#about 'i don't know how to *love you* but I LOVE THE BONES OF YOU'

[eiightysixbaby]

eat your heart out

pairing: eddie munson x fem!reader

in which eddie masters valentine’s day through the art of eating pussy

cw: 18+ ONLY — SMUT oral (f receiving)

a/n: an early valentine from me to all of u. mwah mwah hope u enjoy ❤️

Eddie Munson doesn't really know what to do when it comes to Valentine's Day.

It's not like he's an idiot; he understands that typically a romantic dinner or a bouquet of flowers and some chocolates are the perfect show of appreciation and affection.

But those things are typically reserved for your girlfriend, and you're not his girlfriend.

But you're also, like, not not his girlfriend.

Eddie doesn't really know what you are, and that's the issue. It started off with you guys just hooking up. Late nights in his van parked behind the school or in a dark part of some neighborhood. Quickies in the bathroom during a break in Hellfire sessions. But it's slowly started to morph into... something else? Eddie isn't one hundred percent sure, but he's noticed that you come over more often, and you don't just want to jump his bones and leave.

Sometimes you guys don't even fuck anymore. Sometimes you invite him over just to watch movies, or he'll ask you to go for a drive with him. You hold his hand under the table when you go out to Benny's diner with the friend group, and Steve keeps waggling his eyebrows at him suggestively every time he catches you two sitting extremely close to each other. Which just makes Eddie blush like a loser.

And, every time you two are about to part ways, you look like you really want to kiss him before he goes.

And sure, you guys have kissed before. He's not about to hook up with you without at least kissing you stupid first. But this is different. You've been looking at him like you just want to kiss him, with nothing to come afterwards.

It all makes him sweat if he thinks about it for too long.

So for now, in the midst of his anxious unwillingness to ask you the horrifying 'What are we?', he's simply decided to show his appreciation for you on Valentine's Day with the one thing he's certain you'll love. He can deal with his feelings and stuff, later.

Your hand fists its way into his hair, fingers gripping his unruly curls like they're the only thing still tethering you to earth. His knees press into the worn carpeting of the trailer, his mouth latched to your cunt while his hands keep the fabric of your skirt rucked up at your waist.

You’re standing with your back pressed against the kitchen counter, your sneakers still on. He barely gave you a moment to settle yourself upon arrival before he was on you like a bad rash.

What can he say? When it all comes down to it, he’s a simple man, and you’re his favorite meal.

“Eddie,” you sigh, tilting your head back in bliss.

His tongue swipes its way through your folds before finding your clit and sucking on it. He can feel your body tremble, your knees nearly buckling with the overwhelming sense of pleasure.

His big brown eyes chance a glance up at you, at the exact moment you’re looking down at him. Your lips part in a moan, his tongue flicking rapidly at your clit, though he’s not sure if it’s that or the eye contact that forced the sound from you.

He’s guessing the latter, because something in your gaze feels different. The entire moment feels different.

Before, being intimate with you felt reckless, hot. Now it’s like he’s spilling every word he hasn’t said to you into the space between your thighs, hoping you’ll read his secret code. Hoping desperately that he’s not seeing this wrong, that you actually do like him as much as he realizes he likes you.

He needs to chill before he whispers an I love you right here on his knees.

He breaks your gaze after a moment or two, letting his eyes fall closed once more. He can taste how wet you are, he’s lapping up your arousal with every swipe of his tongue, and he honestly would kind of be okay with dying right here. His face is completely buried in you, nose bumping your clit, tongue on a mission to be as deep inside of you as possible.

You let your hips buck, nearly grinding on his face as he licks and sucks and bites, his ringed fingers squeezing the meat of your ass now.

“Eddie, ohmygod,” you cry, your white knuckle grip on the countertop keeping you from collapsing.

“What is it, baby?” he asks sweetly, kitten licking your sensitive bud before taking it between his lips and sucking.

That’s another thing, he’s started calling you all of these pet names lately. And the more he does it, the more he finds he doesn’t want to stop. He might actually be physically incapable of stopping.

“Feels so good, I—” you gasp at the sudden intrusion of two of his fingers. “I fucking love you,” you rasp out, your body reaching its peak at the exact moment the words escape you.

Eddie’s eyes shoot up to look at you, going impossibly wide. Yet he doesn’t stop what he’s doing, he brings you fully through your high until you’re shaking all over. Your words did nothing but spur him on, more determined than ever to bring you crashing down around him.

Only once you’ve come down do you seem to process what you said, and for a minute all you can do is stare at each other.

“Eddie, I—” you scramble, but he’s quicker.

“No. Don’t backtrack. Don’t do that,” he says, still on his knees before you. Still tasting you on his lips, still feeling you beneath his fingertips.

He rises to his feet, hooking a finger under your chin. You’re giving him that look again. The one that makes it seem like you want to kiss him more than you want to breathe.

And so he gives in. Lips smashing to yours, in a completely different context than any of the times before. He hopes you can feel everything he feels just through this kiss. Hopes he’s getting his point across.

The way you pull him flush up against you to deepen the kiss gives him the idea that his point was received.

Eddie Munson is great at this whole Valentine’s Day thing.

[golden-cherry]

deal - cl16 (49/?)

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x Reader

Series Summary: Your whole life has gone to shit. Your boyfriend broke up with you, you just lost your job and the Monegasque, who suddenly stands in your doorway, claims that it’s his apartment.

Chapter Summary: Climbing up the mountain can be very freeing.

Warnings: angst (self-doubt, insecurities, mentions of abuse in a relationship, Charles is very insecure about himself), the end is a bit fluffy, but don't expect too much

Word Count: 4.1k

series masterlist

previous part

A/N: I feel like this describes Charles well. I cried when writing this chapter. I hope you like it. feedback is appreciated.

It is the first time in years that Charles has no desire to climb the mountain on those stupid skis. 

His feet hurt, he is cold even though the jacket he is wearing is suitable for even colder temperatures, and his hands are so stiff from the frigid air that they painfully curl around his ski poles. 

The snow blinds him because of the bright sun, his bones feel heavy, somehow his mouth is so dry that he would like to rinse it with water every five meters.

But maybe that's just because he'd rather be at home in Monaco. Because that's where you are. And there is no place he would rather be right now. 

Closing the door behind him and leaving you alone in the apartment was incredibly difficult. He would have loved to put you in his bag and take you with him, but you would only have distracted him from training. 

And if he wants to be world champion one day, he can't afford to make any mistakes. 

It's been two days since he's seen you and heard your voice. In the morning, when he wakes up and gets ready for the day, you are still fast asleep, and during his training, Andrea has his phone so that Charles can collect his thoughts and stay focused. Only in the evening, when Charles is in bed, he manages to text you a few messages before falling asleep, cell phone in hand, completely exhausted. 

He misses you every second. 

Before he met you, he would never have imagined that he could miss someone he had only known for a few days so much. He had missed Annika from time to time, after all, he had definitely loved her at some point, but he had never longed for her or anyone else the way he did for you now. 

As soon as he has a moment to himself, whether it's in the shower or on the toilet or when Andrea isn't bothering him with calories or carbohydrates or protein for a moment, he misses you so much that he can almost feel the physical distance between you. 

But most of all, he misses you in the morning when he wakes up. When he is in that one second when he is neither sleeping nor fully awake. Snuggled up warm in the blanket and against the pillow, where in the evening he imagines it would be your body that he is snuggling up to. And in the morning, for a brief moment, it feels as if you are actually lying next to him, which is why the second he realizes that you are miles away from him hurts the most. 

“Are you okay?” Andrea asks, who has slowed down a little to run up the hill next to Charles. ”You're suspiciously quiet.”

Charles, who hasn't realized that he has slowed down at all, looks at his trainer in confusion. “Yes, I'm fine. Why do you ask?”

Andrea shrugs. ”Usually you're chattering away at me during training. That usually helps you to distract yourself from how exhausting it is.”

He has a point there. Charles pushes himself forward on his skis. “I don't know. This time I don't feel like you're torturing me up this mountain. It's still the same route we usually take, isn't it?” He looks around as if he can recognize the surroundings. 

Andrea raises his eyebrows and also picks up the pace. ‘We're in a completely different area, Charles.’ He points to another mountain with his gloved hand.

If his friend hadn't told him, the man from Monaco would never have noticed, so absorbed is he in his thoughts about you. The mountain Andrea is pointing to seems more familiar to him than the one in front of them. And a lot smaller. If they had taken the familiar route, they would have been at the summit long ago. 

“You asshole,” Charles curses and wipes his face. ‘Why did you choose a different mountain? And especially one that's higher?”

Andrea can't help but grin. ’You came in second in the championship this year. I'm hoping that if we increase your training, you'll come in first next season and...”

“And what?” Charles interrupts his trainer. "The whole thing is useless if my strategists and the whole team mess up so much during the race. I can train as much as I want. It won't work." He gets so caught up in it that he doesn't notice how quickly he pushes himself up the mountain on his skis. 

“Charles –”

“No, Andrea. This whole thing cost me the title. Wrong tires? Last-minute changes in the pit? What the hell?” he gets worked up. He knows that his anger is unfairly directed at the wrong person, after all Andrea is only there for Charles's well-being and not for what happens on the track, but it just comes spilling out. And he can't stop it. 

His ski poles dig deep into the white snow, which Charles barely notices. He only sees the summit in front of him and hears Andrea breathing loudly next to him as he continues to complain. 

“It's not right that I come in second because of such little things! If I had caused accidents, then at least it would have been my fault and I could have dealt with it more easily,” he says, annoyed. ”But what kind of stupid plans were these, anyway? Even a toddler could come up with a better strategy!”

Andrea, who knows full well that Charles needs to vent his anger, walks quietly beside him and lets the storm pass over him. It's not often that Charles gets this angry. And normally he blames himself, but he certainly doesn't take such serious mistakes on his head. 

Charles knows that making mistakes is an inevitable part of competition, and sometimes, they're the difference between standing at the top of the podium and finishing second. Being the runner-up in a championship can feel bittersweet – so close to victory, yet just short of it. 

