#c; songbird

[nuroodle]

Boss + Advisor

[winterswake]

TOM BLYTH as Coriolanus Snow in The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes (2023)

[cquackity]

OMG HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!! :D 🎉🎉

here, bedrockverse tntduo as a little gift :]

.

[diiwata]

my district 4 masterpost!

to me, district 4 is a mix of se/east asian, lat-am, and even a bit of black influence. had a bit of help from @blackoutdays13, creds to her too <3

let's dive in (joke intended). more below the cut!

CULTURAL TIDBITS

i like to think dance is an important part of the d4 culture. many artists that contribute to hip-hop culture originate from california, especially dances :) not to mention cultural latam dances, the dragon dance from china, and maybe even tinikling (projecting so hard rn)! movement is how they get through the day.

their diet may consist of mostly seafood, but grains are also a staple. rice, bread, noodles, and tortillas are often paired with meats and vegetables to make meals more fulfilling. of course, they aren't the same to the grains we produce now, but it's close enough to what they are able to get their hands on.

as stereotypical it is to asian culture, i like to think education holds some importance there, too. it doesn't just involve hitting the books, but also street smarts and survival skills. even if you're working, there's some downtime saved for learning/passing on knowledge from the older to younger generation.

there is a large sense of community in the districts. it's a staple in asian culture to identify with your community. your achievements and your failures are not just yours, but is a reflection of the people you identify with. this is touched more on my asian d4/d7 analysis.

since california legalized this, they definitely had... recreational uses for certain substances. you know. mary jane, the 🍃. it's a whole thing in the district and a "hidden gem". it's more popular with the lower class, but the capitol thinks it's used by the best of the best. they don't have to know, though ;)

LOCATIONS

their marketplace is concentrated in the docks! similar to the piers of santa monica and san francisco, there's a lot of street vendors, kiosks, and street performers.

the further away you are from the shore, the more impoverished you are. the people of the "inner lands" probably process the food for safer consumption, or travel to the shore to find work (hence the kiosks and such). grains could also be grown in the inner lands, which is how they're able to supply the district with rice and such w/o having to rely on d9 imports too much.

a train or trolley system helps large capacities of people travel to and fro their work. the trolley might be a bit more for tourists, though.

lots of cliffs. lots of mountains. houses on cliffs and mountains are seen as a privilege. I imagine the victor's village is somewhere here!

the houses in the victor's village look like italianate homes in san francisco (1). houses by richer folks look like malibu/southern californian beach houses (2). inner lands houses are either the older, fenced homes or apartment units (3)!

RELIGION

(i read these in some fics!!) considering that latinos are also big in california, and that a lot of asians share a catholic faith in the state, i could see them using rosaries or crosses. not because of a belief in it, but as an equivalent of a good luck charm.

to add onto this ^ they celebrate ash wednesday, but with their own twist. the ash on their foreheads is instead a reminder of who they lost.

speaking of holidays, the festival that they celebrate during the victory tour months probably closely mimics lunar new year! of course, they don't follow the lunar calendar, but their traditions and rituals to celebrate that day look awfully similar. red envelopes could be passed around, but I highly doubt that there's much in there if you're from the inner lands.

dia de los muertos is celebrated too! possibly during the victory tour months, too. imagine a festival that's just spilling with the golds and reds of lunar new year and the vibrant colors associated with dia de los muertos!

NATURAL DISASTERS

earthquakes. wildfires. droughts. those are the holy trinity of natural disasters in d4. protocols for all three are drilled into the minds of d4 citizens since youth.

thanks to the indigenous practice of controlled fires that persisted during the building of panem, they are often able maintain these wildfires. but sometimes, the wildfires do get out of control and turn the sky orange.

their structures are relatively stable to help accommodate for the earthquakes, but of course, damage will be done especially during a huge one that occurs in california every few centuries.

in my finnick/oc fic, "the big one" occurs before the 65th games. after finnick's victory, they paid more attention to d4.

droughts are not to be taken lightly in d4, especially in the inner lands. don't shower for more than five minutes. turn off the faucet while brushing your teeth. never keep the sink running. fix leaking faucets whenever you can b/c every drop counts.

a water limit is imposed on them. most of the water goes directly to the upper class and the capitol resorts by the coast.

CLASS DIVISIONS

the inner lands' lower class, the coast's merchants, the officials, and the victors are all classes in district four. the lower class harbors some resentment towards the upper class, and it's the other way around, too.

since most of the water travels to the upper class, that's where the main resentment lies. everything is for tourism and to maintain appearances.

because of this maintenance and carefully curated appearance, I can see the capitol citizens romanticizing d4 to an extreme degree. with finnick as the "face" of the district, it only worsens. they think of d4 as beaches, tropical fruits, and a sunny paradise. but once they take the train that passes through the rural lands and the poorer urban areas with the fog limiting their view, they realize that district 4 isn't all what they shaped it up to be.

I also imagine the upper class trying to dismiss the lower class because they don't look appealing enough to the capitol. they ARE a career district, after all. this could tie into the model minority myth, which I discuss in this post using hannah's ask, as well as the d4/d7 hc I linked previously. to summarize, reputation is ingrained in asian cultures. this need for a good rep could bring d4 to try their hardest to appeal to the model minority myth and keep up with the other career districts.

all in all, d4 is my little try-hard district rich with culture, mary jane, and the impending doom of "the big one". I love it with all my heart. if you have anything to add, or things you want me to touch up on, feel free to drop an ask or say something in your rb!

stream "california love" by 2pac 🙏🏽

[nataliasquote]

My Songbird | 1 | n romanoff

Summary: The best days of high school happen in summer and Willow doesn’t want these days to end. Life just feels sweeter this way

Warnings: homophobia (it’s set in the 70s), casual weed consumption, mentions of traditional negative parenting, underage drinking

Pairings: Natasha x Willow (O!C)

wc: 4.7k

note: the first part of the ‘My Songbird’ series! I’m so excited to get this underway just in time for spring. Whilst this does include the secret relationship between Natasha and Willow, this story will also follow Willow’s struggles of not fitting in with society and her parents’ views :)

-⧗-

There was no better feeling than this.

The wind flying through her hair that streamed behind her as she peddled faster down the street and blew the ties that held her top closed at her front. The sun was warm and kissed the skin on her knees through the branches as she cycled beneath them, taking a harsh right down the streets she knew so well.

She waved to her neighbours and poked her tongue out at the kids who yelled out her name, busy playing with the hosepipe to try and cool off from the beating midday sun. Sweat beaded across her cheeks but she didn’t care. It was just as at home there as her freckles were, brought on by weeks of laying out in the sun.

