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piratekane · 1 year

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a continuation from this roommates au 'verse, for @dealanexmachina

This party is loud and reminds Beatrice of all the reasons why she usually says no to these kinds of things - to the lights and the heavy bass and the permanently sticky floors and the press of sweaty bodies. The list goes on and on and on.

The reason she said yes is standing in the middle of it all, arms in the air and hips swaying tragically off beat with her head thrown back and not a care in the world.

Someone bumps into her side and the drink in her hand splashes up against the inside of the cup, threatening to spill over the lip of it and coat her hand in - she’s not sure what type of alcohol is in this. She hasn’t taken a sip. But a very intoxicated boy had insisted and Beatrice had had enough of his babbling, taking the drink and sparing herself another 5 minutes of a curse-peppered run on all the reasons why men really are discriminated against.

Add that to the list of reasons why she usually says no to these things.

She watches someone approach Ava, his body large but his face shadowed by the spinning disco lights that seem to be exploding against the walls. She can see the glint of his eyes, focused entirely on Ava, his goal inelegantly obvious. Ava doesn’t seem to notice, too focused on the music to feel him coming up on her side.

Her grip tightens on her drink and if the cup cracks, she doesn’t hear it over - Ava would know this song, if she was close enough to talk to. But to Beatrice, it’s just a cacophony of noise that wiggles its way into her ear and leaves her with a dull throbbing sensation.

It’s a miracle, then, that she hears her name shouted over it.

Ava crashes into her view as if she was ever not the center of it. Hands outstretched, mouth split in a wide smile, she looks almost wild with glee as she slams into Beatrice. Beatrice is quick, turning her wrist sharply to avoid the contact and dropping the cup onto the side table near the couch she would never even think of sitting down on.

Ava laughs, her breath sticky against Bea’s chin. “Oh my god, you should see your face right now.”

She tries to smooth out the crease she knows is crossing her forehead. It’s not as hard as she thought it might be, the longer Ava stares at her, smiling. “It’s loud.” She has to lean forward, to say it into Ava’s ear.

Ava pulls away, her smile widening. “Isn’t it great?” She has to shout over the thud, thud, thud. But somehow, it still feels like a whisper just for her.

A hand snakes down her arm and makes the jump from her wrist to her waist. She let Ava talk her into jeans tonight instead of her usual cotton pants. She vetoed a shirt from Ava’s closet, though, and picked something light and loose that sat firmly below her waist line and had no chance of exposing anything to anyone. Ava did not make the same considerations. She’s in a pair of low-slung shorts short enough that Beatrice can see the bottom of a pocket poking out from under the hem and a cropped t-shirt that rests just above her belly button.

If there was anything to be left to the imagination, it’s gone each time Ava lifts her arms above her head. Beatrice feels faint each time she does.

Ava’s fingers dig into her waist, fingers hot through the fabric of her shirt. Beatrice shivers a little and inhales sharp enough that her lungs ache for a moment but Ava doesn’t seem to notice, eyes searching over Bea’s shoulder.

“We lost everyone.” She pouts. Someone bumps into her and she stumbles into Beatrice.

It’s the only reason why Beatrice’s hands go to Ava’s waist. It’s the only reason they sway in towards each other. How did I get close enough for that? she wonders. But it’s the bodies surrounding them, forcing them to anchor themselves together. That’s why, she reasons with herself.

It means she doesn’t have to lean in too far to speak into Ava’s ear. “Mary and Shannon left. Something about being too old for this. Camila is talking to that engineering major she knows and Lilith is…” Well, the last time she saw Lilith, she was in the kitchen berating a boy with a long greasy ponytail who was insisting everyone call him a prophet. “Somewhere.”

“Party poopers.” Ava’s pout smooths out. “But you’re still here!”

“Where else would I be?”

It comes out too plainly. Too honest. She feels a rush of embarrassment flood through her, staining the flats of her cheeks. She’s suddenly thankful they’re at a party with the lights dimmed; Ava can’t see the way she turns red. Her hands give her away, traitorous fingers flexing against Ava’s nearly-bare hips. Ava smiles curiously and Beatrice wonders if she might be granted the mercy of some kind of cataclysmic event to wipe her off the face of the earth.

No such mercy exists. Ava smiles wider. “That’s my girl.”

Beatrice ignores the second ripple that floods through her, not wanting to give this one a name.

“Ava!” someone yells. They both turn and Camila comes into view, dragging along a tall boy with a mop of curly hair. Ava doesn’t untangle herself from Beatrice, curling even further into her. Camila pulls up to a stop in front of them, the tall boy bumping into her. She barely stays upright. “There you are! Where did everyone go?”

“It’s just us,” Ava says, exaggerating a pout. “And Bea and I are leaving.”

“We are?”

“You are?” Camila pouts fleetingly before she shrugs and throws her arms out, wiggling them into the limited space between Beatrice and Ava, wrapping one arm around each of them. Beatrice makes a face as an elbow nearly clips her chin, her stomach roiling slightly at the sharp sweetness of Camila’s breath. “Fine. If you must.”

Ava hugs the both of them tightly, eyes closed as she sways a little. “We must. As you discover changing times, you must have the strength to endure.”

Beatrice frowns. “Voltaire?”

“Earth, Wind & Fire.” Ava grins and pulls herself away from Camila but doesn’t let go of Beatrice. She rocks them back a step, Beatrice’s body moving stiffly as Ava controls them. “Remember to rob him later!” She laughs. “We love you. Say you love her, Bea.”

Beatrice softens. “We love you, Camila.”

The words get swallowed by by the music as the song changes and a cheer goes up. Ava doesn’t wait, moving her through the crowd with focused intention, aiming for the door. They spill out into the night and the cold air dampens the sound of the party they just escaped. Ava is still wrapped around for another moment longer and Beatrice navigates walking backward past a girl puking into the bushes. Ava finally unravels from her as they hit the sidewalk and Beatrice is equal parts relieved and melancholy at the loss.

“Let’s go home,” Ava sighs, grabbing Beatrice’s hand and lacing their fingers together. She throws her head back and shouts up into the night. “Home is wherever I’m with youuuu.”

Ava walks steadier than she seems she might on the way back. She doesn’t let go of Beatrice’s hand, though, clutching it tightly as she navigates broken curbs and cracks in the sidewalk. Beatrice lets the cool air ground her back in reality. She’s going to go home and have a glass of water and try to forget what Ava’s hands feel like pressed to her face and what Ava’s mouth feels like against the line of her jaw.

But Ava has a different idea. Because she drapes herself over Beatrice’s back as she works the key into the door, hanging on as Beatrice shuffles awkwardly into their apartment. The air smells fresh and Beatrice breathes it in for a second, feeling Ava move against her before her body slides away and pours like liquid across the living room to the couch.

“No, no.” Beatrice follows after her, hands grabbing at Ava’s wrists. “No, you need to brush your teeth, Ava. And change into something else.” Ava’s nose wrinkles and she sits down on the couch anyway. Beatrice sighs and puts her hands on her hips. “Ava.”

