#and the way ava's face lights up when she sees it's bea | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

piratekane · 1 year

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Roommates au dealer's choice

If you ask Ava, things are going really well. Like, really well. Her apartment is a little far from campus but the walk is good for her. It stretches her morning-tight muscles out so well that by the time she gets to her first class, she's able to cram into the world's most uncomfortable stadium seats ever built and learn about things she wants to learn about.

She has all the things she thought she'd have in college: a regular seat in her Intro to Philosophy class where she can hide her iced coffee from the eagle eyes of her professor; a table in the library that seems to be reserved for her where she can hide her iced coffee from the glare of the world's most ancient librarian; a running study date at the campus coffee shop with a group of people from her Biology 1 lab where the barista knows her by name and always has her iced coffee on the counter.

And the world's coolest roommate.

“Honey, I’m hooome,” she sings as she throws open the apartment door hard enough that nearly hit the wall behind it. She barely stops it.

Beatrice, to her credit, doesn’t flinch. She’s used to it by now, to the way Ava seems to explode into a room. But Ava likes trying, likes seeing how much she can throw Bea off balance. She makes a certain face when something catches her off guard. A slight widening of her eyes and lips parting in surprise. Ava not-so-secretly loves it.

There’s a lot about Bea that she not-so-secretly loves. And there’s a lot she secretly loves too.

“How did your exam go?”

Ava clicks her tongue. “What about ‘wassup, Ava’? Or ‘Ava, I missed you terribly in the hour you were gone from my side’. What kind of greeting is how did your exam go?”

Bea regards her for a moment before letting out a nearly imperceptible sigh. Ava knows that one, the way it sounds so poorly annoyed but is really just an exhale of fondness. “Hello, Ava. How did your exam go?”

There’s a lot about her that Bea not-so-secretly loves. She hopes there’s a lot Bea secretly loves too.

Ava throws her backpack onto the couch, clocking the way that Bea’s eyes follow it as it lands and bounces onto the floor. She picks it up and puts it down gently, pretending like that’s what she was going to do the whole time. Bea does her the favor of pretending the same.

“Aced it.” She crosses the room to the table where Bea is, what seems like a hundred books spread out in front of her. She frowns. If this is what junior year is going to look like, she wants no part of that. “How is saving the world?”

“It’s Religious Studies. Hardly saving the world.” But Bea’s cheeks redden still. Ava almost taps her on the nose, just to see how far down it’ll go. “But it’s going fine. I’ve nearly worked out quite the thesis for this paper.”

Ava leans over, one hand resting on Bea’s shoulder. She feels the sharp bone under her palm, the way the muscles tense and coil. She actively stops herself from running her fingers down over the cliff of Bea’s collarbone or down the curve of her shoulder to her bicep. It’s unfortunately hidden under a long sleeve shirt today, depriving Ava of one of her favorite views.

She thinks - she hopes - she hears a sharp whistle of an inhale as she leans forward even more, chest at Bea’s eye-level. It takes considerable effort to hide the smirk on her face. She deserves some kind of reward for it and she’ll take her prize in the form of a kiss.

It’s not a prize she’ll actually get. But it doesn’t stop her from dreaming about it.

“Proud of you,” she finally says, turning and pressing a fleeting kiss to Bea’s forehead. Her skin is warm and dry and Ava lets herself linger for just a second before she pulls away.

Maybe Beatrice exhales when she does. Maybe it’s just a trick of the light coming in through their living room window.

“Thank you,” Bea says softly. She arranges an already-perfect stack of papers. “I was thinking we might get Thai for dinner tonight.”

Ava pops up from the refrigerator, a bag of shredded cheese in her hand. “Take out? What’s the occasion?.”

Bea’s face twists in mild disgust. “I’m not sure if I can stomach another night of you eating… shredded cheese. From the bag.” She stands up, caps her pen, and sets it down carefully alongside the two highlighters and the pen she uses only to correct something. Ava watches in fascination, easily caught up in the way Bea’s fingers work effortlessly over them, arranging everything perfectly. “And I have a favor to ask.”

She abandons the shredded cheese. “A favor?” She bumps the refrigerator closed with her hip and leans back across the counter. “From me?”

“It has been known to happen from time to time.” Bea takes a few steps forward until she’s reached the small peninsula that extends from the side of the kitchen out into a breakfast bar where they usually eat unless Ava can convince Bea to sit on the couch. She leans against it, mirroring Ava. “But this is more of a… personal favor.”

“Yes, I’ll fight your parents. You don’t even have to ask.”

Some of the seriousness that was building on Bea’s face, the slight wrinkle in her forehead, breaks. Her mouth turns up in a slight smile, the way it always does when Ava threatens to commit bodily harm in Bea’s honor. Ava grins in return.

“I’ll remember that for the next time one of their letters arrives in the mail.” She looks thoughtful again. “No, I was wondering if…” Bea’s hands flutter in front of her for a moment before they settle into a tight knot. “Well, if you might tell me what makes me appealing to other people.”

Ava almost wishes she had a mouthful of the wine in the back of the refrigerator she’s saving for when she finds out how she did on her Poetry and Politics paper. Just so that she could spit it out and illustrate how ridiculous of a question Beatrice is asking right now. But she settles for twisting her face in confusion and staring at Bea.

Bea takes her silence as a no. “I’m sorry,” she says quickly. “That was a silly question. Forget I asked.” The walls are closing quickly. Ava is watching boards going up in the windows and two by fours going across the doors. “Of course, we can still get Thai food. Mary recommended their-”

“Bea.” Bea’s mouth snaps closed. “I wasn’t saying no. I was just… Do you really need someone to tell you?”

But the look on Bea’s face says that, yes. She does need someone to tell her. Ava considers herself a master in many subjects but she’s an expert at the ways in which Beatrice is appealing. So she carefully regards Bea and purses her lips and nods.

“I’ll do it.”

She thinks maybe there’s a flicker of relief on Bea’s face, but it passes quickly. She doesn’t linger on it. Ava crosses her arms over her chest, chin in the air as she studies Bea and resists the urge to cross the room. “Well, first of all, you always leave a light on for the last person coming home.”

Bea’s lips purse in a frown.

“And you never make me do the dishes by myself, even if you’re just sitting here with me. You don’t mind getting mushrooms on your pizza, even if I know you think they’re slimy.” Ava uncrosses her arms, starts counting on her fingers. “You keep soda in the apartment even though you think it rots my teeth. You always vacuum when I’m not home because you know how much the sound freaks me out.”

Bea’s frown deepens. “I think that makes me… a good roommate. For you.”

“The best,” Ava agrees. “No one else I’d rather be roommates with.” Bea is still frowning and Ava feels herself melt a little. She gives in this time, crossing the room to press her thumb gently to the space between Bea’s forehead, feeling the skin smooth out under her touch. “But you’re also incredibly kind. People can trust you with their lives. You’re humble, considerate. Insanely intelligent. Hilarious. And… my best friend.”

Bea smiles softly, eyes cutting down with slight embarrassment.

“Plus.” Ava’s hand drifts without her permission, dancing across Bea’s cheek to curl around her neck to hold her gaze. “You’re hot.”

This close, she can see Bea swallow and hear the near-silent inhale of air. This close, she can feel how the words land and how they alter Bea. Ava smooths her thumb against Bea’s neck, feeling her pulse pound under thin skin. She feels herself swaying in a little, the tips of her bare feet touching Bea’s slippered toes. Her eyes drop to Bea’s lips.

She could throw caution to the wind. She could cut through the last threads of her reasonable thoughts and kiss Bea right here in their kitchen. But Bea deserves a big romance with a kiss and a side of fireworks. And Ava still has pieces of cheese stuck to her other hand. So she settles for brushing her thumb against Bea’s neck one last time and breaking the moment with a wink.

“I can write you a recommendation, if you want,” she offers as she takes a small step backwards, smiling as charmingly as she can. “Unless you’re collecting this information so that you can sell yourself to some other idiot with a better apartment.”

Bea blinks once, then twice. Her face clouds for a moment before it clears and Ava is looking back at the Bea she’s used to, albeit a little pinker in the cheeks. “Don’t be silly,” she says, voice thinner than usual. “I’d simply make you move out.”

Ava’s mouth drops open. “Me? I’d have to move out? No way. I’m basically built into the woodwork at this point.” She jabs a finger at Bea. “You jump, I jump. What’s that one line you like, from Ruby?”

“Ruth,” Bea corrects quietly. “Don’t urge me to leave you or to turn back from you,” she quotes. “Where you go I will go, and where you stay I will stay.”

Ava nods with an air of finality. “You’re my forever-roomate, Beatrice. Where you go, I will go, and where you stay, I will stay.”

Bea smiles, eyes on the floor for a moment before they meet Ava’s. “Okay. I suppose I can live with that.”

“Good.” Ava takes a deep breath, holding it in her cheeks, and blowing it out loudly. “You said Thai, right? Does that mean we get to eat in the living room? I pinky promise not to drop any satay sauce on the carpet.” She bounces on the tips of her toes hopefully and cheers a little when Bea sighs out a yes. Ava beams as Bea picks through the menus in the drawer that Beatrice swears the can opener is, if only Ava would truly look for it.

“You’re my forever-roommate too, Ava,” Bea says quietly as she passes Ava the take out menu. “In case you didn’t know it.”

“I did,” she lies. “But it’s nice to hear you say it every once in a while.”

Bea’s hand brushes across the back of hers and then she’s drifting away, back to the table and her homework like leaving Ava with all this knowledge - that Bea wants to be with her forever - isn’t a truth that Ava will think about for the rest of the night. Bea must know. She has to. It's the only thing that makes sense.

So, yeah. Things are going well. They’re going really well.

#warrior nun #avatrice #ava silva #sister beatrice #i'm hiding in my office supposedly writing a report but alas it was not meant to be #thank you to my company for paying for fanfic #you're the real mvp #k byeee #forever roommates

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possibilistfanfiction · 4 months

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happy new year! maybe a prompt for sleep/nap bc i need one lol

bea 🧑🏻‍⚕️🐝❤️‍🩹 (4:27 am): If you’re done with your post-op and would like to stop by, I’m in the on-call room.

it’s so late it’s almost morning, and you really should be headed home because, technically, your shift is over and you’d been at the hospital for, like, too many hours to really want to keep track of at this point. but bea — beatrice choi, md, the resident in charge of you — is, like, so handsome, and kind, and an incredible teacher, with her perfect handwriting and her free gender-affirming clinic and all the languages she knows fluently. you think you’re a little in love with her, but who can blame you — you’re sleep-deprived and sometimes in awe of the skill and calm she has, even in just her third year.

Dr. Ava Silva (4:31 am): sweet yah omw :)

when you open the door, a little harried, you immediately still and quiet as much as you can. bea has the room darkened, the only light coming in from a sliver under the window curtain, blue and red from the ambulances and easy white-gold from the street lights in the hospital parking lot. you’ve spent so much of your life — way too much of your life — in dark rooms in hospitals in uncomfortable beds that, for years, you could barely even feel, so you should want to run away. you should want to leave as soon as your shift is over and go home to your cramped apartment with its rickety table you found on the side of the road and its lumpy couch and the chipped mug in the kitchen — it’s not much; you can’t afford more, but it’s yours.

but you’re starting to think in some way maybe beatrice is yours too. all of the tension in your shoulders from the day — from countless central lines and three boring laparoscopic surgeries and one fatal stabbing in the er, from sutures and journals and so much to learn — melts away when you see her fast asleep. bea is on her back, scrub top off, one arm over her head, the blanket pooled around her waist, her phone face down on the flat plane of her chest — scars you haven’t seen before there that make you smile, just a little, beautiful — like she’d fallen asleep texting you. based on the fact that it’s only — you check your watch — 4:35 am, you’re pretty sure she did.

camila keeps pestering you, and probably bea too, knowing her, to just talk to chief superion about your feelings so you can be on another resident’s service, so that there won’t be any issues and you can kiss bea if you want, but it’s, like, totally terrifying to imagine not only telling beatrice your feelings, let alone dr. superion, who puts up with your antics but just barely.

you could leave. you could sneak out the door right now back to your apartment. it feels like a cliff to jump off, or a knife’s edge — but maybe it’s not that. maybe it’s something warm and easy and not really a choice at all, to love the steadiest person you’ve ever met.

it’s easy to pull your running shoes off and discard your white coat and climb into the small space in the small bed next to her. she stirs a little, and so you say, ‘hey, i’m here.’ and she puts out her arm so you can lie down. it’s an invitation, albeit a sleepy one, so you make sure: ‘is this okay?’

she hums and nods. ‘hi ava.’

her voice is heavy with exhaustion; later you’ll come to find out that the hardest part of residency for beatrice — beyond literally everything else you personally find abhorrent and impossible — was just a lack of sleep.

‘hey bea,’ you say, close enough to count her freckles and take in the warmth of her skin. she curls into you when you scoot closer to her, and it’s cramped and these beds are horrible for your back but it’s still basically heaven. you feel such deep fondness for her, small and in the dark like this, so different from her ramrod straight posture and clever hands in the light.

she mumbles something incoherent and pulls you closer, and you fall asleep just like that. you’re awakened by the sound of her pager — a crime in your book, totally homophobic — just as the sun has risen. she’s disoriented, seemingly, as she wakes up painfully, and you kind of expect her to panic upon seeing you. but she smiles apologetically, a little nervous but apparently happy you’re there.

‘i don’t remember you coming in,’ bea says, searching for her scrub top until you hand it to her from where it was discarded over the side of the bed. she looks at you questioningly for one second, the tiniest bit of trepidation crossing her face, and so you just smile.

‘you were very asleep, mere minutes after texting me. kinda rude to knock out after inviting me, don’t you think?’

her little blush is worth everything as she checks her pager and slips into her clogs. ‘you’re lucky i even managed to get that text off.’

’the er was that bad?’

she groans. ‘worse than.’

you’re ready to just lay around for a few minutes before you go home, but then she pulls on her quarter zip and you think about the scrub cap she’d had on earlier, blue with little otters all over it, unexpectedly adorable, and you decide to get up anyway. ‘have time for me to grab you a coffee as i head out?’

