#ava's writing

[pr1ncessavar0se]

Into the Mystery Labyrinth with Lady

Author's Note: This is a short story regarding how Lady would react to the existence of Shinigami as well as the Mystery Labyrinth. The mystery scenario within this story is made up and is not present within the story's main plotline. Enjoy!

Another day in Kanai Ward, another day dealing with the Peacekeepers trying to annihilate the Master Detectives. The trainee, Yuma Kokohead, had just finished the investigation of a murder alongside his fellow detective, Lady Soot. The Master Detective was still a bit disoriented from using her Forensic Forte, a Forte which has some awful side effects that Yuma himself witnessed due to his own Coalescence. However, the initial side effects had worn off and the use of Lady’s Carnivorous Autopsy paid off, gathering useful information regarding the murder through her Carnivorous Autopsy. By using it, she and Yuma were able to gather the fact that the victim’s cause of death was blunt force trauma to the head with an unknown weapon. After they finally gathered enough evidence to conclude their investigation, the Peacekeepers showed up to foil everything, as per usual. “You’re surrounded! Surrender now, or we’ll have you executed for this crime!” Another one of Yomi’s goons shouted out at the two detectives, making sure they had no way out from the grasp of the Peacekeepers. Yuma began to shake and his face turned pale. “T-This is bad…what do we do?!” “Well, you could ask for a certain someone’s help!” Yuma heard Shinigami chime, her spirit floating right next to him. “I-I’m not doing that!” He thought to himself, which only Shinigami could hear. Yuma took a moment to look over at Lady, who was standing there with a rather shocked smile on her face, like a deer in the headlights. “Huh? L-Lady?!” Yuma called out, no response. Maybe she was still feeling the side effects of her Forte…? “Oh this is bad…!” Yuma thought to himself once more. “Come on, Master! If that sugarcoated minx isn’t gonna respond, you might have to pull out the Mystery Labyrinth!” Shinigami scolded Yuma, throwing her spirit fists in the air. Upon hearing this, Yuma emitted a soft sigh. “S-Shinigami… Please help me…!” He thought. Shinigami laughed before she responded, “Kyahahaha! That’s what I like to hear, Master!” And then, she said the magic words, “Arise! Mystery Labyrinth!” And with that, Shinigami had summoned the portal to the Mystery Labyrinth before she transformed from her spirit form to her humanized form. Once her magical girl-esque transformation was done, time stopped. It was just Yuma, Shinigami, and Lady now.

Lady’s eyes closed tight as she shook her head rapidly for a split second, her bright pink eyes studied the room as a soft, nervous giggle escaped her. “Ahahaha, am I having another intense sugar rush?” She softly asked, looking at everything around her. She began to even walk up to the Peacekeepers, waving in their faces, “Hellooooo, anyone home?” “Uhh, Lady… This isn’t a sugar rush…” Yuma stammered slightly, his nervous eyes locked onto Lady as she continued to attempt interacting with the frozen Peacekeepers. “It’s not?” Her response was immediate, her head turning towards Yuma and Shinigami at a rapid pace. “Well, Master…are you ready to head to the Labyrinth?” Shinigami interrupted their conversation, smiling sweetly at Yuma as she asked. Both Shinigami and Lady could see the look of hesitation in his eyes, the silence between the three beginning to grow. However, it was soon interrupted by a deep inhale from Lady, “Well Yuma, it’s very unlike you to refuse to take initiative. But if that’s the way you want to be, I can’t stop you.” She spoke quickly in typical Lady fashion, turning her head away from Yuma as she folded her arms across her chest. A small moment passed before Lady stopped pouting, and she herself rapidly charged at Yuma, tackling him through the Mystery Labyrinth’s portal. “Kyahahaha, I don’t even have to do my job anymore! Down the rabbit hole we go!” Shinigami chimed before she followed suit, jumping into the portal and joining the Master Detectives. After a long, long fall, Yuma, Lady, and Shinigami were now in the realm of the Mystery Labyrinth, the two Master Detectives rising to their feet. Yuma let out a soft groan as he got up, “It’s never a nice landing…” “Whose fault is that, Master? Cause it certainly isn’t mine!” Shinigami teased. As the trainee and the death god shared some light banter, Lady silently looked around with a smile on her face, to which Yuma had noticed. “Uhh…Lady? Are you okay?” he asked, watching as Lady turned around quickly, “ You seem a little quiet…” “Huh? Oh yeah, I’m fine! You say that like we’re in an alternate universe based on a mystery that we now have to solve together because some death god sucked us in or something!” Lady responded to him with that same, sugarcoated smile of hers, which was met with pure shock from Yuma and Shinigami. “T-That’s because it is…” Yuma timidly stuttered. Hearing his response made Lady freeze in her tracks, her bright, pink, peppermint swirl eyes widening, “…I’m sorry, what.”

“H-Huh?” Yuma stammered upon seeing Lady’s reaction. “Master, I’m confused…does she even remember anything?” Shinigami asked Yuma, her tone conveying obvious confusion. “Remember what? I literally bullshitted that entire thing!” Lady added on, her rapid speech being laced with shock. Hearing this made Yuma stammer, “Wait, you guessed…?!” “Yes, I guessed! There’s no way that was supposed to be correct!” Lady raised her voice. “Wait, in that case…Lady, what do you remember?” Yuma asked, trying to get to the bottom of the mystery revolving Lady’s guess. He was met with silence as Lady lightly licked her lips. “I certainly don’t remember tasting blood, so why the hell do I taste it?!” Lady began to panic, her body began to lightly shake. That made Yuma think, as Lady consumed blood in order to use her Forte. His eyes widened in shock at the revelation, “You can use your Forte in the Mystery Labyrinth?” “She shouldn’t be able to…” Shinigami responded, still confused by the whole ordeal. “I can’t pick up anything from it if that’s what you mean,” Lady responded, “But I can still taste the blood and it’s awful!” She sounded utterly disgusted when talking about the taste of blood, but that made her realize something, making her stop in her tracks again. “Wait. That means I used my Forte at some point, but…” She then turned to Yuma, “…Yuma, you didn’t…see me use it, did you?” The look on her face was that of worry, which was a rare sight for the pretty in pink detective, and seeing that look made Yuma frown. “…Yeah, I did.” He seemed rather ashamed to admit it, but the look on his face indicated that Lady had to know the truth. He used his Coalescence when Lady used her own Forte, therefore he knew everything. He knew about her consuming blood to use it, he knew about the awful side effects, he even could taste a bit of the victim’s blood without actually eating it. He knew how much of a mental strain it took for her to even bring herself to use her Carnivorous Autopsy, which made him realize that she was her most vulnerable when using it. He watched as Lady began to pout before speaking, “Oh Yuma, I really hoped you didn’t have to see that. It’s so embarrassing…!” “Sheesh, you’re acting like a schoolgirl whose crush found out she liked them!” Shinigami sneered as she watched Lady whine! “Anyway, enough chit chat!” With that, Shinigami floated behind Yuma, her hands resting on his shoulders as she smirked at him, “Master, are you ready to give your life the truth?” Yuma couldn’t help but softly blush as he looked up at Shinigami, “F-Fine…”