“Beatrice,” Ava says, voice pitched low. Her attempt at an accent is always slightly better when she’s drunk, Beatrice has noticed. She pushes out her bottom lip and pulls her feet up under her as she wiggles back into the couch. “Come. Sit with me.”

Beatrice changes tactics. “Wouldn’t your own bed be better?”

“No.” Ava holds out a hand, beckoning her. “You won’t be in there with me.”

It’s one place Beatrice has yet to go. She cleaned it out when her last roommate left, changed the sheets in preparation of Ava’s arrival. But since Ava moved in, she hasn’t crossed the threshold. It feels too sacred. She feels too exposed.

Because if she did, if she allowed herself the chance to enter the last private space Ava has, Ava would know how desperately she wants to be there. And that is something Beatrice wants to keep under lock and key, hide it away and pray that Ava will never find out. If Ava knew… If Ava knew that Beatrice wants nothing more in the world to wake up underneath the plastic glow-in-the-dark star-dotted ceiling with her legs tangled in Ava’s and her fingers curled into Ava’s shirt - the world might break into two and create a chasm Beatrice could never be able to cross.

Ava pitches dangerously towards the floor and finds Beatrice’s wrist, tugging hard until Beatrice stumbles forward the last inch and narrowly avoids landing on Ava as she crashes to the couch. She doesn’t have a chance to recover before Ava is pulling her closer, wrapping Beatrice’s arms around her own body and pushing back into her.

Ava sighs, body loose and warm. Beatrice holds her breath until her lungs scream at her to let go.

“This is my favorite thing to do,” Ava sighs. “I love being with you.”

It doesn’t mean what Beatrice thinks it means, of course. Ava loves being with everyone. She loves something every day, uses that word so effortlessly where Beatrice uses it like fine china she takes out once in a while. Ava loves love. She loves being with Beatrice and she loves when Mary lets her ride on the back of her motorcycle and she loves ice cream dates with Camila and she even loves Lilith, when she’s drunk enough to admit that.

“You’re drunk,” Beatrice says kindly, the words like knives in her throat. Because it doesn’t mean what Beatrice wants it to mean.

“I’m tisp- tipsy,” Ava corrects. She shuffles around, stretching out until she’s sandwiched Beatrice between her body and the back of the couch. Beatrice can feel the line of Ava’s spine against her chest as she burrows backward into her. “And you’re warm. I love that about you.”

It doesn’t, it doesn’t, it doesn’t.

Beatrice bites back a list of things she loves about Ava in return. “Ava,” she says quietly.

She hears a hum in response, the kind that lends itself to the moment just before someone falls into a deep sleep. A hand reaches back, pulling hers across warm shoulders until it’s balled up under Ava’s chin, feeling the hollow of her throat.

She tries again, fingers fanning out as far as they can in Ava’s tight grasp to feel the smooth skin of her neck under the pads of her fingertips. “Ava, wait.”

Ava wiggles down further into Bea’s arms. “Wait for you. I-” A yawn overtakes her and Beatrice feels selfishly impatient with it. “I’ll wait for you,” Ava finishes in an exhale. She hums again, a smile against Bea’s knuckles. “I’d wait for you forever.”

Beatrice swallows back the hope that presses against her teeth and runs her free hand through Ava’s hair, brushing it off her face. Ava is asleep already, mouth hanging open slightly as she breathes in and out. Beatrice watches for for a long minute, wondering how she happened upon something like this; how she got so lucky to find someone so… perfect.

She wonders when the dam will break inside her chest and the truth will come spilling out of her. Not tonight, with Ava asleep in her arms and all the lights on. Not tomorrow, with Ava smiling at her, bleary-eyed and hungover.

Ava mumbles something unintelligible and shifts in Beatrice’s arms and while it might not be tonight and it might not be tomorrow, Beatrice knows it will be soon. She can’t pretend for much longer.

#warrior nun #avatrice #ava silva #sister beatrice #my children are starving and i must go feed them now i suppose #but now i have hEADcaNOns for this little 'verse and it's going to be your problem from now on #forever roommates

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running2reanimation · 4 months

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For @cindersnows - for the AVA/M gift event!

Formality

"It's a formality," Victim reassured, gesturing with a glove-covered hand to the bespectacled stick, "We all know I'll be hiring your crew no matter how this dinner goes."

"Of course, sir."

Striker was pretty sure this was actually yet another test from the enigmatic head of the Rocket Corporation. Inviting a bunch of mercenaries to dinner at the most expensive restaurant in Stick City could be nothing less than the ultimate test of his leadership abilities.

Could he make these idiots presentable? Behave in ways that were at least semi-appropriate?

"I want to wear my cape; the nobility of the past used to, it counts as formal wear, right?" Ballista folded his arms as his summoned cape billowed behind him as Primal nodded in agreement;

"They did, so it should count."

"No, you will wear a suit or dress. Those are your options," Striker could already feel the pressure pulsing behind his shades, "That goes for you too, Primal. Suit or dress only."

"I refuse, they both hinder my movement too much," Primal shook her head stubbornly, "What if this is some sort of trap? Or what if we have to defend our new client from would be assassins?"

"It isn't a trap," Striker put his foot down resolutely, though he couldn't discount the possibility of assassins. Or that there would be some type of test of their abilities mid-dining. Victim was capricious like that, "You can wear a loose dress with a slit for more mobility, but you have to wear a dress."

"..." Primal at the very least didn't flat out refuse, so Striker was going to count that as a win.

"Any crazy requests from you, Logo?" Striker turned to the bulky yet-paper-thin stick who shook his head in two quick frames.

"I have a suit from the last undercover thing we did."

Striker heaved a small sigh of relief - at least one of them could be reasonable and logical and knew how to behave in public.

"I'm gonna wear my cape!" Ballista insisted, intentionally billowing it into their leader's face.

"You'd better not," Striker warned, pausing the cape's movement and stepping out of it.

"Lemme wear my cape!" Was the refrain Striker got to listen to for the next several days, every single time he laid eyes on the bitcrushed warrior.

The smaller stick had even ambushed him from one of the upper cupboards - Striker suspected Primal had put him in there, since there was no sign of a chair he would have used to make the climb into them.

"Just let me wear my cape and I'll stop," He pleaded and Striker realized that chances were that Ballista would wear it regardless, and at least this way he might be able to set a few rules.

"On the condition that you keep it from billowing - I know you can control it."

"...Fine, even if that's half the point of wearing it," Bit sagged as though he'd not just gotten what he'd wanted.

"Less than 15 minutes until the transportation arrives, is everyone dressed appropriately?" Striker looked over his assorted group, adjusting the tie of his usual black suit.

Primal had worn a dress, the slit was maybe a bit higher up the thigh than was appropriate for fine dining, but it was too late to do anything about about that. The way the silky black dress caught the light looked very nice with her scribbled style. Her usual ponytail was pulled up into a bun.

Logo was in his white suit with the black tie; looking sharp literally and figuratively.

Ballista still hadn't left his room yet, "Ballista, please tell me you're almost ready."

