#When Bea lashes out at Ava | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

kendrene · 10 months

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20. things you said that i wasn’t meant to hear + whichever ship your heart desires 🙃

Ava coming home from the bar at the end of an afternoon shift, the village unusually quiet around her. Streets empty, the houses hunkered down, squatting almost, as rain-promising clouds roll in from the north, bellies low, scraping the bottom of the valley.

A first drop of rain hits her shoulder. Cold, it sends chills down her spine. Ava is dressed for earlier heat. Tank top. Shorts. Second hand shoes that feel one step away from coming apart.

Hunching her shoulders, body curling around her prize. The croissants inside the paper bag are leftovers from the bakery - Ava got them half-price. The ones Beatrice loves, that she rarely allows them to get. They're on a budget. They need to save what they earn.

Ava thinks in part it's just excuses. Suspects that a big part of Bea, who is so efficient in taking care of her, doesn't know how to be nice to herself.

The stairs leading up to the apartment. Old and creaky, but after weeks of Beatrice teaching Ava how to move she doesn't make a sound. Ava sneaking in, pausing as Beatrice's voice drifts to her from their shared bedroom.

"I don't know how to protect her." Bea's tone is forcibly flat, tension crystallised, carefully trapped behind each word. "What I'm feeling for her-" Bea pausing. Ava unable breathe. "Yes Mother. I understand."

Heavy silence settling in. The conversation clearly ended. Then, another muted sound and Ava's stomach dropping at the understanding of what it is.

Beatrice is crying.

Ava wanting to be angry at Mother Superion for making Bea cry, angrier that she can't. It's because of her Beatrice is crying, and lashing out would mean letting her know that she heard. Letting her know that she, too, feels-

Stomping into the kitchen, she makes enough noise that Beatrice emerges from the bedroom in a hurry, a knife held in her hand. Her eyes, red and a touch puffy the only sign of her emotional distress.

"I brought snacks!" Ava reveals the croissants with a flourish. Puts on a smile she does not really feel. Beatrice opens her mouth, eyebrows drawn, and Ava hurries to add that she got the croissants on sale. They could have them for breakfast in the morning, or heat them up now. In the small toaster oven the last tenant left, the way Bea taught her to do so that the pastry doesn't go all floppy and wet.

Bea has taught her so many things.

The can do whatever she likes.

"I think we could have them now." Bea's smile, a little strained but there. Like glimpses of sunlight through quilted clouds after the rain. "I'll brew us some tea."

Things clicking in a different way. How they move around inside their tiny kitchen without jostling. Ava grabbing the plates stored in the cupboards over Bea's head. Beatrice reaching behind her for their stash of tea. There's little left, Ava notes, her mind stumbling over the smallest of details so that she doesn't have to think of what she heard.

Bea has feelings for her.

Bea likes her. Likes her back, likes her back, likes her back.

And later that night the bed being too small to contain their tired bodies and their shared secret. Ava making sense of the nightmares that wake Beatrice up. Of the nights when Bea doesn't come to bed at all, nights in which she sits by the window, keeps watch until dawn.

Afraid to fall asleep and wake up tangled, warm back against her front. The stretch of space between them a chasm. An intractable ocean. Their bodies obeying other laws - like hydrogen and oxygen the two of them a whole that can't be decomposed.

Beatrice stammering apologies in the light of morning. Ava waving them away. I know. She says by looks and touch alone. I feel it too.

I love you.

#warrior nun #avatrice #ava x beatrice #ava silva #sister beatrice #dren writes

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possibilistfanfiction · 1 year

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Butch Bea with thoughts around top surgery? (if it's not a consideration for her/them totally no worries) would be interesting to hear Bea deciding and/or confiding in Ava abt it - your writing of feelings is always so good tysm

[ok if ppl don't want this in the butch bea canon then that's fine BUT if ppl do... this is sweet. i love this prompt]

you've seen beatrice come out of surgery before, but this is different. her eyes flutter open reluctantly, although she'd already woken up for the nurses before they let you come back to the pacu. you're sure she'll be nauseous, because anesthesia always makes her feel sick, but when she finally manages to look at you steadily, she smiles.

'hi baby,' you say, and you're in the same kind of sterile hospital as you have been before, when things have been bad, and scary, or hard. but this — this — is so, so beautiful.

'hello ava,' beatrice says, her voice rough from being intubated, hilariously formal for being so obviously high.

'how you feeling?'

'pretty good.'

'yeah?'

'a little sick to my stomach. but — everything went okay?'

you run a hand through her soft hair, kiss her forehead. 'it went really great.'

her smile breaks your heart a little: you know, now, more than anyone else in the world but her, how long she denied herself this peace.

'your surgeon said she'd be by soon, and you'll be able to see.' she leans into your hand with a sigh, and you rub your thumb along her cheekbone. 'you can rest while we wait for her.'

she's asleep almost immediately, her long lashes and her freckles and when she had brought top surgery up, months ago, with shaky hands, you had held her in your arms and held her jaw in your palm. 'there are very few things that could make me love you less,' you had told her. 'this will make me so proud of you, and so, so happy for you.' she had nodded and kissed you, salty, relieved tears down her cheeks. 'my only condition is that, if you feel like it, you wear shirts as rarely as possible at home. or out, i'm not opposed to that either.' and she had laughed and you're more sure, every single day, that the world isn't supposed to exist to harm or to hurt.

you hold her hand in yours, update your sisters and friends that bea is awake and fine and loopy, promise lilith that you'll send some good videos of her soon, and a few minutes later wake her when her surgeon knocks on the door.