‘i’m sorry i kept you here. that can’t have been comfortable.’

you have to physically hold back the urge to tell her about how good she smells, even smooshed near her armpit. you’re, like, the best at all things self-control though, obviously, and so you don’t. instead you just shrug and stand, thankful for the last round of jillian’s shots that seem to be helping your back. ‘well, if you weren’t so ripped.’

she rolls her eyes, but her blush remains. camila is right, you think, because all you want to do is kiss her right now. but you don’t, you’re good for once, and you get ready too, as quickly as you can, and then hold the door open for her. she blinks a few times at the light, rubs her eyes behind her glasses, but then smiles at you — just for you.

‘maybe, soon,’ she says, taking a brave little breath after you’d waited in easy silence at the coffee counter, ‘you might want to join me on a hike? i go most days off if i can.’

and, like, that’s a terrible idea for you maybe, but whatever, some of your most ambitious terrible ideas have earned you an md and a phd and this very cool person in front of you, offering. ‘i’d really love that,’ you say. ‘text me.’

she nods, definitely pushing the time it would take to answer a page — lilith is going to be pissed, a delightful detail — and then reaches out to squeeze your hand, just once.

‘have a good day, dr. choi.’

she smiles. ‘see you soon, dr. silva.’

#wn fic #avatrice fic #prompts #wn #avatrice #surgeons au #like i'm kind of obsessed w this again but it'll probably stay as little prompt fills #idk it's a good one #anyway lol #butch bea 🥺🫡

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kendrene · 1 year

Text

Ava rubs sweat out of her eyes with the heel of a hand.

The weather forecast had projected a lovely 25 degrees celsius for the day, but they’ve been walking for what feels like hours, and the breeze from the lake doesn’t reach this deep in the woods. It’s stifling among the trees, and still, and hot as Adriel’s armpit. Ew.

“Where is it that we’re going again?”

“You’ll see.”

Beatrice lobs the reply over one shoulder without breaking step. She’s still somehow keeping to the same ground-eating pace she’d set for them earlier that morning, unfazed by the heat and the gradient of the trail, looking like she could walk on till dusk. Ava wouldn’t put it past her.

“Please…” Her calves are burning, and the muscles in her thighs scream with every step. “Can we not… stop… for a minute?” Forever?

“It’s close by.” Beatrice turns to face her, but continues walking, so that now she’s walking backwards up a forested hill while Ava feels like dying. “I promise.”

“I don’t know if I believe you.” Ava pants, scrambling after her. “You said it wasn’t far at the trailhead, and we’ve been climbing for years.”

“Actually we’ve been on the trail for—” Beatrice tilts her head back, peering at a gap between secular firs and the smear of clear sky there. “— two and a half hours.”

“How do you—” A sudden wind picks up, shaking through the trees, and Ava is blinded by a spear of sunlight. The sun’s position. Of fucking course.

“Do you guys have nun scouts in the OCS or something? Where did you learn that sort of thing?”

“No. And the Girl Scouts. I was… My parents made me join as soon as it was feasible. The names change, but Girl Scouts operate everywhere. They thought it would be an easy way for me to make friends.”

“Made you?” Ava frowns. “That doesn’t sound like fun.”

“It was one of the few things that I liked growing up, actually. It gave me a sense of structure. Direction. Of… family, I guess.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

A strange sort of silence falls between them, awkward and quiet and sad. Ava kicks at a loose rock, sends it tumbling into some bushes, and thinks really hard on the best way to break it.

“Hey, Bea?”

“Yeah?”

“Are we there yet?”

Beatrice groans.

*** Their destination, once they get to it, is very disappointing.

“This is it?” Ava meanders to the center of the clearing, gestures. “I expected, I don’t know, something.”

“Like what?”

Bea sets her rucksack on the ground, and starts pulling out equipment.

“I don’t know! An alpine peak? A waterfall? Treasure?”

“Well, we got knives, protein bars and a water bottle. Sorry but—” Bea upends the rucksack, now empty, and shakes it. “No treasure.”

“We got— Wait, are we going to train?”

“Yes.”

“You made me walk two hours out of town to train.”

“Also yes.”

“But we could have done that by the lake!”

Beatrice shakes her head.

“No. Not for what I have in mind today. Having you run on water is a risk we had to take, but this? We can’t chance some tourist walking by.”

Okay. Bea’s making it sound cool. Ava admits she’s intrigued.

“Alrighty then. What are you doing?”

“Well, we know you can phase through stationary objects. I want you to try and see whether you can focus enough to replicate that through a moving one.” Something catches the light in Bea’s hands and when Ava looks down she’s holding a knife.

“Uhm. You want me to try and phase through one of your knives? Edgy.”

“Ah ah.” A flick of the wrist and the knife vanishes behind Bea’s back. Ava claps. She can’t help herself; it always looks like magic. “No, we’re not using live weapons.”

“Then what?” There’s rocks on the ground Beatrice could throw, although between being hit by a rock and stabbed by a knife, Ava’s not sure what she’d pick.

“We’re gonna use these.” Bea holds up what look like several colored sticks, roughly shaped like actual throwing knives. “They’re rubber, so even if they hit you it shouldn’t hurt too much.”

Shouldn’t? Too much?

“Gee, thanks.”

“Come on,” Bea moves to face her. “If you make it by the end of the day, we can have ice cream for dinner.”

“I’ll eat my way through your tips.” Ava grins, the ache of the hike forgotten at the prospect. “I’m so gonna get it first try. Just watch.”

*** She doesn’t get it first try.

Or second.

Or tenth.

“I think we should call it a day.” Beatrice says, after the piece of neon pink rubber has bounced off of Ava’s chest again. The sun is well past its zenith, and the sky has acquired the burnished hue of afternoon. “We can try again later this week.” Ava pouts. “I’ll still get you ice cream, if you’d like.”

“Really?” Ava grabs the water bottle Bea is holding out to her, and drains about half of it in one gulp. “Even if this was a complete failure?”

“It wasn’t. You did dodge a few of the knives.”

True.

They gather up their stuff quickly, shadows stretching blue across the grass, and Ava is scanning the ground for any stray projectiles when Bea calls out.

“Ava!” She yells from the edge of the clearing. “Look sharp.”

Something suspiciously bright flies towards her, hits her squarely on the nose. Hard.

“Ow!”

“Oh God, oh no.” Bea is by her side in a flash, an arm around her shoulders. “I’m so sorry, I thought if I tried catching you by surprise maybe the Halo…”

“My nose.” Ava has both hands cupped around it, and it’s throbbing something fierce. “I think it’s broken.”

“Let me see.” Bea grabs her chin, ever so gently, and with her free hand pulls hers away. “Yeah,” she admits, brows knitting in worry. “It looks broken.” As though to confirm the prognosis, the Halo burns in Ava’s back, sharp and blistering. In the middle of her face, a bone reknits itself, cartilage snaps into place. Ava winces.

“I’m so so sorry.” Bea has let her go, and is pawing through the rucksack for something to clean her face with. “We’re never doing this again. I should have known, it was such a stupid idea. I don’t know why I thought—” She stammers on, so fast that the words pile on top of one another, and Ava has a hard time keeping up.

Ava’s hand bears down on both of Beatrice’s, stilling them. She grins at her through the blood.

“It’s okay.” She scrunches her nose, experimentally. “I’m okay, see? No harm done.”

“But—”

“No buts. It wasn’t a stupid idea. We will take another stab at it, just like you said.”

“Ava.” Beatrice says her name pointedly, voice stuck between fond and exasperated.

“What? That was a really good pun. My sense of humor—”

“—is a cut below the rest.”

“Ouch.” Ava presses a hand to her heart, faux dramatic. “That hurts more than the broken nose.”

“Doubt it.”

Neither of them can stop smiling on the way home.

#warrior nun #avatrice #dren writes #a lil drama with fake knives

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the-penguinspy · 1 year

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prompt: spidey bea and human torch ava I'm making you write it

The glow-in-the-dark hands of the alarm clock show the time to be just after midnight.

Illuminated by the lamp on her desk, Beatrice takes up the familiar rote of needle and thread to mend her suit from the various rips and tears. Tonight’s fight was quick, but brutal. She won the fight but not without her own casualties - the cuts and bruises on her body hurt, but they’ll heal by tomorrow.

The same can’t be said for her suit, unfortunately, which is why she’s sewing the rips and tears tonight.

Pinch, puncture; follow-through, tighten. Repeat. The repetitive motion of sewing is an oft-used exercise to ground herself after the dynamism of patrols and fights. Automatic, now, part of her nightly routine, but tonight she’s feeling more tired than she should be, and more than once she’s had to re-do her handiwork for how close or far it had been from the previous stitch.

A dog barking from a few doors down, muffled conversations from the couple next door. Sounds from the street below filter in through the window she left half-open; murmured chatter from pedestrians, the occasional static of tyres over wet asphalt.

Through the window and into the room, a small breeze wafts in, ruffling her hair and cooling the sweat on her face. It borders on cold; the weather seems unable to make up its mind between autumn and winter, but Beatrice is grateful that tonight it soothes instead of bites. The change in seasons however reminds her of the semester that she’s in the thick of, assignments and readings piling up and begging for her attention.

A sudden, sharp knock on the window and Beatrice startles, head snapping up, jumping off the chair and into a crouch, arm aimed halfway to the window to prep for a webshot, fingers poised over the trigger. When she sees who’s at the window though, her arm slackens, tense muscles relaxing.

Ava crouches outside her window on the fire escape. Her sneakers squeak on the grates, laces long and dragging over the black chucks that Beatrice knows she favours. Her hair is wind-ruffled from her flight over, and it doesn’t seem like she’s bothered by the chill in the air – always running hot, Ava’s opted for a crop top and light-wash skinny jeans. She grins at Beatrice through the glass and holds up a hand, fingers wiggling in greeting, her other hand on the strap of her tan backpack.

“Woah, Spidey! Good thing you’re against friendly fire, huh?”

The huff that leaves Beatrice is more relieved than annoyed. “Torch.” “‘Torch’? Bea! And here I thought we were friends.” Ava brings her hand to her chest and pretends to fall backwards, back almost hitting the railing behind her with how narrow the space is.

Beatrice, tired, doesn’t suppress her eye-roll, though she does stay her tongue from making a comment on friends.

She makes her way over to the window and jimmies it open. The fire escape is a commonly-used point of entry by necessity, and Beatrice knows from experience that it’s difficult to get it unstuck from the outside. Coupled with the rusty-looking railing, no building inhabitant is courageous enough to venture out, which more than guarantees that she gets in and out of her apartment without detection.

Beatrice barely opens the window wide enough before Ava moves forward, one leg over the ledge and ducking underneath the window to tumble in. The ancient landing of the fire escape grumbles with the shift in weight and the sound echoes to the stories below.

Ava makes her way across the room and lands heavily on the made bed, the mattress squeaking its disapproval underneath the sudden weight.

Now standing, Beatrice takes the opportunity to stretch her arms over her head. She bends to touch the floor with her palms and revels in the glorious stretch in her hamstrings and calves, ignoring the twinge in her muscles as she straightens and makes her way back to her desk, picking up her fallen suit from the ground. If she falls into her chair a little less gracefully than usual, Ava doesn’t remark on it.

The canvas flap of the bag is unlatched. Ava, brows furrowed, rummages in the pack with a focus like a hound on a scent trail, and Beatrice has to bite the inside of her cheek to tamp down her smile.

With a triumphant crow, she presents her spoils for the evening: a four-by-four Rubik's cube, coloured stickers worn and peeling, that she places on the quilt. A battered copy of Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Seas thrown carelessly onto the bedspread, its heavily creased cover page making Beatrice wince internally.

Ava finally looks up and in her hand: a metal thermos, stainless steel silver and unassuming – extended towards Beatrice.

With a quiet thank you, Beatrice takes the thermos. Steam wafts up from the opening as she unscrews the lid, and the decadent aroma of coffee, expensive coffee, greets her tired senses. Her eyes flutter shut as she takes a sip, as the bitter flavour of it grounds her and rejuvenates her tired muscles in equal fervour, the warmth of it loosening the tightness in her shoulders and her back and returning them to their pseudo-limber forms.

She indulges herself with one more sip before once again taking up needle and fabric. A quick glance to her right shows Ava splayed out on the bed and entranced in the novel already, eyes roving over lines and thumb gently running transverse across the pages.

They exist in companionable silence. That is, until Ava pipes up, “Don’t you have an early class in the morning?”

Beatrice can feel the weight of Ava’s gaze on her. She must have swapped out her book for the Rubik's cube earlier; her hands don’t stop cede in their motion, the cube’s sides swivelling and clicking into place.

Beatrice hums noncommittally, backtracks on a stitch. “Something like that.”

The bed squeaks as Ava sits up and Beatrice hears the accompanying twin thumps as her elbows find purchase on the bedspread. “It’s that seminar with Vincent, right? Do you have to do this tonight?”

“Isn’t that why you brought me coffee?” Beatrice replies. She sees Ava scowl in the corner of her eye. Beatrice pauses her work and looks over at Ava fully. “Wait. How did you keep the flask and your other items from burning up? And your clothes, for that matter?” She’s certain that Ava flew over; the evidence of such may as well have been laid out on a platter for her.

“Were you eager for the alternative?” Ava husks.

Her voice is low; teasing. The change in tone is whiplash from the serenity of before, and all at once Beatrice feels the blood rush to her cheeks, and she ducks her head as her mouth works to stammer out a reply.

Thankfully, Ava seems to take pity on her. “My suit’s bulletproof and made of kevlar. I think Jillian also mentioned something about unstable molecules?” She can imagine the casual shrug that follows. “I’m not too sure, though I can ask her for you if you’d like.”

Beatrice’s hand jerks in her haste to answer, and she stifles the curse on her tongue as the needle pricks her finger. “Oh, no, that’s quite alright–”

“Bea,” Ava interrupts gently. Beatrice looks up, and she’s greeted with the sunny smile that Ava’s aimed her way. The Rubik's cube is stationary in her hands; half-done, colourful squares almost uniform.

“Jillian would love to pick your brain on material properties and other textile nerdiness,” Ava says. “You’re always welcome at Arqtech, and we’d love to have you there.” She picks at the worn edge of a red sticker and bites her bottom lip, before her teeth relinquish the flesh and she continues. Beatrice tries not to stare at the swell of it. “I’d love to have you there.”