Striker couldn't imagine what was taking him so long; it wasn't like he'd exactly gotten the impression Ballista owned a lot of formal wear to choose between. He'd probably just left getting dressed until the last moment as usual.

"Ready!" Ballista announced, throwing open the bedroom door. He'd picked out a white suit, it almost seemed somewhat military in style, but the white cape went with it at least, "Oh hey, we've got a black-and-white colour co-ordination thing going on, gang. Nice."

"Limo's here," Logo announced, heading out the door, Primal close behind them. Ballista dashed out past Striker while he grabbed the keys and locked the door.

Striker ducked into the vehicle and a grey stick closed the door behind him. The limo was surprisingly spacious inside, though still not quite tall enough to comfortably accommodate Primal.

And seated in the back with them was their new employer: Victim. He seemed dressed in the same suit as usual, but Striker made a mental note of the black cufflinks that weren't part of the usual ensemble.

"Thank you all for coming to dinner tonight. I know this is a bit unusual for you."

"Thank you for inviting us," Logo bobbed his head in gratitude, taking the lead when it came to socializing, "It's nice not to have to cook for once and I've never been to this place before, Olive and Wine?"

"Yes, I'm not surprised, it is fairly new, but I can assure you it's quite good."

"You're paying, right?" Ballista piped up from Logo's elbow and Striker and Logo both glared at the guy but Victim just laughed.

"Of course, though with your reputation for success, I'm sure you could afford it regardless."

"Oh, totally," Bit grinned, as the limo pulled to a stop, "Looks like we're here."

The exterior of the restaurant was fairly plain and unassuming, with the curtains drawn, a soft golden glow shining from beyond them and a green neon sign proclaimed the place was 'open' in flowing cursive.

The grey stick opened the door and the mercenaries stepped out single file, but they paused to let Victim pass them. Primal once again had to duck, but that was almost expected everywhere.

"Reservations for Victim and company," Victim declared and the mulberry employee guided the group to one of the private rooms in the back.

"Your server will be with you shortly," they bowed and the group was left alone with the menus, simple things with a front for food and a back side for drinks.

"Not a big menu," Primal seemed unimpressed, looking it over.

"They have a steak board for two," Logo pointed out and Primal immediately scoured the menu for it. Having found it, she set hers in the middle of the table, atop Victim's, who hadn't even looked at it.

Logo continued looking, clapping his hands in delight, "Oooh, I've never tried arancini before!"

"Go ahead, if you don't like it you can always order something else," Victim took the menu from Logo and placed it in the pile with a broad grin, "I insist."

"Alright, sir, thank you," Logo smiled back at little nervously and glanced at Ballista who was still reading the menu, "What about you Ballista.

"I think I'm gonna get the cannelloni," Bit said, tossing his menu into the growing pile, "What about you, Striker?"

Striker had been so focused on making sure everyone else knew what they were ordering he hadn't even looked at the menu, "I'm still looking."

"Surely something appeals to you?" Victim asked and Striker could feel the pressure of the older stick's gaze upon him.

"Of course - I'll get the charcuterie board," Striker placed his menu upon the stack as Victim nodded in approval.

"An excellent choice when one is feeling indecisive."

Almost as if summoned by the stack of menus the server appeared, another reddish stick whose smile was too wide, "Have you all decided what you'd like to order?"

"Yes," Victim confirmed, "I'll have the pan fried haddock with potatoes with a Godfather and a glass of water, please and thank you."

After going around the table, the server took the menus and left to go place their orders.

"So, I got a question, Boss," Ballista piped up as soon as the server left and Striker and Logo tensed. Ballista wasn't exactly... good at polite conversation or asking appropriate questions.

"Yes?" Victim tilted his head, either oblivious to the tension or perhaps enjoying it.

"Why is every stick that works for you grey - not only that, they're all the exact same shade. They come from a game or something? Thought you couldn't discriminate like that."

"Oh, you can get away with any form of discrimination if you have enough money... but that's not the case here. Think of it like a uniform of sorts - we dye our workers grey and then at the end of the day we return their colour to them."

"Seems like that might make infiltration easy," Logo frowned, a hand to his chin.

"Never had a problem with it before," Victim shrugged as the server placed their meals down, confirmed they didn't need anything else and left.

Once the food was in front of them, the mercenaries all went quiet - not that most of them were particularly talkative in the first place, but they all focused on their meals intensely.

"Do you not get enough to eat?" Victim asked, and Logo looked up from their meal.

"Oh, yes, but this is a real treat, so we're really making sure we take it all in, you know? Speaking of, thank you for convincing me to try them, the arancini are fantastic."

"Ah, well, good, I'm glad," Victim nodded, going back to his plate.

At the midpoint of the meal a server came in again and asked how everything was.

Striker stared at the server, and immediately noticed that something was off - this one wasn't green or red, the only two colours he'd seen the staff here possess. They were a pale brown and their uniform didn't match the other one's he'd seen earlier in the night, the buttons were simple black, instead of the red roses the rest of the staff sported.

"You're not staff," Striker commented, getting to his feet, Primal immediately following suit with a growl.

In the time it took Striker to draw a line and Primal to vault over the table, three more non-staff members came through the door - these ones were armed with guns.

"Ballista, Logo, get Victim back to the limo and wait for us," Striker directed, deflecting a spray of bullets with his select tool, "As non-lethally as possible."

"You got it, sir," Ballista gave a salute and charged ahead, sword drawn, clearing a path for Logo and Victim to follow while Primal and Striker dealt with the initial ambush.

By the time Striker and Primal made it to the limo, Primal was only a little blood-soaked and her dress a little torn.

Logo sat in the driver's seat, the original grey driver unconscious in the chair next to him, while Ballista kept watch out of the sunroof.

"The driver was an impostor too. I'd appreciate it if you tied them up, please," Logo explained, starting the vehicle.

"Do you know how to drive a limo?" Victim asked as Striker tied up the driver as suggested and Primal joined Ballista, keeping watch out of the sunroof.

"Do I know how to drive a limo? Yes. Do I have a license for it? No," Logo laughed as they started moving.

The drive back to Victim's penthouse was quiet. They turned the driver over to Victim's security, "Are you sure you'll be alright on your own? How confident are you in your security?"

"...You know, maybe I should hire you for the occasional security detail too. But for tonight, I think I have it handled, though you all have clearly shown your aptitude," Ballista grinned with pride and Striker couldn't help his own proud smile. The team had done well tonight.

"Of course, we'll talk the contract over tomorrow, sir," Striker bowed, and nudging the others out.

"Primal, how'd you know there'd be assassins?" Ballista shook his head with a chuckle as they opened the gate and she shrugged with a little laugh of her own.

"Lucky guess."

"Hey guys, we didn't bring our car," Logo pointed out once the gate shut behind them.

"Dammit!"