'i can see?' she asks, excitement evident even through the fog of anesthesia, and you love her.

'we want to keep the padding and compression on for the most part,' her surgeon explains, but then she smiles. 'but yes, for a minute.'

bea nods and you help her sit up a little in bed. you're no stranger to surgical dressings and drains at this point, but you've always found them necessary at best, gross and painful at worst. but you watch beatrice get to look at the curved scars that span her chest, the bandages over her re-grafted nipples — you watch her entire face light up and her shoulders set and she grins and starts to cry. you look too, and she is so, so beautiful; you feel tears burn at your eyes too and then she looks at you and laughs.

her surgeon smiles too. 'your swelling well go down, and the drains will come out in about a week, hopefully.'

'it'll be even better?' she asks, disbelief and awe.

you squeeze the top of her hand, the deep reverence in her voice filling your whole body with unspeakable joy.

it takes a few weeks for her to be back on her feet, a few months until she gets to go surfing and to the dojo again. but you make sure she's comfortable and order all the food she wants; you wash her hair for her and empty her drains. you are no stranger to being cared for — by beatrice, with tenderness — and, when it's your turn, you realize, time and again, that there's love there that moves heaven and earth.

'ugh.' lilith rolls her eyes when bea walks out of the hall from your bedroom, joggers slung low on her hips, drying her hair. all of the swelling has gone down and her nipples have fully healed.

'hello, lilith,' bea says. 'so nice of you to drop in uninvited and then complain about brunch.'

'oh, i wasn't complaining about brunch. i like these pastries.' she waves the pistachio croissant she took off of your plate around for effect. 'i'm complaining because i feel like i'm going to have to see your abs for years now, all the time.'

'i'm so very sorry,' bea says, definitely not sorry at all. lilith has been in and out every few days to check up on bea, so it's all a very silly charade at this point.

'i am happy,' lilith says, taking a bite of the croissant and then continuing, her mouth full, just to bother bea, 'that you're doing so well. and feeling so happy in yourself.'

'thank you,' beatrice says, her strong back turned to you as she makes both of them tea very precisely. 'chew with your mouth closed, please.'

#butch bea 🥺🫡#prompts #avatrice fic #avatrice #wn fic #there's like... so much more here but a lil smth!

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piratekane · 1 year

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I feel like 5 + 21 could lead to some delicious angst...

five: please come get me… twenty-one: no one can hurt you now.

The world pulses around her. She can't see past her hands. The air fizzles, buzzing electric in her ears. It's bolts of blue lightning, arcing and splitting above her and around her and biting at her exposed skin.

"Bea?"

Her voice doesn't echo. It gets sucked into the space around her and suffocated. She turns but she's not sure what direction she's facing. Not in Bea's direction, she knows that. Because this place is full of light and energy and completely devoid of Beatrice. There's an emptiness she feels in the center of her chest that gnaws at her. She reaches out, hands disappearing into the blue. They tingle. She pulls them back against her chest.

"Bea?"

A sharp shock rushes through her body. She looks down at her stomach, at the long lightning bolt that's burrowed into her skin. She gasps as it hooks around something burning brightly and pulls. A raw scream burns in her throat as a shard of divinium is pulled out of her. The pain of it makes her dizzy. She falls to one knee as another lightning lash grips a second piece.

"Bea," she gasps, hot tears running down her face. She reaches a hand out into the nothingness. "Please. Please come get me."

She's already in the room when the Arc starts to pulsate. Blues and whites pop and crackle as something starts to throb like a heart pounding. Someone shouts but Beatrice doesn't hear it, only the sharp inhale of her own lungs and the roaring of blood in her ears.

She walks closer to the Arc as someone calls her name, feeling the air crackle around her as she gets within arms reach of it. Something catches the tip of her finger, a quick burst of electrical energy, and she frowns down at it as a the Arc's blue light flickers to bright, nearly blinding, white.

It's graceless, the way a figure stumbles backward out of the Arc and falls into a pile with a wet thud that Beatrice feels echo in her chest.

Ava, gasping for air, shudders at her feet as she rolls over. Her hands scrabble at the floor, fingers gripping the concrete uselessly until they find the edge of Beatrice's pants. She pulls Beatrice to her knees, the sharp reverberation of bone against an immovable object nothing compared to the feeling of Ava's fingers slipping under hem of her pant and brushing against her ankle.

"Enough," Ava pants. The word breaks twice before she gets it out. "Please. It's enough."

Beatrice wills herself into motion. She grabs for Ava's shoulders, pulls hard until Ava is draped across her lap. Until she can see her face, blood stained on Ava's temple and the dried tears on her cheeks and the deep cuts in her chest and stomach.

She exhales a shaky Ava and runs a hand down Ava's face, feeling bruises under her fingers. "It's okay."

Ava's chest rises and falls in staccato rhythm, an asynchronous beat Beatrice can't follow. "I can't give any more," she sobs haltingly. "Reya, please."

Reya. Beatrice shushes Ava, holding her closer still. She presses her lips to Ava's forehead, tasting copper and salt. "It's okay. You're okay. I've- I've got you."

"Bea," Ava sighs. Tears still choke her words. "Don't let her take any more."

Beatrice feels her jaw set and resolution resounding in her chest, rung like a church bell. No. Reya won't take any more, she promises. She kisses Ava's forehead again, breathes in the slight smell of ozone on her skin.

Ava is here in her arms, broken. Ava is home, alive.