After his reluctant answer, Shinigami and Yuma did the usual, putting on a show just to retrieve the solution blade, with Yuma pulling it out of Shinigami’s mouth as if it were a circus trick. Lady watched as the pair waltzed around and fetched the sword, her eyes locking onto the blade. She let out a soft laugh as she spoke, “Now, I think I’ve really seen it all!” “Kyahaha, you haven’t seen anything yet!” Shinigami laughed as well before she deeply inhaled, “Bleeeegh!” The death god then hurled, spewing out a pretty rainbow of cutesy colors, and what else fell onto the ground? A big, golden key ring with all sorts of keys attached to it. Shinigami clapped as she had a big smile plastered on her face, “Here you go, Master! Here’s your solution keys!” Lady watched as Yuma picked up the big keyring, and then she started putting two and two together. “Wait, the sword’s got a keyhole in it. Does that mean you put the keys in it when you’re using it in battle or something?” “S-Sort of…these keys are the clues to our case, and they’ll help us advance closer to the truth.” Yuma’s response was meek, but his words made sense to the pretty pink detective. “Oh yeah, we are solving a case, aren’t we?” Lady chuckled, “Still can’t believe my guess was right on the money…” “Well, you better believe it, ‘cause now we’re all set to seek the truth!” Shinigami responded in a chipper tone, ready to conquer another Mystery Labyrinth with her master. Hearing the death god’s words managed to hype Lady up, “What are we waiting for?” She clicked her heels twice, retracting the wheels built into her red mary janes, “Let’s hunt down this culprit who preys on the truth! We’ll get them in our sights!” And with that, Lady began to skate inside the Mystery Labyrinth, seeming really enthusiastic to venture through the place with Yuma and Shinigami. “Hey, that’s my line!” Shinigami yelled out in frustration, flying as fast as she could so she could catch up with Lady, thus causing Yuma to be dragged along by the ghost chain that connected the two. “Ahh!”

#ava's writing #master detective archives: rain code #rain code #rain code oc #mdarc #mdarc oc #lady soot #original character #yuma kokohead #shinigami #rain code shinigami #rain code fan story #mdarc fan story #mdarc story #rain code story

[pishyy]

intro post ✿✿✿

hello!! it's nice to meet you! welcome to my little corner of the internet!

im ava, and im a college student revisiting her middle- and high-school tumblr days <3 i used to be suuuuper active on here but deactivated my acct a few years ago, and i decided it was time to come back home :)

below the cut are some rules / introductory stuff that i ask you read before following <3 have a wonderful day!!

first things first, some rules (please read!) :

i am an adult (albeit a very young one). i will post adult things. i'm not going to say this a strictly 18+ blog (aside from nsfw things, which i will tag #mdni or #minors dni), but i'd kindly request you not interact w me if you're under the age of 16. its for both of us, pookie.

i roll w sweeties and lovers only !!! my blog is a space for positivity and love and light and absolutely nothing else !!! if you're being a fart i reserve the right to block u like THAT 🤌 (that's me snapping)

i am bound to have my blind spots as a white, (mostly) able-bodied, cisgendered, middle-class person. i 100% acknowledge that, and am doing my best to reduce and eliminate those. i encourage all people i interact with to do the same, including online. if i hear whispers of any of my followers exhibiting bigoted, prejudiced, predatory, or just generally uncool behavior, you will be 🥾 BOOTED immediately

i'm in a very happy, committed, long-term relationship with my partner of multiple years. in other words, *pearl voice* IM MARRIED!!! don't be creepy.

i will do my best to tag tws and cws, but if there's anything i miss, please let me know!! it has been a fat minute since i have ventured back onto this crazy little website and i'm a bit rusty.

about me <3 (read if u want lol) :

current obsessions: criminal minds (reliving my old phases, etc), slime rancher (i know, i know. my partner got it for me and i have been unabashedly obsessed), rupaul's drag race, chappell roan, ethel cain, taylor swift when she's not ripping a hole in the ozone layer, hozier, mac miller, art, music, dorky stuff :)

i'm currently wrapping up my sophomore year of college! i'm a studio art minor and elementary education major, if you couldn't tell from the everything about me. i'm super duper passionate about art and education and stuff, and will gush about it OFTEN

fav song at the moment: Sedona - Riley Whittaker

fav show at the moment: Bob's Burgers (post-edible) (ofc)

fav emoji at the moment: 🦡 ! ITS A LIL BADGER AKSDHFASDFJS

tags :

✿ - rambles :) not related to fandom stuff, just my thoughts.

ava's writing - what it says on the tin, babe! ideally, i'd like to post my writing at some point, but until then, this tag will just be decoration :)

❤︎ - lil things that made me happy! i use this tag just to keep track of that stuff in case im having a bad day, or for you if you are!!

mom look away - nsfw. mdni. avert your eyes. if u see this no u didn't.

ok that's it!! thanks for checking this out!! mwah love u pook

#good to be back on my old stompin grounds 😎 #i did miss this place lol #✿ #❤︎ #ava's writing #mom look away

[greenorangevioletgrass]

give me a minute (1/2) | chef luca

pairing: chef luca x ex-wife!reader word count: 4.7k warnings: established former relationship, angst, fluff, hurt/comfort, discussions of separation and divorce, luca and reader has a son, unresolved sexual tension 👀 notes: this fic has been the bane of my existence for the last couple of months or so. it all started as a simple thought of "ooh it would be fun to have a steamy smut with ex!luca" and then it turns into a whole thing with like proper angst and stuff lol. this will be split into two parts, and i think i need encouragement to finish the second part. so please enjoy this first part and tell me what you think! ✨follow @ficsbygreenorangevioletgrass and turn on the notifications to get alerted of my latest fics! ✨

03:49 PM

Everything is fine, you keep telling yourself.