#AvA Gift Exchange 2023 #ava gift exchange #alan becker #animator vs animation #ava #ava victim #victim #rocket corp #the mercenaries #this is the longest single chapter I have ever written #I hope it satisfies your prompt sufficiently #it kinda got away from me as I wrote more and more #happy holidays

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possibilistfanfiction · 1 year

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Chef Au! A date night with fast food (chosen by Ava) and cheap wine (chosen by Bea)

it's not that beatrice's little chef outfits aren't simultaneously endearing and also hot, but when you open your front door and see her in sunglasses and a comfortable crewneck sweater, light, loose pants cuffed casually — although you're sure she was exacting about those too — and sneakers, you realize that you've kind of been missing out. or, really, maybe, she's a fuller person that you could've ever really imagined, only seeing her at her restaurant and a few vineyards nearby you'd tasted at together.

she smiles, a little hesitant, and hands you a simple, beautiful bouquet of lavender wrapped in newspaper and tied with twine. 'from my garden.'

'that's so gay,' you say, before you can stop yourself — but then she laughs and scratches at the back of her neck and you lean forward to kiss her cheek. 'i love them,' you amend. 'thank you.

she nods. 'of course.'

'let me put these in some water and then we can head out.'

'you can dry it, if you want.' she clears her throat, nervous and fidgeting with her watch. 'it's good for simple syrups and reductions. or baths.'

'that sounds dope. i love baths.' you wink and know she's blushing as you put the bouquet on your entry table — artfully cluttered — and then lock the door and turn back to her. 'ready?'

'yes,' she says, unlocking a practical and perfectly spotless electric small bmw suv, and then opening your door for you.

'why thank you, sir knight.'

she rolls her eyes and closes the door, then walks around to her side. 'where to, your royal highness?'

you grin, take her hand in yours while she starts the car. 'arby's.'

'fair enough.'

'i was going to pick panda express, but that seemed... weird?'

she laughs, which delights you. you don't think you've ever heard her laugh like that before. 'i love their orange chicken, honestly. but that's a god tier secret, okay?'

you mime zipping your lips and throwing away the key, which keeps a smile on her face. while she's driving, you get to take in the whole of her, greedily: her dark brows and the gentle sharp of her jaw, the soft buzz of her hair, the tattoos peeking out from under the sleeves of her sweater, the freckles across her cheekbones and the bridge of her nose. and her hands: sure and precise, even just on the steering wheel. she's beautiful, and you're a little overcome. you count your blessings that you wore your favorite bralette and overshirt, wide-leg jeans that make your butt look incredible. your eyeliner is perfect and when you're at a red light, she turns and smiles at you like there's no one else in the world.

it knocks the breath out of you a bit, and you cannot start crying over how pretty a girl is within seven minutes of a first date; you thank your lucky stars when she fiddles with her phone and then some music starts to play.

'shit,' she says, scrolling desperately.

'carly rae?'

'i didn't mean to play that. i don't even know why it's in my liked songs.'

'here,' you say, and put your hand out for the phone because the light is about to turn green. you laugh when you see every single carly rae jepson album fully saved in her liked songs, and you take in the delicious pink of her cheeks when you look over at her with a laugh. 'well, emotion: side b is probably the best album of all time, so no judgement here.'

she bites her bottom lip.

'what were you trying to play, though? what did you think would, like, seduce me?'

'who says i'm was trying to seduce you?'

'well, the gay little flowers, for one. and the fact that you agreed to this silly plan in the first place.'

she waits until the next red light to lean over the console and kiss you — short, and gentle, and very sweet — and you revel in the feeling.

she backs away and turns her attention back to the road in front of you as you start to move again. 'is it working?' she asks.

you laugh.

you settle into her trunk after she parks on the overlook; she's put comfortable blankets and pillows in it so you can eat and watch the sunset, and it's tender and thoughtful and she puts a little fisherman's beanie on that softens her, even more, and it's all driving you a little bit crazy.

'well,' you say, after you both settle in with your chicken fingers, curly fries, and ranch — your order, which she'd promised she would eat — 'please break out the perfect wine to pair with the best dinner of all time.'

she nods very seriously, going along with your antics; beatrice is ultimately extremely serious in the kitchen, even if her food is playful: she hasn't gotten to where she is — one of the youngest chefs to be nominated for a james beard, among a billion other accomplishments she refuses to mention and you had only found out about through a recent write-up about the soft opening of her restaurant — without incredible determination and focus.

she's more playful than you had imagined, full of laughter and willing to be silly; willing to indulge the goofy idea you'd had for this date. she reaches around behind her and pulls out a small cooler filled with ice, then presents the wine with a flourish: 'only the very finest three dollar trader joe's chardonnay. it pairs wonderfully with chicken.'

her little posh accent and her genuine smile make the whole routine even better. 'that is... incredible.'

'you know,' she says, 'i've never failed an assignment.'

'now that i believe.'

she fishes out two red solo cups — which makes you laugh even harder — and unscrews the top of the wine before pouring it carefully. 'do you want to give your review?'

you go through the motions of how you would normally taste a wine, all a little exaggerated. you're one of the most sought-after sommeliers in the world: you can make or break vineyards and their yearly releases; you've been a part of a handful of opening restaurants that have won every award in the book. and, even with all of that, 'this might be one of my favorite bottles of wine i've ever had.'

bea scoffs. 'this wine is absolutely horrendous.' she pulls apart a chicken tender and dunks it in ranch, though, eats it without any complaint.

'sure,' you steal one of her fries even though you have a whole pile of your own. 'but the company elevates the entire thing.'

she turns toward you, the sunset fading orange behind her, turning her eyes gold. 'you make everything better.'

it makes you a little breathless. 'plus, you have to admit, these chicken fingers slap.'

it gets her to laugh, just like you'd wanted. just like you think you could spend your entire life wanting. 'maybe we'll put this pairing on my menu, then.'

'lilith would love that.'

'you know, it could be worth it, just to see her face.'

you scoot closer to her, talk about how her partnership with a local farm is going, how she's sourcing her cod from a fisherman nearby; you talk about your favorite vineyard, a tiny one tucked into the oregon coast — and those things are safe. those things are more of what you already know: she cares deeply about the earth and how her food fits into it; you want to share a stormy grey day and perfect pinot noir at a firepit with her.

and you eat your greasy fries and drink wine that is surely going to give you a headache in the morning. you talk about how she felt finally herself when she finished cooking school and took a job on the line, young and eager and fabulously talented, at a kitchen where she had support, where no one yelled at her, where she had a mentor that cared. you talk about the wine grapes you remember your grandfather growing in your small back yard, how you would eat them when you were small and describe the taste while you sat on your mom's lap. she teaches you her favorite word in chinese and you teach her your favorite word in portugese.

the sun sinks below the river, and you love her.

'do you — ' she bites her bottom lip — 'do you want to come back to my place? for dessert?'

'depends,' you say, and watch her face fall for a split second; you kiss her jaw to rectify that, 'what's on the menu?'

she huffs a laugh. 'i bought nestle chocolate chip cookies, for the occasion. they're in my freezer.'

'oh, fuck yes,' you say. 'i'm so in.'

'and, my company.'