Her bike clattered to the ground and she sprinted off the second her wheels hit the long grass, ignoring the way the blades tickled her bare legs. She heard laughing and shouting and the sound of water.

The sounds of her summer.

“Willow! What took you so long!” A voice yelled from the middle of the river the moment she came into view. The girl grinned and dropped her bag at the base of the large tree they always sat under.

“I’m sorry! Pa wanted my help in the shop!” She untied her white cross-over top and wriggled out of her denim shorts, tossing them messily in a pile on her backpack along with her converse. A floral orange bikini now adorned her body and she took a couple of steps back before running to the riverbank edge and jumping into the water, completely soaking everyone else inside.

Willow broke the surface of the water and slicked her unruly hair back out of her face, basking in how delicious the heat of the sun felt on her wet skin.

Natasha, who was spitting water out of her mouth thanks to her, now watched on with a slack jaw, almost drooling at the way the sunlight caught her girlfriend. These weeks in the sun had done wonders for her complexion and she glowed almost golden, the lighter highlights in her dark hair still catching the light even wet.

“You’re not allowed to do that when everyone is watching,” she hissed, sneaking up behind Willow and wrapping her arms around her waist under the water. The girl blushed and pressed a kiss to Natasha’s lips before looping an arm around her shoulder and turning to the rest of their friends with a grin.

“What did I miss?” She asked, looking at Wanda mostly, who was the biggest gossip in their group. She somehow knew the weirdest secrets about everyone in the town, sometimes even before they knew themselves.

“Bucky managed to break the rope swing and I found out yesterday night that Carol and Valk made out at Tony’s party.”

Willow’s jaw dropped and she turned to Natasha who just nodded in confirmation.

“Remind me to never be late again!”

Wanda chuckled. “You know that never works.”

Willow looked shocked and shoved water her way, accidentally imitating a full blown water fight. It sprayed everywhere, even soaking Steve’s clothes that were folded the closest to the water’s edge. They all panted hard, the laughter breaking out amongst them not helping them to catch their breath. Eventually everyone retired back to the tree, lounging around in the bathing suits in the comfort of the shade.

Natasha leaned up against the bark and stretched her legs out in front of her, to which Willow immediately seized her spot on Natasha’s thighs, resting her head on her plush skin. Her wet hair felt slightly gross but the redhead didn’t mind, only smirking down at her whenever their eyes met. Willow flung one arm over her face to try and shield the sun. What a stupid day to forget sunglasses.

Snacks were shared around; hard candies, chips, cola and several boxes of fruit courtesy of Steve’s mother. Willow sucked on a cherry flavoured lollipop and blinked up at Natasha, her lashes still dark from the water. Natasha gritted her teeth and pulled the red candy out of her girlfriend’s mouth, wiping the smirk clean off her face.

“I know you know what you’re doing,” she said, waving the treat in front of her face. But Willow just raised an eyebrow and opened her mouth, laying her red stained tongue flat against her bottom lip and chin. The others didn’t pay attention to the two girls, very much used to their way of flirting.

“You are unbelievable,” Natasha gave in and pressed the round lollipop against Willow’s tongue, much to the brunette’s delight. She wrapped her lips around it and hollowed her cheeks, never once breaking eye contact. “Stop it.”

Willow shrugged but couldn’t hide her smile so she sat up and settled between Nat’s legs, tugging her arms around her waist so they rested together on her stomach.

“You guys want one?” Wanda reached into the front pocket of her backpack and pulled out three joints, holding them like a winning set of cards in poker. Steve quickly shook his head, never one to dabble in that. Bucky accepted, as did Natasha, classically.

“Thanks Wands,” Natasha said as she accepted the joint, holding it out for the other girl to light. “Wanna shotgun me, baby?”

Willow did not need to be told twice. She placed her lollipop back in the wrapper for safe keeping and straddled Nat’s lap, waiting for her to inhale. She opened her mouth and accepted the smoke that Natasha pushed into it, goosebumps igniting along her damp skin at the hand now placed on the curve of her lower back. She exhaled away from Natasha’s face and tilted her head up to the sky, letting out another breath.

They shotgunned a few more hits before Willow tapped out, the light buzzy feeling in her head enough for now. Her father would go crazy if he knew she was smoking like this so she had to keep it to a minimum when he was home. Plus, her high came from watching Natasha take her own hits, the joint resting casually in her fingers as she rested back against the tree trunk. She was so effortlessly cool that Willow just wanted to kiss her and never stop.

“You’re all going to Tony’s again later, right?” Wands asked, only to be met with a host of nods. Being seventeen and on summer break meant no responsibilities and more parties. And whilst Tony was a stuck up asshole, he did host the best parties, no questions asked.

“I can get my sister to give us lifts home if you need?” Bucky offered, snuffing out his joint and leaning back on his elbows. If Willow ever thought about dating a guy, his physique would have her drooling, but now she just appreciated it like any normal person would.

“Please!” She said. “No one is getting out of drinking tonight. I didn’t steal a bottle of cherry schnapps for nothing.” One bottle from her father’s shelf wouldn’t be missed, right? “Are you selling tonight?” This was directed at Wanda who just shrugged nonchalantly.

“Probably. The crowds are big enough there and they’re all rich enough so I can really overcharge.” The typical hippie, Wanda sold weed at many of the parties, the floral bag tied around her hips far from an innocent coin purse. “If I make big then we are hitting the carnival next week hard!”

“That’s next week?” Willow asked, her eyes widening in surprise. The days all blurred into one during summer and she wasn’t even sure what day it was today. But it didn’t matter to her. “Steve, you are going down at Bucket Ball.” She narrowed her eyes and he did the same

“You’re sure about that?”

“Deathly.” Willow was never serious and her smile broke her focus, making her lose the rather short game of no blinking. Steve just raised his hands in surrender and Willow leaned back against Natasha’s bikini clad chest, muttering to herself about how she was going to beat him.

The group lounged around in the sun until it slowly began to set. Willow slipped her shorts on over her still damp bikini but stuffed her top into her backpack, really not bothered about how little clothing she had on. And Natasha definitely didn’t complain. They all pedalled home to their separate locations except Willow and Natasha, who made a quick pitstop at the Romanoff household so Nat could grab her clothes and everything else she needed to get ready. Willow sat on the curb with her legs outstretched, tapping the toes of her shoes together as she waited for Nat. Her hair had dried a frizzy, curly mess but she really didn’t care.