And Beatrice - whose commitment has always been God before she poured it into Ava's hand; whose always held her faith in high regard; whose pledge herself to a life of serving - she's going to kill a God.

#what it says on the tin #though i doubt this counts as 'delicious angst' so for that i am sorry #there is a slightly promising ending?#warrior nun #avatrice #ava silva #sister beatrice #between my kids and shoveling this took 5 hours and i am not better for it

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clexalab · 3 months

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the truth is that I'm lying | Chapter 1

“Bea-”

You miscalculated, she’ll still cut right through you, even if you strike first. A hurt or scared Beatrice is a cornered wild animal, a quality and trait that makes her such a lethal warrior because, even when wounded, she will bite and lash out and claw her way through, offering no mercy.

She offers you none now.

“Don’t let her see your back. When you let her… when you… do what you were about to do with her.”

Cold. Harsh. Pride of the OCS.

Don’t let her see your back when she takes your clothes off is what she means. Don’t let her see the Halo when you let her fuck you is what she can’t make herself say.

The Switzerland Angsty Divergence AU where Ava wants to experience everything life can offer, Beatrice wants her to because that's the right and fair thing to do, but they're also in love and can't admit it to each other and it hurts.

(no one from the Special Ops fandom yell at me, I'm still working on the Bobby 5+1 fic too I swear)

#warrior nun #sister beatrice #ava silva #avatrice #fanfiction #ava silva x sister beatrice #fic: the truth is that I'm lying

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daisychainsandbowties · 10 months

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Can't stop thinking about Tomb Raider AU, Ava's first kill which is more of an accident really. The man on top of her, squeezing tight at her throat. A rock to the temple, maybe the broken end of one of her arrows parting the soft stretch of flesh right under his jaw. A spray of blood - arterial? - on her. Her first reaction even though he was doing his best to kill her, to try and stem the flow. A red rain on her fingers, staining her soul with the unspeakable sin of a life cut short.

Ava scrubbing her hands with whatever she can find after. The fast waters of a stream running downhill, swirling pink. Maybe it's the blood. Maybe just the sunset.

Beatrice, meanwhile, methodical and ruthless, compartmentalizing each death but still keeping score. Secret, unholy tally engraved into the back of her occipital bone, and she can almost feel each ghostly notch whenever she cups the nape of her neck, working to loosen muscles turned to stone by another night spent on the ground.

Growing more frantic as the days go by, trying to remember how many rations they put in each pack, telling herself that at least there's plenty of water. Ava has to be alive.

And then stumbling onto the place where Ava had been ambushed. Her stomach dropping when she spots the body, prone. Relief after she turns it over, her eyes alighting on the arrow that juts out of the man's throat. Gray and blue fletching that she'd recognize anywhere. She'd been the one who introduced Ava to a bow, who'd taught her how to make her own.

The arrow, a bloodied, broken compass to guide the both of them home.

Ava, who rescues rats from the bowels of the ship and lets them off on shore. who touches even Lilith so gently when she sidles past her in the kitchen, even when she notices Lilith grinning as she sips from-

“MY FAVORITE MUG?”

gentle Ava who washes up on the beach alone in the middle of the storm, who waits for morning to go up into the trees.

Ava, pinned underneath a man snarling at her in Portuguese but no breath in her lungs to say “wait, i can understand you."

and just- lashing out, lashing up. a star reaching its way back into heaven, or Icarus crawling out of the ocean dragging his broken limbs and his broken wings behind him.

blood on her face, in her mouth, gumming her lashes together - and what did Bea say about it? how arterial blood is bright brilliant red and venous blood is darker, breathless, deoxygenated. she thinks of it in brushstrokes, limping away through the trees, scrubbing at her eyes with her forearm until the skin is streaky and red.

is this how Icarus felt? tilting his chin to kiss Apollo as the wax ran molten down his arms, as his wings unfurled and then unfurled.

she used to sit on the deck with Beatrice when her intrepid archaeologist needed air and light. how she would sink slowly into Ava’s side. a different kind of capsizing.

nothing to be afraid of.

Ava staring up at the sky and telling her, “if we were sailing in the 1600s i’d be a rigging monkey.”

“mmm?” soft, sleepy, turning her face to look at Ava with that sly strand of hair slipping down to touch her cheek.

“yeah, flitting through the ropes and the sails and the mast, dangling up there in calm weather or in windy weather.” she closed her eyes, "i'd be so unbelievably sexy."

a soft huff. not a denial.

“rigging monkeys were fragile things.” Bea unpicking Ava’s fingers where she held them in a loose fist.

maybe they’d had a beer, or two, and in that moment Bea looked as fascinated by the shape of Ava’s knuckles as she did looking at her books, or the horizon. “they…um… often fell into the water, or down onto the deck. from such a height…”

she trailed off, looking troubled.

Ava swallowed the urge to dip down and kiss her forehead, to smooth those lines of worry with her mouth. “yeah but in this scenario you’d be our navigator, so you’d never turn us toward a hurricane or a lightning storm. we’d just breeze right along and i’d get to sunbathe on the mainmast.”

Beatrice paused, her thumb poised to run over the slope of Ava’s fingers. (she’s just tactile, that’s all. there’s nothing else to it)

“sometimes you have to sail into a storm.” Bea shook her head, folded her hands back into her lap, “otherwise the storm will catch up to you.”