'well, yeah, sure.' you roll your eyes playfully and pull her in for a kiss: cheap wine and grease and the softness of her skin under your fingertips. 'and that too.'

#restaurant au #honestly i'm calling it that bc i don't wanna leave ava out but i simply cannot spell sommelier right on the first try to save my life #avatrice fic #prompts #wn #one day i will research how one becomes a sommelier but for now... imagine whatever you want. i'll get to it lol #they're... very gentle & funny. no angst here

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kendrene · 10 months

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For your mini fic: Ava and Beatrice, things you said in the grass and under the stars

Beatrice leaves Europe all-together, after.

She tries not to. Lingers for a while. Drifts from city to city, country to country, but the sun shines too brightly over Venice's canals and Paris - which Ava had said they should visit together after the war - well, Paris is a haunting.

An ocean later, another landmass crossing, Beatrice hits the West Coast, slowly working her way north where pliant sand gives way to a jagged coastline. Basalt cliffs against which the waves rage. Incessant. Hungry. The sea a low roar in her ears, never too far. Persevering even when she wanders inland, past jasper-studded beaches, and into the woods beyond.

The forests themselves are old, teeming with life both new and rotting. Fog never quite lifts off of the trees, a layer of it, gossamer-thin, persevering even on hotter days.

Beatrice settles down, and grief settles alongside her, the one companion she can tolerate in newfound solitude. It's a worn blanket. A beloved jacket she cannot bear to leave the house without. She grows new habits, easy when all of her days look the same.

She spends a lot of time hiking, getting a feel for the land. Brings books down to the beach to read; in the sun when she can, under a piece of tarpaulin hastily erected in between two trees if it rains.

It nearly always does.

Sometimes Beatrice reads aloud. Imagines it is Ava she is reading to, all the stories and facts about the cosmos Ava didn't have the chance to discover for herself. She reads until her throat is dry and sore. Reads until her voice is drenched in loss, and her heart bleeds for all the things she's lost.

Reads until daylight gives way to the first smattering of stars and the words on the page are blurred by lack of light, perhaps by tears, into a smudge.

The air is wet and salty, whips like the edge of a sharp knife against the soft skin of her cheek. Beatrice packs her book, rolls up the tarpaulin. Picks the now familiar way back in total dark.

She stumbles. Trips over something yielding. Something that snags at her ankles and brings her down to her knees, a rock catching the heel of the hand she throws out to steady herself, cutting open her palm.

It's debris, Beatrice thinks. A large piece of wood. Maybe seaweed.

It is not.

It's a body.

It's Ava. And she's not breathing.

"No. No. No.' Beatrice has prayed, she has begged for Ava to come back but not like this. Not to lose her right away again. "You can't die, please." A sob rips from her, unchecked, even as she turns her over. "I can't lose you again." Beatrice will not think of her as a corpse.

Ava's skin, her lips tinged blue by the frigid waters of the ocean and not divinium. Beatrice's mouth seeking. Ava's tasting of saltwater and the abyssal things that cannot stand to be brought into the light. Ocean waves crashing around them and over. The tide coming in - a bitter, a cold a cruel baptism. Her hands red with the cold and hurting flat to Ava's chest, pushing, pushing while her mind falls into mechanical routines.

"Breathe, goddammit." Bea's own lungs burning, alight with the effort of wrangling life back into another being. "Please Ava don't go."

"Not...going." A cough. Water sputtering down Ava's chin. Her own hand rises weakly, slick around the curve of Beatrice's cheek. Light, molten gold, shearing through the night to wash over them both. "Not going anywhere." Ava's other hand grips Beatrice by a shoulder, tugs her down to sprawl rather inelegantly over her chest. She's not exactly warm, but she's not cold anymore. The Halo brightens to a shine that makes a mockery of dawn. "I'm home."

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

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bigfan-fanfic · 5 days

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Got tagged by @dungeons-and-dragon-age for these two picrews and I'm excited to show off my results!

Tash doesn't use a sword much, since I changed him to a Rift Mage instead of a knight-enchanter, but if he did, it'd definitely be a little magical. I suppose the northern lights theme tie into him being marked First-Thaw by the Avvar, and the green beads being the Rift. I also love the option for the watercolor splotch right over his eye, because eyes end up being an important symbol for him, especially when his eyes change color after the Well.

Ava's weapons would generally lack ornamentation - as a blood mage, the only thing she cares about would be its edge and ability to make an enemy bleed. The butterflies I added because I figure Ava creates flocks of sharp-taloned and beaked birds with her blood magic that bear down on enemies in fury. I imagine that she would use a long knife or perhaps a karambit. Something small and fast to get those cuts bleeding

Cal's sword would be the most personally ornamented. Maybe he inscribed the runes himself, and he definitely wrapped the hilt in a bolt of silk. Like him, his sword is battered and bruised but remains strong. I can see him laying it down on a table amongst other supplies.

Xander is a king in all but title, being the Lord of Highever, so I gave him a kingly blade reflecting the sky, ornamented but definitely magical, and laying in a pool like Excalibur.

#cal hawke #xander holbrook #ava hawke #tash adaar #oc: the star #oc: the witch #oc: the king #oc: the tactician

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crownleys · 6 months

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We've had our first real cold snap of the year so all day long my mind has been on the vampires dealing with the cold of Kira's Wayhaven, which I imagine being an hour outside Boston on the coast of the Cape Cod Bay -- so it gets cold. And I just really enjoy the vampires being more susceptible to things like that! I feel like when Ava learns of the climate they're moving to she starts brainstorming ways to keep them all sharp even when they're at a disadvantage like that. (Kira turns into a personal space heater for Nat. And she buys all of Unit Bravo electric blankets as gifts when the weather turns)

#twc blogging

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badnikbreaker · 6 months

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@lightdash : “Yo, partner.” Sonic calls out from his spot against the doorway. He throws up a peace sign. “I’ve got an errand to run. Want to join me?”

They don't — they don't understand. How Sonic can be so nice to them, can treat them so well, can call them partner. He'd saved them — and not even just so he could kill them himself. He'd carried them back to Restoration HQ. He's given more than enough kindness for the fucked up rabbit that just about gutted his little brother. Sonic is kind and good and Ava knows that, they do. He's been their lifeline before, been kind when he didn't need to before. It's as familiar story, the war repeating in some miserable way, Sonic saving them from their own devouring sick and lonely and the way the blood of a loved one / many loved ones looks. but this time, she's the one that spilled it. no better than Infi ——

They're recovered, at least mostly. At least physically. No longer confined to the infirmary, at least. Amy's asked them to stay with the Restoration for now, maybe afraid that Ava will simply disappear, untraceable, again. It's not like they've got anywhere else to go, and Amy's eyes go so terrified and elated and sick every time she looks at them that Ava couldn't say no to her if they tried. So they're still here, idling in an empty room, not sure where to be or how to be around the others. So they're still here, being surprised by Sonic, who's so impossibly kind to them.