Natasha came running out five minutes later, her backpack a lot more full than it was before. They hopped on their bikes and raced each other back to Willow’s, Nat winning by a fraction of second. It wasn’t fair really, she was on the closest side of the road.

Their bikes were abandoned on the front lawn before they both raced up the front steps, giggling like children as they crashed into the house. Nat grabbed Willow by the waist and kissed her cheek and nose before darting in the kitchen and leaving behind a blushing mess of a girl.

Mrs Jenkins was hunched over a chair and trying unsuccessfully to get a pouty four year old to each the crackers on his plate. Willow’s little brother was adorable and his eyes lit up as Natasha gave him a small wave as she entered.

“Hi Mrs Jenkins, Hi Elliot,” she said, taking a seat on the bench under the window. “How are you?”

“Oh Natasha, how many times have I told you to call me Nancy! We are far past those formalities.” She always greeted the young girl with a tight hug and it truly was one of Natasha’s favourite greetings. The woman was so soft and warm, so maternal, and she really tried to savour the hugs she received. “I’m good, thank you dear. You’re looking well, such rosy cheeks.”

Natasha smiled and ducked slightly behind her hair, subconsciously hiding behind her hair. “Willow and I had a race back here and it’s already super hot outside, as you know. Elliot’s grown so fast! You’re such a big boy already!”

Nancy smiled fondly at her son and stroked his blonde hair back away from his forehead, having given up on making him eat his snack. He was fixated on Natasha, as usual, so any attempts she made were fruitless.

“He’s growing up too fast, that’s for sure.” Both women laughed. “Can you believe he’ll be five by the end of summer?”

Natasha shook her head and crossed her legs beneath her. “I remember when he was a baby and Willow would always complain about how much he cried.” Nancy looked as if to say ‘that’s about right’. “I’m always available to babysit him if you need me to.”

“Your mother is so lucky to have you, Natasha. I need to know where I went wrong with this one.” She jabbed her thumb over at Willow who had hopped up onto the counter and taken an apple from the fruit bowl beside her. She was oblivious to the fact that she was being talked about and crunched happily before biting a small piece off to pass to her brother in front of her. Typical. Of course he accepted food from her.

“You didn’t go wrong anywhere with her,” Natasha said in a softer tone, enamoured by how gentle Willow was with her baby brother. She was a wild soul but that suddenly switched when she was around him and as much as Natasha loved the thrill of the whirlwind that was her girlfriend, her tender side was so special because it was so rare and real.

Mrs Jenkins glanced over her shoulder towards the living room with a wary look, making sure her husband was out of earshot. “Don’t let James hear me say this, but I’m glad you’re able to tame her. I was worried she’d never settle down but you’ve worked magic with her somehow.”

It was really hard being anything but heterosexual in this day and age, and to most people in the town, including Willow’s father Jameson, Natasha and Willow were nothing more than best friends. Their friendship group really didn’t care who dated who, and Willow’s mom was strangely accepting, but that was about the extent of it. Public displays of affection were certainly limited.

“I am here, you know? I can hear you.” The disgruntled girl spoke up.

“I know,” her mother replied. “And get off my counter, how many times have I told you?”

“But it’s comfy,” Willow muttered to herself as she reluctantly slid off and leaned against the cupboards instead.

“I don’t care. Chairs were invented for that reason. Even Elliot knows that.”

“Sure sure, compare me to the golden child, why don’t you.” She disappeared out of the kitchen and Nancy rolled her eyes lightly. She really could never win with Willow. Her stubborn nature could not be tainted, no matter how hard anyone tried.

“There’s a party later so I should probably go and get ready,” Natasha said, looking for a reason to excuse herself. Nancy waved her on and told her that their dinner would be brought to Willow’s room once it was ready. Always looking after her children, and this extended to Natasha too, whenever she was around.

The crackly sound of Silver Springs rang gently through the record player as Willow dropped the needle and flipped onto her quilt, screwing up her pillow in her arms. Her bikini stuck to her skin uncomfortably but she barely noticed it. The way all the muscles in her back simultaneously relaxed as she lay down felt a lot better and she let out a small groan.

“Hey birdy,” Natasha said as she sat down on the bed beside her, tracing gentle shapes on the exposed skin of her back. “You’re the golden child to me, you know that, right?”

Wilow scrunched her nose up at the old nickname, having not heard it in years. Natasha started using it after Willow kept wearing tops with large sleeves that closely resembled wings, and it weirdly stuck.

“I don’t need to be the golden child,” she grumbled. “I’m leaving here as soon as I can, so it doesn’t matter.”

“Wherever you go, I go.” Natasha held out her pinky and linked with Willow’s, kissing their interlocked fingers softly. “I’ve always had a soft spot for rebellious girls.”

“Well don’t let my father hear you say that.”

Double checking that the bedroom door was indeed closed, Natasha leaned down and pressed her lips to Willow’s and cupped her jaw, guiding her in a kiss that left them both breathless. It was only quick, that’s all they could do. A heavy make out would be saved for later that evening, in some closed off room in Tony’s house where they could be alone with each other for as long as they wanted. And no interruptions.

“We wouldn’t want him to know how much of a blushing mess I make his daughter.”

Willow smirked and reached her hand up to stroke Natasha’s freckled cheek. “He’d kill you with his bare hands. And then probably send me to a nunnery or boarding school in Switzerland.”

“My birdy, a nun? Pigs will fly before that could ever be a possibility.” Willow opened her mouth to speak and then realised Natasha was indeed right, and she didn’t like that. Hooking her legs around Nat’s hips, their bodies swiftly flipped over so Willow was now on top and she smiled cockily before climbing off her completely and wandering over to her window.

“He probably wishes there’s somewhere that would turn me into a son that he can manipulate into taking over the family business,” she muttered, mainly to herself but Natasha still heard her words over the music. The way Willow was treated by her father was unfair, but unfortunately common. Jameson Jenkins didn’t get a first born son who could help him run the shop, so he resented his daughter from the moment she was born. And her fiery spirit certainly didn’t help her case either.

“If that was the case, then we’d cease to exist. Because as much as I like you, I could not date a guy.” There was an underlying seriousness to Nat’s words and she gently took Willow’s hand, looking over every detail on the face she could draw in her sleep. “I benefit from his loss, really.” There was a sparkle in Natasha’s eyes and Willow couldn’t help but laugh. That girl always knew how to make light of a dire situation.