Ava ran from the beach as soon as she could walk, run, snatching Bea’s backpack from a pile of washed-up cargo. she’d heard gunshots in the night, huddled under the broken hull of a rowboat with crabs shifting in the shadows.

she thought about smashing one of them with a rock, to eat, but she couldn’t do it.

and she tried to outpace the storm, but it found her.

a body lurching out of the trees, quiver of arrows on his back, beating her down with the slope of the bow. straddling her and how she beat helplessly at him like she used to strain against the stubbornness of her body as it healed, as sensation returned and the nuns it as an excuse to pinch, to scratch her with their nails.

screaming, wordless, savage. trying to reach his eyes and then the tightening of his hands around her neck. Bea telling her the count you start in your head when someone strangles you.

“pfft, i can hold my breath for ages.”

“your brain can’t.”

reaching up - and she’s always reaching up. guilty dreams of Beatrice slowly dipping down to capture her mouth.

Ava reaches, feels something snap off in her hand. later, she’ll turn it over and over in her hands. an arrow, poorly made, with wet wood, but the head sharpened like someone went at it with a stone night after night. it makes her think of prayer, of what she might pray for here if she didn’t have the hazy hope of bea, bea, bea.

she tried to plug his face with her hands, fingers grazing up against broken teeth as he coughed gouts of blood down onto her. hands around her throat loosening and that first flood of breath threaded with the leak of his life.

the weight of him crushing the air from her lungs. so she hooked her legs around his like Beatrice showed her, using her hips to flip him onto his back.

and then he drowned.

on his own blood and she should have known, should have thought of it, but she just ripped up his shirt with bare bloody fingernails and pressed it into the wound. his eyes - dirty blue like the water under piers - roaming wild over her face.

and then he died.

she pushed off his body, falling back into the leaf litter. sticky length of arrowhead still clenched in one fist.

back in the orphanage, she used to spend hours just thinking. clinging like fire to every fact she learned, every paragraph Diego struggled to read to her.

daylight dreams of Michelangelo lying flat underneath his ceiling, paint dripping into his eyes, squinting at the shadows. the absolute quiet sometimes, at night maybe, holding up a candle to see the colors without the bruising brightness of god’s eye.

he’s looking now, she thinks, dipping her hands into the cold tonguing motion of a stream. leaves flicking past in the current, blood ribboning into threads of muted gold.

#tomb raider au #avatrice #warrior nun #DREN!!!!! holy shit this made me insane #god the drumbeat of death on beatrice's occipital bone #the visceral tinge of it all!!!!#bea finding out that's ava's really REALLY alive when she finds a corpse. finding life in death #aaaaaahhhhh absolutely losing my mind #i cannot do justice to what you wrote but please accept my humble attempt #kendrene

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tell-talesignsof-awkward · 1 year

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What are your thoughts of Bea losing hope and her faith in religion in second half of season 2? As Ava mentioned, she wouldn’t have before.

Also did think it was unfair that she lashed out on Ava and told her to run.

Hm maybe if you can, could you please provide your thoughts on that entire conversation and her character arc from episode 7-8? I simply chalked it up to she lost faith in religion, but also now thinking about it…in Ava too. Your analysis of the pressure of being the next Mother Superion helps make sense of the otherwise calm Beatrice.

oh my gosh Hiiiii!! This is a cool question, and I intend to fully infodump about it.

Beatrice hits a horrible crossroads in ep 6 when she sabotaged Adriel’s meeting with Miguel’s titty bomb by just rugby-tackling the love of her life to keep her from being impulsively selfless.

Bea’s method of surviving the trauma she’s experienced up to this point is to put all of the parts of her that wouldn’t otherwise make it into a series of tiny boxes to be reopened in a kinder/safer world probably never lol. Up till now, the sacrifices she’s been required to make to survive/in her line of work were either something she had the space/support to come to terms with, or were within her capacity to give freely. Suddenly, Shannon’s gone. Lilith’s gone. Vincent’s a traitor. Mary’s gone. Their headquarters are compromised. The angel who inspired her sect isn’t even an angel and is also a dirtbag. All of the pillars of her existence have crumbled into ash, except the Warrior Nun. If she can keep Ava alive, something about her life is still worth it. She can still be Good, and Useful, and the version of herself she needs to be in order to be the leader she’s destined to become. The world she can she see will still be at least somewhat recognizable. There’s still a world in which she and Ava have a shot at falling in love. Now the world is demanding she rip up that final shining part of herself, and in the moment, she balks. She lets Vincent take the Crown and puts her body between the bomb and the detonator.

This is a fucked up thing for Bea to try and reconcile with in the aftermath, and because she’s human instead of the avatar of Duty and Responsibility she believes herself to be, she handles it badly and has a meltdown in Ava’s direction about it. I don’t think she means pretty much any of what she’s saying, and it fits the pattern of the conflicts they’ve had earlier in the season. Beatrice and Ava do have this kind of established conflict pattern of “my feelings are deeply hurt but I cannot fully voice everything” which devolves into hurting each other’s feelings back and forth a bit until someone gets to the crux of the issue, they Actually Talk, and they tenderly make up. The problem this time is:

the crux of the issue is that Ava received a message from Maybe-God telling her to blow herself up to save the world

Beatrice’s final straw is Ava

There’s no time to circle back to making up, the world’s about to freakin end

Ava even spots the pattern and throws her a bone with the offer to run away, but it doesn’t matter in the end. Bea’s repeatedly stated that she cannot watch Ava die, and to have Ava essentially state her intentions to hand-detonate a bomb in an angel’s face is more than she can handle. In that moment, she’s screaming from her most vulnerable self for Ava to be selfish for her, but they’ve both run out of steam to keep outpacing reality. The cozy bubble that formed over them in the Alps - and even before that during their Halo training - finally pops, and the rift it creates between them is almost uncrossable. Beatrice is bereft, adrift, and has finally run out of pieces of herself to give.