Your soon-to-be ex-husband is flying in from Denmark to finalize the divorce—and even after two years of exhaustive paperwork and mediations and court proceedings, you still don’t know how to feel about this. His visit to New York is meant to be a consolation prize for your six-year-old son Alfie, whose only facetime with his dad lately is through… well, FaceTime. But, given how extraordinarily difficult he’s being—fussing over his breakfast, stalling shower time by a record of 48 minutes, refusing to wear anything you picked out for him… you have an inkling that he might be a little nervous to see his father.

And to make matters worse, it’s raining cats and dogs outside, which delays Luca by two hours now and actively threatens the zoo outing he has planned out for him and Alfie.

So… despite the shitstorm that is happening in your apartment and out, you keep telling yourself that everything is fine.

Because it is. Your home is tidy enough, with all the toys and the mess tucked away in their little cubbies. Your son is dressed up enough; he’s finally put on his pants and shirt, although you missed a button and he won’t let you fix it. The storm is outside, and you’re safely sheltered in. And your relationship with your ex is civil enough, so you feel…

Fine enough.

But the doorman buzzes in, and you can definitely tell the awkwardness in his voice. “Afternoon, Ma’am. I have your husband— I mean, Chef Luca— I mean Mr. Bailey—”

You sigh, not having the energy to let this go on. “Yeah, yeah. Send him up.”

Alfie looks up from his coloring book and practically jumps out of the couch. “My tummy hurts, I’m gonna make a doodie!”

“No running!” You remind him just a second too late, watching him dash over to the bathroom and slamming the door closed. He has a nervous stomach just like you, and as you feel the icky twist in your gut… you can’t help but empathize with his antics today. You would be fucking shit up too, if you only could.

There’s a knock at the door, and you brace yourself as if you’re about to let the storm itself in (although, quite frankly, you probably are). Your hand feels clammy, and you have to wipe it off on your dress before you unlock the door and turn the knob.

“Hey.”

If the storm was a person, you wouldn’t have associated it with the man standing before you. So tall and broad and sturdy. With boyish features and dark blond locks like gentle daylight. It feels like a reach to imagine the seven years of your relationship with him was, indeed, an epic fucking hurricane.

Still. 

You can’t help that you miss him.

“Come on in.” You step aside, not really meeting his gaze.

He murmurs a small thanks and apology, a staple combination in Luca’s British vernacular, as he squeezes in through the door with his duffel bag and suitcase.

“I thought you’d dropped these off at your hotel before you came here.”

“I know. I was going to, but…” he puts down his bags close to the jacket closet, like he always does, “But I got held up for ages and traffic was awful and I didn’t want Alfie to wait even longer, so…”

“Right.” You nod absently. “Well. He’s in the bathroom, should be out in a second, so… have a seat. Do you want anything to drink?”

“Um, water’s fine.” He takes his seat on the dining table.

You’re not sure which one is more jarring; the sheer familiarity of this, or the fact that it isn’t anymore. The two of you just hovering in the home you used to share, courteous but distant.

Luca looks around the place, and notices all the differences right away. You kept the glass dining table and two of the chairs, but changed the corner seating into a plush dining bench against the kitchen island. He recognizes Alfie’s favorite stuffed bunny on the couch, although the throw pillows were new. But he takes one look at the wall… and his heart drops.

Gone are any traces of him in the snapshots of your life. The pictures are all of you and Alfie—eating ice cream in the park, grinning and showing his first lost tooth, dressed up on Halloween… He really shouldn’t be surprised or disappointed to find the wedding portrait gone, or the vacation selfie in Italy four years ago. But it hurts quite a bit to find a generic flower portrait replacing the picture of him kissing you on the forehead while Alfie, laying on your chest, merely hours after his birth.

“Yeah, I…” you clear your throat as you hand him the glass of water, “…did some redecorating.”

“It looks good.” He manages a stiff nod, taking a hesitant swig of water.

“You look…” good, you want to say. Because he is. He’s got that tan and the haircut that reminds you of when you first met him years ago. But you can’t say that. So you settle with, “You look well.”

He meets your eyes, really meets your eyes for the first time, and you try to convince yourself the little flutter you feel inside is just your nervous stomach. But he smiles, soft and earnest. “So do you.”

You turn back and open the fridge, welcoming the cold air and how it cools down the burning warmth on your cheeks. Trying not to freak out and decide what you’re getting, so you don’t look like an idiot. Your hand grabs a can of ginger ale, and you sigh in relief.

“How’s Alfie doing in school?”

“He’s doing alright. He’s enjoying his art classes. Math is still a struggle, but Ms. Rashad says his reading is quite advanced for his age.” You relax a little bit into the conversation. The topic of your son resets you a little bit into a somewhat common ground as co-parents. Plain and simple.

“Definitely takes after you. My dyslexic ass could never.”

You smile at that. Small jokes are still there, always a good sign.

“And the, uh…” he lowers his voice, “the anxiety?”

“Comes and goes. He’s been complaining about a stomach ache all day.” You glance towards the bathroom.

He frowns in concern. “Should we go check on him?”

“Sure…” You walk together with Luca following suit, tentatively knocking at the door. “Alfie? Hey bub, how’s your doodie?” It sounds silly, but you find it helps to ask open questions instead of showing your worries outright.

A flush from inside. “There’s no doodie,” he hollers. His voice is murmured from the barrier, and then the running tap water.

You catch the unease in Luca’s features, and you feel a little bad for him. It wouldn’t feel great that your own son is nervous to see you after many months apart. “You wanna come out, then? Your dad’s here.” You try to sound cheerful and upbeat, hoping it’ll hype them both up.

The two-second gap never felt so long. But the door opens, and there he is, standing meekly against the frame. Staring up at you and then at Luca.