Being second in the championship feels like a mix of pride and frustration. On one hand, Charles has achieved something incredible – outperforming almost everyone, proving his skill and showing that he deserves to sit in the red car with the horse on it. But on the other hand, there's that lingering thought inside of his head – he was so close. The tiniest mistakes, the small miscalculations in his strategies, or someone else having a slightly better day made the difference in the end. 

There's this ache inside of him, knowing he was almost the champion. The podium felt different when he looked up at Max Verstappen holding the trophy he desperately craved. Charles felt a lot of things in that moment – disappointment, regret and even anger – at himself, the situation, the team and at the margin that kept him from winning. 

“I could have won the title. Max will definitely win the next season too, as strong as Red Bull is. How will I ever live up to my reputation then?” He clenches his jaw. ”I feel like I'm stuck with what I'm doing now. And I'm doing my best, Andrea. I really am. But it's apparently not enough. Do you know how incredibly frustrating that is?”

Being second carries a unique weight – a strange middle ground between triumph and heartbreak. And hell, Charles heart broke with every race that put more distance between his and Max's points. He feels like a failure, like he failed his team, his family and friends. He failed his fans, that support him through every decision he makes on and off track, that defend him whenever he makes a mistake during races. 

And it haunts him. What if he had pushed just a little harder, made one less mistake, reacted a second faster? What if he made a different decision that would've outweighed the mistakes his team made? What if he became world champion in the famous red car he worked so hard to get into? The famous red car that his dad loved so much?

Disappointing his dad was the worst part of it all. It was a different kind of pain, heavy and crushing. It's not just about failing at something – Charles feels like he simply isn't good enough. Like he let someone down who believed in him. He could have been champion this year – he was so close to standing on top of the podium. What if he never gets this close to winning? What if he never holds the big trophy in his hands, dedicating it to his dad, who always wanted to see him drive in the Ferrari?

Charles' anger has been building up for so long that he doesn't know where to put it. If only he had concentrated more on the season and hadn't been so distracted by his personal problems - 

“And Annika. What a waste of time the whole thing was. I should never have gotten involved with her. I should have ended the relationship when I realized that she wasn't the one. When I realized that I couldn't give her the attention that a healthy relationship requires.”

Charles would never admit it, but Annika’s betrayal in their relationship cut deeper than expected. It’s not just about broken promises – it’s about broken trust, the foundation of any meaningful connection. It shook everything Charles believed to be true about Annika – or love in general. 

The worst part wasn’t the act itself or that he caught them right in the act, but the realization that someone he trusted with his heart made the choice to hurt him. After the break-up he questioned everything – was any of it real? Was Annika lying to him the whole time? Even after everything, the wounds linger. 

Some betrayals are survivable with time and effort, but others leave scars that never fully heal. They change people – it changed Charles. It hardened his heart, made love feel dangerous to him and made him create walls where there once was openness. 

He guarded himself like a survival instinct. At first, it was solely for protection – he told himself that if he didn’t let anyone in, nobody could hurt him. The walls became his shield, keeping out disappointment, rejection, and the risk of being vulnerable again. 

But over the course of the weeks, Charles noticed the walls he put up brick by brick didn’t just keep the pain out – they kept everything out. Love. Connection. The chance to feel something real. Hell, he didn’t even tell his Maman that he was back home in Monaco. He pushed his family away, his friends, acting cold and distant – not because he didn’t want love, but because he’s so scared of what happened when he let someone else in. 

It took Charles some time to figure out the truth, that the walls didn’t keep him safe and sound – they kept him stuck. They stopped him from healing, from growing, from experiencing the things that make life meaningful. But he was so scared of breaking them down when it took him so long to put them up, that he didn’t know what to do when he met you. 

It was terrifying, letting you in slowly and hesitantly. He’s spent so long guarding himself, convincing himself that no one except his close ones can be trusted, that it almost felt unnatural to let you in. At first, he resisted, kept his distance. But the fact that you didn’t even know who he was felt so good, made him feel safe to share his story with you and then – you stayed. You didn’t push too hard, but you didn’t walk away either. 

Surely, this friendship has had it’s ups and downs, but this is what happenes when two people, who protected themselves so much that they become too careful, too hesitant to let someone in fully. 

And instead of forcing your way through, you waited. You were there. You proved in small, consistent ways, that you’re not like the woman who made him built those walls in the first place. 

And then, without realizing it, he stopped expecting the worst. He let you see his wounds, his fears, his past, and instead of running, you stayed. You stayed with him through awkward dinner conversations about his ex, you stayed with him when he didn’t correct his family about your relationship status, you stayed when he overstepped the boundaries of your friendship. Your gentle touch, your honest conversations while burning Annika’s things. 

You stayed when he revealed to you who he really is. You see him – the real him – and don’t flinch at what you see. Little by little, cracks form in his defenses. He finds himself wanting to trust again, to love again, even though it scares him to death. 

When you look at him, it feels like sunlight creeping through the cracks in the fortress he thought were unbreakable. It was unsettling at first after being in the dark for some time. But you didn’t break down his walls in a dramatic, earth-shattering way. 

It was quiet. Subtle. It sneaked up to him in moments he didn’t even realize – they way you looked at him when he played your song on the piano in the bookshop, when you let him hold you while you cried like his arms were the safest place in the world, when you showed him that you want him for who he is. 

But even though you broke down most of his walls, he still can’t admit that you’re all he needs. 

He can’t let you in fully after what Annika did to him, he can’t let you touch him like he wants you to. He can’t let himself feel so much for you because what if those feelings he has for you – the feelings he swore he’d never harbour for anyone again – are not enough for you?

What if he gives you his all and you decide that it’s not enough? That he is not enough? He can’t tell you why he doesn’t want you to touch him, because what if you’ll see him differently? What if the things he wants, he needs, are different from what you want? 

He feels like he isn’t good enough. The scars Annika left on him made him question his worth, his value, his ability to be loved. There are moments where he feels too far gone, too damaged, not strong enough to break free from the fear of losing you that he’d rather keep you at arms length hurting himself than push you away and out of his life. 

He can’t let you touch him after Annika, because sex with her felt wrong, like he was broken because he wanted different things than her. Because he craved intimacy like his life depended on it, the safety that comes with it, but it always felt like he needed to deliver, even if he didn’t want to. It felt like a chore, no gentle touches or loving words, only demanding hands and lips and thighs and he swore to himself he’ll never let it happen again. 

If you don’t touch him at all, there’s no chance you could hurt him like that.

He’d rather give you all he’s able to give instead of letting you return anything.

“I could have waited for…”

“Charles.” Andreas‘ voice is gentle and soothing, in contrast to Charles’. When the man from Monaco looks at his friend, he smiles at him. ”We're here.”

The wind howls at the summit, biting and cold, but it doesn’t matter. He doesn’t feel it. He can’t feel anything except the weight that presses down on his chest. He stands there on top oft he world – and all the space in the world couldn’t quiet the chaos inside him. 

Andrea chose this route to help Charles clear his head, the mountain was supposed to be his escape, his victory. He climbed every inch of it, each slide of his skis pushing him further from the mess he feels inside. The view from the top is actually breathtaking: endless stretches of jagged peaks, skies that feel closer than ever. He should feel something – pride, accomplishment, freedom. But instead, there’s only the overwhelming silence that gnawed at him. 

For a moment, everything is still. He pulls his beanie and glasses from his head, closing his eyes and trying to ground himself in the beauty around him, but the images, the memories, everything – it all comes flooding back. The things he can’t outrun. The words that had been sad. The choices that had left him fractured and alone. 

A sob caught in his throat, sharp and unexpected and he falls to his knees in the white snow at his feet. The tries to fight it, but the tears come anyway – slow at first, then faster and harder. They burn against the cold wind, mixing with the salt of the sweat on his skin – and he can’t stop them. 

They stand for everything he hasn’t been able to say, everything he has be scared to face. He thought he could bury it, hide it behind the walls he built, behind the distance from it all. 

His hand tremble on his thighs, his chest tightening with every broken breath. His vision blurred, the edges oft he mountain fading into the background. It doesn’t matter that he’s at the top – he feels smaller than ever. The tears slip down his cheeks like a rush of a river too long dammed. 

„I’m not enough“, he whispered almost unaudibly. A confession only the mountains and his friend could hear. „I’m never going to be enough.“

The world stretched out before him, magnificent and indifferent, and in that moment, he realized that being on top oft he mountain didn’t mean escaping it all. He had climbed all this way, but he couldn’t outrun himself. The hurt, the mistakes, the weight of everything he’d buried deep inside. 

He doesnt flinch when he feels Andrea’s hand on his shoulder, gently squeezing and reassuring him that whatever he feels right now is okay. That the tears that fall down onto the snow have their right to exist after being bottled up for so long. 

The sobs faded, leaving him gasping for air in the stillness of the summit. He wiped his face, trying to wipe away the brokennes, but it lingered in his chest. His hands still trembling from the release, from the rawness that had bubbled to the surface. For a long moment, he just sits there, the wind biting at him, the emptiness inside him as a vast as the world stretched out before him. 

And then it hit him, like a sudden punch that knocked the breath from his lungs. 

You. 

Your laugh. Your smile. The way you always seem to know what he’s thinking, the way you care in the quietest ways – how you’ve been there for him, even when he pushed you away. How, despite everything, you stayed. 

He tried so hard to tell himself that he’s better off alone, that he doesn’t need anyone else to fill the empty spaces inside him. He thought he could bury his feelings, run from the truth. He has told himself that love was something to fear, something that could trap him, break him, leave him just as broken as he’d been before.

But now, sitting on top of the world, it all makes sense. 

He loves you. He always has. He can feel it in every part of him, the truth that has been there all along, buried under layers of fear and pride. It’s not something he can outrun, not anymore. He can’t ignore the way his heart always beats faster when you’re near, the way everything seems to fall into place when you smile at him, the way your presence has been the one thing that feels like home. 

The moment of realization hits him like a wave, sudden and overwhelming. It’s undeniable. 

He loves you.

