char was already grumbling behind them about the exertion. Tiff rolled her eyes and strode forward.

A blonde-green-haired witch glanced up as they approached the dining area. “Is that the last of them, Akko?”

“Think so, yeah. Morning, Diana!”

Tiff’s jaw dropped. The image flashed into her head once more: two witches, standing atop the Shooting Star, firing a giant bow at a magical missile. Akko had been one and this—this was the other. “Diana Cavendish,” she mumbled.

And then, as Akko leaned in and kissed Diana on the cheek, she wished she hadn’t dropped her jaw all the way to start out. She needed some way to escalate.

“You two—” she stuttered.

“Akko,” Diana said, blushing, “not in front of people, please.”

“Aww, but that’s the best part of dating!” Akko pouted, and then turned to the trio. “May I introduce my lovely girlfriend, Diana.”

Tiffany made up her mind and stuck out her hand. “It’s an honor to meet you, Miss Cavendish. They say you’re the best student in the history of Luna Nova!” Then she squinted: Diana seemed to have mouthed the last few words as Tiff said them. “I suppose you must get that a lot,” Tiff added, grinning nervously.

“Well, it’s true, in fairness.” Diana’s voice was even, without a hint of arrogance. She was stating a fact: no more, no less. Then she smiled, and took Tiff’s outstretched hand. “Well, it was true, once upon a time. It’s very nice to meet you, miss….”

“Tiffany Vandergard!”

“Ah, from the Vandergard family in New York.”

“New Amsterdam,” Tiff muttered before she could stop herself. Char sniggered behind her, and she felt heat rush to her face.

Diana’s polite expression didn’t falter. “Well, I’m sure you know best. I won’t keep you from your meal. Enjoy your first day of classes.” She took Akko’s hand in hers, with the unconscious ease of someone slipping their hand into their pocket, and walked away.

Which meant Tiff didn’t have to maintain her composure. “Cavendish!” she hissed, whipping around to face Char and Mani. “We just met Diana Cavendish! I mean, the family was on the wane in recent years, goodness knows, but she’s brought the name back in a big way!” She heaved a deep breath. “Oh, I think I need to sit down.”

“Cheers to that,” Char said, flopping into a chair at the nearest unoccupied table.

Mani sighed. “I’ll get you two some rolls.”

Tiff just breathed deeply. Diana was something like a household name in the magical community: not only a spellcasting prodigy, but an incredible flier. She’d certainly proved her mettle in the worldwide broadcast on the day of Starfall, deftly maneuvering her broom through a hailstorm of missile-fire. It looked like trying to dodge rain, and she’d come out dry.

Tiff forced another breath, and pulled out her schedule. First up on the list was Magical Astronomy, with… Professor Chariot, of all people. As in, that Chariot. This was going to be one star-studded morning.

“Aw, man,” Char said, glancing at her schedule in turn. “I don’t have any classes with the fish.”

“The fish?”

“Yeah, I don’t know her name.”

“Then how do you know you don’t have any classes with her?”

Char considered this, tapping a finger to her lip. “Good point. Oh, hey,” she added, leaning toward Tiff. “We’ve got most of the same classes. Magic Astronomy, Numerology… oh, this one’s weird.” She tapped the block on her schedule that came after midday break. “What’s Modern Magic, and who’s Professor Croix?”

“I haven’t the faintest.” Croix… the name pinged something in Tiff’s brain, some small cluster of neurons, but nothing came of it.

Mani returned, carrying breakfast for them. Tiff couldn’t help but notice that while Mani had piled her own plate high, she and Char only had a roll and a slice of butter each. “A little unbalanced, don’t you think?” Char asked, eyeing her roll.

“I don’t know what either of you like.” Mani set to cutting up her bacon. “If you’re hungry, go get something yourselves.”

“Fair.” Char shrugged, and went at her roll with gusto. “Rrrrrr,” she said through a mouthful of bread, groaning like a zombie. “Grains.”

Tiff rolled her eyes. Then she glanced up: the eye-roll had caught a flicker of movement near the ceiling.

“Maps here! Getcha maps here! Brawk!”

Mani squeaked and dove under the table at the sudden noise.