Luca’s heart nearly stops as those big doe eyes stare up at him, a spitting image of you. The same softness. The same spark of stubbornness.

The same vulnerable look.

“Hey, bub.”

“Hi.”

“Can I get a hug?”

There’s a brief pause, before he steps forward and throws his arms around his father’s middle. Luca grunts softly, a little surprised by the sheer force Alfie is hugging him, his heart swelling three times over.

“Oh my God, look at you!” He ruffles the boy’s dark hair and kneels down to level with him. His cherubic face is small cupped in his large hand, but not as small as Luca remembered it. “You’re so tall now!”

“Of course. I’m 3 feet and 8 inches tall now. Right, Mommy?” He proudly announces, getting the exact height completely memorized.

“That’s right,” you confirm with a grin. 

Luca gasps, a smile blooming on his face. “What?”

Alfie nods. “I’m gonna be as tall as you.”

“No! Don’t grow up so fast!” He playfully cries out.

“Why?”

“Because I won’t get to do this anymore!” Luca seizes his boy into his arms and sweeps him off of his bunny-socked feet, sending Alfie into a fit of hysterical giggles.

The sight makes you chuckle, but the feeling could bring Luca to happy tears. He’s been gone for so long, he’s afraid he’d forget how it feels to hold his son in his arms again. Or worse, that his son would find his presence alien.

But he’s here now. With you and the son you share. Attacking Alfie in tickles and noisy kisses, and letting the boy climb him like monkey bars. And it calms his anxious heart a bit as he reminds himself, everything’s fine. 

And as things fall back into place, thunder crashes outside, as if sobering all of you back into reality. Alfie shirks into himself, climbing off of his father’s back. You want to reach out for him so badly, but at the same time, not wanting to interrupt his bonding time with his dad.

“It’s okay, bub. It’s just thunderclap,” Luca soothes emphatically over the sudden silence, bringing Alfie back down to his feet. He smooths his son’s hair gently, comfortingly. “I got you, I got you…”

“Do animals even come out in the rain?” Alfie is back to his withdrawn self, mumbling his words and avoiding Luca’s gaze.

“Some animals actually love playing in the rain,” you chime in helpfully.

Luca keeps his tone cheerful and bright. “Yeah, and you can wear your raincoat and your wellies and I’ll even let you jump in puddles—”

“I don’t wanna do that! I wanna stay home!” He whines, voice raising a little.

“It’s your dad’s time—”

“No!”

“Alfie.” Your tone is firmer now, as he struggles out of his father’s arms and runs to his favorite corner of the couch in the living room, holding his stuffed bunny tight. 

But Alfie’s got a point. This is not the kind of rain where you can take a leisurely stroll in. No, this is the kind where you stay huddled inside and hope it doesn’t flood the streets. Luca takes a thoughtful look at Alfie who is sulking and shrinking from the sound of thunder, at the window completely obscured from rain, and then at you… offering an apologetic smile.

So much for quality time with his son. 

Luca’s heart sinks a little. He sighs in defeat. “Maybe we should just wait it out…”

“Are you sure? I mean, you flew 9 hours to see him—“

“And I don’t want him to be pissed at me the whole time we’re hanging out,” he reasons. “Besides, I don’t think any Uber would take our order at this time.”

It makes sense, you think. As much as you want this awkward little broken family dance to end, you know that staying in and waiting it out is the best option. Alfie would feel much more comfortable at home than in whatever hotel Luca is staying in. And maybe it’s your protective side talking, but if he ever gets fussy, you’d prefer to be around to deal with it.

“Alright, fine.”

“Yeah? Is that okay with you?”

You shrug. The truth is a little more complicated, but ultimately you settle with a simple, “yes.”

Alfie takes a quick glance at you and Luca emerging from the hallway (you have your mother’s side eye, Luca always said), before returning to fiddling his stuffed bunny’s ears (your father’s neutral look of disapproval, you would say). Like clockwork, Luca takes the seat next to Alfie, while you take the puffy stool in front of him.

“That wasn’t very nice of you to raise your voice at me and your dad like that. I get that you’re nervous about the weather—a bit startled, too— but still. We don’t raise our voices in this household.”

Alfie looks at you and Luca. “I’m sorry.”

Luca nods in acknowledgement. “I’m sorry for being late, buddy.” He gingerly reaches out to touch the boy’s hand. “You’re right, though. It might be best to stay in for a bit.” He motions at the rain hammering down on the window outside.

“I told you. I wanna stay at home.”

“I know. And we are for now. We can…” Luca scans around for something to do. His eyes fall on the coloring book and the open box of color pencils next to it. Bingo! “We can… color some drawings in that book?”

He pouts, not entirely sold on the idea but not outright refusing it either. 

“Or, hey, I got some new drawings on me. You can color them, too.” Luca takes off his hoodie and shows off the tattoos on his arms.

God, you forgot about the plethora of trashy tattoos adorning his skin. Even worse, you forgot how it highlights the defined curves of his biceps. Focus, for fuck’s sake! You avert your gaze towards the flower portrait on the wall. 

Alfie perks up a little. “This is my old drawing.” His tiny finger pokes at his forearm, on a tattoo of a stick figure climbing up the stairs. “You still have it?”

“Of course. It’s there forever. I’ll always have it.” Luca finds himself choking up at that simple admission. A little token of childhood of his ever-growing love. “Go on, get your crayons.”

Alfie looks at you as if seeking permission, and it makes you want to laugh that he shares the same animated eyebrows as his father. 

“Go ahead, bub,” you usher him off lightly, and as soon as he’s out of sight, nods at your ex. “Good save.”

Luca half-smiles. “Thanks. You should chill out. Read a book, take a nap or something. I got him.”

“What, are you trying to kick me out?”

“No, I just—”

Your smile breaks out. “I’m kidding! Go hang out with Alf. I got a Zoom meeting in a few minutes anyway.”

He sighs in relief, chuckling lightly. “You almost got me there…”

You briefly pat his shoulder and for an even briefer moment, his hand is atop yours. The big ‘A’ tattoo on the back of his hand—your son’s initial in a bold Gothic letter— serves as a reminder of what’s past; a whirlwind romance, the wild days of being a family of a merry band of misfits…

Misfits. That’s the biggest takeaway here, you suppose. Your pieces don’t quite fit right. Not without little Alfie gluing you together. 