There’s a sudden knot at Beatrice’s throat that makes itself known, the constriction of it tight like the ties she wore to the dinner parties where her parents rubbed elbows with political allies and blue bloods. Her presence then had been a tool for them, a way to form connections; a means to an end.

The pressure at her throat is present now, but in this space, it’s not nearly as unpleasant.

“Thank you, Ava. I’ll consider it,” Beatrice says, and she blames the gruffness in her voice to the late hour. To that, Ava only shoots her another warm grin, one that Beatrice mirrors a little shakily before going back to her mending. The rhythmic click-click-clack of the rubik’s cube soon starts up again, and they stay like that for a while.

It’s just past two in the morning when Beatrice finishes stitching the final rip. The needle pokes its head out of the fabric, and she winds the thread around it three times before pulling taut, careful to keep the knot flush to the cloth.

She snips the thread. Her hand goes out to reach for her lighter on her desk, but after fumbling for a few seconds and not feeling the familiar shape of it on the desk, she looks over, frowning when she doesn’t spot it. Dropping to her knees, Beatrice looks underneath the desk; maybe it fell off in her earlier shuffle.

“Here.”

A turn of her head and then suddenly she’s face-to-face with Ava, muscles tense and straining to avoid jerking back at the proximity.

Beatrice didn’t even hear her come near. Ava’s kneeling as well, the worn denim of her jeans meeting the rough of the carpet, body pitched forward slightly and leaning towards Beatrice.

Ava brings her hand up, fist half-formed. Beatrice is expecting to be presented with the vibrant yellow plastic of her disposable lighter, but among the slats of Ava’s fingers the lighter was not present.

Hand held equidistant between them both now, Ava brings her fingers together, thumb meeting middle finger. Her fingers snap, and Beatrice feels the friction of it run a mirrored course down her spine, although it’s hard to say if the heat that travels down each vertebrae surpasses that of the flame that now hangs suspended above Ava’s pinched fingers.

The light from her desk slants, edges; it doesn’t reach them here. The fire holds strong in an upwards laminar flow; a small handheld jet of flame, pale yellow and no bigger than a phalanx of a finger, and yet it still manages to bodily illuminate the space between them and bring to light the features of Ava’s face: elegant arches of eyebrows, gorgeous eyes, neat bow of her upper lip.

The flame is small, but Beatrice’s face warms, and she feels the heat of it caress her cheeks.

Ava extends her other hand, palm up. For a moment, Beatrice doesn’t understand why; she considers placing her own hand atop Ava’s before she shirks the thought off completely. The flame is small, it’s hot but bearable, but this close, if she were to touch Ava, she isn’t certain that she would be able to withstand the heat, isn’t convinced that the fire won’t spread from flame-tip and make its way down Ava’s hand and up her arm, traverse across shoulders and back to arm, to hand, to Beatrice, and set her ablaze.

(Would that be so bad? Ava’s always held a certain magnetism, an attraction that's counter-intuitive for one looking to avoid getting burned. She’s warm, always so warm; a quality intrinsic to her person that extends beyond the physical power that she yields. The heat of it bleeds into her smile, her humour, her kindness; it explodes in a nova blast when her ferocity shows in a fight, and radiates steady and protective like a hearth for the weary.

How can something with such destructive power simultaneously pose as an argument for healing and protection? Beatrice tells herself that this curious dichotomy is what brings her within range of Ava's gravitational pull: the itch to study and dissect, the thirst to understand.

Perhaps a closer examination will yield clearer answers. And so Beatrice longs to come close, to touch, and the desire to do so rips through her sternum almost violently, the suddenness and intensity of it surprising but no less welcome.)

She’s about to offer her hand in response to the invitation, but–

Both hands are occupied by the feel of smooth spandex. Beatrice realizes, belatedly, that to reach for Ava would mean to let go of the suit. She grips the fabric, feels the softness of it stretch and mold over her fists and, after a beat, relaxes. Looking down in the half-light, she squints to find the end of the thread, thumb smoothing over the cloth to find the knot that was made earlier. She pinches the spot to keep the place before handing it over to Ava, wordlessly, the flame still glowing radiant between them.

A small smile from Ava. The intensity of the flame must have increased by a fraction, because Beatrice feels the heat of it spread through her cheeks and down the back of her neck. Ava takes the suit from her and, carefully, she brings the flame closer until the tips of the thread shrink and melt.

With both of Ava’s hands occupied, Beatrice is the one that brings her fingers up to the stumped thread ends. One hand is placed underneath Ava’s to steady the hold while the other hovers over the melted polyester thread, and she presses the ends down firmly onto the fabric to seal the finished stitch onto the surface of the suit.

It’s done.

Beatrice inspects the workmanship under the glow of the flame; stretches the seam to test it and finds the strength of the mend to be satisfactory. It’ll hold.

The work is done, and yet –

The flame still burns.

She looks up to find Ava watching her, but Ava doesn’t shy away. The flame flickers, its body swaying back and forth between the two of them without rhythm, turbulence present, and the irregularity of its movements make shadows dance across Ava’s face. The fire moves in double-time as if making up for the rigidity from before, and it reveals and hides the dimensions of her face in a neat, net-zero sum.

The flame flickers. Closer to orange now, the hue of it is warmer and darker than the brightness of before. A little less luminous than previously, and it’s strange – it shouldn’t be hotter now than when it was bright-white, but somehow it is, it must be, because the heat against Beatrice’s cheeks is almost unbearable now, the cavern of her mouth dry like a desert storm, and when she swallows hard it doesn’t help at all, not even marginally, the scrape of it unforgiving against the roughness of her throat.

Beatrice leans in, sure that her face is flushing something fierce but unable to find the energy to withhold herself, and when her nose brushes against Ava’s, the small gasp that leaves her is a confession of sorts; when their lips meet, the admission is sealed between them like a secret.

A brief beat of separation. When they come together again, more sure this time, the sigh that escapes Beatrice is echoed in her mouth by Ava. She takes Ava’s bottom lip between her own and tastes the remnants of vanilla chapstick, and that familiar element alone makes the experience exponentially sweeter, sharper. Her hand foregoes fabric to rest on the nape of Ava’s neck, thumb brushing over the soft skin of her jaw and, with a slight nudge, she brings them closer together.

They break apart. Beatrice takes stock, with some difficulty, that all the air seems to have left her lungs, traded in for a roaring inferno that she now nurses inside her chest. Just as well, she thinks – fire can’t grow without a source of oxygen, and her body must have known that for it to cut off the supply.

Her lungs burn anyway. They crave for air.

(Beatrice wonders if it would be so detrimental to consume Ava, and to be consumed in turn. Surely, some kind of cosmic balance would be kept in their doing so.)

She takes one deep, shuddering breath. When that doesn't take her in a fit of combustion, she takes yet another, until her breathing comes in even-spaced intervals in an attempt to right the balance.

Her body’s doing its best to keep her alive but stil,l Beatrice leans forward, her grip on Ava’s neck tightening. Her impeccable balance is nowhere to be found.

One of her hands still cups Ava’s. It’s burning hot; not about to burst into flames, but the distinct fever-like body temperature is noticeable, almost like her control over her powers slips around Beatrice. Self-satisfaction is a rare indulgence for Beatrice; the feeling is almost foreign, but she’s not able to miss it with the way the heat licks at her belly, as it radiates from its epicenter on the left side of her chest.

“You’re heating up,” Beatrice says. The laugh that leaves Ava is breathless, disbelieving. “Can you blame me?” she replies. And then: “Is your suit – um. I held it a bit close to the flame. Sorry.”

Beatrice bends her head to examine the fabric: a small mark on the surface of the spandex near the thread-end. The dark blue of the material, combined with the waning light from the flame, makes it difficult to verify the extent of the damage. She runs a fingertip over it and tries to focus on the silkiness of the cloth instead of the tenderness of Ava’s skin.

Where the burn is, it still feels soft like the rest of the fabric – the damage is superficial.

She looks back up at Ava. “It’s fine. Thank you for helping.”

“Anytime,” Ava says, and Beatrice knows that the sentiment is truthful to the edges, buoyant in its honesty; it saturates the boundaries that define objects, and solidifies the parameters of subjects of a less physical nature, too.

Her throat tightens again in an imitation from earlier. Beatrice is flattered, but wholly unsatisfied. She feels greedy. She’s craving more; wants more.

She leans in and Ava does as well, and they’re about to meet at halfway but Beatrice's stomach growls and her body goes stiff as mortification freezes her in place. Ava only chuckles softly though, and she completes the circuit by kissing the corner of Beatrice’s mouth, then her chin, before resting their foreheads together.

“You’ve gotta be starving after tonight,” Ava says softly. “I think the Thai place down the street is still open at this time.” Her breath washes hot and damp over Beatrice’s lips, and Beatrice has to actively stop her body from succumbing to the intense urge to continue where they left off.

“I am.” Beatrice clears her throat, swallows once. “It is.” And it’s true – she’s been there so many times over the past few weeks that the owners have her order memorized.

Ava grins. “Alright then! My treat, let’s go.” The flame in her hand is extinguished with a flourish of folding fingers and she stands, extending a hand to Beatrice.

Even now, offers towards her are aplenty. (Beatrice tries not to think about being undeserving.) And now that Ava’s mentioned it, she realizes that yes, she’s hungry – inside her there’s an ache to soothe, a void to be filled; a hunger of a different kind, though not at all what Ava was making reference to.

(She tries not to think about that, either.)

Beatrice scoops up the suit from the floor as she takes Ava’s proffered hand. A quick jaunt of her limbs and she’s upright, and she folds her costume and places it on the desk in one smooth motion before reaching for her wallet and keys. Her phone, she holds in one hand. “Dr. Salvius won’t notice the missing funds from her pocket?”

There’s a particularly mischievous glint in Ava’s eyes. She doesn’t say anything, but she grins with teeth as her arm links through Beatrice’s before leading them out the door.

#warrior nun #warrior nun fic #ava silva #sister beatrice #avatrice #penguin writes #birgittesilverbae #thx for the prompt em :)#spideybea au

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unicyclehippo · 1 year

Note

one word prompt: falling

‘hey, bea?’

ava talks at night. you learned this fact while sharing a bed with her, night after night, tucked up in a bed that had been exaggeratedly labelled a double. wrist to wrist, shoulder to shoulder (ashes to ashes). on some nights, when ava was feeling lonely or mean, she would hook her ankle around yours too. or wriggle, making frustrated breathy noises, onto her side like a fish on the sand, and throw an arm across your waist and her face right into the curve of your neck. and then she would talk.

(you can feel her lips against your neck when you concentrate. you have been filling your mind with other, better, safer things instead. like how many hours it’s been since you left switzerland. like miguel being michael being doctor salvius’s son. like how many hours it has been since you prayed, since you emptied out the vessel of your heart and mind, entrusting it’s contents to God. it has been twenty-three days, four hours since my last confession, you think, and stop precisely there.)

‘bea?’

‘i’m here.’

‘how’s your leg?’

you hum. flex the muscles carefully working up from ankle—twinge—calf, knee, thigh. your thigh hurts in a dull way you recognise. it was the strike that staggered you, numbed your leg to the point where it couldn’t bear weight. it would be bruised for a long time but shouldn’t cause you any trouble.

‘much better. and yours?’

in the dark, you can’t see the way she kicks out with both legs but you feel it, the way the bed shakes and the sheets pull and give way, messily. she kicks again and the cool air from the air-conditioning floods beneath the sheets, now fully untucked. her heels thud back down to the mattress. the sheets settle more slowly, falling around your limbs.

‘ava!’

‘gotta test them. all good again.’

‘you’re worried,’ you say, because that was another thing you learned in switzerland. anything you say to each other in the dark can be forgiven. anything you say in the dark is only as real as you want it to be come morning. ‘about the halo. about being paralyzed again.’

‘yeah. and a lot more than that.’

it’s not a perfect darkness. when you turn your head, her profile is outlined by the glow of the balcony lights. anything you say in the dark is forgotten, forgiven. what about what you might do? you reach out. touch two fingers to her forehead. she gasps. doesn’t move as you follow the light, the path laid out in front of you. you chart her forehead, dip at the bridge of her nose. such a light touch. she doesn’t move. when you reach the tip of her nose, she scrunches it just to make you smile. you’re still smiling as your fingers drop to her lips.

ava breathes out. hot air against your fingers. you trip over her top lip, lightly graze the bottom, and when you make it to her chin you’re breathing like you ran a marathon.

‘bea,’

‘i would stay,’ you tell her. ‘if it went out. if you wanted me to. maybe,’ you say, because you can be mean too, ‘even if you didn’t want me to.’

#tagging my stories #prompt fill #avatrice #warrior nun #just a short lil thing

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willowedhepatica · 7 months

Note

Ava falling asleep on Beatrice's shoulder

When Beatrice was a kid she used to go down on bruised knees and pray to God.

She doesn't know if she really believed in him or not, or if it was just a pursuit for her parents validation. She doesn't know if he ever believed in her. But even then, when she stayed down on the scratchy wooden floor she hoped it would bring her something inexplicable. Something holy.

Even that felt like sinning back then.

The fire cracks and Ava holds a beer up towards the starlit sky as she leans her weight on one shoulder. "To Shannon and Mary for arranging this, I've always wanted to go camping!"

Camila giggles as Ava takes a swig from the can. Beatrice resists the urge to steady her when she seems to tip a little too far to the left. Ava only straightens, a wonky grin forming on her face as she turns to her. "Want some?"

"You know I don't drink."

"Really, not even when a pretty girl offers?" Ava wiggles her eyebrows and Beatrice's cheeks grow warm.

Lilith scoffs somewhere from the far left but she isn't paying enough attention to her surroundings for that to matter. That was her first mistake. Because Ava is gorgeous. The flames light up her face and dance across her skin, making her eyes glow. She shifts in place. There's just enough space between them on the wooden log for Beatrice to be able to place a hand between them. "I- you're not..."

Before Beatrice can sputter any further Ava bumps her on the shoulder. "I'm just messing with you, Bea. Would be cool seeing a nun drink though."

She nods meekly. Digs her nails into the palm of her hand. "Yeah." She doesn't want to remember that part of her right now. Not when she's here. Not with Ava.