She smiles — an old instinct, partner, he called me partner — at the greeting, a hand raising to return it. It pauses, hesitating alongside her when she remembers all the reasons he shouldn't call her partner and feels almost guilty for the momentary reprieve of forgetting. She commits, both to the movement and the smile, but she can feel the weakness of both.

She loves Sonic. But when they'd met, all the memories they made and shared revolved around Infinite. Now all the new memories she'd made with him, after the war, are stained red with Tails's blood and the unbearable, unsurvivable feeling of helplessness. ( she keeps checking for her knives and getting scared when they're gone, even though she knows why she had to give them up. ) Ava loves Sonic in more ways that she has words for. Looking at him, though, feels a little like drowning in her guilt and her shame and her grief — and in the memories. Every sharp and painful thing feels sharper now that she isn't starving and injured and running on so few fumes that there's no space for thought.

She almost wants to laugh. Aching like she was the one with a knife in her stomach. Selfish.

Ava knows they're failing to match his casual energy, but they try, scarred hands shoving in the pockets of their jeans, shoulders shrugging, still smiling something unsure. ( they hope they know it's not him. not all the way. they haven't been able to smile properly in a way that feels real since they hurt tails. ) They don't understand but they believe the offer and the kindness behind it. Hands free from the pockets to sign back, < happy to, > and they don't add partner even though that feels wrong, too. < are you...sure? you don't have to. > Be nice to me. Take me along. It's hard to imagine Sonic doing this if he didn't want to, but they couldn't bear it if he was forcing himself to offer this for their sake.

#answered.#ava : main verse.#lightdash #IM SO FUCKING SORRY ABOUT THE LENGTH I DONT KNOW WHAT HAPPENED #ava is experiencing so much #do NOT feel compelled 2 match this if u reply good fucking god

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daydream-walker · 2 years

Note

Hey! Idk if you do requests but if you do do you think you could do a platonic my inner demons x teen reader? She lives with Ava and (projecting cus why cope when silly demon men) had a pretty shitty life before that and had issues opening up to people so maybe after one particular night she broke down and idk but I’ve had this idea of Leif and Asch watching tv into the night, just imagine them as older brother figures as the reader is just slumped on one of them after a really shifty day but finally admits to themselves that they accept and trust the guys and found family troupe lol

LMFAO SORRY THIS IS A LOT I HAVE A LOT OF IDEAS

Ofc I do requests! And this is just an overall platonic one as you asked and I hope this pleases you! If I missed or messed up something do tell me! <3

Summary: My inner demons boys x teen!reader (platonic)

You live with ava and the daemos boys and finally show that you trust them and their like your older brothers.

Tw:SLIGHT angst(?)

Big demon brothers!

One night you were just in your own room and thinking back on your past and it was upsetting you. It cause you to be on the verge of tears.

Trying to think of a way to cheer yourself up you think maybe you could go find Pierce and see if maybe you could get some head pats from him. But remembering it's really late it may not be the best idea and you could upset and just decided that all the bad memories and thoughts would go away in the morning.

When you wake up to your alarm the next morning you get ready and do your daily routine and head to work. As you head out of your room you find Noi sitting on the kitchen counter talking to Ava.

"Morning Y/N." Ava says with a yawn. Usually she isn't up this early but it seems Noi had somthing or other to talk to her about. Some how Noi noticed your still slightly off from last night and asks if your okay. You reply saying your fine and hurry out the door so not to have any of the more demanding Daemos boys (*cough* Asch *cough*) get up.

While you worked all you could only think of was the boys and how close you all got. They were kinda like your older brothers! They treated you like your their own flesh and blood even if your human and them Daemos. But thats silly. They probably just see you and Ava as prisoners. Nothing more.

It was just a bit after the sunsetting when you finally got home. Ava had ordered food from the nearest restaurant that delivered so when you got home you found all the boys trying said food. Rhys was asking Ava questions on how it was made and who were the 'servants' that brought this food.

Leif was the first one to notice you come in.

"Hey Y/N." He says showing off his sharp teeth in a grin. Pierce gives you a small smile. And Asch grumbles "You took your time coming back, prisoner." You grab yourself a portion of the food it was one of your favorite foods. Noi asks "So what did you do today Y/N?" And you came up with somthing to make your job seem more exciting then it actually is. In doing so you entrap all the boys in your story and they seem very interested and asked questions here and there. They seemed to actually care about what your saying. Even if they all have odd ways of showing it.

After you all finish eating Ava ends up going to bed early and leaves you with the boys. You guys are watching that socky show that the boys seem to adore! While you sit in the middle of Leif and Asch on the couch you let your mind wander.

Slowly some of the boys go to bed. Pierce leaves with a quiet goodnight and gives you some more lovely headpats. Noi gets sleepy slouching on his place on the edge of the couch and you finally get him to hed to his room he gives you a sleepy smile and mumbles a goodnight and heading to bed. Then finally Rhys heads to bed too and tells you three not to stay up to late, cause he is the sensible one. Asch scoffs and Leif shrugs it off. They were to into Socky the sock puppet. Rhys sighs and bids you goodnight. Then its just you three. As it gets closer to midnight you end up slouching and leaning on Leifs shoulder.

He notices after a minute. He is kinda confused about but he remembers how Pierce always pat your head and believes maybe thats what he should do in this situation. He may not have the best headpats but they were still nice.

So as you drift off to sleep you think of these Daemos. Who seem to care about you. Who seem to see you more then a prisoner. More then just a friend. Your like their own flesh and blood. Your part of their found family. They care about you even when others won't. Their your brothers. No matter what!

The end.

Okay this is like my first request so I hope you like it! If I didn't do it as you hoped please let me know and I can try to re-do it! Anyways it's like three in the morning for me. Goodnight/day to you all!<3

#aphmau #aphblr #aphverse #fandom #headcanon #aphmau my inner demons #my inner demons #request #aphmau au #fanfiction #fanfic #aphmau fanfiction #aphmau fandom #aphmau fic #x reader #platonic #answered asks #my post #aphmau headcanons

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elfcollector · 1 year

Text

how can you not want to see the person you love?

rating: teen

relationships: platonic farah & the detective, mentioned ava/the detective

warnings: talk of neglect and death

summary: "It sucks, that Ava's so repressed and stupid and cruel. But just because she's dumb doesn't mean you're alone. And it sucks that your mom wasn't around." Farah's hands curl over hers and squeeze, careful, gentle. "You've still got a family. I swear, you've still got a family."

"Are you — okay?"

Nat's voice is comforting and kind, for all that she isn't even pretending to think that Erin might be; she watches the Detective — or Agent, now, a change in title that will take some adjustment for both of them — unwrap the bandages around her hands and grit her teeth at the bruised and busted knuckles beneath them. Erin has spent most of the period since taking down the auction in the training room, every spare moment spent throwing punches. Were Ava and Erin speaking in more than short, clipped statements, and only when they've got no choice, Nat imagines that Ava would probably approve of the other's dedication. As it is, Ava is too miserable and Erin is too angry for Ava's approval — or for that approval to matter.