“Have fun with that thought whilst I go shower.” Natasha dropped her hand and watched her leave before wandering over to the old crate that Willow used to store her records. The more well played ones donned dog eared covers, and Natasha sifted through these to find what she was looking for. Despite her love for Fleetwood Mac, Natasha was forever a Zeppelin and Hendricks girl, and the opening riff of ‘Fool in the Rain’ had her grinning madly as it cracked away on the record player.

Spinning and dancing around the room on her toes, the redhead made her way over to Willow’s closet and sifted through the clothes, deciding that she would be the one to pick what her girl would be wearing to the party. A brown mini skirt caught her eye and she tossed it onto the bed behind her, a few more items following quickly in its wake.

Trusty bell bottoms to match her own, a pair of flared striped pants, a few of the cross over tops that Willow was so obsessed with, and a denim jumpsuit that had Natasha biting her lip. It looked small on the hanger and she knew instantly how good it would hug her curves, and the halter neck and open back still daring enough to suit Willow’s madness.

All the other clothes seemed mediocre in comparison and Natasha quickly placed them back in the closet, leaving her new favourite item of clothing hanging casually on the doorknob. Her own outfit hung opposite to avoid wrinkles and even without seeing them on she knew they’d be looking hot tonight.

The bedroom door opening behind her made her jump and Willow poked her head around it sheepishly, her wet hair falling over her shoulder. “Did I hit you?”

“No, you just scared me.”

Willow hummed and grabbed the comb from her dresser to start painstakingly detangling her curls. Clad in nothing but a faded old oversized surfing tshirt courtesy of Wanda’s many trips around the world, Natasha had a hard time pulling her eyes away from the bare expanse of Willow’s legs. They were still damp from her shower and her skin looked so soft she just-

“Stop staring and go shower. You smell like the river and it’s bad.” Willow smirked at Natasha through the mirror in front of her and the redhead glared but disappeared into the bathroom anyway without another word.

Willow opened the large windows on the far side of her bedroom to allow the evening breeze to flow into her room. Golden hour had begun and it basked her room in a gorgeous orange glow, catching on the coloured glass shards that were strung up around her mirror.

Her mother slipped a tray of pasta and vegetables through her door which Willow gratefully accepted and sat cross legged on her floor to begin eating. Call her weird, but one of the best feelings was the way her hair slowly dried in the warm breeze. It was just so calming, so relaxing.

Natasha returned ten minutes later and they quickly ate, chatting and gossiping between each mouthful. Her father poked his head through the door to grunt a quick hello, but Y/n didn’t entertain that so he swiftly left. Natasha just smiled politely when he acknowledged her presence.

“I see you already picked out my outfit,” Willow said as her fork hovered by her lips. A tomato fell off but she didn’t bother trying to retrieve it so Natasha quickly swiped it up. “I like it.”

“Me too. And I’m not in the mood to watch you try on twenty different outfits, no matter how hot you look in them all.” Willow shot her a look and blew a stray curl out of her face. “Don’t give me that, birdy, you know that’s exactly what would have happened.”

“Maybe I am like my father, because he hates smartasses too!” She jabbed her fork in Natasha’s direction, bearing her teeth at the laughing redhead leaning against the legs of her vanity.

“You won’t hate me when I’m done with you,” Natasha answered, suddenly jumping up and pulling Willow over to the bed. “Lie down, I want to do your makeup.” Natasha pushed her down onto the bed and straddled her lap, grabbing her makeup pouch that had been tossed onto the comforter. Willow didn’t protest, or rather she couldn’t, not with Natasha’s body weight pinning her down.

The record had stopping playing but neither of them moved to flip it over, so the sounds of squeals and laughter drifted in through the open window, families spending their summer evenings in their spacious back yards. Willow closed her eyes as Natasha swiped her brush over her lips, her tongue poking out in concentration.

Nat didn’t add much makeup, not wanting to take away from her sunkissed natural beauty. A small smear of blush, some orange and brown on her lids and a stroke of mascara. Subtle, but just enough to highlight her best features.

The redhead sat back on Willow’s thighs and admired her handiwork, nodding to herself with her lip pulled between her teeth. “Not bad, not bad.”

“Not bad?” Willow exclaimed, her eyebrows shooting to. “Natasha you better not have mucked up my face!”

“Better see for yourself.” She moved to the side so Willow could race over to her mirror, expecting to see an absolute wreckage judging by Natasha’s reaction. But what she found was the simplest yet most effective make up look she’d had in a long time and she closed one eye to examine the soft orange hue.

“Nat, this looks so cool! Don’t scare me like that again.” She turned around with her hands on her hips, head cocked to the side.

“I’m sorry, but your reactions just make it so much fun.” Their relationship was full of jokes and banter, bouncing off each other with smart remarks and quick comebacks. That’s how they managed to pull off the best friend card so well. They really were the best of friends.

Willow flipped the record and they both finished getting ready, wriggling into their outfits and touching up their hair as the cherry print alarm clock on Willow’s bedside table kept reminding them how late they were.

Natasha had blow dried her hair so it now tumbled around her shoulders in voluminous waves, combined with her dark winged eye liner and dark red top to make Willow pause with a hair tie between her teeth.

“Please never stop wearing those jeans,” was all she said before turning back to the mirror to finish pinning up her rather messy half up style. Willow had let them air dry so they were not uniformed at all, but the unruly look suited her far better.

“These?” Natasha turned to the side and smoothed her hands over her butt, frowning at the way the tight back material hugged her figure. “Are you sure it’s not too much?”

“Never.” Willow didn’t even turn around. Asking Nat to wear the jeans was purely a selfish move and she would stand by that until her dying day. “Can you grab my shoes?”

“Sneakers or heels?” Natasha held up a red pair of platform heels that complimented her top nicely but Willow turned her nose up. “Sneakers it is.”

“I pick comfort any day.” Hair done, lips glossed, sneakers laced, they ran down the stairs at the sound of a honk, Willow smuggling the bottle of cherry schnapps inside her jacket that she was going to ditch the moment they got into the car.

Bucky waved from the passenger seat as the girls sprinted across the lawn, leaping over their bikes that they’d thrown down earlier. Willow climbed into the back and Natasha followed, pulling the cab door shut of the red Ford F250.

“You ladies look good,” Bucky’s sister, Becca, called out. She worked in the mechanic shop on the edge of town and was a few years older than the rest of them but still knew how to have a good time. Plus she was the only one with a fully functioning car after Steve totalled his at a stop sign.

“Thanks, Bec. You don’t look so bad yourself Bucky.”

The man in question tugged at the collar of his shirt proudly. “What can I say, decided to make the effort. We won’t be this young forever.”