It was Akko, of course. She’d metamorphosed into some sort of large bird that Tiff didn’t immediately recognize—possibly an oversized toucan, but most toucans didn’t have bangs—and was flying around the room, dropping leaflets on the students below. Tiffany watched one flutter down to her table: on it was a detailed floorplan of Luna Nova, enchanted with a glowing red dot in the great hall. Tiff frowned, then grabbed the map and waved it around her head a little: the dot jittered accordingly.

Had Akko come up with this enchantment?

“Atsuko Kagari!”

Tiff’s head spun around at the harsh sound, which resonated like a gunshot. The teacher it came from seemed to have been born at middle-age, she wore it so well. “Need I remind you that there is no flying allowed indoors? And that includes under your own power, in case you’re thinking of being clever!”

“Sorry, Professor Finnelan! Brawk!” Akko the parrot flapped down toward a table—the one Diana was sitting at, incidentally—and perched upon it. A puff of smoke erupted, and Akko the human was crouched on the table in a similar pose, grinning. Diana rolled her eyes.

“I thought you were making an effort to be more responsible!” Professor Finnelan grimaced suddenly—distinct from her earlier frown in its intensity—and clutched her stomach. “Ugh, my ulcer is acting up again.”

“Sorry, Professor,” Akko said, a lot more contritely. “Do you need anything?”

“I need you to get off that table!”

Tiffany turned away and attacked her breakfast. This was the witch she’d thought was the greatest she’d ever seen? A girl who couldn’t go five minutes without getting in trouble at school, and saw nothing wrong with waiting outside a bedroom shapeshifted into a mouse.

A witch like that couldn’t possibly be the greatest ever, could she?

“Welcome, to the—of—nomy!”

The redheaded teacher winced. She detached a microphone from the neckline of her dress, turned a little dial on it, and spoke into it once more. “WELCOME, TO THE WORLD OF ASTRONOMY!”

Tiff and the rest of the class covered their ears at the shriek of feedback. Grimacing, the teacher took the microphone and tossed it on the floor to her side, producing another bunch of dull thuds from unseen speakers. “Well, I’ll have to talk to Professor Croix about this microphone experiment of hers, but in the meantime, I’ll just project my voice like normal. Welcome, to the world of….” She sighed. “Oh, you know.”

Tiff squinted. The teacher had introduced herself as Chariot, and her hair was the right color, but… apart from that, she couldn’t imagine anyone being more opposite. Shiny Chariot was as eye-grabbing as a fireworks show, whereas Professor Chariot was as eye-grabbing as a slow-motion car crash.

Maybe there’s a potion she drinks, like Dr. Jekyll, Tiff mused. Maybe she actually transforms for the show. Maybe she has a twin.

“So!” Professor Chariot said, smiling nervously. This seemed to be the only way she could do anything. “Obviously, before you can do Magical Astronomy, you’ll have to master the basics of plain old, boring, Astronomy. Except it’s not boring!” she added, quickly, as if someone was about to give up on the class right then. “It’s very interesting, or at least I’ll do my best to make it as interesting as it should be. As it is!”

Char was wincing beside her. It was a long, slow wince, and it seemed Char was willing to draw it out all class long. “Self esteem issues, much?” she whispered.

Tiff grumbled to herself as Professor Chariot waved a wand, and sheets of paper flew out from her desk among the students. As they landed on the desks, Tiffany saw they were worksheets. “So let’s start by, um… filling these out! Just as well as you can, so I can get a sense of the class’s aptitude.” Chariot was tapping her fingers together. “You have fifteen minutes, feel free to start.”

Planets, and a star chart for naming constellations. The planets were a cakewalk, and although she wasn’t a hundred percent certain about the constellations, she was pretty sure about half of them and reasonably confident in her guesses for the others. She sighed and flipped her paper over after only about five minutes, then reclined in her chair.

Nothing quite like a pop quiz at the beginning of class to make astronomy “interesting”.

After ten tedious minutes, a bell rang. “All right, time’s up,” Chariot said, and waved her wand. The worksheets flew her way. “And, just remember, this isn’t being graded,” she said, glancing at them as they approached. “It’s just my way of gauging where the class is with respect to knowing their cosmology.”

“Wasn’t done,” Char muttered, slouching over her desk.

The papers shuffled, floating, in front of Chariot. Her frown grew frownier with each one. “Mmm. Some standouts, but….” She shook her head. “Could you all do something else for me? Close your eyes.”

Tiffany closed hers dutifully, but squinted even so under her eyelids.