With a final squeeze on Luca’s shoulder, you make your way to your bedroom, making space for Luca’s puzzle pieces to fit with Alfie’s because they don’t fit yours anymore.

***

05:04 PM

By the time your Zoom meeting ends, the pelting rain outside is louder and the chatter inside is nearly inaudible. It feels nice for about ten seconds… until you remember that you have a six-year-old at home and long bouts of silence can be quite… well, suspicious. You pad out into the hallway to check on him.

“Let’s see. You wanna do the sunflower next? What do you think, my love?”

Oh right. For a moment, you forgot that the thirty-year-old other parent is here with him.

Luca has his t-shirt sleeves hiked all the way up, biceps in full display as Alfie colors in a tattoo on the back part of his upper arm. The boy’s tongue sticks out and his eyebrows furrow in focus. It seems like a delicate operation between them, so you linger out of sight for just a while longer.

“Why do you like sunflowers, Dad?”

The two of you have always supported his inquisitive mind, and he missed these kinds of questions most of all. Even if the answers can be a little complicated. “Because of your mum, actually.”

“You like it because Mommy likes it?” Alfie’s little nose crinkles.

Luca chuckles in amusement, sensing the judgment in his son’s tone. Damn you guys for teaching Alfie not to get carried away by trends. “Well… when your mum and I first met, it was winter in Chicago and it’s pretty bleak and gloomy and freezing. But, your mum had a little sunflower by the window—just like that one.” He glances at the little potted sunflower on the windowsill. “She said it’s a reminder to let the sun shine in. I thought it was adorable. We started doing that everywhere we lived and… I don’t know, it reminds me of home.”

“Do you have a sunflower by your window, Dad?”

His heart catches as he realizes the answer. “No, I don’t…”

“Why? You don’t miss home?”

There’s a sharp pang of hurt in hearing that innocent query. The apartment in Copenhagen, as nice as it is, has never been much of a home for Luca. He would get up before the sun is up and return from work late at night—lather, rinse and repeat. On his days off, he would either go on a morning run and spend much of his time outside, or sleep til noon and live on instant ramen and takeout. There’s no time for a sunflower by the window. No room. He made sure of that.

He doesn’t deserve one after leaving his wife and son for fucking Noma. 

Luca swallows back the lump in his throat, although the slight waver in his voice gives him away. “I got my sunflower right here, bub. My little piece of home.” He taps on his arm softly as his son finishes up. 

Alfie hums, pleased with how the tattoo looks, now filled in with yellow and black and brown crayons. “I think this is my favorite one.”

“Yeah? Not the tabasco?” Luca grins, looking down at his forearm—specifically at the mostly accurate red and green of the hot sauce bottle.

“No…” Alfie taps his chin with his finger thoughtfully. “This one is prettier.”

Luca maneuvers around to look at the sunflower tattoo a little better. “You’re right, it is much prettier. Maybe I should get the colors in permanently, huh?”

The boy’s face lights up. “Can you?”

“Yeah. I think I will. Nice job, my little tattoo artist.” Luca pulls him into a bear hug and kisses the top of Alfie’s head. 

You can’t help but chuckle, glad to see them bonding again, lost in your thoughts for a moment.

“Mommy! Dad says I can be a tattoo artist!” Alfie snaps you out of your reverie.

“Is that right?” Your eyebrows shoot up, struggling to maintain a neutral expression while staring at Luca like with all due respect, what the fuck?

He raises his hands in surrender. “I just said he’s my little tattoo artist, that’s all.”

“I colored in all of Dad’s tattoos! Look!” Alfie tugs at his dad’s arm, beaming as he shows off his work.

You step forward, studying the results of the tattoo makeover. Every single tattoo is colored in; some accurately, like the sunflower and tabasco, while others (like the purple fish and chips and blue scotch bonnet)… not so much. You don’t know which one’s more amusing; your son’s artistic style, or your ex’s bashful look as he models the art works on his arms. 

“Looks great, bub. Well done!” You ruffle Alfie’s hair, enjoying his improved mood.

“Can I watch Bluey now?”

You purse your lips comically. “I don’t know, bub. Why don’t you look at your checklist on the fridge and see if you can?”

Alfie bounds past you, towards the fridge, and reads the checklist out loud to himself. “Have you… brushed your teeth? Yes. Brushed your hair? Yes…” He flattens his wavy locks with the palm of his hand, continues reading with a lower murmur. “Mommy, I did everything except tidy up my room and play outside for 30 minutes!”

“Okay. Obviously we can’t play outside, so… why don’t you just go clean your room and I’ll let you watch Bluey for a bit?”

Alfie gamely nods and goes into his bedroom, his bunny socks muting his footsteps against the hardwood floor.

Meanwhile, it takes you an extra beat to realize how close you’re standing with Luca without your child between you. He rolls down the sleeves of his black t-shirt sheepishly, scratching the back of his neck. 

“Your meeting went okay?”

“It’s alright.” You look at literally anything but the man in front of you, ultimately stopping at your potted sunflower by the windowsill. “That storm out there, on the other hand…”

“Yeah…”

You take an inconspicuous look at the hallway, making sure your son is out of earshot. “Weather reports say it might last a few more hours.”

Luca huffs, trying not to stress out about the possibility of street floods. Of all the things he missed, New York thunderstorms are not one of them. Still, this shitty weather has granted him some time with his son, at his former home… with his former spouse. And God, does he miss this more than he dreads the weather…

“Want me to make you guys dinner?” He offers earnestly.

You pull back, returning to your normal volume. “Oh. No, you don’t have to—”

“I don’t mind. Really. Might as well, right?”

You hear heavy footsteps from the bedroom and Alfie hollers from the hallway. “I’m all done!”

“Don’t forget your crayons!”

Alfie promptly makes a beeline towards his leftover mess. “Heard, Mommy.” He hurriedly puts his crayons back in the box and rushes into his room to put it away. Returning mere moments later with a newfound spring in his steps. “I’m done for real! Now can I please watch Bluey now?”

“I can cook while he gets his screen time.”