She is everything Beatrice isn't. Wild, carefree and bubbly as if everything would burst if she held it between her ribcage for too long. Her cargo jacket, ripped and mended together with all kinds of patches in yellow green and red, hung loose from one of her shoulders and revealed a black tank top underneath. Ava didn't seem like she had noticed. Beatrice had. Damn it she had. How could she possibly have not?

The fire cracks. Everyone is laughing about something, probably Mary because Ava has challenged her to a drinking game and Mary is leaning in like she was born for this moment.

Beatrice simply watches. They are used to her being quiet.

After two shots Ava sways towards her, arm pressing into her own as she whispers. "You alright?"

The skin where she makes contact burns. Her whole body tingles. Her voice comes out like a single breath. "Yeah."

"Okay."

Beatrice's eyes shoot down to her hand. Ava is playing with her fingers, rubbing her thumb over her knuckles. She shudders. The chatting around them feels distant.

"Are you cold?" Ava continues, still close. Still tracing her fingers over her skin.

"I'm fine. The fire is warm."

Ava laughs. Beatrice blushes again, jaw tightening.

"Here." Ava says as she starts taking her jacket off, quite clumsily but doing it nonetheless.

"Ava, no, you need to stay warm."

"Yeah yeah, I know. I can catch a cold or whatever." She rolls her eyes, but not mockingly, just knowing. In a way that could only be done between people who had known each other for a while. She'd only known her for a couple months, Beatrice reminds herself. She shouldn't feel like this--

Ava scoots closer, slides her jacket over her shoulder and adjusts it, keeping her arm there. "There, now we can both stay warm."

Beatrice tenses, looks around to see if anyone is watching. They aren't, surprisingly so. Beatrice believes they are sparring them, at least for now. Ava doesn't seem to care at all. In fact, she is only watching her. "This is okay right?"

It isn't the first time Ava's done this. Beatrice has learned from the short time she's known her that she's a physical person. Always in need to reach out, feel the world around her. As if though she is afraid it might disappear. Afraid it wouldn't be real. Beatrice has never been fond by touch but Ava-- Ava made it feel sacred. Like the creation of fire sparked from the simplicity of it.

She allows herself to relax into it. Into Ava's side. "Yes, yeah it's okay."

Ava answers by letting her head fall on her shoulder, buries her face into her neck and hums. "You smell nice."

God she wishes the others weren't here right now.

"Do I?"

"Yea." Ava mumbles, lips tickling across her skin. "Smells like pine."

"Pine." She mutters uselessly, mouth dry and heart beating out of her chest.

Ava draws closer, eyes closed. "Mhm, it's like, you're one with the forest. Or something. Like the werewolves." Beatrice can feel her break into a smile.

She turns her head just enough to glance down at her. "Did you just compare me to a werewolf?"

Beatrice isn't able to hide the amusement from her voice, especially not when Ava starts to giggle, her entire body shaking with her laughter. "You would be a great werewolf."

Beatrice doesn't know how to answer that but it doesn't really matter. Ava is dozing off, arm slipping from her shoulder to land loosely behind her back. Beatrice adjusts herself slowly, careful not to disturb her.

If this is sinning she didn't want to be right. If anyone told her this is anything but holy, she wouldn't believe them. How could anything that felt like this be wrong?

#thanks for the ask!#really brought me out of a slump #always funny to write ava as oblivious #while bea is going through the worst gay panic #warrior nun #avatrice #ava silva #sister beatrice #ava x beatrice

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call-me-maggie13 · 9 months

Text

Diana’s giggle drifts through the kitchen from the dinner table, Rich’s deep voice interrupted by Mary, Shannon, and Beatrice arguing over a board game. Ava knows Beatrice is reading the rule book, she has a certain tone that she only uses when she’s reading directions or rule books. Shannon cries out sharply and the booklet tumbles through the air into the kitchen.

Ava picks it up, sets it on the counter and leans to find Shannon trying to lick Beatrice on the forehead while Mary holds her arms against her sides to prevent her from escaping Shannon’s torment.

"Children, the lot of ‘em." Martha shakes her head fondly, Ava helps her clear the dishes from the table. She takes the place beside Martha over the kitchen sink, drying and stacking the dishes while Martha washes. The quiet is filled with laughter and soft chatter from the next room and something more, something Ava doesn’t have a word to describe but it’s light and it’s warm and it makes her eyes wet and her throat tight.

"Are you okay?" Martha stops scrubbing to search Ava’s eyes.

"Yeah, I’m good. I just - " she shrugs, she doesn’t know the right words. "I keep thinking how lucky Diana is that she gets holidays like this. I didn’t have this growing up and it means a lot that she does."

If she leans just right, she can see Rich teaching Diana how to make shadow puppets with her hands. Diana isn’t following along at all, though Rich is carefully folding her fingers. She catches a glimpse of the back of Beatrice’s head, checking on Diana.

"I’m sorry you didn’t have this as a child, but you have it now. You can’t turn back time and change what you didn’t have before, but don’t let that steal what you have now."

Ava nods and returns to drying the dishes in silence, trying to memorize the way Diana’s laughter blends with Shannon and Beatrice arguing. The ache in her chest builds and builds until she doesn’t know how she’s supposed to breathe around it.

"Ava?" Beatrice is leaning into the kitchen, hanging on the doorframe and grinning. "Did you hear me?"

"No, sorry. I spaced out a bit."

"You don’t have to apologize. I said Mary and Shannon want to know if they can take Diana to look at the Christmas lights? There’s a drive through light show they want to show her."

"Yeah, she’ll love that." Beatrice disappears in a flurry, her voice floating through the open door.

"She loves you." The glass plate slips out of Ava’s hand, falling to the floor and shattering at her feet.

"Fuck, I’m so sorry."

"Are you alright?" Beatrice is beside her before Ava can even stoop to pick up the pieces. "Hey, let me get it, you’re going to cut yourself."

"I’m sorry," Ava repeats and Beatrice frowns and brushes the hair from her face.

"It was an accident, you have nothing to apologize for. What’s important is that you’re not hurt. Come ‘ere." She guides her carefully over the glass shards, kicking a path clear. She checks Ava’s palms for injury, tracing them with her thumbs so tenderly Ava’s heart aches. When Beatrice is satisfied, she smiles and disappears, reappearing with a broom and dustpan. "Hey, why don’t you take a break, I can take over here."

"No, it’s okay. I’m okay." Beatrice looks unsteady.

"Are you certain?" She’s cleared the glass away and closed the distance between them. Her breath is warm on Ava’s face, soft as a butterfly wing. When Ava nods, Beatrice hesitates.

"I’m good, Bea. Promise." Ava could melt into the floor under Beatrice’s steady gaze. Ava tilts into her, thumps heavily into her chest and buries her nose in the crook of her neck. She can feel Beatrice’s smile against the top of her head, hear her steady heart beating in her chest, smell the coconut lotion she uses on top of something so raw and distinctly Beatrice.

Beatrice doesn’t pull away. Beatrice never pulls away, she always waits for Ava, holds her as long as she wants to be held. Beatrice gives as much affection as Ava is willing to take. She’s always there when Ava needs her, even if Ava doesn’t realize it.

Ava’s throat is raw, chest sore and achey like she’s been sick. Perhaps she has. She has no other way to explain away the glaringly obvious truth that she’s in love with her best friend.

She’s never considered the possibility that her best friend loves her back.

"Are you sure you’re alright?" Ava knows she has tears in her eyes, but she is okay.

"Yeah, thank you."

"For what?"

"Just. For being you. Thank you."

"I wouldn’t know how to be anyone else." It’s soft and taunting, but there’s a rawness in her words, a vulnerability no language could ever encapsulate.

She lingers in the doorway until Ava shoos her away with a laugh, turning back to Martha when they’re alone again.

"You… umm… what you said… you - you meant it?"

"I know my daughters, Ava. And that one? She’s head over heels for you. She would give you the moon, if you asked. She loves you and she loves your little girl."

"How… umm… how do you know?" She wishes she didn’t sound so desperate, but she doesn’t want to hide it anymore. She’s overflowing and she doesn’t have anywhere else to hide it. There’s too much inside her, it’s seeping out at the seams. She’s been trying so frantically to ignore it and, when it became impossible to ignore, to stifle it.

She can’t be in love with Beatrice. Beatrice is smart and beautiful and successful, Beatrice is going to change the world. The only thing Ava has ever done right is Diana. The rest of her life is meaningless.

"She’s never brought anyone home before. We always offered, always asked if she wanted to bring anyone, and her answer was always no. She called me in August and asked if you and Diana could spend the holidays with us.

"And she lights up when she sees you or talks about you. Hell, I can even tell when she’s thinking of you because she has this - this look that is reserved for you. Just you."

Martha gives Ava the last dish, hands covered in soapy water and eyes distant.

"When she first came to us, she was in bad shape. She had an emptiness in her that Rich and I worried we’d never be able to fill. Her parents rejected her and threw her out, she had to leave the only home she’d ever known with nothing but the clothes on her back and a backpack of whatever items she’d thought important.

"She got her light back, a little. With some time and some love. Shannon tried so hard to nurture that flame. But she was just a kid, she couldn’t fix everything. She didn’t always know the right words to say or the right things to do. But she did her best, and I think Beatrice knew that. And Rich and I tried, but Beatrice didn’t talk to us. Not like with Shannon. Not like she does now. Even on her best days, we only got glimpses of the girl you see, Ava.

"You make her happy in a way I think she never thought she could be."

"I don’t do anything, though. I’m not special. I’m not - "

"You’re enough, Ava." Martha wipes her wet hands on a dish towel before taking Ava by the shoulders, her palms are still damp but Ava doesn’t mind. "She doesn’t care about whatever you think you need to be worthy of her. She chose you. She chose you and she chose Diana and she’s not going to walk away from that. Beatrice is a very deliberate person, she is careful and conscious of every decision she makes. She guards her heart with everything she has. Do you understand what I’m saying?"

Ava shakes her head, her chest tingles and her head spins and she has to brace herself against the counter because she’s scared she will fall over.

"She gave you her heart, Ava. The little girl who never believed in love pulled her heart from her chest and gave it to you in a box tied up with a ribbon. She went against everything she believed and gave you herself in every way you will take her. Over and over again, she has chosen you. She has given you herself time and time and time again. She won’t give that up, not ever.

"Rich wants me to give you his usual if you hurt my daughter, you’ll regret it macho man routine but I don’t think you will. I think you’ll protect her heart as fiercely as your own. I trust you with my baby’s heart. And I really hope you do too."

Ava doesn’t have a response. What can someone say to that? No words will ever be enough to express the exhilarating terror that Martha’s words filled her with. Her bones are buzzing and her skin is tingling and her head is spinning and she wants to go to Beatrice.

Martha gives her a polite smile before excusing herself. Beatrice comes looking for Ava when she doesn’t follow. Ava is staring blankly at the countertop, palms pressing her shoulders to her ringing ears.

"Hey." Beatrice tucks the hair behind her ear, tracing the line of her neck to her shoulder. "Are you alright?"

"Is this real? Are you real?"

"I believe so." Beatrice steps closer, twists a lock of Ava’s hair around her finger. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah. I’m good. I’m - I don’t know. I’m so happy, I’m exhausted. If that makes sense."

"Do you want to go to sleep? I can text Shannon to see if they’re okay keeping Diana tonight and we can go to bed, if you’d like?"

"Can you just…" Ava sighs, she doesn’t know the words she’s looking for. "Can you just be here right now? We can do that in a minute, I just want to be here with you for a bit." Beatrice nods and brushes a kiss against Ava’s temple when she curls around Beatrice.

Read more beneath the break or here!

Ava wakes to the sound of laughter drifting through the crack in the door. She’s alone in bed, but Beatrice’s side is still warm. She ignores the sharp pang in her chest, presses her palm into the indention where Beatrice had slept beside her.

There’s a picture frame on the bedside table, one Ava is certain wasn’t there when they first arrived. The frame is uneven, sloppily colored marker on cheap wood, covered in cartoon animal stickers. It screams Diana.

"Oh, you’re awake."

"Mornin’." Beatrice crawls back into bed with her, presses a kiss against the top of her head when Ava cuddles into her.

"I wanted to be here when you woke, sorry."

"You’re here now." Ava rolls onto her, settles when she’s almost entirely on Beatrice. She’s rewarded with a chuckle and back scratches.

She had every intention of staying awake, but when she wakes the second time, the sun is bright in the window and Beatrice is asleep under her. She starts to pull away, only Beatrice squeezes her tighter and whines.

Ava’s been stuck in worse places.

Ava doesn’t save movie ticket stubs or press flowers between books to save them forever, she’s never wished she could freeze time to preserve a moment just a little longer. She's never been sentimental in that way.

Not until Beatrice.

She finds herself wishing she could barter with Father Time to give her just twenty more seconds with Beatrice every day, just twenty seconds more of her warmth and serenity. Twenty seconds to admire the way her freckles dance when she smiles and her eyes shine when she speaks.

"I can feel you staring." Beatrice smiles and rests her chin on the top of Ava’s head. A deep breath, a soft sigh, a heartbeat warm beneath Ava’s palm.

"I wouldn’t have to if you weren’t so damn beautiful." Beatrice makes a soft whiny noise in the back of her throat and her cheeks flush and, holy fuck, Ava was not expecting that and it was so cute and she’s suddenly hot, so hot, she’s sweating, she’s melting.

"Have you seen yourself?" Ava could kiss her. Ava wants to kiss her. If she’s not careful, Ava’s going to kiss her.

God, what do her lips feel like?

"Mama?" Yes, good. Ava can’t kiss her if she’s taking care of Diana. "Up up?"

Diana’s still in her gingerbread man pajamas, she’s dragging her rubber duck blanket and a stuffed monkey. She throws herself against the bed and pulls herself up with the duvet.

"Good morning, baby." Diana climbs onto Beatrice’s other side, mirroring the way her mother is sprawled across her.

For a moment, nothing exists but the three of them. Frozen in amber to be immortalized for the rest of human existence. Ava was never the sentimental type.

Not until Beatrice.

~*~

Beatrice is hidden in the den, tucked between the bookshelves and the wall, chewing on her thumbnail and staring at the same page she’d started over at least five times.

"Are you okay, kiddo?" Rich extends a beer to her, she shakes her head. "Wanna talk about it?"

"I’m - I’m not sure. Where’s - "

"Family grocery trip. I wanted to chat with you alone." Beatrice closes her book.