“Raise your hand if you’re from a non-magical family, or if you didn’t have magic until very recently.”

Around Tiffany, she heard the sound of many hands being raised. It sounded like more than half the class.

“That makes sense. Drop your hands, and open your eyes.” Tiff opened hers to see Chariot smiling. “Well, it’s quite all right if you don’t know the constellations already. This is a school, after all!”

She chuckled, and some of the students chuckled back, but without humor in their voices. Tiffany glanced around, and saw… well, it was like what she’d seen in her dorm, now that she was paying attention. The students all looked proper enough on the surface, but there were signs. Subtle slips in presentation, in how they wore their robes or carried themselves. There were a lot of newbies here.

“Not to mention, some of my greatest students started from the bottom,” Chariot continued. She tapped a piece of chalk with her wand, and it flew into the air and started sketching out a rough Copernican system. “So we’ll begin by going over the planets!”

Tiff suppressed a groan. If there was any way to make non-magical astronomy fun and interesting, then she was sure that spending a week recapping “Baby’s First Solar System” was not it.

It was going to be a long forty-five minutes.

Tiff snorted. “I still think it’s her twin, or something. No way was that Shiny Chariot.”

She trudged along the hallway. Mani and Char were in tow behind her. “I thought she was nice,” Mani said, “and she’s definitely a pretty good teacher—”

“In what universe?” Tiff rolled her eyes. “I can’t believe there’s people in that class who don’t know the planets. And she’s accommodating them!”

Char cleared her throat with a meaningful look. Tiffany stared at her. “Oh, not you too.”

“I forgot whether Pluto is one or not, okay? Cut me some slack.”

“Pluto is absolutely a planet,” Tiff said.

Mani raised her eyebrow. “Are you sure? I’m pretty sure it isn’t anymore….”

“Maybe to non-witches it isn’t, but in magical circles Pluto is still the ninth planet!”

“There are actually multiple schools of thought about the subject,” a fourth voice cut in. Tiffany glanced to her right, saw Diana walking next to them, and tried not to vibrate with excitement. Diana didn’t glance at them, just kept power-walking forward with the gait of someone with somewhere to be.

Tiffany had somewhere to be, too: wherever Diana was going. She hurried forward as Diana continued, “Since the non-magical International Astronomical Union decided it wasn’t a planet, and discovered multiple objects in the solar system with similar mass, a number of different astrological factions have emerged.”

She smiled as Tiff stared, looking at her for the first time. “Sorry to butt in, but your discussion was interesting. Might I recommend ‘The Case for Eris’ as a treatise about the ongoing debate on the matter? I know the library has a copy.”

“Thank you,” Tiff breathed.

“Not a problem. Enjoy your day.” With another flashed smile, she turned down a corner. Tiff stopped at the implied dismissal and watched her leave. The girl was the definition of grace, the personification of poise, the….

“Hey, Tiff. You’re kinda standing in the middle of the hallway.”

Tiffany blinked, and glanced behind her to see the myriad students she was blocking from walking through the intersection. She blushed and hurried forward.

“These are the lunar runes which have been used by witches since ancient times.” Professor Finnelan waved her wand, and row upon row of runes appeared on the blackboard behind her. “Can anyone here read the segmental script?”

Tiffany squinted. She was sure she’d seen this somewhere before, but… maybe if she had some time….

“Anyone? No?” Professor Finnelan sighed, and recited, “‘Bless the one who lets this stone remain untouched. Woe betide the one who moves it.’ It’s the inscription on the tomb of Scarlette, the Third Olde Witch.” Finnelan frowned. “I suppose we can’t have a Diana every year.”

“Of course Diana got it,” Tiff whispered, staring.

“Of course,” Char repeated with a yawn. “Little miss perfect.”

“She’s taller than you.”

“Big miss perfect.”

“There’s nothing wrong with being perfect. In fact, by definition—”

“Miss Vandergard and Miss Jones!” Finnelan’s voice was startling, like being interrupted by a fire alarm. “Feel free to continue your discussion after class, but here, we learn.”

“Yes, ma’am!” Tiff declared, and with a sharp nod she got back to her notes. This was exactly right. This was exactly what a professor should be. No guff, no chatter, just leadership.

“I like Chariot better.”