The two boys look at you with their best puppy eyes, and it’s the most disarming thing you’ve seen in a while—and the resemblance between them only makes things worse. You playfully roll your eyes in relent. “Alright, alright. Go ahead. Watch your TV and make your dinner.”

There’s a quiet little yesss from Alfie as Luca low-fives him before they scatter, one to the living room and the other to the kitchen. For a moment, you feel like you were transported back in time. For the first time in over two years, you’re caught between cartoon sounds from the TV and the kitchen alive again. All was well in the household. 

“Is he still a picky eater?” Luca mouths the last two words inaudibly.

You raise your eyebrows in confirmation. “All he wants to eat is chicken nuggies.”

“I can do chicken nuggies,” he shrugs easily, rummaging through the freezer and takes out a pack of chicken breasts. “Or some version of that.”

Upon overhearing the key word, Alfie’s head all but whips toward Luca. “We’re having chicken nuggies for dinner?”

“Er, kind of.”

“Can I help?” He perks up from the back of the couch, excitement bubbling over.

Luca smiles apologetically. “Maybe later, my love. Daddy’s gonna be using a big knife…” he says as he checks the blade closely, swiping it with his thumb. “…which is dull, by the way. When was the last time you sharpened this?”

“I… have no idea.” You frown. You don’t even remember sharpening any knives… ever. Meanwhile, Luca simply rummages through the kitchen drawer, which makes you ask, “What are you doing?”

“I’m sharpening it,” he states matter-of-factly, already setting up a makeshift sharpening station which… what?

“Didn’t even know we had that,” you murmur plainly as you watch him work. Taking out a block of whetstone from the drawer (where did that even come from?) and running it under the sink. Laying out a kitchen rag and the stone on top of it.

He chuckles a little, scraping the blade against the stone at an angle, firmly but carefully. “Can’t leave you good Santoku knives without the proper sharpening tools, right?”

“You never taught me how to do it, though.”

“Yes, I have.”

“No, you haven’t.”

“What are you talking about? Back in Chicago, I—”

You burst out laughing. “Oh my God, that was one time forever ago! And you never let me sharpen the knives. You literally always do it.”

He pauses, grinning bashfully. “Fair…”

For the umpteenth time that day, Luca’s heart catches—this time from hearing you laugh. Your warm voice rings so pleasantly in his ears, and the way your face lights up… he almost forgets there’s a storm outside, because he’s got a lovely summer day right here in front of him.

And honestly, what is beautiful sunny Copenhagen compared to this warmth of the two people he loves the most?

“Alright, alright. You want a refresher? Come here.”

You gingerly take the place next to him, arms crossed so as to not invade his space. Neither of you say anything when your shoulders brush against each other. It’s brief, painstakingly so, but eerily familiar. You wouldn’t admit that you want to stay pressed against him a little longer, but… you do.

“Okay, so. You see this bit right here?” His finger runs up the line where the blade flattens into the edge. “Rest the knife on the stone on this angle, start from the heel—near the handle— and just… bring it in,” he demonstrates the inward sliding motion—short and precise and repetitive, “and work your way up to the tip.”

You silently watch him work for a moment, handling the knife. Firm and steady, but not harsh. On the contrary, it’s almost… delicate. You’ve seen many chefs work in your lifetime, but no one is as composed or stoic (or handsome, but that is beside the point) as Luca. It’s quite fascinating. 

“And you do this on both sides, right?” You vaguely recall.

“Good memory.” He nods appreciatively. “Some people like to do each side one at a time, back and forth, but I like to do one side, get that burr forming…”

“What’s a burr, sir?”

Luca chuckles at your little Hamilton reference. “So when you work on this side, you’ll feel a nice little rough bit forming on the other side like this.” He slides his thumb from the knife’s spine to the edge and carefully guides your hand through the motion. “Feel that?“

Yes. That should be an easy enough answer, because yes, you do feel the rough edge of the excess metal on the blade. But it’s a bit hard to focus on that when you’re more fixated on the rough calluses of his fingertips instead…

In theory, playing a knife with your almost ex-husband is as bad as a bad idea can get. In practice, though… Having your hand in his again, feeling him so close to you, smelling his perfume…

“That’s the burr. Once you get it on one side, you can switch over to the other side and balance it out.” His voice is lower now. Softer. “And you just… do it over and over again until you’ve worked off the burr and have a smooth and sharp blade.”

Luca switches the knife to your other hand and stands behind you, hoping to God you can’t feel his pounding heart as his chest presses against your back. Gently guiding you through the sharpening motion—the firm, steady, angled scraping of the blade towards you. You swear to God, every pull brings him just a tad closer.

“So you basically have to break the knife a little to fix it?” 

“That’s basically it, yeah.”

The storm feels miles away. His hands are still curled against yours. His chest flush against your back. His body heat emanates from within him and shrouds you like your favorite cardigan.

“Listen, I—”

“Thanks… for the refresher.” And with that, you put the knife down on the kitchen rag and pull away.

It takes him an extra second to snap out of it and step back to make way for you as you retreat back into your bedroom. “Yeah, yeah. No problem.”

Fuck, fuck, fuck your fucking life to hell.

***

if you've reached the end of this page, thank you so much for reading! do tell me what you think, reblog, send me asks, thoughts, ANYTHING. i would LOVE to hear your opinion!!!

#will poulter #chef luca #luca the bear #the bear fx #chef luca x reader #luca x reader #chef luca x ex-wife!reader #chef luca fic #chef luca smut #will poulter fic #will poulter fluff #will poulter angst #will poulter smut #ava writes

[simplyavatrice]

"sorry, theological grandstanding just...really annoys me."

#sister beatrice #kristina tonteri-young #avatrice #warrior nun #warriornunedit #avatriceedit #sisterbeatriceedit #ktyedit #sometimes i think i post so much alba/ava content that it gets lost how much i love bea/kty #trust me #i fucking adore her #the character and the actress both #bea is so much fun to write #and kristina is just this beautiful ball of sunshine #anyway! #this to match the ava set <3 #myedits

[mpliego]

absolutely in love with golden hour by @simplykorra​ 💕🤠💕

#warrior nun #avatrice #illustration #digital art #fan art #warrior nun fanart #fan fiction #warrior nun fic recs #every version of ava and beatrice that simplykorra writes is amazing #but these two have got me in a fluffy/angsty/slow-burny chokehold #i guess i should admit by now that this is a warrior nun themed blog #🤷🏻

[rebouks]

Previous // Next

Hi Alex!