She gave the OCS and the Church her life, her friends, her family, her hopes and dreams, her body, and not a small amount of cognitive dissonance. Having to hand over a fleeting glimpse of what could be is her breaking point, and she doesn’t even get a say in handing it over.

I don’t think she’ll break Catholic forever, by any means, but my girl Beatrice is in dire need of a gay sabbatical and a damn nap. Also, a gay sabbatical comes with a class on communicating your feelings lol

#warrior nun asks #warrior nun #warrior nun s2 spoilers #ava did for sure want to be given permission to not die for the fucking catholic church #but she's also a deeply emotionally intelligent person who Knows beatrice #and is just always out here calling bea on her shit #but also much more subtly giving bea space to feel her big feelings #avatrice #im in pain

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lumilasi · 3 months

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I figured that since I won't be likely to draw Evena much despite her being semi-important, a bust shot portrait is honestly enough of a ref; She's just wearing a gown with sandals most of the time as well, and her hair is the most important design element due to the lore behind it.

....I did think of drawing her wings too, but RN I have no ideas for how they'd look exactly, so I'll add them later sometime. They'd likely just be varying shades of green mantis-like wings. Naturally

Her bio below:

Age: she's considered to be in her 50:ies by fae standards, is likely older from human perspective.

Nicknames: Eva

Family: Husband Kenzo, Brother-in-law Yuuji, Daughter Avane

Friends: Marci Raye (her husband's former pupil)

Love interest: Her husband Kenzo

Former special operative working under her then-future-husband, Currently being treated in a mental health temple

Personality:

She used to be a very calm and patient person with a good sense of humor, and ability to stay calm under pressure. She was also fairly parental towards everyone she was responsible for, such as her younger teammates or Kenzo's (former) young pupil Marci.

After the incident where she and Avane almost died, Evena slowly became bitter, erratic and easily provoked, to the point she became a danger for herself and her family. She is now very quiet and prefers being left alone, or at least she claims so most of the time. Her mind is a mess and she's often not thinking very rationally.

She struggles with feelings of guilt (for not noticing the threat on time and not being able to protect her toddler in her mind), abandonment (for being placed in the facility, even if it treats the patients well enough/having her husband not visit her much anymore, OR her daughter) envy (feeling like her husband cares more about his job than her/sometimes even gets jealous over Avane still getting attention from her dad) and anger towards Kenzo, blaming him what happened. (it was an unforeseen incident that neither could have really predicted, and when she is more clear headed, she understands and knows this too)

She sometimes, in her more irrational moments, even blames Ava and is jealous of her for "turning out fine" despite going through the same situation. Even though she was way too young to even remember what happened. She does remember her mother lashing out at her dad for seemingly no reason more and more, though....

Abilities:

She was an excellent archer and sniper, being able to hit her targets accurately from very far away.

She can summon and hide her wings at will, or at least used to be able to; nowadays she struggles to pull them out.

Evena was always a good tactician and able to think and plan in the moment.

She had a fairly good close-combat skills too, though preferred long range weapons and stealthy approach.

Weaknesses:

Her trauma has made her unable to utilize majority of her fighting skills now, and she'll sometimes have random flashbacks that'll cause her to either panic or have a violent fit.

Her relationship with her family has strained due to her bad mental state, as she tends to lash out and argue with both, sometimes with irrational accusations. Evena always hates it when it happens afterwards, but she is really struggling with herself; her mind is fighting against her as she puts it sometimes.

She can't summon her wings properly anymore, and is insomniac as well.

Extra Facts

Avane is trying to get her dad to realize that him avoiding her is making things worse, but so far she's had no luck with it.

Yuuji is the only one who still visits her regularly, and also the only one she doesn't really lash out at much, given he wasn't directly involved in the incident.

Evena has been in the facility since Ava was 7, the incident happened when she was 3. She did get to leave occasionally during the past 19 years, but seemed to always relapse when she did.

During those 4 years before she went for psychological care, Evena essentially tried to grin and bear it, not want to admit she'd been traumatized despite the sings becoming more and more obvious overtime.

There is a theory that the reason why she's not getting better may also include a spiritual angle on top of psychology; some doctors speculate the werewolf who attacked them might've cursed her before he was killed by Kenzo & Marci. If this is the case though, they haven't yet found signs of it. (This is in fact true, it is part of the whole overarching story, where Ava finds out with her boss' Jurou's help that this is what's hindering her recovery)

Ava hasn't told her mom about her boyfriend Roman, given he is part Werewolf. She is worried about her lashing out over it, or even trying to attack Roman in worst case scenario.

Kenzo does still love her deeply, but he doesn't know how to handle her situation, hence he's started avoiding her and burying himself in his work to ignore the problem.

#artists on tumblr #oc bio #oc reference #lumi's chaotic creations #lumi's art scribbles #Night city parlor #Evena Faydream #another one crossed off my list yaaay #I have a list of characters to design or redesign #and today I can cross two things off that list

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booasaur · 4 years

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Warrior Nun - 1x08

#warriornunedit #warrior nun #sister beatrice #ava silva #kristina tonteri young #alba baptista #warrior nun spoilers #warrior nun 1x08 #femslash related stuff #avatrice #I looove love love their friendship already #even if we don't get a romance next season I hope we still keep the friendship #the way they can talk is different from any other pair #like when beatrice is (understandably) emotionally overwhelmed at melanie's entry and ava doesn't immediately grasp it all she lashes out #and ava has so far only dealt with beatrice being patient and reasonable and is genuinely hurt by this and straight up asks her about it #instead of snarking back like she would with lilith or mary or straight up running off #and beatrice justifies her faith by immediately catching herself and apologizing and explaining #like I love that for all the faith bea has in different people and systems ava has soooo much in her #they all do!#I feel like this has the potential to be the most balanced relationship #even if just friendship wise #and maybe mary-lilith #so many of the dynamics are mentor-mentee

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blackteaandbones · 4 years

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Reposting this little Avatrice piece because the original tags are buggy for some reason.