Not in the casual, passing way he once tried to convice himself was enough for his relationship with Annika, but in a deeper, truer sense. It’s always been you – only you. Right from the start when the both of you stood in the small apartment. 

But the weight o fit, the sheer force of that truth, felt like it could crush him, especially when he realizes how long he’s been running from it. 

His heart races, pounding hard in his chest, but it isn’t the kind of excitement he thought would come with such a revelation. Instead, it is quiet terror. The terror of feeling too much. Of feeling anything at all. 

His breath comes in shallow gasps as the cold mountain air cuts through him. It isn’t the altitude or the wind that chills him – it’s the fear of being too vulnerable again. Of letting anyone close enough to hurt him. The thought of telling you, of exposing his raw, vulnerable part of himself, feels like standing on the edge of a cliff with no way to climb back down. 

He stares out over the vast horizon, the world stretching out endlessly beneath him, and for a moment, he considers it. The possibility of going back, of telling you everything he has just realized. But the thought of your eyes on him, the weight of the words, the vulnerability—it‘s too much. Too raw. Too dangerous.

So, he stays silent. He stays with the truth, buried deep inside of him. The love he feels for you is now his secret, locked away like a fragile thing, too delicate to share. He can‘t find the courage to let it out—not now, not after everything that had happened.

But there is something about knowing, about feeling it — just knowing that he can love again — that makes the world feel a little less heavy. It isn’t perfect, and it doesn‘t fix everything, but it is enough. For the first time in a long time, he doesn‘t feel so broken. He isn’t empty. He is filled with something — something soft, something he thought was gone forever.

Maybe he isn’t ready to tell you. Maybe he will never be ready. But the knowledge that love still exists in him — that it can still find him, even after everything — is enough to hold onto for now. It isn’t a victory, not in the way he wants, but it is a beginning. And in that, there is a quiet peace. A peace that, despite all the fear and hesitation, he coul still feel, still hope.

And that, for the moment, is enough.

[reiding-writing]

in my head cold!reader fs has her silly moments because she’s a funny gal!!! she just hides it 😞 i also would love to see them all go ice skating because they tease her about being an ice princess all the time

SLIP ‘N SLIDE — SPENCER REID!

for someone often likened to all things icy, you don’t deal with actual ice all that well.

spencer reid x cold!reader | 1.3k | fluff | cold!reader masterlist.

main masterlist.

a/n — not quite ice skating, more like ice walking, but close enough i hope 😭

Snow blankets the ground in an unbroken sheet of white, thick and heavy, muffling the world. The air is sharp enough to slice through layers of clothing, and each breath curls into a ghostly mist before vanishing. It's the kind of cold that settles in your bones, the kind that reminds you of all the reasons you despise winter.

The wind cuts like a blade against your cheek, biting through the layers of your FBI-issued winter coat. You bury your chin deeper into the fleece-lined collar, eyes narrowed against the sharp glare of the mid-morning sun reflecting off the ice.

“The crime scene is on the other side,” Hotch announces, his breath fogging in the air.

“Great,” you mutter. “Just great.”

A frozen lake. Of course.

You glance at the ice stretching out before you, the crime scene a stark, crimson-streaked contrast against the pristine white of the snow on the far side. The local authorities determined it would take too long to go around, and in these temperatures, time is everything. The killer's trail is fresh, the evidence vulnerable to the elements.

So, naturally, your team has decided to cross the ice.

“Let's move carefully,” Hotch warns. “We don't know how thick it is.”

“Well, this is gonna be fun,” Morgan says, shifting his weight as he surveys the slick surface between you and the body. “Guess we’re getting our morning cardio in,”

Beside him, Spencer adjusts his scarf, his breath puffing in front of him like smoke. “Technically, the increased difficulty of walking across an unstable, frictionless surface means our energy expenditure will be higher than normal. It’s not exactly—”

“Kid,” Morgan cuts in, shaking his head, “it was a joke,”

Spencer closes his mouth, but the corners twitch like he’s fighting the urge to clarify further.

You sigh, already feeling the first inklings of a headache forming. The case has been dragging on for days now—cold, bleak, and utterly relentless, much like the weather. The victim count is rising, and the unsub’s patterns are erratic, making it harder to form a cohesive profile.

Everything about this case feels unsteady, and now, looking at the vast stretch of ice before you, that instability has become a literal obstacle.

The team step onto the ice in what’s almost a single-file line, following the careful steps of the local detective guiding them safely across the lake.

You, however, stay firmly planted at the edge.

“You coming, Ice Queen?” Morgan calls over his shoulder, smirking.

The nickname grates, but you don’t react. You never do. You've heard it all before—it’s nothing new.

But today, for once, the title feels ironic. Because as much as you might be an ‘Ice Queen,’ you are not in your element.

The moment you step onto the ice, you know you're doomed.

Your boot slides, and suddenly, gravity isn't your friend. Your arms pinwheel as you scramble for balance, heart lurching into your throat.

Morgan barks out a laugh. “Damn, Princess. You sure you’re not playing it up for effect?”

You shoot him a glare. “Bite me, Morgan.”

He just chuckles, clearly amused by your suffering.

JJ glances back with a smothered smile, and Emily—traitor that she is—grins outright. “Need a hand?” she offers, but there's amusement in her voice, and you refuse to give her the satisfaction.

“No.” you say stiffly, planting your feet more firmly.

Except the ice has other plans.

Your boot skids again, and for a split second, you think you might recover—until you don’t. Your feet fly out from under you, and you hit the ice with a spectacular lack of grace.

The impact rattles through your bones, and for a moment, you just lie there, staring up at the grey sky, wondering if it’s too late to quit your job and move somewhere warm.

You hear Morgan’s laughter first—loud and unfiltered. Then Emily’s, followed by JJ’s soft giggle. Even Rossi looks vaguely amused.

And Spencer.

When you turn your head, you find him standing nearby, eyes wide, lips twitching like he's trying not to laugh but failing miserably.

Your dignity is in shambles.

“Glad I could entertain you,” you mutter, pushing yourself up onto your elbows.

Morgan wipes at his eyes, still chuckling. “I gotta be honest, I expected better from you. All that ice in your veins, and you can't even stand up on it?”

You level him with a look that could freeze hell itself. “Say that again, Morgan. I dare you.”

That just makes him laugh harder.

You try to rise—carefully, deliberately—but the moment you shift your weight, your foot betrays you again, sending you skidding forward. You barely catch yourself on your hands before your knees slam into the ice.

This is actual hell.

You hear a quiet shuffling, and then Spencer is crouching beside you. “Here,” he says, offering his hand. “Let me help you,”

You stare at it, then at him. “I can do it myself.”

“I don’t doubt that,” he says patiently, “but statistically speaking, the longer you struggle, the higher the likelihood of you falling again,”

You narrow your eyes. “Did you just calculate my probability of embarrassment?”

“Technically, it’s your probability of losing your balance,” he corrects. “But if you’d prefer, I could just—“

“Fine,” you snap, before he can retract his offer.

You grab his hand, and he pulls you up with surprising steadiness. His grip is warm, fingers wrapping securely around yours. He doesn’t let go immediately, waiting until you find your footing.

“Okay?” he asks.

You nod, exhaling sharply. “Yeah. Thanks.”

His lips quirk in the smallest smile. “Anytime,”

Behind you, Morgan lets out an exaggerated sigh. “Man, that was cute,”

“I hope you drown.”

You manage to stay upright as you start moving again, though it's a battle with every step. Spencer stays close, occasionally offering a hand when you falter. You try not to let it bother you—try not to acknowledge the warmth lingering on your skin where his fingers brushed against yours.

Eventually, you reach the other side of the lake, and you’ve never been more grateful to feel solid ground beneath your feet.

Morgan claps a hand on your shoulder as he passes. “Nice work, Permafrost. That was real impressive,”

You resist the urge to trip him.

“Go die.”

“You wound me,” He presses a hand to his chest, feigning hurt. “And here I was, thinking we had a special bond,”

“If by ‘special bond’ you mean I tolerate your existence, then sure.”

Spencer snorts beside you, and for a brief moment, you almost smile.

Almost.

But then the cold seeps back in, and the reality of the case presses down on you once more. The victim is just ahead, her body pale and still against the snow.

Your amusement fades.

There’s still work to be done.

“You really don’t like the ice, huh?” Spencer asks after a moment.

You sigh, brushing the remnants of frost from your jeans. “No. I really don’t.”

“Noted,” he says, tucking his hands into his coat pockets.

[barcenal999]

Ava's going pro

Lucy Bronze x Bronze!daughterOC

Summary: Lucy was a teen mom and her 17 year old daughter tells her she's signing her first professional contract with Barcelona

It's set in Janurary 2024

Tags: fluff

Word count: 5k

A/N: I've posted this on AO3 before, but decided to start posting here

Ava made two cups of tea and came up to Lucy, who was sitting on the couch and reading a book. Probably something she would recommend to her later.

"Mom? Can we talk?" She didn't even know why she was so stressed about it. It's not like her going pro was something they never talked about. It's just that everyone always assumed she would finish high school first.

Lucy put down her book, patting the seat beside her, for the teenager to take. "Sure. What is it? A new coming out? You're straight? You're trans? You know you can always tell me, it's not like it would change anything in the way I love you." Lucy was never good with talking about serious subjects, so when she felt one coming, she rambled before Ava could even bring up the topic. "Please tell me you're not pregnant. Please don't make the same mistakes I did. I mean, you're not a mistake. You're the best thing that's ever happened to me..." She would have probably been rambling forever if she wasn't interrupted.

"Mom! Stop! Please. I'm not pregnant. You've been teaching me about safe sex and using protection since I was 13 years old."

"Well you know it's good to teach your kid about protection when they're younger than you were, when you got pregnant with them. It's the first rule of being a teen parent.” Lucy got pregnant when she wasn’t even 15 yet. She was deep in denial, trying to convince herself that she wasn’t a lesbian. Dating an 18 years old boy however, ended with her accepting that she had no interest in boys. 2 months after breaking up with him, she found out she was gonna be a single lesbian teen mom. „And it's good that you're not pregnant. There's already enough people living in this house."