Willow and Nat shared a look before they started chuckling. “You sound like an old man.”

“Sometimes I think he is,” Becca agreed, smiling at the girls in her mirror.

“Does that mean you need picking up at ten tonight?” Natasha teased, knowing full well that the time was nine pm. She just loved to rile him up.

“Can we kick them out here?” Bucky asked as they pulled up to a stop light. “Just open the door and make them walk the rest of the way?”

“No, but you can walk if you want to.” The downside of having an older sister… she always sided with everyone else. Bucky sank into his seat and muttered under his breath, disgruntled. Or, that was until Willow waved a bottle in front of his face.

“Don’t be sad, it’s party time. You get the first sip.” He craned around to smile at her before untwisting the cap and taking a rather big gulp from the bottle. The taste wasn’t the best but he took another sip before handing it back. Natasha was next, knocking back hers like a true professional. “Ok please leave some for me!”

“Don’t worry birdy, I will.”

Willow seized her bottle from Natasha’s grip and tucked it between the door and her body, away from everyone. “Bec, I would offer you some but I don’t want to be dragged down with you if you get pulled over. I wouldn’t be allowed to see Wanda ever again.” Wanda’s father was a cop, which was ironic considering the illegal activities his daughter was the centre of right under his nose.

“You’re all good, Willow. I don’t know how you kids drink that stuff.”

Willow sank back against her seat, the leather sticking to her exposed back. “It’s definitely a Barnes thing, this ‘old person’ talk,” she muttered to Natasha who snorted. “You’d think I was visiting my grandparents.”

“I can hear you, you know.”

“Good. Glad to see your old age hasn’t affected your hearing.” If Becca wasn’t driving she would have reached behind and slapped Willow, who definitely deserved it. Her cocky smirk in triumph was infuriating to say the least and Natasha was thoroughly entertained.

Luckily for them, the Stark’s long drive came into view and the truck started to crawl up the gravel driveway, bumping over the uneven ground.

Tony Stark lived on the largest estate in the town. His parents were both in business and spent a large part of their year in the city, leaving their house and land to the questionable hands of their twenty year old son. Whether they knew of what went on whilst they were away, nobody knew, but Tony’s parties were unbeatable and unmissable.

The three of them piled out of the truck and waved goodbye to Becca before they assessed the scene in front of them. There were people everywhere; some they recognised, some they didn’t. But the unfamiliar faces didn’t deter them and Willow slipped her fingers into Natasha’s as they walked into the main entrance.

With the warm summer night air, the sound of good music and dancing, and Natasha right by her side, Willow felt on top of the world. She hated the small town life but wouldn’t trade this summer for the world.

[casinoroyale]

(Wilbur steps down into the kitchen and immediately hops up to sit on the counter beside Quackity. She watches him stir some pasta around in a large pot.)

So, what did you have to tell me?

-@songbird-sunrise

My childhood best friend is coming to Las Nevadas. Soon.

(Quackity fishes out a piece of pasta to taste test. Three more minutes, at least.)

She wants to meet you.

[cxanthos]

[felixravinstills]

i once met a guy who told me that their mom had a picture of her c section hanging in the hallway of their house, and i think that's volumnia behavior

(it's not her c section, but it is her c section as in she performed it)

[moreespressoformydepresso]

I just wrote the saddest TBOSAS mini-AU ever in my notebook cuz I was at the beach all day without computer and a nearly-dead phone and now it’s one of the best things I’ll ever written but it’s already 10 whole pages and I don’t wanna type it all into my computer to post so I’m torn between seeing this as written just for me and the three people I’m secure enough with to show my chickencrawl of a handwriting or as an absolute waste of time and effort…

[thebirdandhersong]

now. beloveds this is not NEW news but I've just had crystal clear confirmation re: the boy (not that it wasn't clear before, but now it's glaringly obvious that he DOES love another girl and this IS reality) and :') you never know how delusionally hopeful you are until such a thing happens!!!!

[nuroodle]

When the polymorphing dragon youre married to is genderfluid, and you're not only a useless bisexual but also a bard

[avastyetwats]

The Writer and his Songbird

Plotted starter for @izzyeffinhands <3

It wasn't the full moon that made the night so serenely beautiful. It wasn't the ocean way out in the distance that Stede longed to be near, but grateful that he could now see, it wasn't the clear night sky with the thousands upon thousands of stars twinkling above him, nor the calm ocean breeze that he so loved to feel...

It wasn't any of those things that made the night so serenely beautiful - though they did add to it - but it was the mesmerizing voice above him. A voice he's heard a few times before since moving into the apartment complex a few weeks ago and oh, how this made Stede's move worth it. Suddenly, he wasn't dreading his stay here, he wasn't feeling as unhappy as he did the second he set foot into this building... not that there was anything wrong with it. Not at all. It was comfortable and safe, but it wasn't where he longed to be. It was somewhere he had to be until he could get back on his feet and figure some things, having divorced from his wife some weeks ago. A divorce that was a long time coming, a divorce that should have happened long ago, but really, a marriage that shouldn't have happened at all.

It wasn't a marriage that happened out of love, but convenience and security. A marriage his father practically forced him into, bullied him into, made him feel as though he had no other option and wasn't worthy of anything else... a marriage that was more about his father and his business than Stede's own happiness and wellbeing. But finally, he was out.

And so was she. Mary. An ending that would bring about a new beginning for them both.

But not one that was easy for Stede. He left his home, left his family behind, intending to start anew and live the life he always wanted to live, but it was proving to be a challenge. Depression and anxiety got the best of him some nights, so did self-doubt and uncertainty, and the challenge of fitting in, but he was thankful he still had one place he felt comfortable in: his tea and bookshop.

But the third night inside his new home, that's when he heard it: the angelic voice from above singing into the night. He's never heard anything more beautiful, or more inspiring, and for the first time in what felt like years, Stede sat down at his desk and wrote. Yes, he was a writer. An avid reader of many things and an avid writer of some fictional stories and some poetry. A hobby more than anything, having never pursued a career due to the life forced upon him and the scolding of what he wanted to do and where he wanted to be.

But thanks to that voice above, inspiration had returned to the writer. Every night he kept his balcony door open and on the nights that voice returned, Stede would often lean against the railing outside or sit at the table outside and write.

Though he wasn't quite brave enough to meet the man the beautiful voice belonged to, he would leave him little notes outside of his door praising his voice, crediting him with helping to find lost inspiration and bring joy back into his life, and he'd only ever sign it The Polite Menace down below with a little heart over the i.