"Am I in trouble?" It’s a joke, but he doesn’t laugh. "Oh. I am in trouble."

"No, no. Why don’t you come over here?" He motions to the couch and Beatrice’s heart sinks to her stomach. The last time she was called to the couch still haunts her.

"Beatrice, can you join me for a moment?"

"Am I in trouble?"

"No, I just need to chat with you for a moment."

"Oh god. Is this the sex talk? Because I - "

"I know Shannon’s talked with you but there are things I need to make sure you know."

That’s when Martha pulled out the banana and the condom.

"Oh, I really don’t - "

"Beatrice, I can’t tell you not to have sex, but I can show you how to be safe."

"I really don’t think - "

"So I’m going to show you how then I want you to show me, okay? It’s really important that you put the condom on right because that’s the only way to not only prevent pregnancy but also - "

"Martha, please I - " Beatrice wished the floor would open up and swallow her whole, she felt like she was on fire. She could have died. She would’ve rather died than have that conversation with Martha.

"Beatrice, I know you’re uncomfortable, I am too. But this is important."

"No, I need to tell you - "

"Oh god, don’t tell me you’re pregnant? I knew I should’ve had this talk wi - "

"No! I’m gay, I’m really gay. I’m a lesbian. I don’t like boys at all. I’m not interested - "

"I know."

"What?" She knows? How? Shannon would never -

"Don’t worry, Shannon didn’t say anything. I’ve known since the beginning. I didn’t think you would ever come out unless you were pushed."

"How?"

"I know my daughters, Beatrice. I know when Shannon sneaks out and I know when you borrow my car without asking and I know when you both have been drinking. Call it mother’s intuition, call it gut instinct, call it whatever you want. But I know."

"I feel like I have to tell you, if this is another sex talk, Martha already told me and you’re a little late."

"No, it’s not that. It’s about Ava."

God, that’s worse. Beatrice almost wishes he had said it was another sex talk.

"Don’t worry, kid, just take a seat." Beatrice grimaces but she takes the seat, ignoring the pit in her stomach.

"So?"

"Martha already gave Ava an if you hurt my daughter talk, but, from what I understand, Ava doesn’t have someone to do that for her. Am I right?"

"You are correct."

"Okay then. I don’t know her very well, but I have grown quite fond of her this week. She seems like a good person, and I know she makes you happy. She looks at you like you paint every sunset just for her. I don’t know if you’re both pretending there’s nothing between you two, but there is. There’s something real there, Beatrice. Something good."

"I don’t think - I - I’m not sure - she doesn’t have feelings for me."

"And you’re sure about that?" No. She wants to say. I’m not sure of anything except that I’m in love with her.

"You’re not, are you? You know I’m right. I don’t know how many times I have to tell you but you deserve good things, Beatrice. You deserve good things.

"Ava’s a good thing. Okay? She’s smart and funny and kind and she’s in love with you."

"What - what if it doesn’t work?"

"What if it does?" For the first time, she looks at him. Really looks at him. She takes in his weathered face, sees every wrinkle and freckle and scar. He has laugh lines and crows feet and a scar on his left eyebrow from when Beatrice decided she wanted to play lacrosse.

There’s a story for every mark on his face, a lesson that was learned or a memory that was made. His whole life is written in the history of his face, she can see it now. From learning to crawl to walking Shannon down the aisle, from playing hide and seek to finding the love of his life. First kisses and near misses and moments that can’t be replaced. He’s lived an entire life before he met her.

Sometimes she forgets he wasn’t always Shannon’s father, that he was just a boy once, just a boy with braces and a bad perm and an undeniable crush on the girl in his world history class. He was just Ricky. He wasn’t a father, he wasn’t a husband, he didn’t have to be anything for anyone.

He’s lived through things Beatrice will never know about.

"I can’t lose them. I can’t." Now he looks at her like he can see the inside of her soul, like he knows things about her that she doesn’t yet know herself.

"Then don’t. No matter what happens between you and Ava, you can’t walk away from Diana. She depends on you now, so you have to keep showing up for her. Do you understand that?

"I don’t care if Ava breaks your heart and sells the pieces for drug money, that little girl needs you. She needs you, Beatrice. Not me, not Shannon, not Martha. You. You’re her parent now, that’s not something you can just take off and pass to someone else. You have to carry that for the rest of your life. You have to take care of her for the rest of your life.

"If you break Ava’s heart, I’ll understand. But if you break Diana’s heart…" He doesn’t say it. He doesn’t have to. She knows.

"I think - I think I really like her…" She’s chewing on her lip and peeling off the chapped skin. He pats her knee and offers a gentle smile.

"I know you do, kid. I see how you look at her." He takes a swig of his beer and rests his elbows on his knees.

"I don’t want to lose them. I really don’t want to hurt either of them. Especially Diana. She’s just…" She sighs and shrugs. "She’s a little ball of light. I don’t want to take that from her."

"So don’t."

"It’s not - it’s not that easy, Rich."

"Sure it is. You don’t want to lose them and you don’t want to hurt them, so don’t. I trust you won’t, why can’t you?"

"Because - "

"We’re home!" The door thumps against the wall, keys drop into the glass dish in the entryway, tiny feet patter down the hallway.

"Da!" Diana cheers, launching herself over the coffee table and into Beatrice’s lap. She immediately launches into a nonsensical babbling about their trip to the shops, Ava follows a few moments later trying to coax Diana out of her coat and shoes.

Ava has a Santa sticker in her hair, Beatrice extracts it carefully, ignoring how her face flushes hot when her knuckles brush against Ava’s cheek. Her head spins when Ava’s smiles at her.

Why can’t it be that easy?

She knows, logically, why it isn’t easy. She knows how much she stands to lose if it falls apart, she knows how broken she would be if it doesn’t work.

But what if it all works out in the end?

~*~

"Five!" Ava’s head is swimming, spinning and swirling the Christmas lights into a muddled mess. Her chest is warm, burning like the fire in front of her.

"Four!" She leans heavily into Beatrice’s side. Her skin smolders in every place they touch.

"Three!" Beatrice shimmers, bright and glowing when she smiles at her. Her eyes twinkle and shine brighter than the fireworks in the sky.

"Two!" Their faces flash red, blue, purple, gold. Their breaths puff and mingle between them. They’re close enough to kiss. Ava would barely have to move for their lips to touch.

"One!" Confetti pops and shimmers and falls around them, the fireworks crack and burn but Ava’s view is much more dazzling. Beatrice with her head tilted to the sky watching the glimmering light show, the deep velvet sky broken up by starlight and burning gunpowder. Her smile is easy and crooked, she pulls Ava tighter into her side, the arm around her waist strong and addictive. Ava never wants her to move.

"Happy new year!" Shannon flashes them with a sunshine smile, presses a quick kiss against Beatrice’s cheek before catapulting into Mary’s arms to kiss her.

Beatrice twists, her voice soft and hesitant. Ava can barely make it out over the celebration around them.

"Would you be my first kiss of the new year?" Ava’s heart chisels into her ribs, so loud she’s certain Beatrice can hear it. When she nods, Beatrice cradles her face between her hands, her thumbs ghosting over her cheeks and Ava ruptures. Beatrice ignites a wildfire beneath her skin, blazing and scalding and uncontrollable.

She tilts Ava’s head and presses a feather light kiss against her cheek.

Ava can’t tell if the flashing behind her eyes is from the fireworks or from Beatrice’s lips so close to her own. The world tilts and spins and Ava’s knees nearly give out. She has to dig her fingers into Beatrice’s shoulders to keep from falling. Beatrice notices, her eyes flicker when Ava nearly tips into her and she steadies her, nodding to the back door.

Ava is going to melt through the floorboards. Beatrice leads her slowly up the stairs. She’s speaking, murmuring something quietly that Ava can’t understand — can’t hear over the timpani rhythm thrashing in her ears. She holds the door for Ava, eases it closed behind her and Ava can’t resist anymore.

She presses Beatrice’s back into the door and kisses her, softly, hesitantly. Beatrice only hesitates a moment before she threads her fingers through Ava’s hair, tongue warm against Ava’s bottom lip.

Ava’s ruined, absolutely ruined for anyone else. Beatrice’s kiss is intoxicating, her touch insidious as it burns over her skin. She tastes like sunshine and champagne and forever. Ava could spend the rest of her life in this moment, in the bright, burning moment.

"Ava…" Beatrice husks, breath fanning across Ava’s face when Ava leans in to kiss along her jaw. "Ava, you’re drunk."

Ava hums, continuing her exploration of Beatrice’s neck. Beatrice whimpers when Ava scraps her teeth over her pulse, shivering and biting hard on her lip before she presses her palm into Ava’s sternum. She nudges her, peels Ava off of her.

"Ava, you’re drunk." Her lips are red and swollen and her chest is heaving, eyes blown and dark. "We - I can’t. You’ve been drinking."

"I want this." She tries to lean back into her but Beatrice’s palm keeps her just far enough away. "Bea…"

"You might change your mind in the morning." Beatrice has mostly gotten herself together, her breathing not nearly as heavy as before.

"I won’t - "

"Please," Beatrice finally moves her hand away, lifts it to cradle the back of Ava’s head. Her eyes shimmer with unshed tears, swirling and bubbling with something Ava doesn’t understand.

"Can I…" Ava steps back into her, pauses a breath away from her lips. Beatrice kisses her again, soft but certain. She rests their foreheads together when she breaks away, neither moves. Ava watches her eyelids flutter, counts the freckles across her nose and cheeks, savors having Beatrice this close. She’s twisted the neck of Beatrice’s sweater around her fingers and she releases it now, tries to smooth the wrinkles.

"It’s fine." Beatrice kisses her cheek, lingers long enough for Ava to fold into her chest, her heartbeat thunders heavy and fast beneath Ava’s hand. "Let’s go to bed, darling."

Neither wants to let go, wants the moment to end, but Beatrice leads them to the bed and slowly untangles from Ava. She helps Ava take off her shoes, gathers their clothes from the floor after they change, and slips into the bed beside Ava. They don’t touch, Ava curls onto her side and stares at the opposite wall and Beatrice watches the fan spin in slow circles.

Ava’s head still spins and her entire body still simmers from Beatrice’s touch, but it’s fading. With every heartbeat, her blood grows colder and her heart squeezes tighter in her chest. She can’t help but wonder if she’s ruined the best thing in her life.

"Bea?" They know each other too well now, they know when the other is asleep and when they’re pretending. When Beatrice hums, Ava rolls herself over and props herself on her elbow. "Are we okay?"

Her stomach roils and churns until Beatrice opens her eyes. She brushes Ava’s loose hair over her shoulder, traces a line down her arm and tugs Ava into her by the wrist, rubbing her thumb over her knuckles.

"Always." Ava presses her ear above Beatrice’s heartbeat. "We’ll talk more in the morning, okay?"

Ava nods, traces shapes onto Beatrice’s sternum, amazed by the goosebumps she raises in her wake. Beatrice’s heart speeds up with every inch she touches. Ava’s doing this to her. Ava’s the cause of the way her heart races and the shiver she tries to repress and the breath caught in her throat when Ava’s finger slips just beneath her neckline.

"Ava…" Her voice is low and warning, she grips Ava’s wrist tightly in her hand and pulls it away.

"Sorry."

"No, you’re not." Ava can practically taste the mirth in Beatrice’s smile, her eyes glittering and light. She’s right and she knows it, taunting even when she drops Ava’s hand and kisses her forehead. "Go to sleep, we’ll talk in the morning."

"Promise?"

"I promise."

~*~

Beatrice doesn’t sleep. She watches the moonlight creep up her walls before it fades and leaves the room bathed in darkness, watches as pale sunlight sneaks through the blinds. She watches Ava’s eyelashes flutter, the easy rise and fall of her breaths, the way her eyebrows knit together and she balls Beatrice’s shirt in her hand, the heavy exhale when Beatrice rubs her back.

She murmurs in her sleep, nonsensical noises intertwined with Beatrice’s name. She rolls away at one point, yanking the duvet with her, but she makes an indignant whiny noise and flips back into Beatrice.

Beatrice shifts onto her side, pulls Ava into her chest and drops her chin on the top of her head. Beatrice wants to slow time to a stop, wants to capture this moment like a firefly in a jar.

For a moment, Beatrice lets the world fall away and lets herself wonder what could be if they didn’t have so much to lose and they were just two women in love. No responsibilities, no obligations, no worries, no fear. Just her and Ava. For a moment, the world shimmers and nothing bad could possibly happen, nothing could hurt them.

The door creaks open slowly and Shannon peeks inside, offers a quick smile and wave before Diana stumbles through the crack.

And the world comes crashing back down around her.

Beatrice slips out of Ava’s embrace and herds Diana back towards the hallway, balancing her on her hip when she holds her arms up asking to be held. Shannon closes the door with the same careful quiet as before. She catches Beatrice by the elbow when they reach the landing at the top of the stairs. She doesn’t have to ask, Beatrice knows her question without needing to hear it. She peels a strip of chapped skin from her bottom lip, offers a quick smile and a head shake before continuing down the stairs.

"You’re quiet this morning." Diana lifts her head sleepily, blinks at Beatrice silently. The silence drops like a stone in her stomach. "Are you okay?" Diana drops her head back against Beatrice’s shoulder with a huff, toying with the neck of Beatrice’s shirt. Beatrice frowns.

"She woke up right before we got you. She’s probably still be waking up." Shannon offers, pats Diana’s back when she slips into the kitchen. Martha smiles at them before offering a plate of pancakes. Beatrice takes one and pulls a little piece off, offering it to Diana. She takes it, but doesn’t eat it, inspects it closely instead.

It’s early. Earlier than Diana is normally awake.

"Did you have a bad dream, baby?" Diana’s bottom lip quivers and she drops the pancake in her hand, presses her face into Beatrice’s shoulder and clenches a fist around the front of her shirt.

Beatrice slips into the den, lifts the blanket from the couch and cradles Diana against her chest while she rocks in the rocking chair. Diana twists around, trying to see the Christmas lights on the tree so Beatrice flips the chair around so she can see them easily. Wraps the blanket around them, searches the surfaces of the room.

Shannon calls her name from the doorway, offers one of Diana’s pacifiers that she accepts gratefully. She waits, tucks herself into the corner of the couch and waits for Diana to fall back asleep before speaking.