I don’t think it’s stupid or cheesy to miss someone, I miss you too! Going back to normal after being on holiday is always horrible, especially after this one, and especially having to go back to school, I’m not a big fan! Do you go to school too? I wanted to ask if you did but I couldn’t… it’s nothing personal, by the way, sometimes I just can’t speak to people and I don’t really know why. I thought it was my decision if I did or didn’t before I met you but maybe not. My parents n’ the teachers at school call it selective mutism but I won’t bore you with all that crap.

I can’t see your new teeth but they grow fast so maybe next time! If they don’t maybe you could get some gold one’s like your dad has, unless you don’t wanna look like a pirate lol.. my littlest sister has four teeth now, and I have all my big teeth! I haven’t counted the twins though cos they’d probably bite me if I tried haha!!

Ava is the tiny one with the blonde pigtails! She’s cute but she still sleeps and poops a lot haha, she’s sorta chill though and definitely doesn’t cry as much as Wren and Byrd used to (have you noticed we’re all named after birds yet? I guess my parents thought it was cute since our last name is Finch) Wren’s the ginger one with plaits! She’s pretty funny but she’s super grumpy sometimes and likes to bite and kick (not me though, she loves me) I think it’s cos she’s tired a lot cos she never sleeps at night, kinda like dad.. they’re twins but Byrd is way different, I couldn’t get a picture of him cos he kept running off, he’s crazy like that but he’s super snuggly and loves playing doctor! He likes to pretend to break my legs so I can’t go anywhere then fix them for me haha. Brothers and sisters are fun but they can be a pain in the butt sometimes! We have a cat called Lou too, his full name is Toulouse and he likes to bring us leaves from the garden and scream about ‘em, and he loves stealing food when you’re not looking.

Dad’s been teaching mom how to cook cos she sucks at it (don’t tell her I said that though cos I always pretend it’s not THAT bad) she’s sorta getting better though so I suppose the whole practice makes perfect thing pays off eventually. I got a school project to make a lame volcano that I didn’t wanna do as well, but my parents made me do it anyway.. we all know that real volcanoes aren’t full of baking powder and vinegar though so I dunno if there was much point to it but they seemed to think it was important so I did it anyway, at least I got a picture of it “going off” I guess. No one likes homework, even if it’s supposed to be fun, right?!

It’s cool you set Amber free!! I’m sure she’s happier wherever she is now so I guess you could just think of that when you miss her? The rocks are way cooler anyway! My aunt Aspen has loads of crystals too, sometimes she even charges them in the sun or the full moon.. I keep forgetting to ask her why but I’ll try and remember so I can tell you next time!

Hahaa your poor dad with those birds! I’ll definitely keep the picture cos it’s hilarious, Wren found it the funniest but don’t worry, I’ll keep the picture safe from her sticky hands! I have a hiding spot in the attic for all the stuff I don’t want them touching. I guess birdwatching is sorta fun sometimes but you’ve gotta be quiet (easy for me I guess.. hah!) I’m not sure there’s any other birds round here other than seagulls since we live right next to the sea, those are the ones you can hear the most anyway cos they never shut up! My dad jokes that he used to be a seagull in a past life cos he’s loud and greedy like they are lol.. he’s been building me a treehouse too, I bet that’d be good for birdwatching!! It’ll be super cool once he’s finished but it’s taking ages cos he mostly does it all by himself, I try n’ help sometimes but I’m still too small to carry or lift most things.. I wanna be as strong as him one day, he can build and fix almost anything (he swears a lot during it though haha!) Do you ever think about what you wanna be when you grow up? I don’t really think about that sorta stuff cos working sounds boring, especially if it’s as lame as school!!

I’m ten, by the way! How old are you and when’s your birthday? Mine’s February 22nd. I don’t think I have a favourite food, anything my dad makes is amazing cos he’s a good cook and my mom makes the BEST pancakes! We’re always stuffed after dinner but dad says (lies) that pudding goes in a different part of your stomach so there’s always room for cake haha.. I think I like it best when he makes spicy food but Wren and Byrd hate it so he doesn’t make stuff like that too often. It’s fun to see how much you can eat before your mouth feels like it’s on fire and I’ve decided I’m gonna beat him one day so he better watch out!!!

I didn’t know what to write at first but I guess I sorta ended up writing quite a lot since I had some catching up to do! Are you and your dad on holiday in the tower or are you living there for now? It sorta sounded like you’ve been there a long time, where do you usually live? What kinda stuff does your dad dig up for work? It’d be cool if he dug up dinosaur bones!! I watched something like that recently and they were HUGE!

It’s hard to think of questions on the spot but you can talk about anything you want too! I probably owe you a million answers as well so you can ask anything you want too! I had fun reading your letter and I’m glad we can be pen-pals even if we don’t get to see each other! Maybe next time we meet in person I’ll be able to say something, but writing would still be fun too so I guess it doesn’t really matter, right?

Love Robin c:

ps. I’m keeping the funny photo of you yelling at your dad and there’s nothing you can do about it!!

pps!! I don’t have a way to print out photos yet otherwise I’d have sent some new ones. Dad gave me an old polaroid ages ago but it’s still broken, his friend said he might be able to fix it though so hopefully I can use that next time. Mom said you can have some of our old ones and the ones from her disposable camera whilst we were on holiday for now though so I’ll send those to you as soon as they come back!

#ts4 #sims 4 #simblr #ts4 story #sims story #forever in between #fib #robin finch #alexandra sampson #brodie sampson #wren finch #byrd finch #ava finch #ᓚᘏᗢ #love it when kids are like LOOK n shove stuff so close to ur face u can't see shit #😆 #sdkjsk robin doesn't know what to write #also robin.. writes a ten page essay #bless him #he could finally 'talk'!!! #🤸‍♀️

[littledata]

what are these "best fics youve ever read that barely have any hits" you mentioned? can you give us a top 5 or sonething?

Oh God, you've really shamed me here because I read a LOT of random fics from fandoms I'm not even part of and the stories I was referring to largely come from there.