“What?” Tiff dropped her fork just as she was about to start eating, and glared at Char, who was leaning in her chair with her legs on the table. “She’s only better at stuttering! Professor Finnelan has all the competency Chariot lacks.”

“And she’s boring,” Char said, yawning halfway through.

“She’s direct! The subject itself is interesting! And get your feet off the table!”

“Chariot tries, though.”

“Tries and fails.” Tiff turned to face Mani. “Back me up on this, okay? Chariot’s a decent entertainer, I’ll grant her that, but who decided she ought to be a teacher?”

“I… think they both have their strong points?” Tiff hadn’t noticed before, but it was obvious now: Mani was squirming in her chair. “I wouldn’t say one is… better than the other, but….”

“All right, Mani?” Char leaned forward. “This isn’t that painful an argument, right?”

“No, it’s… I have to….” She grimaced. “How do I put this… let off some pressure?”

“‘Let off some pressure’?” Char snorted. “You don’t need a euphemism. It’s okay. Everyone pees.”

“That’s not what I—”

“Everyone also poops. Just… go to the bathroom.”

“But, I….” Mani sucked in a breath. “Okay, fine.”

She stood up, pushed her chair in, and hurriedly walked off: the kind of walk used by every child at the pool who’d just been yelled at not to run by a lifeguard.

“In any case,” Tiffany said, picking her fork back up, “I can say with confidence that Chariot is the worse teacher of the two. Possibly the worst teacher at the school, and if this is what we can expect from her, then I hope to have as little to do with Professor Chariot as possible.”

“Hi, Tiff! Come with me, we’re gonna see Professor Chariot!”

Tiffany looked up and saw Akko standing over her. “Gah!” she said, bolting to her feet. On the upside, Akko wasn’t a crocodile or a monkey or anything this time, but that didn’t excuse the definite downside of her being in Tiff’s personal bubble. “Don’t you have to go show some newbies how to tie their shoes, or something?” Tiff asked, backing away toward the table.

“Oh, tutoring? Diana’s actually helping a couple of students out. They seemed really excited to talk to her!” She smiled, took Tiff’s hand. “But I’ve gotta get you to Professor Chariot, pronto!”

“What?”

“And bring your new broom!”

“What?”

Tiff was helpless as Akko dragged her out of the dining hall.

[pollylynn]

Blackwing—A Season 1 Caskett one-shot (?), NaFicWriMo #28

Title: Blackwing 602

Rating: T

WC: 1300

Summary: “She doesn't mean to take it. She doesn't mean to take anything, but it's worse than that. She hadn’t meant to come here in the first place.”

A/N: This starts during A Chill Goes Through Her Veins (1 x 05), but goes through the end of season 1. This probably has a second half, but it’s unlikely I’ll get to it in the next two days. Hopefully it stands alone as is.

She doesn't mean to take it. She doesn't mean to take anything, but it's worse than that.

She hadn’t meant to come here in the first place. Certainly hadn’t meant to stay when the door opened on the bizarre, if domestic, scene. Laser tag gear and mud masks. It’s the last thing she would have pictured, if she’d been in the habit of picturing him at home. But she's not in the habit of that, or hadn’t meant to be.  

She hadn't meant any of this, but here she is darting furtive glances around his office. Here she is slipping a pencil purloined from his desk into the slash pocket of her coat. Here she is asking him for . . . something. Closure. Escape. A satisfying ending for once. Here she is, little more than month in, and he's driven her to this: Neediness and petty larceny.

She hadn’t meant for any of it to happen.

The larceny isn't so petty, as it turns out. It’s an utterly mortifying revelation she stumbles on the first time she takes her contraband for a spin. It's later when she does. A while later, and she's been pretending the whole time that it's not still in the pocket of that coat. She's been pretending the whole time that she's forgotten all about it

She hasn't forgotten, though. The day she "remembers," it's been a while since she's seen him. A few days, and it's not like she misses him, or anything. It's not that she hasn't been absolutely reveling in peace and quiet and paperwork. It's just that life is slow.

There haven't been any real cases, Not any Beckett-flavored ones, anyway, and now she has an actual day off. She’s already done her errands. She's indulged in her thirty minutes of loafing on the couch, and things are slow, so she retrieves it. The thing she's supposed to have forgotten. The thing she's not supposed to have taken in the first place.