"So?" Beatrice sighs and glares at her. "What’s wrong, Speedy?"

Beatrice hesitates, glances down the hallway towards the stairs.

"I think I fucked up, Shan." Her voice cracks and she takes a long, shaking inhale. Shannon is sitting on the coffee table with her hand on Beatrice’s knee before Beatrice can even finish her breath.

"What happened?" Shannon’s inspecting every inch of skin she can see, searching for a bruise or a burn to explain away Beatrice’s tears.

"She kissed me. Last night. And I - " Beatrice shakes her head and shrugs, drops her gaze to Diana.

"You what? Did you slap her?" Beatrice flinches at the accusation, shakes her head forcefully. "Tell her you’re straight? Tell her you’re not in love with her? What?"

"I kissed her back, Shannon." There’s a stinging bite around her words, burning and singeing in her chest.

"Okay…?" Shannon leans back, tilts her head and furrows her eyes. Beatrice waves her hand between them like all the evidence has been presented and Shannon’s an idiot for not seeing what she is. "Okay, I’m actually confused.

"You’re in love with her." It’s a statement, a fact. Undeniable. It’s visible from here to a blind astronaut on the International Space Station. Beatrice can’t deny it.

"Okay so, here’s what I’m getting, let me know if I’m wrong: you’re in love with Ava and you kissed her last night and now you’re freaking out?"

"She was drunk, she didn’t mean it."

"Oh shut the fuck up. That girl has been in love with you since I first met her. Also, she had two glasses of champagne. She was barely tipsy."

Beatrice drops her eyes to Diana who wiggles when Shannon speaks. She doesn’t respond, she knows Shannon’s right but she can’t admit that to herself without getting her hopes up.

"Okay so you kissed and then what?" Beatrice shakes her head and Shannon groans. "You kissed her then went to sleep? You didn’t even talk about it?"

"I told her we could talk in the morning."

"Well it’s morning now, why aren’t you talking? Oh my god, you need to get your ass up there before she wakes up because she’s going to think she fucked up if she wakes up alone." Shannon pulls her from the seat, leads her to the bottom of the stairs and motions up them. Beatrice hesitates, gut churning so hard she thinks she’s going to vomit. "Look. You can’t change what happened, Bea. But you can go up there and tell her you’re in love with her."

Beatrice’s heart pounds so loudly, she worries it will wake Diana. She can see her heart beating against her chest, feel it pressing heavy behind her eyes, thrashing in her ears. She feels unsteady, like the time she had a concussion and the ground felt like water beneath her feet. She knows, on an intellectual level, Shannon is right. But right now, in her aching chest and burning bones and spinning head, it doesn’t matter. Because she let the fire burn too long and now she’s going to lose the forest.

She paces in front of the door, forces herself still and breathes deeply and opens the door quietly. Ava’s sitting up in the bed, legs crossed and holding something in her hands.

"Good morning." Beatrice freezes in the doorway, waiting for the courage to move closer. Ava’s eyes are shimmering when she looks up, frowning when she sees Diana in Beatrice’s arms.

"Is she okay?" Her voice cracks and she clears her throat before repeating herself.

"Yeah, she had a bad dream." Beatrice is rooted in the doorway, unmoving. Ava doesn’t move to her either. "She’s - she’s asleep again now."

Ava nods solemnly, picks at the dry skin on her lips for a moment before turning back to the object in her lap. Beatrice takes a step forward. Then another. And another. She stops at the foot of the bed, ears ringing and heartbeat louder than a war drum.

Ava has a picture frame in her lap, scribbled green and bearing half a book of stickers. If she flips it over, she’d see where Diana had tried to write her name across the back.

Inside, there’s a picture of the three of them. Diana’s hoisted on Beatrice’s shoulders and she pointing at something out of frame, smiling. Beatrice is looking at Ava, smile softer and eyes glimmering. Ava is in front of them, grinning, bright and vibrant as the summer sun. They were on their way home from the park, had stopped to get ice cream even though it was nearly freezing.

It’s Beatrice’s favorite photo. The only one in a frame in her room, the crooked picture frame filling her bones with warm helium that defies gravity around her until she floats above the ground.

"How’d you sleep?" God, this shouldn’t be this hard. How is she supposed to start this conversation?

I’m in love with you and I’ve been in love with you since before we met, it’s you, Ava.

"Fine. You?"

You’re the one I want for the rest of my life.

"Not very well." Ava looks up from the image in her lap.

The heavens and the earth were formed to be compared to you.

"Sorry." Beatrice wants to kiss her again, to flatten the wrinkle between her brows under the pad of her thumb, to tangle her hand in her hair and breathe in her breaths.

Under all forms and under all aspects, I am yours.

"It wasn’t your fault." Ava nods silently and Diana shifts in Beatrice’s arms, they both watch her whine and push against Beatrice’s chest until she settles again, huffing and curling her fingers around Beatrice’s shirt collar.

You are the rising sun which I adore.

Beatrice moves to Ava’s side of the bed, sitting on the edge and waiting for her to check on Diana. It’s simple. Routine. Beatrice rocks her and Ava flattens the wrinkle between her brow with the pad of her thumb and they sit in silence.

You shame the stars with the brightness in your eyes.

"So, last night." Ava tenses beside her, her breath stutters and she pulls away with an awkward laugh.

"Haha yeah. I - um - I don’t remember much. Hope I didn’t do anything weird." Beatrice’s heart sinks and her face falls as she watches Ava tuck her knees to her chest, she bites her lip to hide her frown.

"No, you’re - " Beatrice sighs. "You’re good. You were fine."

I am irrevocably, undeniably, catastrophically in love with you.

Beatrice stands again, moves to the door and invites Ava to breakfast.

"I’m not very hungry, but thank you." Beatrice nods and closes the door quietly behind her.

Shannon is sat at the bottom of the stairs, twirling a paintbrush through her fingers. She looks up when Beatrice starts down to her, her easy smile falling away to furrowed brows. She presses their foreheads together when she reaches her, cradles the back of her head and listens to her cry. She doesn’t shush her, doesn’t tell her it’s going to be alright. She holds her and she waits.

"She lied." This is the unfortunate truth of knowing someone as well as they know each other. "She said she doesn’t remember last night.

"Shannon, she didn’t have that much to drink."

Shannon glances up the stairs before leading Beatrice down them and out the back door. They crunch over the muddled snow and Shannon guides her to their old, run down treehouse.

"If she said she doesn’t remember that means two things." Shannon drapes her arm over Beatrice’s shoulders and pulls her into her side. "One, you did the right thing by stopping last night. If she can’t talk about a kiss, she’s not ready for more than that. And two, she’s at least as enamored with you as you are her."

Beatrice lifts her head curiously, chewing on her bottom lip and trying to fight back the tears.

"She wouldn’t pretend to have no memory about the atom bomb she dropped in your lap if she wasn’t scared it was going to blow you both up." Beatrice sobs and Shannon pulls her back into her chest. She lets her tears soak through her pullover and listens to the sobs Beatrice muffles with her fist.

They sit for a long time in silence, their breaths puffing around them in tiny thunderclouds. The back door opens and someone calls their names, it’s muffled and too soft to make out entirely, but Beatrice knows it’s Ava.

Shannon watches Beatrice when she doesn’t reply, offers her hand to hold until Beatrice exhales heavily and stands. She sniffs and wipes the dirt from her pants and takes a shuttering breath before re-emerging beside Shannon, Diana still tucked carefully against her chest.

Their cheeks are flushed and their fingers ache and Beatrice worries Diana has gotten too cold, but her face is warm and coated in a thin layer of sweat. Beatrice kisses her forehead before following Shannon in through the back door, through the kitchen, and into the den where she eases into the rocking chair and begins to rock.

She can’t be certain if she’s avoiding Ava or if it’s the opposite, but they don’t speak the rest of the day. In fact, they don’t speak until the early hours of the next morning.

Beatrice isn’t asleep, but she’s pretending to be. Ava doesn’t say anything when she sits upright and tucks her knees to her chest.

"Hey." Despite being wide awake, Beatrice’s voice is groggy. "Are you alright?"

Ava hooks her chin over her shoulder to look at her. She’s not crying but she wishes she were. Maybe if she were crying the ache in her chest would ease.

"Fine."

Beatrice shakes her head at her and sits up. "What’s wrong?"

"Tell me I didn’t ruin this." Now Ava cries. A single desperate sob that shakes the bed.

"Ava…"

"I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I know - I know I - I should - "

"Ava." Beatrice’s hand is soft and warm in her own, pulling her gently to face her.

"I’m sorry." Beatrice shakes her head again, cradles Ava’s face in her hands.

"Ava, stop." She’s gentle. Soft. "You’ve done nothing wrong. You’ve ruined nothing, Ava."

"I - I lied." Ava pulls away.

"I know."

"I remember last night."

"I know."

"I kissed you." Ava finally lifts her head, eyes wide and red. "I’m sorry."

"Ava," Beatrice sighs and smiles. "I kissed you back."

Ava sniffles.

"I kissed you back." Beatrice cups her cheeks again, glances at Ava’s lips before continuing. "I’m not sorry."

"You…" Ava doesn’t continue.

"Yes, Ava." Beatrice nods. "I’m not sorry. I’ll never be sorry for loving you."

Ava doesn’t have any words. She doesn’t know what she would say even if she did. She doesn’t know how to put the heat in her chest into words.

Ava thought she loved JC. She thought she loved him so much she had a baby with him. She moved in with him and they were supposed to be a family. Her, Diana, and JC. She was going to marry him.

Loving JC was like loving a hurricane, unpredictable and dangerous. He never hurt her. Not physically. But Ava used to wonder if he took some sick joy in breaking her heart over and over again.

But Beatrice?

Beatrice is safe and kind and tender. Beatrice is careful with Ava’s heart and protective of Diana’s. Beatrice teaches Diana how to make breakfast and tie her shoes, she tucks her into bed and she reads her bedtime stories. Beatrice takes out Ava’s trash because she knows how it hurts Ava’s back to carry it down the stairs and she always walks on the side closest to traffic when they’re walking on the sidewalk, she brings Ava anti-inflammatory medicine and hot tea and a heating pad when Ava’s back is flaring up.

Loving Beatrice is like coming home from a long trip away, like waking up in your own bed after being away for so long. It’s familiar and gentle and secure.

"I kissed you back. And, if it’s alright with you, I would very much like to do it again?"

Loving JC never felt quite right. Ava always felt like she had to work hard to love him, it felt like a chore that she had to do every day. By the time Ava realized she wasn’t in love with him, she was already pregnant. so she stayed. Because she grew up without a dad and she didn’t want that for her baby.

If only she’d known JC wasn’t going to stay. Maybe she’d have left him sooner. Maybe she’d have met Beatrice sooner and this wouldn’t scare her so much.

Loving Beatrice has always been easy. It’s been so easy Ava didn’t know she was doing it at first. It was as easy as breathing. That’s the scariest part. Ava doesn’t have to try to be someone Beatrice loves, she already is.

"Are you sure?" Ava needs Beatrice to make the move, she can’t. Ava can’t be the person responsible if this burns to the ground around her.

"I’m certain, Ava. May I?" Beatrice traces her thumb over Ava’s jaw, feather light and it makes Ava shiver.

"You may." Beatrice doesn’t move so Ava continues, voice trembling and barely a whisper. "Please."

When Beatrice’s breath fans across Ava’s face, Ava shivers again and Beatrice pauses.

"I’m going to kiss you now." She glances between Ava’s eyes when she speaks, her voice steady and low.

"Okay," Ava whispers, eyes fluttering closed when her nose brushes against Beatrice’s.

And, oh. This kiss is nothing like the one before. It’s gentle and slow and Ava feels alight. Every place when Beatrice is touching her, the hand on her cheek and the one at the base of her neck, is on fire.

God, Ava doesn’t know what she was so scared of.

Ava follows her when she tries to break away, gripping Beatrice’s shoulder as she pushes her back into the mattress. Straddling Beatrice’s hips, Ava finally pulls away to kiss along Beatrice’s jaw, finding that spot on her neck that made Beatrice whine last night.

"Ava…" Beatrice whimpers. Immediately Ava stops, pulling away, prepared to sleep on the floor if she’d crossed a line Beatrice wasn’t ready for her to.

"I’m sorry," Ava’s stopped by Beatrice’s hand tangling into her hair, her heart rupturing when Beatrice’s eyes meet hers, pupils blown.

"Don’t be. I was going to tell you not to leave a mark."

Oh.

Beatrice’s hand slides to the small of Ava’s back, pushing her shirt up in her search for Ava’s skin. Ava has to remind herself to breathe before she kisses Beatrice again.

Beatrice’s lips against her skin is addictive, scorching as they move across her jaw to her neck before pulling away abruptly.

"This isn’t going to work." Ava blinks, heart and lungs frozen in her chest, when Beatrice glances to the mattress beside them and grins at her, the hand on Ava’s shoulder moving to her hips and wrapping around them tightly when Beatrice flips them. "That’s better."

Ava drops her head against the pillows and takes a steadying breath, trying to ease the icy tension in her body.

"Is this alright?" Ava nods but Beatrice doesn’t move. "Ava, what’s wrong?"

"I thought…" What does she say? I thought you changed your mind? I thought you were going to leave? It’s irrational. Beatrice watches her gently, one hand stroking Ava’s cheek and the other tangling their fingers together.

"Thought what, darling?" Beatrice probes when it becomes apparent Ava has no intention of continuing.

Ava shakes her head and forces a smile. "Nothing, it doesn’t matter."

"It matters to me."

A series of quick smacks against the door save Ava from having to form an answer, Shannon’s voice calling through the door.

"I have a belated Christmas gift for you two, is it PG-13 in there? I got little eyes I don’t wanna traumatize."

"Ava, tell me." Ava bites her lip before kissing Beatrice softly.

"I thought you changed your mind," Ava whispers. She expects Beatrice to laugh or maybe to get upset, she doesn’t expect Beatrice to soften.

"I’ll never change my mind about you, Ava. Neither you nor Diana. I’m sorry I haven’t properly articulated that to you. I want you, " two louder knocks and Shannon repeats herself, " and I want Diana and I always will. I promise."

"You can’t promise that." JC had promised Ava the rest of his life.