"And who's fault is that?" Ava laughed at her mother and was thankful for her deflection. Being bad at talking about serious subjects was definitely genetic.

"Hey! You said you were okay with my poliamory."

"Yes mom, I'm great with it and I like both Keira and Ona. Can we stop talking about sex and relationships now, and talk about the important thing I have to ask you?"

Lucy sighed, getting herself ready for anything her daughter could throw at her. While Ava took a sip of her tea, the footballer decided it would be safest to put her cup down on the coffee table.

Ava took a deep breath to psyche herself up.

"How would you feel if I played with you on the team? Like, if I signed with Barca?" Her fingers seemed surprisingly interesting in that moment.

"Well, I already assumed that it would be Barça you would be signing with when you go pro. By why are you asking me now? You still have over a year of school left."

"So about that... you remember how some of us from the B team have been invited to train with you a week ago?" She hesitantly looked up at Lucy, and only continued when she saw her nod her head. She was surprised that the only thing she saw on her mom's face was curiosity, which gave her a boost of confidence. "Jona approached me and offered me a first team contract, since my contract for the B team is ending. He said that the details could be discussed when you agree."

Lucy's smile grew as her daughter kept talking. When she finished, she pulled her into a bone crushing hug.

"That's wonderful that they noticed you honey. I don't think you should be asking me for permission. You're almost an adult and I think it's your decision, but I would be thrilled to play beside you.” She took Ava’s face in her hands and directed her to look her in the eyes. „I’m so proud of you. It’s like yesterday you were barely walking and already kicking a ball, and now you’re 17 and signing a contract with the best club in Europe.” She kissed her daughter’s forehead and let go of her face, trying to hide the tears filling her eyes.

So many years of doing her best at raising Ava, having the serious conversations when they were needed, yet she still couldn’t hold herself together. Immense pride filled her every time Ava achieved something new and she couldn’t control her emotions.

„I just want to be sure, that you’re ready for it.” The teenager stayed calm, as if it was her whos kid was about to sign a lifechanging contract, not the other way around. „Everyone will find out that you have me. The fans will know how young you had me.”

„I’ve had years to learn how to deal with the fans.” Lucy couldn’t get used to how mature her daughter has become. „How about we deal with it the good old Bronze way?"

„Tell no one and see how that goes for us? Sounds good to me. I wanna see people freak out and try to figure out our connection. My old teammates would always freak out about things like that. They’d create all of those speculations and conspiracy theories and I couldn’t say anything.”

That’s when they knew the conversation was over. Both Bronze women laughing and already turning on the TV, to watch another episode of Station 19.

When Keira and Ona came home a few hours later, there was a celebratory dinner waiting. Lucy didn’t let Ava help with any of the cooking and didn’t even let her set the table. „We’re celebrating you, so go sit down and put some music on.” She said, when the teen came asking what to do.

Ava was a big music fan and making hours long spotify queues and playlists was something she loved doing. Finding new music and then sharing it with her family was kind of a hobby for her.

„What is that smell?” Ona asked Ava, when she came up to greet her with a hug.

„I don’t know, she wouldn’t let me help, or even enter the kitchen.” Ava shrugged. „But if I was guessing from the smell, I would say she’s making my favourite lemon and chilli shrimp.” The smirk on her face told then, that she knew that was exactly that.

„Lucy! Why didn’t you let your kid help you with dinner?”

„It’s a special occasion! We’re celebrating her. I can’t let my daughter cook her own celebratory dinner.” When the two younger women heard that, Ona turned to look at Ava, while Keira turned to Lucy.

"What did you do?"

„Lucy! You weren’t supposed to encourage violent behaviour!”

They both said it at the same time and this time Lucy smiled sheepishly, like she actually had something to be ashamed of.

To be honest, the last time Lucy made a celebratory dinner for her daughter, was when Ava beat up a homophobe. When she picked her up from school, she told her teachers she would deal with her at home, but instead made a whole day celebrating her. She had to face a scolding from both her girlfriends that day.

„I didn’t do anything!” Ava lifted her hands in surrender.

„Yes you did. You are incredible.” Lucy said to the teenager and then turned to her girlfriends. „We’ll tell you as we eat.” They moved to the dining room and she grabbed an already opened bottle of white wine. “Ava? Do you want some?”

Lucy preferred for Ava to learn to drink responsibly under supervision, than for her to go out and learn it by drinking irresponsibly. She knew that her going out to drink with friends was inevitable, but she wanted for her to know how the alcohol affects her beforehand.

They finally sat down and Lucy distributed the shrimp (Ava was right) equally for everyone. As Ava started eagerly eating her dinner, Ona and Keira looked at Lucy expectantly. They were still sceptical, not sure if what they hear will actually be positive.

“So what’s the news?” Ava put down her fork, to tell them, but Lucy was faster.

“The details have not been discussed with the club yet, but Ava told me today, that she was offered a full senior team contract from Barca.” Both women who just heard the news stood up and wrapped the teenager in a tight hug.

“They said to discuss it with mom and then we’ll negotiate the contract. We’ll probably do the negotiations the day after tomorrow, since mom already called them to set it up. And it’s not like I need for them to pay me much, I’m not planning on moving out anytime soon. I already told mom I’ll contribute to the living costs accordingly, but she told me to save up the money and not worry about it.”

“It’s gonna be so fun to play and train with you!” Ona beamed. “We’re gonna cause so much mayhem.” She whispered in her ear, so that neither of the responsible adults (mostly Keira, neither of them was sure that Lucy could be called a responsible adult) could hear.

Lucy couldn’t believe this was her life. Two beautiful and wonderful girlfriends, who cared for her daughter. Ava starting a professional football career at just 17 years old. All four of them living their dreams in sunny Barcelona.

...

A week later, after Lucy’s morning field practice and Ava skipping out halfway through her school day, they were sitting in a room with a bunch of FC Barcelona officials, some of the coaching stuff. Pen in hand, number 17 shirt with the name A. Bronze on the back, Ava signed her contract. At first Lucy hid behind the cameras, not wanting to be captured by the media team. They also took some pictures with her in them, for later and for private use.

The team had an afternoon gym session that day, that Ava would be joining them on for the first time. They didn’t tell the rest of the team, besides the captains, about her contract, so it was going to be a surprise.

When everyone was finally in the gym, starting their workouts, Ava waited out the door with Jona. She was wearing her brand new training gear, with number 17. The coach entered the gym first, telling her to wait outside. He then got everyone’s attention. It took about 3 minutes, but finally everyone was quiet and looking at him.

“Most of you don’t know this yet, but we have a new player joining us, who just signed her contract.” It wasn’t surprising to have new people signing, since it was the middle of the January transfer window, and players often joined teams before it was announced.” Before I let her in, I’m seriously warning you, not to burn the whole training centre to the ground with her involved.” He pointed at the group of younger players. “I’m talking to you.” He opened the door to let Ava enter. “Everyone, welcome Baby England to the team!”

“Lucy why is your baby in our gym?!”

“Lucy you lost your kid again!”

“A little baby! Can I hold her?!”

“Jona! It’s dangerous to have little kids running around the gym.”

The teasing exploded within the gym, which caused Ava to frown. She tried to look upset, but in reality it made her happy, that she just signed her contract and her teammates immediately accepted her into their group, by teasing her and being annoying. This team was incredibly tight knit, many people bleeding blaugrana (Alexia especially). They were a family, and even though she, as Lucy’s daughter, was kind of already a part of it, now as their teammate she could finally be its actual member.

After about a minute of the room being filled with their teammates voices and laughter, Alexia decided that it was enough of teasing for Ava’s first hour on the team.

“Ok idiotas! Leave the kid be and get back to work. Vamos!" When everybody seemed to return to their own devices, Alexia turned to the teen. "We’re happy you’re joining us Ava and if you ever need anything and want to talk to someone who isn’t your mother or her girlfriends, I’m always there.”

After that, the team got back to their workouts, Jona explaining to Ava what she was supposed to be doing, and leaving them to be looked at by the performance coaching team.

When halfway throughout the session, their phones started to blow up (mostly Lucy’s), they knew that Ava joining the team has been announced to the public, and the mayhem of speculation has started.

The post description stated:

fcbfemeni We’re happy to announce, finishing her B team contract, U-20 England Lioness Ava Bronze has signed a 2 year senior team contract! Welcome to the family!

“Just so you know” Lucy warned everyone. “We’re not saying anything about Ava’s relation to me. We decided it would be funny to let the fans make up their own theories.”

“Idiotes” muttered Alexia, but her face was showing nothing but amusement.

Mapi, who was standing next to her, the two doing their rehab exercises together, burst out laughing.

“I think you mean geniuses!” She got a glare from unimpressed Ingrid.

“I can’t wait to watch all of the theories on tiktok.” Stated Ava. “Or tumblr. That one’s crazy, cause most people there are more or less anonymous. Some of you wouldn’t survive there.” She laughed to herself, thinking about the fanfics and crazy posts she’s seen on there.

“You have to show me.” Stated Mapi.

“I wanna see that.” Jana joined the conversation. “Mapi, can we create a tumblr account for you?”

“Si” She turned to Ingrid, who was already rubbing her temples, with a big grin on her face. “The kids will teach me the internet.”

“You guys, back to work, you can talk when we finish.” Alexia went back to her captain self.

...

Three days after Ava’s signing was announced, before they started their evening movie, she was reading speculation posts on social media. She was going through a post comparing her and Lucy’s characteristics, when Keira looked over her shoulder. (Lucy and her girlfriends usually respected her privacy, but now, they became her annoying older teammates, so the privacy went out the window.)

“How are you feeling with all that social media attention? Did the fact that your private life isn’t so private, catch up to you yet?”

“Nice try.” The teen switched her phone off. “My mom is considered one of the hottest female football players, and most of my friends growing up were women’s football fans. Let’s just say that your friends swooning over your mother, is both hilarious and traumatising.” Keira jumped over the back of the couch and sat next to her girlfriend’s daughter.

“Can’t blame them for appreciating how hot she is.” Ava smacked Keira’s shoulder and the redhead pretended it hurt her. “Okay, okay!” she laughed “What was that post about? I saw your face.”