Stede kept this up for a good few days, anytime Izzy would bless him with his voice, and eventually Stede started receiving delicious baked goods outside of his door signed with his own special nickname. But it was instant that Stede figured out who it was - the melodious mystery man above - and so the notes continued, leaving even more now to praise his talent in baking, too.

Something that inspired Stede to try again. He was never an expert at it by any means, but he'd baked a thing or two in his previous life, though it had been a long time, but perhaps he, too, could leave a delicious treat for his Angelic Siren above...

Unfortunately that hadn't gone well at all. Made evident in the amount of smoke that billowed out of his balcony door and into the night above, eventually sounding off the alarms that sent Stede into a panic as he tried to put out the small fire inside of his oven. And this is why he wasn't near brave enough to reveal himself to the man above that he's had a crush on for weeks now, because he was nothing but a big, embarrassing mess.

[10piecechickenmcnugget]

songbird wilbur, also titled me not knowing how tf to draw wings :/

@songbird-sunrise

[aetherose]

Saves this because it's funny.

[swinging-stars-from-satellites]

"I didn't know you were there," says Lucy, hesitant but curious. Quill stops what he's doing, sets down a box. He frowns, moves to check an item off of Holly's neatly written list.

"I've been here all morning," he replies bemusedly. "Would have thought you'd notice, with how the lot of you tend to gripe about my very breathing."  He says it complainingly, but with the slightest air of a smile.

Lucy shakes her head and quirks her lips, as if thinking. "That's not what I mean. Lockwood said something the other day, that you were here the night... when Jessica died." She looks away, hiding her questioning gaze. Even now, Lockwood can be cagey about his past, and she tries not to press him too much.

Kipps makes a noncommittal sound and shrugs stiffly. "I wasn't here when it happened," he says slowly. "I was... too late."

In the golden early-afternoon sunshine of the hall, his face almost looks soft, wistful. Lucy moves closer, sensing a shift in the mood. She knows vaguely that he'd known Jessica before her death, but she's not sure how well.

"I could tell you about it, if you wanted," he continues softly. "It's... there are many things I wish I could change."

"Mmhmm," Lucy hums reassuringly. She leans over to check Holly's list herself, picks up a box of her own. "Would you maybe write it down for me?" She asks, then grimaces at her own insensitivity. "For the casebooks, I mean, the history."

Quill gives her a look. "Me?" He asks, brow furrowed.

Lucy nods. "Everyone's written something," she says, "Even Hol. But even Lockwood hasn't written much about Jessica. If you wanted, that could be your entry."

He stares at her, unsure, for a long moment. Before he can say anything, George comes stomping through with a heavy-laden garbage bag, grumbling all the way and followed by a particularly chipper Holly, who asks how the tidying is going on her way past. In between the movement and bustle, Kipps catches Lucy's eye past Holly's neatly braided hair.