Thank you to @arashimaru and anon for the prompts :)

Prompt 1:

Beatrice is injured during a mission but hides how bad her wound actually is to make sure she doesn't distract her team and the mission is completed at all cost. Ava sensed something is wrong but as usual can't argue with Bea's logic. Cue some kind of dramatic reveal (blood stain, Bea collapsed, you name it) which then forces Ava and Bea to talk and Ava gets to care for Bea for once.

Prompt 2:

I was wondering if you’d write something where Bea is hurt/sick but hides it so they can complete a mission. It makes it way worse and eventually the group finds out, preferably by dramatic reveal (like collapsing or something). Ava panics and maybe even blames herself and they have to talk. The group reminds bea that she has worth outside of like her training and fighting abilities and that they care about her.

Part 1 of “Damned if you Do” under the cut

“You’re a damn fool.”

“I know…”

“No. You don’t know. If you knew-” Mary snaps, pulling the thread tight and tying off another stitch, “you wouldn’t have done what you did, and Ava here wouldn’t be trying to keep your blood inside your fool body where it belongs instead of letting it spill out all over the floor while I try to put you back together. If you knew,” she adds, jabbing the needle in again and ignoring Beatrice’s wince, “you would have stayed at your post instead of swooping in like prince-fucking-charming and getting yourself impaled!”

“Language,” Beatrice chides weakly.

“Language?” Mary scoffs rolling her eyes over Beatrice’s shoulder at Ava. “Language, she says to me, after scaring the shit out of everybody for no goddamned reason.”

Beatrice sighs. “Ava-”

“Ava was fine!” Mary cuts her off. “Weren’t you Ava?”

“Oh, no. I’m staying out of this.” Ava would have raised her hands in surrender, but she has one arm wrapped around Beatrice; holding her up while Mary works to close the gaping hole in her side, and the other hand pressing a blood-soaked wad of fabric that had once been one of her sleeves over the exit wound in her back. They’d lost precious minutes once they’d made it home to the safe house and gotten Beatrice into her bed, peeling off her armour and cutting her out of her habit, leaving her in only the bra and loose pants she wore under her skirt (Ava is holding her respectfully okay?) and she hadn’t been able to bear to let go of her any longer than necessary throughout.

Luckily, Mary had been too pissed to comment on her handsiness, though Ava knew she’d noticed.

“Coward,” (fair, but hey!) Mary mutters, snipping the last thread. “Okay, let’s do the other side, then we’ll wrap her up and leave her to think about what she did.”

Instead of moving Beatrice, Ava switches places with Mary so that Beatrice can lean forward into her shoulder while Mary stitches up her back. It’s not perfect, but they don’t want to lay her down until they’re done, or they’ll just have to sit her up again to bandage everything, and according to Mary, the less she’s moved the better.

Ava isn’t complaining, and Beatrice doesn’t seem to be in any hurry to let go of her either, clutching the front of Ava’s shirt in white knuckled fists while Mary peels the bloody fabric loose and douses the wound with antiseptic. Beatrice hisses through her teeth, a whimper catching in the back of her throat.

“Talk to me,” she breathes.

“Uh…” Ava instantly forgets all words ever. “About what?”

“Anything.”

“Okay, um… “ words, words, words… “How does Moses make his coffee?”

“How?”

“Hebrews it.”

Beatrice snorts into Ava’s chest.

“You’re right,” Ava agrees. “That one was terrible. How about… What’s a missionary’s favorite kind of car?”

“She gets a sword through the gut, and I’m the one being tortured,” Mary mutters under her breath, (because she’s a jerk who hates fun.)

“A convertible.”

That one actually gets a chuckle out of Beatrice, her shoulders shaking in the circle of Ava’s arms.

“Hold still, or you’re going to have more than one hole in your gut!” Mary grumbles, but Ava can see the hint of a smirk at the corner of her mouth. (busted!) She’s almost done, the flow of blood slowing to a trickle as she pulls the ragged edges of the wound together.

One more. “How long did Cain hate his brother?” She pauses for dramatic effect. “As long as he was Abel.”

“I take it back,” Beatrice groans. “No more talking.”

Ava gasps in mock affront. “I’m hilarious! You don’t know what you’re missing.”

“We’ll take our chances,” Mary answers for both of them. “There.” She sits back, wiping the sweat off her forehead with a bloody hand. “You’re all done. I’ll send Camilla in with some of the good drugs while Ava gets you cleaned up, then we can all get together and talk about how much trouble you’re in.”

“When did we stop talking about it?” Beatrice sighs. “I can do that,” she adds when Ava reaches for the bowl of warm water and rags Camilla had left with them before fleeing Mary’s wrath. “I’m not a complete invalid.”

“You were literally just impaled,” Ava says, holding the bowl out of her reach. “I think you can let someone else take care of you for five minutes.”