Ava unlocked her phone to show Keira the post she was reading. “Wow, they’re attentive. I’ve lived with you for like half of your life and didn’t notice that you have the same facial bone structure as her.”

“Most people assume I’m her cousin. Some had the right idea, but quickly disputed it, saying that there’s no way she had me at 15 and managed to go pro a year later. Some people even found some pictures of her with little me.” She scrolled a few posts down, where the post had a picture of the 2009 University of North Carolina soccer team, with little Ava on Tobin’s shoulders. “No idea how they found it and connected the dots that it’s me."

“Some of those people should work for the FBI.” Keira laughed.

“Who should work for the FBI?” Asked Lucy, coming out from the kitchen into the living area, with two cups of tea. Ona walked behind her, focused on not spilling the tea, from her own two cups, that were filled to the brim.

“Some of the fans found some pictures from your UNC days and connected the dots, that the little kid in them is Ava. They’re trying to figure out your connection and some of them are scarily good at it.” Keira explained while the teenager showed them the post on her phone as proof.

With her other hand, Ava took the big cup of tea, that Lucy handed her. She took a sip, gave her phone over to Keira, and stood up to take out their favourite cup coasters from the drawer in the coffee table.

Each of them had their specific coaster.

Keira’s coaster, had a picture of Leah, that she took against her friend’s will. The England captain then gave her the coaster for Christmas, saying that it was so that she would think about her every time she drank tea at home.

Ona’s coaster had a Manchester United logo on it and she used it simply to annoy her girlfriends and Ava. When Ona moved to Barcelona, Lucy wrote “Is shit” below the club name. Still, at least she was sure no one in this household would ever use her coaster. She considered putting the United logo on other things she preferred to keep to herself and everyone kept stealing. Like her half a liter cup, that she drank tea from.

Lucy’s coaster was a part of a mother’s day gift she got from Ava. It had a picture of 18 year old Lucy, holding 3 year old Ava, thrown over her shoulder. A colourful Comic Sans writing said the classic “Best Mom Ever” in the middle. She had in made with her aunt Sophie’s help when she was 11, and Lucy never stopped using it since she got the gift.

Ava’s coaster had a quote from Avatar: The Last Airbender. It said “Sick of tea? That’s like being sick of breathing!” She had a matching tea cup, that had Uncle Iroh’s face on the other side. The teenager watched the show, from start to end, at least three times, so when she saw the set in a store, she couldn’t resist buying it.

Like always, it took them 15 minutes to decide on the film they would be watching. They settled on rewatching Ocean’s 8, since all of them loved it. The hot cast wasn’t discouraging either.

They situated themselves on the L shaped couch. Lucy and Ona sat next to each other, on the wider but shorter part of the lounge. Ava, laid across the longer part. Her head in Lucy’s lap, her legs on Keira’s knees.

It may have been a great movie, but Ava has seen it multiple times already, so despite Cate Blanchett in suits being on the screen, with her mom’s fingers running through her hair and Keira lazily drawing patterns of her bare legs, she was asleep halfway through it.

When she woke up, she was surprised to find herself in her own bed. It was like nothing changed since she was just 5 years old and Lucy would carry her to bed. She may have not known about the kisses that Lucy left on her forehead, as she tucked her 17 year old daughter, into her bed, but she felt a warm feeling in her chest and knew how much her mom cared about her.

...

Every new signing had to do a media video, to show herself to the fans. So a week after signing her contract, Ava had to come to the training facility an hour before practice started. The media team led her to a seat in front of some cameras, with the training field behind her back.

“So, we asked fans on social media, to leave questions for you.” One of the media people (Ava didn’t remember their name and was too embarrassed to admit it) started. “We chose some that we thought were most appropriate. That alright with you?” They checked, in case the teen wasn’t comfortable with answering questions on camera.

“I’m good.” She was given about ten cards with questions printed on them and smiled. “Vamos!” She laughed and the camera stared rolling.

“Hi! I’m Ava Bronze and this is fan questions!” She claimed in fluent Spanish, looking into the camera.

“First question is from Mila.” She read from the first card. “Hola Mila!” She looked back up at the camera and waved. Then, she looked back down and continued reading. “’What is your favourite food?’ I love that question, cause I love food. I love things like ice cream and oat cookies, but for food I’m actually allowed to eat more of than sweets, my favourite is probably one of the only meals I can actually cook by myself, which are shrimps, with lemon, chili and garlic. We usually eat it on special occasions with my mom. She cooked it for me when she found out I was offered a pro contract.”

“Next one is from Reyna. ‘Who’s your favourite football player and who did you idolise growing up?’ Well, since I’m a striker, my favourite player is Ewa Pajor. She’s incredible and I think she’s the most underrated player. I got to meet her at the previous champions league final and she was super nice, even though she was sad cause they lost. My dream is to one day learn the bicycle kick from her. As for the players I idolised growing up. Well, I’m one of the few people my age who mostly watched women’s football and not the men’s. Another striker, Ellen White was always someone I looked up to. I love Tobin Heath, she’s brilliant on the ball and her style of play is very similar to Barca’s tight spaces technique. I was never interested in defending, but I always admired Lucy Bronze.”

“Jake asks, ‘What are your hobbies outside of football?’. Well Jake, I have so many we could make a separate video about them.” She laughed, but the media team noted it for another time. “First of all, one of my biggest, and most known among friends and family is photography. I love capturing the worlds beauty, without changing anything, just showing it as it is. I love traveling, which is kind of connected with every other hobby. I love hiking, rock climbing, mountain biking and sailing. Also, I listen to music all the time and love going to concerts. All of those hobbies include travel, so does football, so that’s a good thing.” She was about to go to the next question, but looked up to add one thing. “Also, I saw the media team taking notes when I said we could make a video about my hobbies, so I’m sure you’ll be seeing more about them in the future.”

“The next question is from Anya. ‘What do you like about Barca and what’s your favourite club team?’ Well, I have two favourite club teams and one of them is Barca. My mom will kill me for saying that publicly, but my other favourite team is Arsenal. She’s not a fan of red English clubs, especially Manchester United and Arsenal. But I love both Barca and Arsenal for similar reasons. Both clubs have this culture of family in football. Like, both of the teams have players who would never leave their team. Their academies are strong and many players grow up to be culers or gunners. There’s this loyalty that other clubs often don’t have. Like, not only for players but also fans. With other clubs, people are often fans of the footballers that play for them and not as much of the club, but with those two, it’s about more than the football. At least that's my view, even though most clubs have their die hard fan community. It’s a whole culture of those clubs that people love and I think it’s admirable.” She took a deep breath and looked down at the badge on her shirt. “I’ve moved a lot in my childhood, so I never had the opportunity to grow up within one club, but there are people like Alexia and Leah Williamson, who bleed their club’s colours.”

Ava answered all of the questions given to her and as she was at the last one, she noticed a few of her teammates making funny faces at her, telling her that training was about to begin. She laughed at them and looked into the camera.

“I can see some of my teammates telling me to wrap this up. Thank you for the questions, they were all great and I can’t wait to see you all in the crowd soon!” The camera was cut and the media team thanked her and let her go with the other girls.

...

Unlike other girls coming up from the B team, Ava came into the first team in the middle of the season and wasn’t there to replace an injured player. The coaches decided to give her two weeks of getting used to playing with the first team in training before they named her on the game day players list. It's not like she had not ever played in the first team before, but it was her first time as officially the senior player.

Her first match was an away game against Sevilla. She started out on the bench, with her mom sitting next to her.

“Stop kicking the grass. You’ll leave a hole.” Lucy put a hand on her knee to stop it from bouncing nervously.

“I think I’m gonna be sick.” Ava said, but her mom knew it was just the stress talking and her daughter wasn’t actually feeling sick. “What if I trip over my own legs and embarass myself? It has happened before.”

“You’ll be fine. You’ve been doing great in training. Jona wouldn’t have put you on the team list if he didn’t think you were ready.” She smiled and waited for Ava to look at her. “We’ve talked about it. You’ll probably come on in the 75th or 80th minute for Pina. You’ll do what you do best and rock it out there. You’re my daughter, you’ll do great.” Ava laughed at her mother’s ego, but visibly relaxed.

Just like always, the team was doing great. Pina scored in the 18th minute and they went into halftime with a 1-0 lead over Sevilla.

Around the 70th minute, when Caro and Salma were coming in for Vicky and Esmee, Jona told Ava, Lucy, Patri and Bruna to start warming up. While they were running on the sidelines, three minutes after coming in, Caro scored a goal and they ran to celebrate with the rest of the bench. Not even two minutes later, Mario added her name to the scoreline.

The time for them to come on couldn’t come faster and at the same couldn’t come fast enough. As she lined up, Ava was starting to panic. She was lined up in front of Lucy and when the ref showed her number in green, she felt her mom kick her in the ass. “You’ll do great. Just go out there and have fun.”

With that, she hugged Claudia, who ran up to her to leave the field. As she entered the game, the whole stress disappeared. Everything went quiet. She had 10 minutes of game time left and she used it wholly.

It was the 89th minute, when Ava found herself at the good end of a beautiful pass from Patri. Without hesitation she took the ball down to her feet, weaved around the last defender and with all her might, kicked the ball into the top right corner. The goalkeeper tried to save it, flying as high as she could, but she just couldn’t get her fingers on the ball in time.

Before she could even register what happened, she was being lifted in the air by Patri and surrounded by all of her teammates. “That’s my kid!” Lucy’s voice came though the ringing in her ears. When she was put down on the ground, she felt Ona put an arm around her and tap her head. “That’s our wonder kid!” She kissed her on the cheek and ran off, back into her position.

Not much happened after her goal. It was the final minutes, so they just passed the ball between each other, waiting for the final whistle. When it final came, a big smile took over Ava’s face. It was like she was high. Scoring a goal in her first game for the first team, coming out on the field with her mom right behind her. Her mom’s girlfriends out there with them. She was surrounded by family and friends. She couldn’t believe how great it felt to be there.

...