He nods just once, but with certainty. Lucy nods back and smiles a hesitantly sad smile.

~~~~~

In a world where the dead can walk and must be staved off by children with swords, timing is everything. Back then, I didn't know that the way I do now. Timing was for prompt attacks on a Spectre, planning an evening to catch a Phantom by surprise. Nor did I even truly know that I was a child, and only now do i truly feel such. Funny, how as a child I felt like a grown-up, but as a man I feel like a child.

My name, for this record, is Quill Kipps. I've been asked to write this down as it may matter later on as a historical record, though why this tale is of import I don't know. Perhaps it's a cautionary tale. Much of my later exploits have already been taken down by my colleague, Lucy Carlyle of the now-esteemed Lockwood and Co. psychic agency. However, difficult as it is, Ms. Carlyle has requested that I tell my own perspective of the events preceding my days as a supervisor of the Fittes agency and later in solving the most pivotal case of most people's lives alongside Lockwood & Co. It is the story of how I, a child at the time, learned something of timing.

I was seven minutes too late. That was all it took for my life — and, I'm sorry, that sounds selfish now I've written it down, but this is in ink, so shall we say — how two lives, one of which was mine, were irrevocably changed. Back then, both of us would have said they were ruined. But we both survived, as most people do, and I think have both finally come to be glad of that fact.

Only agents walk freely after dark. Curfews take affect, and fear even before that, meaning most adults take to their homes, iron-fortified and scented of lavender, at the first sign of sunset. Most of them likely haven't even seen a sunset in years. That's particularly sad, I think. There's so much beauty after light, and so few can ever see it.

Adults, who cannot detect Visitors, live in more fear even than those who can see, or in some cases, such as that of the esteemed Ms. Carlyle, hear them. Funny how the lack of knowing makes things so much more terrifying. After dark the only living human forms to be seen are those who a century ago would have been considered small and vulnerable, but who now protect their elders from horrors they're blind to. I know what it's like to be blind. I have walked both sides. But that isn't what this is about.

I didn't have a case that night. My team had the night off after a serious domestic case the previous evening, one including a feral Poltergeist with a penchant for throwing kitchen knives willy-nilly. Our Listener had taken a deep cut in the process of sealing the Source, and as such our team had been told to take a respite for a weekend, rest and recover with extra time that we often didn't have as part of the largest psychic agency in London. And, amidst the desperate rush of the previous night's haunting, I had realized precisely what I wished to do with that time.

It's difficult for a child, even a teenager as I was, to conceptualize the passage of time. When you're fourteen, you can't think of what your life will be like in a decade. When you are a fourteen year old psychic agent, you can't think of it due to doubts that you will even reach that age. It's a job with a high mortality rate. Any benefits or honor you may receive don't change the fact that you can die, possibly quite alone, at any time in the line of work. This particular night, I wasn't thinking about that, however. I was thinking of a future, vague and hypothetical, clearly far too hopeful, in which I married the girl of my dreams.

Jessica Lockwood was lithe, dark-haired, and had the sweetest smile that I have ever seen to this day — and for the record and for irony's sake, it has indeed been nearly a decade since then. She and her brother, Anthony, who has since made quite the name for himself, were the inheritors of their late parents' house at 35 Portland Row. The late Mr. and Mrs. Lockwood had been researchers and collectors of rare and potentially psychic items from around the globe. Their research had led to an untimely death and orphaning of their children, but it had also led to a connection with the Fittes agency and thus my meeting Jessica, back in those days when I could See Visitors unaided and she was alive.

She was so, so alive. I don't quite know how to describe it. There was a determination about her that gave her a kind of almost glow, a vibrancy that surrounded her and lit up even the most depressing of rooms, even the DEPRAC waiting room I had met her in shortly after her parents lost their lives. Anthony, Tony as Jessica called him, was only nine years old and well on his way to becoming a fully-fledged agent with Sight better than most, possibly even my adolescent self. Jessica, if she had been gifted in Talent, had never made mention of it and thus had not taken up a rapier in the fight against the Problem. Her efforts were focused on her family's home, and the one other person remaining in it.

She was tidying up, as she called it, making a project of her parent's research and the items collected throughout it. I had peeked in on this organization a few times over the past few months that Jessica and I had been seeing each other, but none of the items held any significance to my eyes. A few carried a slight psychic residue, but Tony could have told her that much, and likely did. He never hesitated to speak his mind, albeit often in a roundabout way even then. He certainly spoke his mind about me.

It was understood that Tony and I did not particularly get along. He was somewhat possessive of his sister, which was understandable, and I found him to be pretentious and annoying. Still do, for that matter. However back then we mutually endeavored to keep the peace, for Jessica's sake if nothing else. I would have been honored to be allowed into the family eventually. I think in that moment I was so assured in my love for Jessica that I would have readily given up my work as an agent if she'd asked it, and a part of me knew she would. I would have given up the world for her.

I whistled quietly to myself as I walked down the streets that night. I'd taken a Night Cab to a corner nearby and was just rounding the corner, where a small shop sat for as long as most could remember, to continue down the Row when a wailing came speeding up behind me, preceded and followed by blindingly bright lights. An iron-lined ambulance and two DEPRAC cruisers tore down the road I was headed down, and before the realization had even sunk in I was jogging to catch up out of sheer curiosity. It didn't occur to me until I had already watched them pull to a stop that they could even potentially be going to number 35.

But they did, and even with my own cocksure refusal to understand mortality on a personal level, a chill sank through me even harsher than a ghost-chill or miasma. It made my hands numb; even though I had my rapier, I couldn't have handled it in that moment if I had had to. I sprinted through the gate, past the already rushing medics preparing borderline-overdoses of adrenaline, and when the DEPRAC officers called out ordering me to stop, asking me what I was doing here, I growled that I was a Fittes operative, let me through, I had to get to the scene.

Because I knew even then that there was a scene in the Lockwood house. Adrenaline is the only treatment for ghost-touch and either way this night could go, it was not going to go well. I had been coming to tell the girl of my dreams that I loved her, and now, the realization was hitting me smack in the face that I might instead be either comforting her at her precious little brother's bedside, or telling her goodbye instead.

I was the first to her room, then, closely followed by the DEPRAC people who were then followed by the medics. And all of us were too late. Something, I'm not quite sure what, was cracked on the floor, a dark tear in solid silver that told me a Seal had been broken, and the small dark-haired form of Tony was standing stock-still holding a rapier, but this isn't what any of us was focusing on.

Jessica Lockwood, or by this time, the body of Jessica Lockwood, lay silently on her own bed. There was no blood, no signs of physical struggle, but there never was in cases like this. She should never have been a case, not like this. If it weren't for the fear and pain on her face, a twisting that my heart easily matched upon seeing it, she could have been safely asleep. The ghost-touch must have been acute, a wrap of faintly glowing arms, and Jessica's death near immediate, because the telltale bloating and bruising of her flesh had only barely begun. They should have brought a hearse truck, not an ambulance.

And the death-glow hovering over her, suffusing the dim room with light to those of us who could see it, was brighter than any I had or to this day have ever seen. It was like a small bit of sunshine, or a star itself, lit up Jessica's bloating body from the inside out, and not simply because I was in love with her, which was true. The light was overwhelming.

Tony was staring at it as well, as the medics began to take protective measures for handling the body. There were ectoplasm stains on the floor near the bed, and near where the boy stood. A thin film coated the edge of his rapier. He was in jeans and a white shirt, half-tucked in but slightly dirty as if he'd been playing outside in the back garden. I forced myself to close my gaping mouth, took a step towards him and forced my heart to untwist.

"Tony," I said, reminding myself how to speak and in particular how to speak to someone in a volatile state, and put a hand on his shoulder.

Tony jerked back away from me. "Don't touch me!" He cried out, and I backed off with my hands in the air. His rapier had swung wildly about when I touched him, coming to rest tremulously near my ribcage.

"Tony, you have to come with me," I said, nervousness and slowly settling grief making it sound far more bossy than I think I really intended. I wanted to get him out of there, away from the body of his sister which was becoming more and more grotesque by the minute, and away from the site where her spirit might return if given a moment's chance. "It's me, Quill."

"I'm not going anywhere with you," he hissed. His eyes were fixed mostly on Jessica's bed, mouth twitching as if he wanted to shout at the medics and officers working to take care of her body, but he glanced at me with such vitriol that it took me aback. "You were too late," he spat, and I flinched at the truthfulness of it.

I cleared my throat, which had suddenly started to close. "I wasn't with them," I told him. "I was coming here to-" and there i stopped, because what use was it telling Tony now? I had missed my chance, and it didn't matter if I had loved her, or how much her little brother had, because those things did not change that she was dead now.

"To what?" The question was asked in such a low tone that it would have frightened me to hear it come from someone so young, if I hadn't been in some kind of shock and struggling just to make it through this conversation and get the boy away from the scene.

I stared at him. In that moment I had never felt more defeated or useless. "I was coming to tell her I loved her," I admitted, helplessly.

"Lot of good that did her," Tony hissed at me after only a second's hesitation, then with one last, lingering look at his sister's death-glow, ran out of the room. I later found out that he ran all the way out of the house, and had to be restrained by a DEPRAC agent in order to be taken to Scotland Yard to give a statement.

I was taken in as well, as I had been on the scene so immediately, and as the long night passed in a sort of numb turmoil, the next I saw of Tony was in a waiting room just like the one where I'd first met Jessica. It was dull and gray and certainly didn't help with the sudden numbness that had come after the shock. I approached the boy slowly, hoping he could see me and wouldn't be startled. I was trying, very hard, to be friendly, but I've never been much good at that.

"I'm-"

"Sorry?" Anthony finished for me, more than a little bitterly. "I knew you'd say that, Quill." He glared at his hands resting on his knees, hands which a couple hours before had had a death grip on a rapier and now were painfully empty.

It struck me that this was a boy with nothing left to hold onto at all, no family left to speak of. He could have been a vengeful spirit himself, for as pale and hollow as he looked in that fluorescent-lit room deep inside Scotland Yard. It was evening now. They couldn't just send him away into the dark, rapier or no rapier. Not back to a house that could be haunted, even as we sat and stood in uncomfortable silence in an all-gray room, by the spirit of the girl we had both loved.

"She loved you too, you know," Tony said quietly, startling me from my numbish reverie. His tone was low and dangerous, something I was then unaccustomed to. Sarcasm, certainly, and taunts, but the delicate anger in his voice that night was something entirely new to me. I would come to know it much better over the years. When he turned to fix his gaze on me, locking me in place just as well as a Visitor's trance, there was a hollow look in his eyes that looked almost dead and nearly made me flinch.

"Why couldn't you have gotten there sooner?" He accused, standing from the cheaply built waiting room chair and coming toe to toe with me despite being then significantly shorter. "It was seven minutes, I counted! You were seven minutes late! Why weren't you there sooner?" The danger in his voice turned ragged toward the end, high-pitched and boyish. I didn't know what to do with that.

I had no reply. I'd had no case that night, no reason to dawdle. I hadn't thought I had dawdled, really, until it was too late. I couldn't let myself think that I had, refused to acknowledge the implication that Jessica's death could have been prevented if I had only picked up my pace by a bit. If I did, the regret, already threatening just beyond the numbness I was slowly emerging from, would overwhelm me. I was only a child, only fourteen. I was equipped to handle Visitors of all kinds, even the dangerous Poltergeist my team had faced earlier in the week, but I was not equipped to handle this any better than nine year old Anthony Lockwood.

I stood my ground against his dark, sad eyes and bitter trembling. This time there was no sword to stab into me if I took a step too close. We were caught, in a standoff, stock-still in that dingy, timeless waiting room with the ghost of Jessica hanging over us, if not literally then very present figuratively speaking. Both of us, I know now, were children. This shouldn't have been our lot; but it was, and despite the grief and the pain, we stood firm in it.

"I'm sorry, Tony," I said stiffly, though genuine. I couldn't force my mouth to form the words any more gently while shouting and fighting inside and knowing that he wouldn't accept it either way. I was always going to take his sister from him, one way or another. None of us ever thought it would be like this, though.

He glared harder, tipped up his chin at me. Even then a bit of hair flopped over his eyes. "Don't call me Tony," he snapped, then whirled away, arms crossed. "It's just Lockwood, now."

"Is it?" I sniped back, as if on autopilot. I nearly didn't realize the snide words had come out of my mouth until he replied.

"Only one of my name," he said. He only faltered a little, but the similarities to Jessica were enough that I could see it. I didn't acknowledge it, though. That would be something too close, too painful, and there was no safe way to let this scene turn into that from where we were just then. "I dealt with it, even DEPRAC agrees. The Visitor-" and here, his voice definitely shook. The Visitor that killed Jessica. "The Visitor is well gone. I could start my own agency, if I wanted." He tightened his arms around himself, another tell that I refused to see.

I was horribly selfish then, and for a long while afterwards. Sometimes I still am. Sometimes, I regret that. I have a lot of things I regret.

"Good luck," I told him, after a long, suddenly chilly silence. A DEPRAC inspector, Barnes, was coming down the hall. My self-imposed responsibility, to not let Tony be alone on this night, was ended. I would go home and curl onto my bed, fully clothed, and tremble until the dawn came. I would make tea and pretend that I could taste what kind it was. I would not concern myself with a boy who was not my responsibility, even if I'd come very close to having him for a brother once upon a time. Those hypotheticals were out of reach now, and the fact of that was all too quickly sinking in. I didn't want to be around people when the lingering shock fully faded.

I turned at the door, passing by Barnes as he entered the room and cleared his throat for Tony's attention. I looked over my shoulder and made a momentary eye contact with Jessica's little brother, the only connection to her still alive in this world. I thought of her just a few hours before, alive and well and glowing with life, now nothing but a death-glow in her own bedroom. I swallowed hard, gave Tony a firm nod. "I'm sorry," I said once more, and didn't stay long enough to hear any reply he may have made.

I cried it again, later, staring into the dark of the night unable to sleep. "I'm sorry," I whispered, as if Jessica could still hear me. Her room was being filled with lavender and reinforced with iron and silver at that very moment. There was no chance, or at least very little, that she would return. To this day I don't think I knew if I wished she would or wouldn't. For my sake and for Tony's, now I'm glad that she didn't. I'm not sure either of us would have survived that.

I'm not sure of the purpose of this record, except that I hope I can give a warning to those who may one day read it. Life does not last forever the way we think it does as kids. As an adult now, I feel both older and younger than I've ever been. I was seven minutes too late for the girl that I loved more than I believe I really knew how to love. It isn't all that much. Just seven minutes for a life to be lost and two more to nearly follow. Timing is everything, and I missed mine. I hope that others will not make the same mistake.