"I can and I have and I will continue to until you believe me."

"You have three seconds to make yourself Disney approved before I’m returning your gremlin child," Shannon threatens through the door after a series of fort rattling knocks.

Beatrice kisses Ava softly once more before rolling off of her and opening the door. Shannon narrows her eyes and glances between them as Diana races past Beatrice and rockets onto the bed.

"You good?" She looks Beatrice over as she speaks and Beatrice assures they are. "Alright, well. Mary and I don’t have a kid yet and we’re trying to sleep, which Diana seems vehemently opposed to so, no more sleepover. You’re welcome."

Diana bounces on the bed next to Ava, spinning and twisting as she giggles.

Shannon offers Beatrice Diana’s duck blanket and stuffed monkey before she wishes them a good night and returns to her room.

Diana bounces and jumps into Beatrice’s arms when she approaches the bed, squealing.

"Bedtime, little one?" Beatrice proposes.

"No! No bed! Play!" Diana throws herself back to flop against the mattress. "We play, mama?"

I love you. Ava thinks as she watches Beatrice talk Diana out of a two a.m. snowball fight. It doesn’t matter that they’re both tired, Beatrice is readily prepared to keep Diana entertained regardless of the hour. I’m going to marry you.

Beatrice whispers something in Diana’s ear and they both look to Ava with the same mischievous smile.

"Whatever it is: my answer is no. No, nope, nada." Ava catches Diana when she throws herself into Ava’s chest while Beatrice climbs onto the bed beside them.

"Diana, now!" They both start to tickle Ava at the same time, grinning when Ava tries to fight them off as she squeals and tries to wiggle away. Diana giggles and flops away, leaving Beatrice with her fingers sprawled across Ava’s stomach.

I want to kiss you. Ava thinks and Beatrice laughs, fingers crawling up Ava’s sides and sprawling over her ribs.

"Then kiss me."

Shit, I said that out loud. Beatrice laughs again and nods at her.

"Did I do it again?" Ava scrunches her face.

"You did." Ava leans into her and groans, Beatrice watching her bemused. "Do you still want a kiss?"

"Yes, please." Ava lifts her head from Beatrice’s shoulder, heart racing when Beatrice leans into her and presses a gentle kiss against the corner of her mouth, pulling away with a mischievous grin.

"Me too!" Diana crawls under Beatrice’s arm and pushes between them, kissing both their cheeks before presenting her face for her kisses.

Beatrice kisses Diana’s cheek before squeezing her against her chest and tickling her. Diana shrieks and squirms, begging Beatrice to stop or Ava to save her. When Beatrice relents and releases her, Diana crosses her arms and pouts.

"No, Dada. Only tickles for Mama," Diana chastises, eyebrows drawn together and head shaking.

"I’m so sorry, patinho, will you ever forgive me?" Beatrice clutches her heart. Diana considers her question for a moment before grinning toothily and answering.

"I cream."

"Ice cream? It’s almost three in the morning, are you sure?" Ava shrugs when Beatrice glances at her. "You know what? Let’s do it. But just this once."

Diana leaps of the bed and thumps to the ground, bouncing to the door and wiggling excitedly while she waits Beatrice.

"Would you like to join us?" Beatrice helps Diana onto her back, Diana’s arms wrapped around her neck and head peeking over Beatrice’s shoulder.

I’d follow you anywhere.

#warrior nun #sister beatrice #ava silva #avatrice #warrior nun s2 #bea and ava #warrior nun season 2 #wn s2 #save warrior nun #warrior nun netflix #warrior nun fanfic #warrior nun fic #babysitting au #babysitter au #fic: like the princess #christmas fluff

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caeliatus · 10 months

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“I would have followed, if you left."

Ava’s eyes struggle to pull themselves out of their great depths to focus on Beatrice. Her irises seem to glow the same shade of light blue as the divinium fragments wedded with her flesh, flecks of the Halo’s gold slowly dimming out. Her mouth moves weakly as she asks, “What?”

“Switzerland. When you asked me to run away with you. I know I said no, but…” Beatrice trails off, eyes flicking to Jillian’s portal before them. Trying to count out how long she has left.

Ava’s eyes close briefly, and for a heart-wrenching moment Beatrice thinks she’s lost her. But then she can feel the Halo sputtering back to life in a sickly manner, and Ava’s lungs rattle with a grim drawing of finality and she says weakly, “I stayed for you. All of it—for you.”

Beatrice wipes the blood away from Ava’s brows, cradling her face in her hands. “I know, dear,” she says. “I know you did.”

Hollow desperation eats away at her insides. She has so much she wants to say—but how can she fit it into the time they have left? How can she bare her soul to Ava in the dwindling seconds before she has to go, to have Ava understand that she’s felt this way the whole time? There had to be some words, in all of the languages and knowledge Beatrice has, that can express the summation of their lives, be the pinnacle of the aching want and grief consuming her. There had to be something to be done to buy more precious moments, to stretch out the seconds just a little bit more so she could feel Ava’s body nestled against hers. Perhaps this was an opportunity long passed, etched into the little moments between them that Ava had never put together; a misstep, a smile, a laugh, a whispered conversation beneath the bedsheets as Ava showed her what a sleepover was like, even though they both had work come morning. The time to ignore the pressing matters in the world and simply exist in a world contained beneath their shared blanket had come and gone, and the worst part of it all for Beatrice was that she had never really let Ava know how she felt.

The best she can do now is to cradle Ava’s dying body and hold her with a tenderness she’d kept reserved for so long. It feels like she is being ripped in two; Ava always had a penchant for leaving her mark on things, people, places. The tears that fall down her face are hers; the shaky fingers that comes up to clumsily brush them away are Ava’s; the hand that captures it, holds it in place against her cheek is hers. She says, “I don’t want to lose you again. I can’t give you up again. I gave so much already—can’t I be selfish for once? Can’t I just have you for a minute, where all of our problems don’t matter anymore?”

“That’s called the afterlife, Bea. You haven’t unlocked that yet..” Ava manages a ghost of a smile, corners of her mouth just barely twitching upwards. The Halo’s energy shimmers, coalesces, and some color creeps back into her cheeks. But the effort looks like it exhausts her. “You gotta let me go soon.”

“Does it hurt?” Beatrice asks.

“No. Not really. I can’t feel much anyways. The Halo is busy trying to keep me alive.”

“Maybe Jillian can take care of you—“

“No,” Ava says, shaking her head. “I have to go through the portal.”

“How do you know that?” Beatrice snaps, frustration and desperation welling over into her voice. Her chest has been wrenched open and her heart laid out for anyone to see. Ava had, over the course of knowing her, stepped past all of her carefully constructed walls, and picked apart her barriers and stepped into her embrace. “You do know you have no idea what will happen if you go through, right? How long it might be before I see you again—I might never see you again. I don’t want to risk it. I want you to stay.” It sounds wrong to say want, all choked with hope and pleading. It’s the first time she’s said it out loud, aside from the one time in Switzerland where she’d whispered it against a sleeping Ava’s temple the night she finally let herself admit that her vows were no longer the first priority in her life. That time had felt secret, empty— a test. This feels like leaping off a cliff, she can see the ground rising up to meet her with a stone cold indifference, and the only thing that keeps her from truly going into freefall is the weight of Ava’s body in her arms.

Ava says, “I know. It’s a shitty move. Sister Francis always thought I was a shitty person. But I can feel it. The Halo can feel it. It’s the only way.”

“Ok,” Beatrice says, hollow. Such a travesty it was to lose the only person she ever allowed herself to hold on to! How cruel of the world and God to take the one thing she held close to her. She swallows hard, throat welling up painfully as she says, “Just—before you go. Please give me a sign you’re okay in there? Anything, I don’t care what it is—just don’t leave me in the dark.”

“I’ll send a text saying Superion smells like an old lady.”

Somehow, Ava manages to get a laugh out of her. “Alright,” Beatrice says wetly. “Promise?”

“Pinky promise. So you know I can’t break it.” Ava hooks her pink around Beatrice’s, squeezes it. “See?”

“Promise you’ll be okay too. You’re not coming back from Reya’s realm until you’ve healed fully, even if it means I have to wait a little longer until I see you.”

“But—“

“Nope. No but’s. No premature returns or I swear I’l send you right back.”

Ava shuts her mouth. Beatrice smiles briefly, then leans down to kiss her. The Halo flares up, sending a hot current of heat beneath Beatrice’s skin. Ava kisses her back, chapped lips bloody face and all of her beauty and gentleness, and for a second Beatrice entertains the thought of just kissing her forever, she’d be okay with that; Ava’s lips are warm against hers and Beatrice finds herself sinking into them with a sigh that melts away the tension in her shoulders.

For a moment, the cracks in Beatrice’s heart mend themselves and it begins to beat strongly once again.

Then Ava pulls away just enough to say, “You know, you’re making it really hard for me to go.”

“You’re making it impossible for me to let you go,” breathes Beatrice. But she can feel Ava’s grip slacken as the Halo sputters out, and when Ava begins to lean heavily on her, she knows it’s time. She gingerly lifts Ava and carries her to the portal, easing her onto the stop step. The words she wants to say jam themselves into the back of her throat.

Of course, Ava has no such issue, having always had a heart big enough to love the entire world. “I love you,” she says, face distorted by the portal’s power, and then she’s slipping soundlessly out of Beatrice’s arms and vanishing to the other side before Beatrice can find an answer. The portal shuts down after that, leaving her alone in a heavy silence.

Beatrice eventually finds the courage to say the words back, but it’s to empty air, the person who holds her broken heart in their hands in an entirely different realm.

#warrior nun #avatrice #ava silva #sister beatrice

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itscappyj · 10 months

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Avatrice + soft mornings

Today's prompt comes in the form of a Band AU deleted scene. This takes place the first winter after they get together and Ava is in her final year of university. They've been a couple for about 7 months by this point. (Yes I did read the prompt, you have to trust the journey on this one):

Sleep had become a problem.

Every waking moment, Ava’s brain was occupied by assignments, exams and performances. When she wasn’t thinking about her to-do list, she was obsessing over what had already passed. Things she could no longer control, nothing to do but wait for the results.

She had spent the night on the phone to Beatrice, hoping and praying that her mind would settle enough to let her rest. They talked for hours, until the yawns from the other end of the line could no longer be ignored.

It worked a little - she managed to get a few hours before her body woke her up in a flash of anxiety. She had given up trying to go back to sleep and now sat by her bedroom window, huddled up in a hoodie. Too many weeks had passed for it to smell like Beatrice anymore but she still found comfort in it.

Outside, the sloppy remains of snow began to reflect the barely rising sun. It looked so peaceful and quiet out there, like the world itself was asleep.

The boys were staying at Michael’s mum's house for a bit while she recovered from a broken ankle. The house had been so empty. So lonely.

She had Beatrice to talk to, and it helped, but it wasn’t enough. There was no one here for those little everyday interactions. The things you take for granted until they’re gone. Someone asking how your day was when you get home; asking if you want a cup of tea made because they’re popping the kettle on; checking to see if you need anything from the shop; showing you a meme that made them laugh over breakfast.

It was hard enough to be in a long-distance relationship but she hadn’t realised just how much of a buffer the boys had been. Now she feels it like a gaping hole. So many little things that could be easily soothed by a squeeze of the hand, a kiss on the cheek, a hug, now spill over until she’s crying at nothing.

The distance itself wasn't even that much. They were both just so busy striving to achieve their own goals. Objectively, they were both killing it. Ava was acing uni and Beatrice’s band was starting to really gain traction. Somehow, that did very little to ease her mind.

Maybe it was because the exam period had just ended and she was exhausted. Maybe it was the short, dark winter days that embedded themselves so deeply in her soul, it felt like she may never feel the sun's warmth again. Maybe it was that she would lay down at night and curl in on herself so tightly just so that she wouldn't be able to feel the empty space beside her.

"Fuck, I miss you." A quiet sob shakes her as tears gather in her eyes.

She hears the tiny pitter-patter of paws approaching from behind and Watson jumps into her lap, nuzzling a damp nose into her hand.

She smiles through another sob as she strokes soft fur, feeling the warmth of it and the low rumble of a purr spark a light inside her chest.

There's a knock at the door and they both jump at the sound. Ava looks over her shoulder, curious and confused. It's far too early for visitors.

She makes her way downstairs, not caring that she's still in pyjamas. Anyone who has the audacity to disturb people this early in the morning can deal with her boxer shorts and pokemon shirt.

There's another light tap at the door as she fumbles with the lock. "Alright, geez, I'm coming, keep your -"

The words die in her throat as she swings the door open to a familiar face beaming back at her.

"Bea?"

"Morning, Sunshine."

She surges forward, her bare feet on the frozen ground, and flings her arms around her girlfriend's neck. She buries her face into Beatrice's shoulder as the tears start to flow in full force.

Beatrice holds her tightly for a moment before gently guiding them into the house and closing the door - Ava stays clinging to her with everything she has, somewhere in the back of her mind grateful to be out of the cold.

A few minutes pass before Ava can get herself under control and she leans back. "What are you doing here?"

"I brought doughnuts," Beatrice replies, holding up the brown paper bag in her hand with a smile. Ava looks at it blankly. Beatrice brings her other hand up to her cheek, wiping gently at the tears. "The way you were last night…I had to come."

"I missed you." It's all Ava can manage to say.

"I know, darling. I missed you too." Beatrice pulls her back in, a hand guiding Ava back down to her shoulder. "So much."

Minutes pass as Ava sinks into Beatrice’s embrace, breathing in deeply the smell of home.

"Come on," Beatrice says as she starts to move them. "We can have these in your room."

Ava leans back then to catch her gaze, a small smile finally breaking through. "Food in bed? Who are you and what have you done with Beatrice?"

Beatrice chuckles and Ava feels the warm, delicate sound begin to mend something in her.

They settle down in bed - after Beatrice grabs a couple of plates - and Ava finally starts to relax a little. Finally starts to feel how truly tired she is.

She has three doughnuts to Beatrice's one and then they lay back against the headboard. Ava slowly traces the lines of Beatrice's tattoo with her hand and feels the shiver that runs down her spine.

"Do you want Pikachu?" Beatrice asks, leaning over to grab the plushie from the side of the bed.

"No, you cuddle him. He missed you too."