Beatrice frowns, but she doesn’t protest when Ava sets the bowl down beside them on the bed and wrings out one of the rags. Ava holds out a hand and Beatrice reluctantly offers one of her own. Ava takes it reminding herself that this is medicinal touching, and there are no hormones allowed in medicine (really, this whole teenage libido thing is getting ridiculous. Time and place much?) She does one hand, and then the other, wiping the dried blood from Beatrice’s palms and between her fingers; trying to forget with every swipe of the rag over soft skin how much worse this could have been.

No one had realized she was even wounded until the fight was over. It had been chaos; the plan fucked sideways from their first move, but Ava had been handling it. Mary and Lilith had her back, Beatrice and Camilla were running the secondary ops, and the Halo was even behaving itself; they were going to be fine. And then suddenly Beatrice was there between Ava and a sword (a sword she totally would have countered by the way,) and it all went tits up. Camilla was left hanging, the plan in tatters, they fought their way free only for Beatrice to promptly pass out, hands clamped to her side.

Ava remembers a lot of shrieking and panicking after that (most – okay all of it hers.)

“I’m sorry,” Beatrice says, eyes downcast, shoulders bowed. “I didn’t mean to worry you.”

I wasn’t worried,” Ava lies, wiping the last of the blood from her wrists and getting a fresh rag before moving on to her waist.

Beatrice glances up through her lashes (unfair,) a subtle tilt to the corner of her mouth that says she knows exactly how full of shit Ava is. “My mistake.”

(To be continued)

#Avatrice #Warrior nun #Ava Silva/Beatrice #Warrior Nun Prompts #My writing

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xsorakim · 3 years

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sora kim - a spotify playlist spanning over a year ( i think i’ve had her for over a year, idk i have lost track tbh )

truth hurts ( i just took a dna test, turns out, i’m 100% that bitch ) - lizzo / woman ( i’m a motherfuckin’ woman, i don’t need a man to be holding me too tight ) - kesha / s.l.u.t ( i’ma do just what i want on the regular and it’s really not my fault if you’re scared of a sweet, little, unforgettable thing ) - bea miller / you should see me in a crown ( you should see me in a crown, i’m gonna run this nothing town, gonna make ‘em bow one by, one by one ) - billie eilish / queen ( boy, you better bow down on your knees; can i get a yes, your majesty? ) - loren gray / i am the best ( no lyrics here bc it’s in korean and i’m too lazy to find a translation ) - 2NE1 / woman like me ( i always say what i’m feeling, i was born without a zip on my mouth ) - little mix & nicki minaj / solo ( you’re sitting on your feelings, i’m sitting on my throne ) - jennie / kings & queens ( no damsel in distress, no need to save me; once i start breathing fire, you can’t tame me and you might think i’m weak without a sword but if i had one, it’d be bigger than yours ) - ava max / number one fan ( so here’s the bad news, i’m coming for everyone and coming on strong, new hair and new shoes, yeah i get what i like ‘cause i do what i want ) - muna

joan of arc ( fan of myself, i’m stanning myself, i love me so much i put my hands on myself ) - little mix / sour candy ( i’m sour candy, so sweet then i get a little angry, i’m super psycho, make you go crazy when i turn the lights low ) - blackpink & lady gaga / more than that ( wanna take me home, better be more convincing, it’ll take more than that to get to me ) - lauren jauregui / trust issues ( please don’t tell me you want me, please don’t tell me you do, honestly it’s not you it’s me, i just have trust issues ) - olivia o’brien / looking at me ( if you think they’re looking at you, they’re looking at me ) - sabrina carpenter / genetics ( maybelline is good to me, but i believe, i was born with it ) - meghan trainor & the pussycat dolls / exhale ( lights on, lights off, i’m still glowing, confidence, i’m overflowing ) - kenzie & sia / diamonds are forever ( diamonds are forever, they are all i need to please me ) - sabrina carpenter / one woman army ( i’m a one woman army, yes i’m a one woman army ) - porcelain black / fuck feelings ( fuck feelings, swear that shit ruined my life, fuck feelings, fuck feelings, fuck feelings, fuck what i’m feeling ) - olivia o’brien

i am woman ( i need fashion, elegance is a passion ) - jordin sparks / 7 rings ( lashes and diamonds, atm machines, buy myself all of my favorite things ) - ariana grande / prom queen ( all the peasants bow down ) - molly kate kestner / me too ( if i was you, i’d want to be me too ) - meghan trainor / idon’twannabeyouanymore ( hands getting cold, losing feeling’s getting old ) - billie eilish / bad dreams ( lately i’ve been having bad dreams, they come home to haunt me, i can’t seem to let them go ) - faouzia / please don’t say you love me ( please don’t say you love me ‘cause i might not say it back ) - gabrielle aplin / my way ( you do you, i’ll do me, don’t need anybody’s permission ) - ava max / high heels ( i’ma look damn good for all of your friends ) - jojo / not your barbie girl ( i can take myself on a dinner date, buy myself diamonds and champagne, order five courses then chocolate cake, actin’ like i care when i want a man, actin’ like i care when i don’t, and? ) - ava max

#arrogant af tw #too in love with herself tw #// i give her so much shit but tbh i wish i had this level of confidence that apparently can never be shaken #დ | music gives a soul to the universe ;; spotify.

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blackteaandbones · 4 years

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Um hi idk if you accept prompts but I love your writing and I was wondering if you’d write something where Bea is hurt/sick but hides it so they can complete a mission. It makes it way worse and eventually the group finds out, preferably by dramatic reveal (like collapsing or something). Ava panics and maybe even blames herself and they have to talk. The group reminds bea that she has worth outside of like her training and fighting abilities and that they care about her.