She makes her way to the front closet and slips it back out of the slash pocket of her coat. She sketches her name. She admires the sweep of her signature writ large on a drawing pad she doesn't remember buying. She doesn't remember having, but there it is when she the urge strikes.

It feels gorgeous. The weight of it in her hand and the way it sails across the surface of the paper. There's none of the unpleasant squeak or drag of a plain old yellow No. 2, and that makes her roll her eyes. Of course there'd be none of that. Not in anything he'd deign to write with. Anything he'd own.  

But even accounting for that—for the himness of it—it's an instrument so ridiculously lovely that it makes her curious. The aroma of the wood and the satisfying creak of it in the sharpener. The way it takes an enduring, needle-fine point. The crimped metal of the ferrule gives way beneath the gentle press of her thumb when she eases more of the eraser free to study the bevel he's left, and that may be the detail that most captures her attention.

He's used this one, and the fascination isn't in the contagious magic of it—an object he might have used to sketch one of the Derrick Storm scenes that helped her keep her head above water a decade ago. It isn't just in contagious magic, her secret identity as a long-standing Richard Castle fan girl, notwithstanding. It’s a mystery, too—Richard Castle, professional annoyance, doesn't strike her as a pencil person in the least—and mysteries are her bread and butter.

He takes notes. Infuriatingly takes notes on the back of her paperwork. In the margins of her notes. He tears the edges off her legal pads and leaves them ragged. He takes notes in the stupid spiral pad he remembers every once in a while. On his phone sometimes, when he thinks he can get away with it. But when he writes by hand, it’s all bold gestures. Every time she’s caught him writing, it’s been all emphatic ink and the rare strikeout, just as bold.  

And then there’s this. A Blackwing 602 that he's obviously used. The only one he's used of an even dozen. That had been part of the draw, though she only realizes it now in casting her detective's mind back to the scene of the crime. To a cheesy, lump mug that his kid must've made for him and a forest of twelve pencils, eleven of them all of a height with one another. Eleven with precise, pristine erasers.

And this one, shorter than its companions by an inch or more, its eraser definitely and emphatically the worse for wear. It’s the only one he had used, and somehow it had made its way into her coat pocket. Somehow, it had made its way home with her to sail across the page of a drawing pad she doesn't remember buying.

It's all enough of a mystery to make her curious, and that's unfortunate. It turns out to be unfortunate, because it’s a $100 pencil. She can’t believe her eyes when she Googles it, but $100 is where it starts for a freaking knockoff, and she knows, instinctively that it's not a knockoff. That Richard Castle would certainly not have settled for a recently manufactured knockoff.

She can't believe it, but eBay and Google and a dozen honest-to-God fan sites all tell the same story. They list the names of the rich and not-so-rich and famous who've favored it, and God help her, his name shows up under Favored By and In Search Of, and she can't believe it. She's managed to steal a $100 pencil from him.

She vows to give it back. She imagines a hundred different scenarios. Quietly dropping it back into the cup and letting him wonder. Pushing it across the table when she goes all in at one of his poker games. Casually handing it back and dropping it into the messenger bag he carries sometimes.

She imagines a hundred different ways she undo her crime, but she doesn't act on any of them. And she uses it. She keeps in a drawer at home and finds herself using it. For the Saturday crossword. When the urge to sketch strikes her. To make her grocery lists when she's irritated with him.

She uses it, even though she has every intention of giving it back. She uses it, even though it gives her a heart attack every time she sharpens it, now that she knows what it costs. Now that she can do back-of-the-envelope math on the shavings she tips into her desk-side waste basket at him.

She uses it, all the while assuming that she'll give it back eventually. That some moment will present itself sooner or later.

It never occurs to her that she won't give it back until he betrays her. Until he tries to make her sit in a hospital corridor, like she's some fucking child.

But summer comes, and he does betray her. He tries to make her sit while he breaks the news, and she backs away. She flees on foot and tells herself she's going to snap it half. That she's going to burn the fucking thing and send him the ashes. The crimped ferrule and the charred eraser with no explanation. She tells herself she's damned well going to, but she doesn't.

She brings it to the precinct. She shoves it in her desk there. In the way back of her deepest desk drawer and forgets about it. She pretends to forget about it.

A/N: Rook uses Blackwing 602s in the Nikki Heat books. They’re beautiful, sought-after pencils, and even though a new company is producing them now, people will still pay big bucks for originals.