It was an evening game, so they were staying at a hotel in Sevilla. They didn’t even get back to the hotel when Ava got an Instagram notification, that Lucy tagged her in a post. She decided not to look at it, until she was back in her room with Vicky. Her teammates had other plans. “Aww, how cute.” “Look at that little face.” “Ava, you were so cute as a kid, what happened?” Could be heard through the coach and she had to change plans and look at the post.

lucybronze How proud I am to be your mom. It feels like just yesterday I was becoming a teen mom, I look back a second later and you’re already scoring goals for Barcelona’s first team. Where did this time go? So proud of you my baby 🥳

The first picture showed a 2 year old Ava kicking a football into a tiny goal set up in Lucy’s parent’s garden. The next one came from an hour before, taken in the perfect moment, when the ball left her foot and was flying towards the goal. There were a few more pictures of Ava playing football through the years, but the first two were most the important.

Five minutes after Lucy uploaded the post, both Bronze women had to put their phones on do not disturb mode, cause they were constantly vibrating with notifications.

While laying in bed, ready to go to sleep that night, she looked back at her day. She was playing football and scoring goals for the team of her dreams at just 17 years old. She had her mom by her side. The team was wonderful. She grew up surrounded by football players and now, she was one of them. This was her dreams coming true.

[babybearnation]

any driver with a hip hop dancer!reader partner ? maybe lando, kimi, or ollie ?

i ended up making this more general dancer headcanons than hip hop dancer bcuz i don't really know much about hip hop dance so i hope that's okay!

gn!dancer!reader

cw: suggestive (ollie)

lando norris:

oh he's fucking obsessed with watching you dance

this man is both oddly flexible and awkward as fuck and therefore he thinks he can pull off some of the moves you do and only just about avoids breaking a bone because you catch him

comes to every single performance or competition you have, fully ready to cheer you on - he doesn't give a single fuck about any fans or paparazzi spotting him either

absolutely loves sitting on facetime with you whilst you practise bcuz he finds that watching you learn a dance is actually a lot more satisfying than watching you do the whole thing successfully

kimi antonelli:

i think kimi would totally love this because he's all fastfastfast and numbers and data and you are all following the flow and, in some cases, rather slow

he's not stupid enough to try and replicate your moves but he will memorise them in his head so if you forget the next part, he'll be able to help you figure it out

he might try and come to every performance/competition of yours but, considering he's going into his rookie f1 season, he might have to miss more than he'd like to keep up a good rapport with mercedes - he'll try and make it up to you tho

the moment you collapse onto the floor in relief over finally learning a dance, kimi will happily crawl over (if he's there) and give you a thousand kisses because he's so proud of you

ollie bearman:

ollie loves that you're a dancer! he finds it so enchanting and he has a billion videos of you dancing saved to his phone so he can rewatch them when he's bored or missing you

get him drunk enough and he's totally attempting to learn your choreo and he cannot do it but it's rather endearing how excited he gets about "doing" it

ollie will literally be so upset if he misses any of your performances or competitions so you've started getting people to film them for him so he can still watch them even when he isn't there - it's the highlight of his day when he gets out of the car after a free practice session or quali and there's a video from you waiting for him

ollie thinks sweaty you is hot so when you finish learning a dance and turn to him, panting, he's pouncing on you, whining for you to let him taste you - and who are you to say no?

© all rights to babybearnation 2025.

[trappolia]

── DID MY LOVE AID AND ABET YOU?

(book 7 spoilers!)

ace trappola. hearts bared and dreams unveiled, you come to terms with something that has festered in the boy you love.

"You're the most selfish person I know."

It's horrifyingly bare, Ace realises, the way he lays still beneath you. Your weight rests upon his torso, legs straddling him on either side. Both of you are clothed, of course, Deuce would be horrified to see anything else if he stirred awake from where he was still recuperating on the bed across the room.

But there is something about it. Naked, not like two lovers in sex, but as if you have dug your fingers through the hollow skin of his sternum to peel it apart, baring his heart where it thumps erratically against the cage of his ribs. He lays prone beneath you, simply staring at the visage of your face (dream-like, though certainly not a dream. Not anymore. He's woken up now, thanks to you, but by doing so, you have unearthed his deepest insecurities.)

He wonders if you’d be selfish enough to dig in deeper, to unfurl the twisting cage of his ribs to bare his heart, which has always been yours for the taking.

"More than yourself?" Ace challenges. It's delivered in a light tone, easily heard as a quip to others— but you have known him long enough to recognise a challenge, to know that he sees you too in this sense.

(The question is easy for you to translate. Are you not selfish as well? Will you not try to pry me open like a gilded treasure trove of secrets, see how much more I will give to you? You've had a taste of my true heart now, and you want more. Greedy little thing.

Ace sees it in the light furrow of your brow when you stare at him. You're still figuring out the answer that Ace already knows.

He would give anything to you if you fought him hard enough for it.)

"Takes one to know one," Ace goes on when you don't answer. He dares to reach out, brushes his fingers over the light curve of your cheekbone. "'sides, is it so bad? Being selfish, I mean. Can't imagine you've got any complaints."

"I'm not talking about your dream," you huff, hands braced on his chest. Sleep rests heavy upon your eyelids, calls for you to curl up in his bloody ribs and rest there forever. It is the sleepiness that lets you both indulge in this quiet intimacy, especially in the wake of battle.

"What, you just calling me selfish in general then?" Ace snorts, pinching your hip. You scowl, swatting him slightly.

"Yes. Yes. You're a selfish man, Ace Trappola."

"Takes one to know one," Ace echoes his prior words.

His hand trails from your face to your hip, squeezing the curve of it in his palm. You are warm and heavy and real in his hands, and he can't help the way his touch wanders like a curious child. The remnants of Malleus's magic still linger in his bones, in the deep crevices of his mind, and the way you're sitting on top of him doesn't help in the question still sitting in the back of his mind.

Is he still dreaming?

"Selfish," you say again, like a broken record.

Ace stares at your face. There's the furrow of your brow and the light downturn to your lips, the plump of the bottom jutting out slightly, as if you're about to cry. You say that you're not talking about his dream, but Ace knows better. He knows that it lingers in your mind, the thought of how he loves you enough to let you go home. The thought of how he loves you enough to let you live your own life while he learns to live without you in his.

(But he is still selfish. The line between dream and nightmare is drawn where he is sure that you would return to him, because of course you would return to him. Of course he would only accept your departure if he knew that you could somehow acquire a return ticket. You know this too.)

"Don't leave me," Ace whispers. He tries to make it sound less of a plea, less than a beg. He knows he is failing.

You swallow. "You're so selfish."

But Ace knows that you're more selfish. You are, perhaps, the most selfish one of all. It is in the searing warmth of your body, nearly burning through your clothes as you lean over him; in the cruelty of the way you press your lips against his like a prince rousing his princess from an eternal sleep, as if the two of you would ever have the blessing of living together happily forever after.

If this is a dream, Ace wishes that you would never wake him up.

[loosethreadsofyoursoul]

i made a tma playlist! it’s one song per fear entity, each corresponding to an avatar or victim (see below the cut for song breakdowns and more yapping)

cover art i downloaded from pinterest - it doesn’t say the artist but if u know who it is lmk !

the buried: like real people do - hozier

pov: alice “daisy” tonner

why were you digging / what did you bury / before those hands pulled me / from the earth

what did jon bury? what was he hiding as she suffocated? what was daisy hiding from before he came and pulled her out of there? did she ever feel like a real person?

the corruption: my strange addiction - billie eilish

pov: jane prentiss

hurts but i know how to hide it, kinda like it / … / my doctors can’t explain / my symptoms or my pain / but you are my strange addiction

and she did kinda like it, she was drawn to it, addicted to it, even with the pain and the detriment to her entire life. the corruption is toxic relationship core and she made a perfect avatar.

the dark: i will follow you into the dark - death cab for cutie

pov: manuela dominguez

if there’s no one beside you when your soul embarks / then i’ll follow you into the dark

i mean, she literally followed maxwell rayner into the dark. for all the good and the bad, she would have followed him even if no one else did. yknow, for cult reasons. but still.

the desolation: agnes - glass animals

pov: jude perry

agnes, just stop and think a minute / why don't you light that cigarette and / calm down now stop and breathe a second / … / a choking rose back / to be reborn / i want to hold you like you're mine / you're gone but you're on my mind

thinking about agnes montague for this song… jude really loved her. and it wasn’t pretty, she wanted control and loved her partly for how she was connected to their god, but the love was there. and i think she always missed agnes.

the end: if we were vampires - noah kahan, wesley schultz

pov: georgie barker

If wе were vampires, and death was a joke / we'd go out on the sidewalk and smoke / and laugh at all the lovers and their plans / i wouldn't feel the need to hold your hand

i considered this for trevor/the hunt bc of literal vampires but like the narrator is a realist in this song which is very much who georgie is. death is inevitable. danger is inevitable. and just because she couldn’t feel fear didn’t mean georgie wasn’t aware of what she had and that she needed to protect it and herself. she wasn’t reckless with her life which is what this song means to me.

the eye: every breath you take - the police

pov: elias bouchard/jonah magnus

every breath you take / and every move you make / every bond you break / every step you take / i'll be watching you

self explanatory. to me. still giggling about it actually.

the flesh: under your skin - jukebox the ghost

pov: jared hopworth

how much can you fit under your skin? / … / i can fit two people under my skin / … / and i can feel you laughing, under my skin / and the happy palpitations are making me… grin

also self explanatory. just shoving bones in there as often as possible. thanks a lot, jurgen leitner.

the hunt: run boy run - woodkid

pov: trevor herbert

run boy run, this world is not made for you / … / run boy run, break out from society / … / tomorrow is another day / and you won't have to hide away / you'll be a man, boy / but for now it's time to run, it's time to run

this song is so young trevor trying to find his place in the world after violently losing his brother to a supernatural being he didn’t know existed and feeling the responsibility of that while also being ousted from society. he never did stop running huh.