~~~~~

Lucy reads through the story slower than she usually would for anyone or anything else and only looks at Kipps again once she's gotten to the end. He won't look at her, staring staunchly at some teasing doodle on the Thinking Cloth. There's a heaviness in the air. Holly appears at the threshold of the kitchen for a moment, seems to take stock, and moves on without hardly a noise. If Lucy hadn't been facing her, she wouldn't have even known Holly had been there.

She holds the pages carefully in her hands for a moment longer before handing them back to Quill. "The last paragraph," she begins quietly.

It's fading afternoon again, golden hour a few days after she first brought up the question of Jessica to him. He'd knocked at the front door earlier in the day even though Lockwood had faux-reluctantly given an open invitation, and a spare key, over a snacking smorgasbord during the few days they'd spent organizing and painting Jessica's room and a few others. With Lockwood and George out, presumably to chat with Flo or scrape up some research, 35 Portland Row is quietly peaceful.

Lucy and Kipps both have cups of tea in front of them; Kipps has mostly drained his, possibly just for something to do, and Lucy's has started to go cold. She stares into the liquid, tapping the side of her cup with a quiet ringing tick noise. The silence, once awkward and anxious, sits with them and they let it. Eventually, Lucy looks at Kipps and he automatically looks back at her.

"The last paragraph," she repeats quietly. "Is that for him?" She means Lockwood, of course. Of course Quill would notice the closeness between the two of them, that Lockwood seems sure to continue as he is without addressing it.

Quill shrugs. "Maybe," he says. "I wrote it down because you asked," he tells her, with more earnestness than she had honestly expected. Kipps is a dear friend these days. He's also still often abrasive and detached by habit. "But maybe the whole thing is for him, really," he admits.

Lucy thinks of his own words: very close to a brother, once upon a time. She nods solemnly. "Thank you," she says softly. Quill nods back, and manages a hesitant, sad smile in return.

[bothsides11]

happy new year (of the dragon)