I don’t generally take a lot of prompts, (mostly because I’ve been having a bitch of a time writing for the last two years) but this one sparked a few ideas, so why not?

“Damned if you Do”

Ava/Beatrice

Part 1/2

“You're a damn fool.”

“I know...”

“No. You don't know. If you knew-” Mary snaps, pulling the thread tight and tying off another stitch, “you wouldn't have done what you did, and Ava here wouldn't be trying to keep your blood inside your fool body where it belongs instead of letting it spill out all over the floor while I try to put you back together. If you knew,” she adds, jabbing the needle in again and ignoring Beatrice's wince, “you would have stayed at your post instead of swooping in like prince-fucking-charming and getting yourself impaled!”

“Language,” Beatrice chides weakly.

“Language?” Mary scoffs rolling her eyes over Beatrice's shoulder at Ava. “Language, she says to me, after scaring the shit out of everybody for no goddamned reason.”

Beatrice sighs. “Ava-”

“Ava was fine!” Mary cuts her off. “Weren't you Ava?”

“Oh, no. I'm staying out of this.” Ava would have raised her hands in surrender, but she has one arm wrapped around Beatrice; holding her up while Mary works to close the gaping hole in her side, and the other hand pressing a blood-soaked wad of fabric that had once been one of her sleeves over the exit wound in her back. They'd lost precious minutes once they'd made it home to the safe house and gotten Beatrice into her bed, peeling off her armour and cutting her out of her habit, leaving her in only the bra and loose pants she wore under her skirt (Ava is holding her respectfully okay?) and she hadn't been able to bear to let go of her any longer than necessary throughout.

Luckily, Mary had been too pissed to comment on her handsiness, though Ava knew she'd noticed.

“Coward,” (fair, but hey!) Mary mutters, snipping the last thread. “Okay, let's do the other side, then we'll wrap her up and leave her to think about what she did.”

Instead of moving Beatrice, Ava switches places with Mary so that Beatrice can lean forward into her shoulder while Mary stitches up her back. It's not perfect, but they don't want to lay her down until they're done, or they'll just have to sit her up again to bandage everything, and according to Mary, the less she's moved the better.

Ava isn't complaining, and Beatrice doesn't seem to be in any hurry to let go of her either, clutching the front of Ava's shirt in white knuckled fists while Mary peels the bloody fabric loose and douses the wound with antiseptic. Beatrice hisses through her teeth, a whimper catching in the back of her throat.

“Talk to me,” she breathes.

“Uh...” Ava instantly forgets all words ever. “About what?”

“Anything.”

“Okay, um... “ words, words, words... “How does Moses make his coffee?”

“How?”

“Hebrews it.”

Beatrice snorts into Ava's chest.

“You're right,” Ava agrees. “That one was terrible. How about... What’s a missionary’s favorite kind of car?”

“She gets a sword through the gut, and I'm the one being tortured,” Mary mutters under her breath, (because she's a jerk who hates fun.)

“A convertible.”

That one actually gets a chuckle out of Beatrice, her shoulders shaking in the circle of Ava's arms.

“Hold still, or you're going to have more than one hole in your gut!” Mary grumbles, but Ava can see the hint of a smirk at the corner of her mouth. (busted!) She's almost done, the flow of blood slowing to a trickle as she pulls the ragged edges of the wound together.

One more. “How long did Cain hate his brother?” She pauses for dramatic effect. “As long as he was Abel.”

“I take it back,” Beatrice groans. “No more talking.”

Ava gasps in mock affront. “I'm hilarious! You don't know what you're missing.”

“We'll take our chances,” Mary answers for both of them. “There.” She sits back, wiping the sweat off her forehead with a bloody hand. “You're all done. I'll send Camilla in with some of the good drugs while Ava gets you cleaned up, then we can all get together and talk about how much trouble you're in.”

“When did we stop talking about it?” Beatrice sighs. “I can do that,” she adds when Ava reaches for the bowl of warm water and rags Camilla had left with them before fleeing Mary's wrath. “I'm not a complete invalid.”

“You were literally just impaled,” Ava says, holding the bowl out of her reach. “I think you can let someone else take care of you for five minutes.”

Beatrice frowns, but she doesn't protest when Ava sets the bowl down beside them on the bed and wrings out one of the rags. Ava holds out a hand and Beatrice reluctantly offers one of her own. Ava takes it reminding herself that this is medicinal touching, and there are no hormones allowed in medicine (really, this whole teenage libido thing is getting ridiculous. Time and place much?) She does one hand, and then the other, wiping the dried blood from Beatrice's palms and between her fingers; trying to forget with every swipe of the rag over soft skin how much worse this could have been.

Ava remembers a lot of shrieking and panicking after that (most – okay all of it hers.)

“I'm sorry,” Beatrice says, eyes downcast, shoulders bowed. “I didn't mean to worry you.”

I wasn't worried,” Ava lies, wiping the last of the blood from her wrists and getting a fresh rag before moving on to her waist.

Beatrice glances up through her lashes (unfair,) a subtle tilt to the corner of her mouth that says she knows exactly how full of shit Ava is. “My mistake.”

(To be continued, because it’s nearly 4am and my hands hurt.)

#Warrior nun #Avatrice #Ava Silva/Beatrice #Shotgun Mary #My writing #Have I mentioned how much I love Mary?#Because I love Mary #If Ive made any mistakes with the present tense blame Ava since she insists on being written that way

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