Beatrice laughs again but she makes no objection, tucking the toy under her other arm.

"I brought a couple of my jumpers for you to keep. The extra soft ones." Ava has made no secret of her love for wearing Beatrice's clothes.

"I love you," Ava replies sleepily, her eyes feeling heavy.

"I love you," she hears Beatrice echo before she drifts down into a kind of peaceful slumber she hasn't experienced in weeks.

When she wakes, hours later and the winter sun is streaming weakly through the window, she shuffles and feels the warmth of her love still tucked up beside her.

Beatrice has an arm around her, stroking her hair in a soothing, repetitive motion. Her safest place in the world.

"You're still here," Ava whispers.

Beatrice tightens her hold and leans down to place a soft kiss to the top of her head, "Whenever you need."

#band au #my writing #writing prompt #warrior nun fanfic #avatrice #avatrice fanfic

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simplykorra · 1 year

Text

I’m going to make an “analysis” post about this two tiny shots/acting excellence from KTY because I think there is so much to it that it needs to be talked about.

The first one is this:

When Beatrice tells Ava she doesn’t want to go with Miguel and she’ll see Ava at home, there’s a sadness in her face, a longing plea to not pursue this - to stay in this tiny little bubble they’ve created. Where it’s just them against the world.

The more Ava reaches out to people, the more she sees of the world beyond the two of them, the more Beatrice is afraid Ava will believe what Beatrice believes about herself - that she isn’t good enough. Isn’t valuable enough. Isn’t useful enough.

Isn’t worthy of love, of Ava’s love.

Obviously, this is all in Bea’s head, Ava is in love with her already at this point, we’ve seen it here:

But to Beatrice, who Ava has pulled out of her shell so much in their time together, there’s still this part of her that is trapped in self-loathing - in the things she was told and the way she was treated growing up.

That she’s no good, that her love is wrong and that she is more of a tool than a person - while Ava has this light and energy that she could never reach or contain or be strong enough to hold on to.

It comes up again here:

When Ava comments on Beatrice’s “easy on the eyes” line, you can just see how it affects Bea. There’s this rift in Beatrice that you can feel throughout the first two episodes of season 2 - I think in this scene when Ava calls her out for her jealousy and makes this comment, it hurts Bea more than she says because it plays into the doubts in her mind that she’s too wrong, too tainted and too different to ever really have a chance with Ava.

Like if the halo and Adriel and the OCS and all of it fell away, why would Ava go for someone like her when she could have literally anyone?

It’s just little things (I could make a whole post about Alba’s acting choices too because they’re both so fucking talented it’s altered my brain on the importance of performance) but these subtle things are a part of what make these two and their love story so special.

#avatrice #warrior nun #avatriceedit #warriornunedit #avatrice analysis #??#idk #ohlexa this post was inspired by your most recent edit so thank you jksflaslfjkas #also idk if any of this even makes sense.....

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piratekane · 1 year

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7! Ava telling Bea that🫠🫠

seven: look at me. just breathe.

Ava looks small. She always has, despite feeling larger than life. But in a wide hospital bed with wires running from her body to the various beeping machines, she looks smaller than she did before she slipped through the Arc.

Before you sent her through it.

Beatrice stands at the edge of the doorway, wringing her hands as Jillian flutters around Ava with purposeful hands. Ava looks tired, but impossibly cheerful as Jillian puts another electrode pad on her exposed skin. She keeps stealing glances at the doorway, keeps ducking her head to meet Beatrice’s eyes, and always frowning a little when Beatrice gives nothing away.

She’s afraid to step forward, afraid to meet Ava’s eyes. What if this is a dream? What if she’s fallen asleep and woken up in a dream world where everything has magically fallen into place? Ava escaping Reya’s realm the moment Beatrice crosses the threshold of Cat’s Cradle? It’s too… perfect. It slots together too neatly.

She can’t cross the threshold because she might wake up in a hotel room somewhere - Cinque Terre, Faro, Lisbon - and this has all been a trick of the mind, a quiet torturous place her mind has found.

“Beatrice?”

Jillian touches her arm gently, trying not to startle her. Beatrice holds onto herself, a sharp inhale the only thing that gives her surprise away. But either Jillian doesn’t hear or she’s too kind to bring attention to it. She simply gives Beatrice a kind smile and slight tilt of her head. A quiet, she’s asking for you.

Beatrice searches for the part of her that’s always stood tall in the face of adversity. It wasn’t always there, grown out of a necessity, but it activates now as she takes that first step into the room on feet that feel steadier than her heart does. The live wire edge in her chest fizzles a little when she sees the way Ava’s face lights up as she moves closer and her hesitation simply vanishes.

Ava smiles wider. “Hi.”

Hi feels too small. Hey feels too informal. I’ve been thinking of you every minute of every day for the last nine months and you’re a ghost haunting all of my waking moments and sleeping ones too and I think I’ve been waiting for you my whole life feels too big.

She settles for a quiet, “Hello.”

Ava’s nose wrinkles. “Hello,” she echoes, pitching her voice slightly deeper. A clumsy attempt at mimicking her accent. She blinks up at Beatrice expectantly. “Anything else?” she asks after a moment.

“You’re back.” Everything else she wants to say sticks in her throat.

“I am.” Ava tips her head curiously, keen eyes studying her. Beatrice wonders if she sees the new highlights in her hair, the added years Beatrice sees when she looks at herself in the mirror. “I mean, I wasn’t expecting a party, or anything. Maybe a banner or a cupcake. Though, I get that it was kind of an impromptu arrival and there wasn’t a lot of time to plan. I mean, it’s not like you guys have a ‘Welcome Back to Earth’ banner on hand, right?” She pauses again. “I was expecting more than hello, though.”

Restraint, Beatrice, her mother used to tell her. Show some restraint. When she spoke out of turn, became too excited - it was always whip-sharp eyes in her direction, reminding her to practice some self-discipline. Ava, on the other end of the long spectrum between what is expected and what isn’t, is the least restrained person Beatrice has ever met.

Beatrice, months separated from Ava’s influence, struggles to find a middle ground.

“Seriously.” Ava laughs. She sounds nervous. “They didn’t, like, replace you with a pod person or anything, did they?” Her eyes widen. “Is this some kind of alternate reality where people are different? Are you really Beatrice? Or are you her evil twin? Is this world run by toads? I had a dream once where there was a toad king who demanded we all speak in ribbits. Or is it croaks? Hey, can you look up the sound toads make? I think I missed that science lesson.”

“Ava,” Beatrice breathes. Fond exasperation is easy to fall into.

Ava grins rakishly. “Ah, there she is.”

Beatrice opens her mouth to scold her, to tell Ava that she’s not as funny as she thinks she is, but she’s horrified when a single sob loosens from somewhere in the back of her throat and explodes into the space between them.

They both look startled at the sound, but Ava recovers quicker than she does. She curses softly when she tries to move, wires tangling up around her wrists. She starts to try and move them out of her way, her legs swinging over the side of the bed as she starts to inch towards Beatrice. She looks up, forehead pulled together in frustration. “Hold- just hold on.”

Beatrice claps her hand down over her mouth, trying to stop the next horrible sound that comes out of it. She holds out her other hand, trying to tell Ava to stay back. No, no, no. This isn’t how this was supposed to go.

Ava curses again, louder and in Portuguese this time, as another wire comes undone and loops its way around her arm instead. “I swear to fucking God and all her shitty decisions that if this thing doesn’t- Ha!” She wiggles out of one wire, then a second. She smiles triumphantly at Beatrice but that wrinkle in her forehead hasn’t faded away.

Something starts beeping as Ava disconnects the next wire. There’s a moment where they both stand, suspended as they wait for Ava to suddenly collapse onto the floor, that one wire the only thing keeping her up. But nothing comes and Ava must decide that it’s the all-clear; she starts pulling at wires until they disconnect, creating a cacophony of noise that feels like a mis-paced symphony.

“Hold on, hold on,” Ava is muttering as she pulls the last wire free. She’s suddenly in front of Beatrice, hands out in front of her carefully. “Hey, Bea.”

Beatrice’s eyes dart around the room. It’s starting to narrow to a pinprick, the lights spinning around. Ava is the only thing staying still, her focal part as the rest of the room rushes in on her. Another sob starts to build in her throat but it gets stuck there, forming into a hard knot that makes it hard to swallow around.

Breathe, she tells herself. Just take a breath.

“Look at me. Just breathe,” Ava says quietly. She takes a hesitant step forward. “I think- Bea, I think you’re having a panic attack.”

Beatrice tries to shake her head. She tries, but she’s not sure that she does. Her body feels far away, like she’s swimming underwater from one end of an endless pool to the other. The beeping of the machines distorts into a heartbeat, but that might just be the blood rushing in her ears. She tries to inhale and chokes on that knot.

“Okay, just follow my voice.” Ava sounds closer, but Beatrice can’t quite say how close she is. The room is starting to stretch out like a funhouse mirror. “Bea, uh, okay. Okay. I’m going to touch you. I know, you might freak out. But I’m going to put my hands on your hands, okay? Just like… just like this.”

She feels something cool and soft land on the wrist of her outstretched arm. It becomes a focal point. She focuses all of her energy there, all of her remaining senses rush to the spot where Ava’s fingertips curl around her pulse point.

Ava makes a noise that sounds like a hum just under the hot whistle of air in Beatrice’s ears. “Good. Now the other hand.”

Another cool hand touches hers, pulling it away from her mouth. She lets her world dial down to just the feather-light touch of Ava’s hand tangling with hers, lets herself focus in on the soft pads of Ava’s fingers running over the silvery scars on her hands. Each brush against her knuckle breaks down the knot in her throat until she can take in a ragged breath, then another, then one more.

The world begins to expand again - light filtering back in, the beeping stretching out into its asynchronous rhythm, the slightly sterile smell of clean cotton on the hospital bed. She focuses all of her attention on Ava, though. On the soft soothing noises Ava is making, the heat coming off her body as she gets closer, the strange patterns Ava is rubbing into her wrist.

“Hey,” Ava says quietly in the spaces between the beeping. “Hey, there you are.”

“I’m sorry,” she croaks, graceless.

Ava’s eyes are wide, but kind as they come into focus. Beatrice could count the inches between them on two hands. “You don’t need to apologize. I don’t think either of us expected this.”

“I should have.” She inhales again, the exhale a little steadier. “I should have been expecting this.”

“Beatrice, I mean this in the nicest way.” Ava ducks her head just a little, meeting her gaze directly. “This is a compliment, okay? You are not perfect. You cannot anticipate everything. And you shouldn’t be expected to do that. So it’s okay, alright? It’s okay that you didn’t anticipate some scientific marvel spitting me back into reality. I think I can forgive you for that, hmm?”

“Okay,” she whispers, not believing it entirely. But Ava looks so convincing, she lets the idea sit and tries to believe it could be true. “I’m-”

“Don’t apologize,” Ava says quickly. “This is a no-sorry party. Apologies department is closed for… the rest of eternity. No need to leave a message.” She strokes her thumb against the back of Beatrice’s hand before her eyes widen in mock-surprise. “Maybe this is an alternate reality where I’m not funny anymore.”

“Your jokes were always mediocre at best,” she manages.

Ava grins. “She speaks. And she lies.” Ava’s expression softens and she pulls until Beatrice can count the inches on one hand now. They’re nearly nose to nose and Beatrice can see the thin skin over Ava’s collarbone, just a little more pronounced this close up. “You’re okay.”

Beatrice takes in a slow, measured breath. “You’re here,” she exhales.

“All 238 bones of me.” Ava’s mouth falls into a serious line. “I’m including teeth, of course.”

She can’t help the laugh that bubbles up from her unexpectedly. Get control of yourself, her mother’s voice hisses. But Ava is looking at her, pleased. It sends her mother to the back of her head, back behind Ava’s smile.

“You had your wisdom teeth removed,” she reminds Ava gently.

Ava’s mouth falls open slightly. “How did you-” Her eyes narrow, but she’s smiling. “No stone unturned for you people, hmm? I bet Sister Frances kept those teeth, too. You know, Diego and I always thought she had some kind of creepy collection of, like, teeth and hair. She seemed the type.” Her fingers start working over Bea’s hands and up towards her elbows as she carefully starts to guide them around her back.

“Ava,” Beatrice tries.

“I don’t know about you,” Ava says quietly. “I don’t know how long it’s been since-”

“Too long,” Beatrice breathes. Eight months, twenty-three days, and somewhere around three hours, she doesn’t say out loud.

“But it’s been even longer for me,” Ava finishes. “And, I’ll be honest, okay? I really missed Mother Superion and Camila and, yeah, okay, parts of Lilith. But you were the only thing that kept me going. So I’m going to hug you and you’re going to hug me and then I’m going to pass out, if that’s okay with you?”

Beatrice startles a little, their forehead nearly knocking as she grabs Ava tightly and holds her against her body. Ava seems to sigh into the hug, her forehead dropping into the curve of Beatrice’s neck, her hands gripping the back of Beatrice’s shirt tight enough to crease the carefully ironed fabric. She grows heavy nearly instantly and Beatrice almost sways under the sudden weight.

“I’m-”

“Shut up,” Ava murmurs. Beatrice feels the words more than she hears them. “Just, be quiet, okay? I’ve been imagining this for years.”

Years, she thinks. But she goes quiet again, pressing her lips to Ava’s hair. She breathes in something bleach-like, like the ozone burning. She carefully inches forward, Ava’s abandoned bed her destination. She can hear her heart beating against her rib cage, but Ava’s own heart seems to be answering in its own language.

She starts to loosen her grip on Ava, intending to convince her that she should lay back down, let Beatrice reattach all of the wires monitoring her vitals, let Beatrice go and find Jillian to make sure they didn’t mess everything up. But when she goes to loosen her grip, Ava hangs on.

“Don’t,” Ava whispers. “Don’t let go yet.”

Beatrice holds on tighter; doesn’t tell Ava she has no intention of ever letting go again.

#warrior nun #avatrice #ava silva #sister beatrice #tw: panic attack #this is just an entire fic i am sorry #beatrice needs a break okay?#i might use this again in a larger fic tbh because it immediately gave me a hundred ideas #but hey it's my writing so i can do what i want #*said in my 7-year-old's voice*#anyway writing this was a lot out of me #i hope if you read it you enjoy it

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