"I'm fine," Erin says, rolling her shoulders back and sitting back on one of the room's benches to rest. Nat can't blame Erin for her anger — but she worries, even so.

"You've barely rested, Erin. I just worry you may be pushing yourself too hard."

"I said I'm fine." The words are hard, nearly spat, and Natalie winces; Erin does, too, head ducking, hands pressing to her face. "Ugh. I'm sorry. I sound like Ava — I'm okay. I just..."

Natalie moves closer but doesn't sit beside her. "I understand. And I won't push you to rest if you're not ready to. But please at least think on it, all right?"

Erin nods, wondering at the quiet, stinging space in her chest that wishes Nat would push harder. Natalie is certainly her best friend within Unite Bravo, but sometimes her dedication to smoothing things over, avoiding conflict at the expense of everything else, stings. It would be nice, for someone to fight — really fight — for her heart, even if that meant fighting her. No one's ever been brave enough.

Or maybe Erin is just too stubborn by half.

She smiles, sharp and unkind, into her hands. I really am just like Ava.

But she doesn't say that. "I will. I promise, Nat. Thank you for worrying."

Nat nods to herself, only seeming half-convinced, but takes her leave. Not before casting a worried, loving gaze back at Erin, now nursing her busted knuckles. Erin wishes she could say she appreciated the quiet.

She sits forward with a groan, hands rising to curl around the back of her neck. They press against her vertebrae as she tries to ignore the feel of the scars from Murphy against her throat — or the memory of Ava's lips on that very spot. The thought, however brief, has her groaning once more, irritation flooding her chest — directed more at herself than at Ava. It's pathetic, the way that even this angry and heartbroken and betrayed, her body still alights at the memory.

I shouldn't have kissed her, Erin thinks, not for the first time. That was stupid of me. And maybe it was. But it was cruel of Ava, too — and worse to be cruel than stupid.

She sits up, looking over the empty room. Despite the way she chose to send Nat away, she's tired of empty rooms.

As if on cue, there's a figure walking through the door; Farah's golden eyes widen at the sight of the detective, and then a wide smile splits her lips. She's across the room in an instant, leaning on the bench and grinning down at Erin; the smile is so wide that Erin can't help but return it.

"Did Nat send you after me? You don't strike me as somebody who spends a lot of time working out," Erin asks, but there's no unkindness to her voice, just a little teasing.

Farah's head tilts. "Nah, haven't seen Nat. I was actually looking for Ava, and this is usually her turf." Erin flinches at the name, and Farah smiles sympathetically.

"She's not here. I've effectively run her off."

Farah's sympathetic smile fades into an even more sympathetic grimace. "Serves her right, if you ask me."

Erin barks out a laugh. "Thanks."

There's a few long moments of silence; Erin fills it by re-wrapping her busted knuckles, and Farah rocks back on her heels, hands in her pockets, seeming to consider something. Weighing her options. Erin lets her do so, at least until she asks, "So, is the Ava thing making it weirder with your mum?"

Erin freezes, eyes widening. Her head whips up to face the agent, lips twisting into a frown until she realizes looking at her face that this isn't one of Farah's well-meaning jokes that occasionally crosses a line; it's a sincere, worried question. She still sputters for an answer at the incredibly blunt inquiry.

"Uh —" it's almost a choke. "Elaborate."

"I just mean — well, y'know, Nat and Ava aren't my moms or anything — blech." Farah pretends to gag. "We're all equals, but they are way older than me, and they kinda act a little parental sometimes. And if somebody I was in love with —" Erin doesn't bother flinching at the words, "— broke my heart like an asshole, then I'd have Nat and Ava to go to. But you and your mom don't really — talk. About anything, let alone this sorta thing. So I was wondering if that felt like shit."

Erin does flinch this time, teeth grinding. "I'm fine," she bites out, like she'd done to Nat several minutes earlier. Unlike Nat, though, Farah doesn't make to leave; her lips press together, thinning slightly, then she shakes her heard.

"You're obviously not. And, look, if you don't wanna talk to me about it that's your prerogative. But you're part of this family, so you don't get to sulk alone."

"I'm not sulking —" but even the offense is sputtered, choked past a sharp mixture of shock and pain at the word family. Farah just gives her a look, a thick brow arching, and Erin ducks back down. Her hands rise, hands once again resting against the back of her neck. Her teeth press together. She's mostly just angry because Farah is right, and she knows it.

But she doesn't say that. She lets the silence stretch for a while, before she says, voice soft, less angry than she'd expected, "Family's a tough concept for me, Farah."

From the corner of her eye, past the crooked arms hanging close to her head, Erin sees Farah stiffen a little. "Whattaya mean?"

"Take a guess."

"No." The word is surprisingly strong, but not at all cruel. "Explain it to me."

Erin's surprised that she's not more pissed off by the words. She respects Farah, likes her a great deal, but it's so frustrating, too — that Farah never takes no for an answer, never knows when to quit. But hadn't Erin just been hoping for that?

She's surprised she's not angry.

And Erin's surprised, when after a long, silent moment, she does explain it. "My dad died when I so little. I barely remember him, but I remember how bad everything got after." It's quiet. "Rebecca had always been busy, but after he died, it was like — she just disappeared. And when she was around, my whole childhood, it always felt like she — didn't know how to be near me." She remembers their conversation after the meeting with the Chamber and Rebecca's confession that she'd stayed away because she hadn't known how to parent her. Like that was supposed to be a comfort. "Dad's dead and — Mom throws herself into work so she doesn't have to see me. And I was the rich, strict kid without parents, so I didn't have any friends to fall back on, just whatever nanny Rebecca hired. It was just — I always felt wrong. Wrong for Mom. Wrong for everybody else."

Farah doesn't speak. Not until Erin laughs and says, harsh and exhausted, "Wrong for Ava."

Farah stiffens again; in an instant, the agent is on kneeling before Erin where she sits, hands resting on her knees. The sudden movement is enough to have Erin's head lifting, eyes widening, hands loosening from around her neck and then falling to rest on the bench beside her.

"You're not wrong for anybody," Farah insists.

"So, yeah — I wish Rebecca was somebody I could go to about Ava. Mostly, I just wish I had a mum at all. But instead I'm ——" She bites down on the words. This is already so much fucking vulnerability, so much more honesty than she can ever bear, but Farah's eyes are wide and kind and open. It's easy to make confessions. It's easy, and that feels so wrong. (Again, the miserable thought: I'm so much like Ava.)

"You're what?" the vampire presses softly.

She doesn't want to be like Ava, pushing everyone who loves her away. "I'm still alone, and after all this it still feels like — the problem is me."

Farah's eyes widen, her hands moving to take Erin's; they hold tight, tugging those hands into Erin's lap. The detective inhales raggedly. Farah says, "It sucks, that Ava's so repressed and stupid and cruel. But just because she's dumb doesn't mean you're alone. And it sucks that your mom wasn't around." Her hands curl over hers and squeeze, careful, gentle. "You've still got a family. I swear, you've still got a family."