the lonely: agoraphobia - autoheart

pov: martin blackwood

tried on 13 pairs of / shoes and not one made me want to / leave this blessed house of mine / that’s just fine / i really don’t want to go anywhere / i don’t really want to go anywhere

i see why this is on so many lonely playlists and it really is martin in mag 170, trapped in that house by his own mind but also by what the house is doing to him. it’s a comfort, but not a good one, very much those feelings of self isolation.

the slaughter: in our bedroom after the war - stars

pov: melanie king

it's us, yes, we're back again / here to see you through, 'til the days end / and if the night comes, and the night will come / well, at least the war is over

i like this song for melanie and the slaughter bc it’s kind of an antithesis to who she is. as long as she has a war to fight, she’s comfortable. she won’t lose everything she’s fighting for. the war may be raging but by god she won’t be the one who loses.

the spiral: strawberry fields forever - the beatles

pov: michael shelley/the distortion

let me take you down / cause I'm going to strawberry fields / nothing is real / … / living is easy with eyes closed / misunderstanding all you see / it's getting hard to be someone, but it all works out

there’s the obvious “misunderstanding all you see” spiral and distortion connotations but for michael, it also was hard to be someone. nothing was real to him either, really.

the stranger: you’re somebody else - flora cash

pov: tim stoker

well, you look like yourself / but you're somebody else / only it ain't on the surface / well, you talk like yourself / no, I hear someone else though / now you're making me nervous

the irony of this song is that. she didn't look like herself. or talk like herself. but to tim, it was sasha, and she didn't make him nervous until the end when he became nervous about everything because of what happened to her. and he became somebody else, too.

the vast: space oddity - david bowie

pov: simon fairchild

i'm stepping through the door / and I'm floating in a most peculiar way / and the stars look very different today / for here / am I sitting in a tin can / far above the world

this song has very clear vast connotations but i also like the imagery of simon sitting far above everyone else. in a literal way but also he thinks he's above most people because of his abilities, so he uses them to cause problems on purpose which is ultimately his downfall. what an interesting, weird old man.

the web: control - halsey

pov: annabelle cane

my mind's like a deadly disease / i'm bigger than my body / ... / goddamn right, you should be scared of me / who is in control?

the thing about annabelle is that all those things are true but. at the point where we get to know her, she's part of something bigger than herself, it genuinely doesn't matter to her whether she lives or dies.

the extinction: love song (for the apocalypse) - ira wolf

pov: jonathan sims

i packed a photo of us from our very first date / you packed the water 'cause I couldn't carry the weight / and into the ashes you carved out a heart with our names / ... / we could say we told you so, but what good is that now

i like this song for jon and the extinction for many reasons but firstly i think it's funny to have jon's song be associated with the only entity that didn't actually mark him. but yeah this song is very jonmartin during the eyepocalypse. everything's a disaster, but they're together, and they endure.

[loredrinker]

A Letter to Varric from the Inquisitor

Varric,  You are gone, and I am compelled to put my grief in ink, to seek some type of connection with you. Just when I thought there was no more sorrow to wring from my bones, I find there are oceans of it, waiting beneath the surface. And I fear if I give myself to it, I will drown.  I am sorry, Varric.  Cassandra, Dorian - they’ve done what friends do best and tell me not to blame myself – that there was nothing I could have done. But...how can I not?  How many nights have we spoken of this very thing? The weight of our choices. The things we must live with. I still remember what you said to me about getting stuck in the losses, about moving away from the guilt of our choices so that we don’t lose ourselves to them.  But I am lost right now Varric. I only put one foot in front of the other because I refuse to let that ocean pull me under.   And I know what you would say to me now - you would tell me not to carry your death as another barb among all the others buried in my skin. But...allow me this moment of selfish despair before I wear the brave face again, the one that reassures everyone else that I can still hold the line:   You wouldn’t have been looking for him if it weren’t for me. You wouldn’t have been there at that ritual if it weren’t for me. You wouldn’t have sacrificed all these years if it weren’t for the belief that Solas could choose another way, and maybe even be saved from himself. A belief I shared with you. And yes, Varric, I know what you would say to that too - all these years, it was your choice as well.  And I love you for that. I love you for sharing that belief with me, and for being one of the few to do so. But now you have paid for that belief.  I don’t know where this road will lead me. I don’t know if I will have the chance to face Solas, but I hope I do. I hope I have the courage to walk the path you walked, to make sure your sacrifice was not in vain. To see with my own eyes if the man we saw in Solas is still in there somewhere.    The only thing I know is that whatever happens, whether we find a way to stop him or whether he strikes me down as well - this story will finally have its ending - and I hope it’s an ending worthy of one of your stories.   I will miss you, my dearest friend.  At the bottom of the page, there are additional words in different handwriting:  The Stone remembers. It holds him. Warm and strong, carved with care, but never broken. He’s still there, a note in the song, humming low and steady, even when you can’t hear it. 

One of my frustrations with Veilguard has been the inability for the Inquisitor to express grief over Varric’s death specifically (a constant companion in my Inquisition playthroughs). I can overlook many things as my imagination has been cooking for ten years - but this is the one thing I can't quite let go.

For my Inquisitor, for the closure the game never gave, I’ve addressed it through this letter to Varric. While my world state is Solas x Lavellan x Atonement, I wrote this to be Inquisitor neutral while still reflecting the thoughts of my Inky.

I want to thank @lotsofthinkythoughts. Without our recent chats I don't know that I would have finally finished this piece.

[dreamwreaver]

because Alastor has already canonically called Charlie good girl, she must return the favor by calling him good boy

honestly wanna see a fanfic do this where Alastor does what he's asked after Charlie wore him down after his incessant complaints and excuses. then once he concedes, she does what he did to her last time to mock him: she pats him on his head and chirps "Good boy!" and walks away, leaving a stunned demon who has unknowingly gained a praise kink

Ask and ye shall receive. Well, less of a fic and more of a ficlet but, I have something cooking for Valentine's Day I really wanna finish in time so...

As much as he adored his dearest Charlie, Alastor had to admit she could be as tenacious as a junkyard dog with a bone when an idea got into her head, and unfortunately in this instance he was the bone.

"Please Al?" She laced her fingers together in front of her chest, tucking them under her chin as she made her eyes as big as possible and fluttered her lashes at him, black lips pursed in a tempting pout.

Overall the effect would have been ridiculous on anyone else. But since it was his Charlie... ugh, when had he become so weak?

"Darling we've been over this," his frustration was about as sturdy as a rock sunk into the sea, worn down and eroded by the battering of the waves, "I don't particularly care for men in general, fathers in particular, and your father most especially. And the feeling is certainly mutual."

He did enjoy getting the fallen angel's... he'd say goat if he didn't find the prospect gauche and insulting to his sweetheart. And it did so sting the tiny would be tyrant that his own flesh and blood had chosen to be with not just a sinner, but the one sinner he hated above everyone else. A fact that Alastor took almost as much pleasure in as he took from Charlie herself. Nevertheless...

"But it'll be fun!"

Alastor resisted the ungentlemanly urge to snort in derision, "For whom, exactly?"

Charlie opened her mouth to counter, but stopped short when she realized he was right. That didn't mean she was going to stop trying though.

"Alright, fine," she huffed, "I know it's not going to be fun, for you or for him but... Al this is my dad. And sure he hasn't always been the most..."

"Caring? Affectionate? Able to prevent you from developing daddy issues?" He paused and looked at her, "Please, stop me when you hear something you like; I can go all day!"

"Present," Charlie emphasized the word, "But he's trying to be better, to fix our relationship. And I want that too."

"By all means dearest," Alastor held out his hands as if to demonstrate there was nothing up his sleeve, "I'm certainly not stopping you from seeing the man. Go to the dinner, have fun, and then when you get home I'll make you a proper meal."

"Al," Charlie's sweet mouth was set in a pout as she looked at him, "You can't just beg off anything that has to do with my parents. Like it or not, they're the rulers of Hell and I'm the princess. I have duties, expectations, and I want you to be part of that part of my life."

"I am perfectly fine being the ever feared Radio Demon. While I appreciate you thinking I'm worthy of being prince consort it's not a title that I exactly covet."

Alastor knew he'd said the wrong thing as soon as it left his mouth. Charlie's whole expression dropped.

"No, I mean," since when had talking ever been so difficult for him, "I will stay with you for an eternity my dearest. In whichever way you'll deign to have me. But despite how much I enjoy power, that isn't why I'm with you."

"I know," she replied quietly, fiddling with her hair as she was wont to do when her emotions were too much and the energy needed to be expended somewhere, "But being with me means being with all of me. I accept every part of you."

If his heart was still beating it might very well have tightened in his chest. He knew all of this already. It was one of the reasons he loved her.

"And I accept all of you my darling demon belle," he replied, "But I cannot in good conscience find it in myself to attend what would only be a disaster of a dinner with your father."

She resorted to pleading again, this time keeping her hands clasped low and using her arms to draw attention to her already ample chest. And again, he was left wondering when he'd become so weak-minded that a woman's breasts were of any interest to him. No wait, that was wrong, it wasn't any woman who could catch his eye. It was specifically because it was Charlie that he was distracted in the first place.

"You're my partner, the one I chose," Charlie had moved closer, placing her hands at his lapels against his chest, "If my dad doesn't like it then he can fucking deal. I'm not going to make all the sacrifices in fixing our relationship. You and I are a package deal, if he wants to see me, he needs to get used to seeing you."

It was easy to forget sometimes that Charlie was in fact a demon, such was her sweet and optimistic -if a bit crass at times- nature. However, Alastor felt his grin turn giddy, such pointed cruelty as to make her own sire suffer Alastor's presence if he wanted time with his child? Having the fact that a man the devil himself couldn't stand at his table, with full knowledge of what sorts of things people in committed relationships got up to rubbed in his face? Oh that was far too good an opportunity to pass up.

"Alright," he relented. But in truth he probably would have given in anyways. Alastor found that since he'd given his heart to Charlie there wasn't anything he could really deny her, "I'll attend, but don't-"

"I don't expect you and my dad to be best friend," Charlie rolled her eyes but her smile softened the sass, "Just... civil," a pause, "ish."