The words break something. Something small, something bleeding. Erin hasn't cried about the pain — not once — has been too stubborn and angry to allow it. No tears at the auction, bound and fearful for Bobby and herself. No tears staring at the faces of strangers stolen away because of her. No tears at the nightmares of Murphy that she can't escape. No tears when Ava kissed and then fled from her. But this — this simple, desperate promise that she has a family — has her inhaling raggedly, eyes stinging and vision blurring. Her hands pull from Farah's to wipe at her eyes as the tears start to fall, and Farah's hands setting on her legs, as if unwilling to allow Erin even the suggestion of aloneness.

It isn't fair, Erin thinks at last, teeth gritting. What a stupid, petulant thought, but it's true, and it's a thought she's been stubbornly repressing for days. Weeks. Years, maybe. It isn't fair. It isn't fair that she didn't get to have a father. It isn't fair that Rebecca chose not to be a mother. And it isn't fair that Ava says she loves her and then throws her away.

It isn't fair that she should have to feel like the problem is her, and it isn't fair that both Rebecca and Ava told her outright that they don't know how to be close to her.

It isn't fair that she should have fallen in love with another person who seems intent on teaching her the miserable lesson that she'll always be alone.

She feels Farah's hands squeeze, just a little, against her knees. Erin's breath catches. That's right. That's right. She's not alone. The words beat against her broken heart, not quite sticking.

Her hands drop from her eyes, the tears slowing to a stop. Farah looks at her without expectation, just warm eyes and a tender, sloping smile. Erin says, "You never know when to leave well enough alone, huh?"

"Nope!" the young woman replies cheerfully. "Not when it comes to my family." She squeezes her knees again. "I'm sorry. I really am, that your mum wasn't there and that Ava can't be, either. But don't forget about the rest of your family. Me, an' Nat and Morgan...we're here for you. We're sticking around."

Erin has a poor track record with keeping families. But it's hard to doubt Farah's eyes and her open smile. And Nat and Morgan are still around, checking on her, despite how cold she's been to them.

"And," Farah continues, "there's nothing about you that's wrong or not enough." She's kind enough not to respond to the way that Erin's heart aches and stutters. "I'm not saying I don't get feeling that way. But if people abandon you, that's on them, not you."

"Even your commander?" Erin asks, the words a little choked.

"Even her." Farah's smile softens further. "She's my family. I love Ava. But you're also my family, and I love you, too."

And Erin's heart breaks in a small, simple way at that small, simple promise. She refuses to cry again, inhaling sharply to keep the tears at bay, and then nods weakly and manages a faint smile. Farah seems to appreciate the attempt.

"Ugh," Erin finally mutters as Farah moves from kneeling in front of her to sitting beside her. "Sorry, I — that was more vulnerability than I've allowed myself since college."

"That's the vibe I got, yeah."

Erin inhales, hard, again. The air helps. So does Farah. She feels less cornered. This is too old a hurt for one conversation to heal it, especially after the wound being driven dug deeper by yet another person who can only say "I love you" when Erin is dying — and another person who abandons her afterwards even so. But it helps. It stems the bleeding. Farah stems the bleeding. Family stems the bleeding.

Erin's smile widens and goes a little heartbroken a little at the thought.

"I'm gonna train a little bit longer then call it," Erin starts, pushing herself to stand. She inhales slow then exhales slower. "You wanna stick around and help?"

Farah grins, popping up herself. "Sure! I'm no Morgan, but I am still a vampire, so prepare to get your shit rocked."

Erin just laughs, posture adjusting. "Thanks." And she doesn't just mean for the warning.

#the wayhaven chronicles #fic #farah hauville #erin sharpe #i know this is thematically similar 2 my one w blake and mason discussing adam #but i wanted 2 like....explore the way that for erin #avas thing rly just reasserts an old miserable bone-deep belief that smth abt her is just like. Wrong.#wrong for mom. wrong for ava.#and much as i love nat shes rly not the one who can like. Push It yknow.#rly has to be farah #ANYWAY I LOVE U F HAUVILLE MY BEST FRIEND MY LOVE

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stitcheswashere13 · 2 years

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I thought it would be interesting if Thomas and his S/O's baby got kidnapped by the runaway victims that were only trying to save her life from being raised by massacres, not only Thomas would go after the victims. Hoyt would take the risk on getting his great niece back. I can imagine (whatever the baby's name is) stabbing the person with the dangling keys that Hoyt gave her, like she did to Hoyt from the previous story. Sorry if this is confusing.

How the baby was left alone, the family were trying to 'take care' of the victims as a distraction while the one sneaks in to grab the baby out the window. That's how I pictured it, but you have greater ideas then I would ever thought of. :)

AWE! I love this! lol! im glad everyone loves the baby series! Here are the previous stories! I would recommend reading these first for contexts! #1. Protector (Read this one first!) #2. The Baby Girl

Anyway on to the story!

Warnings!- there is some sadness, mainly fluff though. Dead body. Not proofread!

Side Note! Hello again, here is the survivor's name so I wouldn't have to write "the survivor" a whole bunch: Ava (ps. Im sorry if this is your name lol"

A True Hewitt

"IM NOT LETTING ANY OF YOU FUCKING, BASTARD FREAKS RAISE THIS CHILD!" Ava screams while holding the baby by the crook of her neck. Ava was the only survivor left that the Hewitt didn't kill. She managed to snatch up the baby and run with her, Thomas and Hoyt running right behind her. Tommy had told you to stay here at the house with Mama Mae so if she runs back inside you two can grab her and it keeps you from getting injured. Ava had run into a corner and grabbed a knife and held it to the baby, she told Thomas and Hoyt to get back or she would kill the baby. Back and forth there was a screaming match between Hoyt and Ava, with harsh hums from Tommy, indicating that he is also pissed. All of a sudden Ava was silenced by the baby driving Hoyt's sharp keys he had given to her to play with, into Ava's throat, killing her immediately. Hoyt, having a faster reaction than Tommy ran to catch the baby as Ava's body begins to fall to the ground. Just in time, Hoyt catches the baby just in time. "Heh. A true Hewitt!" He says while holding the baby close to him. Tommy ran over to Hoyt checking the baby for any sort of cut, Hoyt handed Thomas the baby and the two men begins to walk home. Thomas stopped to pick flowers for you and Hoyt picked flowers for Mama Mae and picked another one for the baby.

END NOTE!- Hello! Thank you so much for the request! Request are open, I just may get to them slow! SOOOOO! Because Everyone loves Hoyt's soft spot for the baby, would you guys like a comic series on the Hewitt Fam. and the baby? Or Just a written series? The comic episodes will get out about a week later than the written ones tho! ALSO! I have 3 names for the baby

1.- Tiffany: I picked this one as a contestant due to the name "Thomas" gender-bent it will make Tiffany.

2. Luna: I based this one after Mama Mae<3

3. Mille: It's a southern (mainly a Texas-like name) And I feel like Hoyt will love this name and it's also based off of Monty's name.

Lol, Let me know in the comments! That's all! Have a very lovely day<3

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