"I'll endeavor to do my best,"

"Thank you," she pressed a kiss against his cheek, "And maybe if you stay on your best behavior there'll be some... quid pro quo,"

Alastor wasn't quite able to swallow the half moan half growl that rumbled from within at her words.

Later that evening they stood waiting to be received by the king of hell before being seated. It was so like him to keep them waiting. At least there were plenty of portraits of his beloved to keep him occupied.

"Remember," Charlie whispered as a servant hurried into the hall.

"Best behavior," Alastor whispered back, "Yes dearest I know."

Charlie stared at him a moment, then with a sly smile and a dangerous gleam in her eye she leaned up to speak directly in his ear,

"Good boy," she purred, making things worse by gently patting him on the head, "Very good boy."

As she began striding away from him with a deliberate swing of her supple hips Alastor smiled so tightly his molars began to grind. Oh sweet Charlotte, how naive. She'd only asked him to play nice with her father. She never said anything about herself.

Hope you like it Nonny!

[lemotmo]

I’m curious to see the response Ryan gives for his personal thoughts on what’s going on between Buck and Eddie.

But at the same time I’m not excited for the melt down it’ll probably cause since he still can’t give anything away so people are gonna end up dooming 💀😂

Listen, at this point I've given up on asking people to use their common sense. We've been saying this over and over again, but for some reason there are always people that will see the worst in these interviews and who spiral and doompost afterwards.

What do they possibly expect Ryan to say? He can't just come out and say:

"Hey everyone! Guess what?! Eddie is gay!!! And he desperately wants to bone Buck!!!! WHAT ABOUT THAT BUCK AND EDDIE THING HUH?!!!! YOLO!!! LOL!!!"

So yes, he'll skirt around the topic and he'll say some deep and meaningful things about the Buddie friendship and how important it is for Eddie. I expect him to tease a little and give some vague answers, but that's really the only thing he can say. 🤷‍♀️

And like clockwork, people over on Twitter will start yelling that he is baiting them. Pffff, seriously-- if it wasn't for some good sources, I would have deleted Twitter ages ago.

The influx of some newer fans (both BT and Buddie) when Buck came out as bi has made the 911 fandom a worse place to be in my opinion. Some of these people are ruthless. The way they talk to professional journalists is appalling and downright rude. I always have so much second-hand embarrassment when I read some of their comments.

((I'd like to make a note here that I'm not talking about ALL new people in fandom, just some of them and most are over on Twitter. I've met a lot of lovely new people here on Tumblr who know how to behave normally and who are genuinly excited to join this fandom. Welcome to all of you!!! Seriously!!! It's nice to have some new voices and fresh input.))

As the second anon said, some of them were almost threatening Jeff Conway, telling him that the fandom would be upset with him if the interview didn't give them what they wanted. I mean... WTF?! This guy interviewed an actor of a TV-show. He is only going to write about what Ryan said. This isn't life and death here! It's just a silly little TV-show interview!

This isn't even about fandom etiquette anymore. It goes beyond that! This is about human decency. Just because you are online and anonymous, doesn't mean that you get to act like a total *sshole towards an entertainment journalist or towards actors and other fans for that matter. I have seen some vile Ryan hatred on Buddie-Twitter. Safe to say I blocked all of them.

I truly don't get it. How were these people raised? Didn't their parents or guardians ever talk to them about kindness and decency? Did some of them grow up with social media without any kind of supervision and somehow it desensitized them to normal human behaviour and social cues? What went wrong?!

I don't know you guys. Maybe I sound old to some of you.🤷‍♀️ But I've been in fandom spaces for a very long time now, so I know what I'm talking about.

Whenever I speak up about something like this, I get messages in my inbox calling me a 'boomer'. I didn't know that asking for simple human decency and politeness made someone a 'boomer', but if that is the case, I'll gladly take that title. Because some of these fans' behaviour on Twitter is seriously getting out of hand.

So really, the message here is: Stay away from stan-Twitter if you can, but if you like it there (no judgement 😋 You do you!) do make sure to block wisely, even within the Buddie fandom if necessary. Don't share, reply or make screenshots, because none of us should condone or share these people's shitty behaviour.

[manderleyfire]

i think ryan condal likes aegon tbh!

that's why people compare him to a fucking joffrey, because hotd showrunner likes aegon. righhhhhht

[black-and-yellow]

[feroluce]

Thinking tonight about Caelus, and the nature of his loss and his grief after the Everything that went down in Penacony during 2.0.

Because Acheron, Black Swan, and Misha kind of knew of Firefly, they at least met her, but they didn't like really know her, and Caelus never even got the chance to introduce her to the rest of the Astral Express Crew. The only person who would have talked to her much was Sparkle, who is. Probably not really someone Caelus is interested in grieving with skznmsks

Anyway, all this to say, I like thinking about how alone poor Caelus is in his grief, because he was the only one who knew Firefly. He's the only one really mourning her. There's no one to talk about her with. There's no stories to trade or memories to reminisce with anyone over. It's not as though he knew her for long, but still. No one else knew her at all.

And I love the thought of all of this coming bubbling up, hot and acidic and bitter, during a conversation with Sampo, who Caelus just so happens to run into in the Golden Hour. Poor Sampo is kinda blindsided, he knew shit was going down in Penacony, but yeesh. And he just. Isn't quite sure what to say about it all, because he's never really encountered this before. His feelings about the Masked Fools are...a mixed bag, but he's been a part of them for a very long time, and when you're with a close organization like that, it's hard to feel alone, in grief or otherwise.

So Sampo sits there on their little bench that the two of them have occupied, and he thinks of his old friend April, how she'd died in his arms cackling and spitting her own blood after a heist gone wrong, and how after he'd dragged himself back to the World's End Tavern they'd all held a Fool's Funeral- which is basically just a big party where everyone gets really really drunk and reminisces and toasts the dead and celebrates their life.

He still thinks about her a lot, and he remembers how the time he'd most keenly felt her absence was on Jarilo-VI, the one place where he couldn't talk about her because he couldn't say anything to give himself away as an alien. The Fools still tell stories about her every time he goes back to the Tavern. His first toast of the night is always in her name. Even now, all these years after she'd died, Sampo is still learning new things about her. He's never had to grieve her alone.

Caelus doesn't have any of that.

He might never have that. As they speak, Caelus has no proof that Firefly was even her real name, or if she dreamt with her true appearance. He might not ever find out who she even was.

And just imagining that kind of loneliness hollows out a strange little pit, right behind his sternum, deep between his ribs.

So Sampo claps Caelus' shoulder and offers him a deal. Come find him outside of the dream. He knows a guy who can get them a lot of beer for really cheap-

("Is that guy you and your five finger discounts?" "Whatever do you mean, dear friend, I don't even know the meaning of the phrase, hehee.")

-and they can hole up in a bar or a hotel room or something, and get completely shitcanned. Tell him all about Firefly, tell him everything, and he'll tell Caelus about April and everyone else he's ever lost. Sampo will carry Caelus' memories of Firefly with him, and at least this way, Caelus will be a little less alone in remembering her. And the next time they cross paths, Sampo will be the one to bring her up, and to tell her stories, and Caelus can get to be the one listening. He won't have to be the only person to talk about her anymore.

Caelus rolls his eyes when Sampo avoids another remark about sticky fingers, but...ok, yeah. That sounds good. Nice, even. Thank you. Caelus bumps his shoulder against Sampo's. Sampo bumps back.

(They find each other again the next day, and true to their word, get themselves completely and utterly shitcanned. Caelus talks more than Sampo has ever heard him; every minute detail, every word choice, Firefly's every odd little mannerism and habit. Because Caelus wants to make sure this will outlive him, that even if the Stellaron dwelling within him finally burns him to a crisp and he really does up and kick the bucket, or even, godforbid, if he forgets, he wants to make sure someone remembers her. She deserved that.)

((And it takes quite a while, after that. Caelus doesn't see Sampo again until after everything has settled down. On his last day in Penacony, he finds the guy slinking out of a seedy back alley and all but runs right into him. Sampo happily leads him to some dive bar in an even seedier back alley that Caelus has never even heard of, and Sampo raises his glass. "To Firefly! Who sounds like she probably would have hated me at first, but I would have liked to have met her anyway."

And Caelus stares at him, almost looking startled, long enough that Sampo worries that he's read him wrong and brought this up too soon. He's halfway into planning how to talk himself out of this situation when Caelus finally throws back his head back and laughs, tells him that yeah, Firefly would have politely called him out on every lie he told, and all their conversations would take twice as long with the way Sampo is so full of shit.

And he can see it, the same way he watches and sees through everyone, that Caelus' eyes have a tightness to them, his knuckles are nearly white around the handle of his mug. But he smiles. He hits his glass against Sampo's far too hard and throws it back and gets foam everywhere like he does every time they drink because the guy's about as elegant as a raging bull, but those things don't lessen the genuineness of his smile.

The grief is there, but so is the elation, and those emotions aren't a sliding scale between one or the other. It is all of both and both at once, and that's what contents Sampo enough to throw his own mug back when Caelus makes a toast of his own, "to April!!".))

[canisalbus]

I love the shapes you use to draw machete, or really any character!! The way you draw noses, ears, bodies, fur, it looks like of I were to reach my hand out I could actually feel it, the bumps in the skin the squish of the flesh the softness of the hair. Not to mention the colors you use are very pleasing to the eye. So lovely... keep up the phenomenal work!!!

Ah, thank you so much!

[thatonesmartkidfromschool]

Dog got put down today and the saddest I've been all day is because of pokemon angst. What the hell is wrong with me. Why can't I care.

[bonefall]

inch resting... a heather destroyed tunneling and a heather brought it back...

Man like... in Clanmew, I've made it so they have two different names. Common-heather-star, and Bell-heather-star.

If I was in charge of this ship and Better Bones wasn't a rewrite/au to rework canon, I would have given them the same suffix in Clanmew, and then conflict-rename Heathertail on purpose into Bellstar

As if she got a new name on becoming a leader, breaking out of Heatherstar's legacy, and became the softer, pollinator-friendly heather. Surrounded by friends and lovers, bringing back that which was once destroyed.