However, in the interest of practising what I preach, I sat down today and read a bunch of Warrior Nun fics I'd never read before so I could rec you some. To be totally clear, these aren't necessarily going to have "hardly any hits" but are fics that I think could use more love in general.

In no particular order:

I was seeing black and white (and now I'm living in color) by gayestcatra - 1281 words, a beautifully soft fic set in Switzerland with gorgeous description. By the same author I also enjoyed (your life was) my life's best part, an angsty Mary/Shannon exploring Mary's (heartbreaking) grief after Shannon's death.

Cat’s Cradle security checkpoint logs by @jtl07 - 518 words, have I raved enough on tumblr yet about how much I love their writing? No? Oh okay I'll do it again then. JT is one of my favourite writers in the fandom and I love this series of fics they did giving creative looks into the characters - this particular one is the contents of their bags but the whole series is worth checking out (and everything else they write too, obviously).

Lauds by @sisterdivinium - 3152 words, Mother Superion/Jillian Salvius. WE LOVE A RAREPAIR. Gorgeously written fic where you feel the weight of every single action. The author has a TON of fics if you liked this one too.

you're my best friend (in a world we must defend) by @daisychainsandbowties - 3980 words, avatrice and Pokemon. Beatrice's characterisation in this drives me insane. I MUST know more. If you know nothing about pokemon here's your primer: they're funny little guys you catch and make fight, exactly like the Catholic church did to Ava. There, now you've got no excuse not to read it.

Dead People Don't Shiver by waterintheshadows - 2068 words, avatrice soulmate AU set in a morgue FUCK YEAH. This is the kind of shit I live for. Great concept, great execution.

Where The River Bends by @itchyouchyz - 100,750 words, avatrice 1960s midwife AU. Full disclosure - it's 100k - I haven't finished it yet. But I LOVE what I've read so far, tender and lovely. Check the tags for trigger warnings on this one!

keep me in your mirror (but don't take your eyes off the road) by minutetuna - 26,343 words, avatrice season 2 road trip au. It made me feel this precise emotion: hnnnnnnghhhhh. There is a particular style of writing which is just bouncy and pacy and still draws you into every single emotion and this author has it in spades. LOVE.

This was so much fun! If anyone else wants to hit me up with some recs I'd love to hear them - even if (especially if) they're your fics. It's a long weekend, might as well spend it reading fanfiction.

#warrior nun #avatrice #ava silva #sister beatrice #fic recs #i'm also writing fanfiction update is coming i swear #not really a good rec list just a list of my opinions #i wrote this post as I was reading and you can see me getting steadily more excited by all the awesome fics as I go #asks

[autistickhunsam]

actually heres the whole scene i know its on the long side but its a great scene for multiple reasons

#from ava being like 🤪🤪 when beatrice is clearly struggling w the story #to beatrices pause and smile at her comment #to the heartfelt scene #beatrice snapping at ava and then containing herself and her emotions again #i could write a whole paper on this scene #warrior nun #sister beatrice #ava silva #avatrice #video #myclip

[moss-abyss]

messy doodles of (semi-redesigned) green to keep the stress away

#i need to draw i need to create i need to write ruahhrghhh #i have so many ideas and so little time #mossmakes #animator vs animation #ava green #and a little #ava purple

[analogoose]

Ava & Beatrice, Warrior Nun S2E8 // Sarah Ruhl, from “Eurydice” // “Wait for Me,” Hadestown

#writing a fic on it now too bc i loooooove pain and torture #avatrice #sister beatrice #if i have to suffer thru this parallel then so does everyone #ava silva #warrior nun #warrior nun s2 #warrior nun spoilers #wn spoilers #web weaving #compilation #orpheus #eurydice #hadestown #parallels #goose speaks

[bazaarwords]

thank you @why-does-it-matterr​! i think i got a little carried away, but i hope you enjoy!

cw: descriptions of injuries

-

There was a place she used to go to after the Order had days like these. Bad days. Ones that left her numb.

Historically, the place is both tangible and not—a lonely tower at the Cat’s Cradle, and once there, a few long moments of contemplation. But her old home is a long way away, and so Beatrice finds the part of her mind that needs this kind of treatment and sends it elsewhere. As for her body, she deigns to get to work instead of separating herself. The OCS may not be her world anymore, but there are wounded. People she cares for.

In the wreckage of their makeshift hideout, Beatrice wonders if maybe it’s never been the events of the day that seep the feeling from her. Maybe it’s always been this—this thing she must do to herself in order to succeed. Months of wandering have not divested her of the need to perform. The months have, however, been a reminder of all she’s lost.

She sets her feelings aside. There are things to do.

The first order of business: Camila’s shoulder is out of socket, and for all their collective expertise, Beatrice remains the best candidate to set it. Years ago, before the Order had swept her away, she’d spent a long summer volunteering in a hospital. It’s not the medical training she’d received afterwards, but the exposure was, at the very least, an advantage.

“Ready?” She asks, although she knows that Camila is always ready.

Camila, in the kind way she does all things, just smiles as if Beatrice is the one that needs the reassurance. She nods. “Go for it.”

Camila doesn’t flinch. She lets out a long, measured breath and she says, “ow” and she laughs at herself. Beatrice would like to take the time to laugh with her, but her joy is locked up in that faraway place. She squeezes Camila’s other shoulder, helps her into a sling made of a torn shirt, and moves on to the next.

Sister Dora has twisted her wrist. It’s discolored and swollen, but her bones are, thankfully, intact.

“A tarask,” she explains, “I thought it’d… well, I thought it’d kill me but…”

But she came back, Beatrice thinks to herself, searching the wreckage for wood to make a splint. She saved you.

She blinks that away—she has to. Sister Dora must notice her reticence. She doesn’t complete her thought. So Beatrice secures Sister Dora’s arm, and she moves on.

Yasmine has taken a glancing blow to the head, and Mother Superion has opted to stay up with her in the wake of the fight to monitor the damage.

“I’m okay,” Yasmine says when Beatrice comes by, holding up a placating hand. “I mean—I remember my name, so. So that’s good, right?”

Superion offers the smallest of smirks. It’s fond, not hard-won. “Yes, Yasmine,” she says, and rises up on unsteady footing. It’s not the new, halo-resurrected Superion.

“What happened?” Beatrice asks, firmer than she’d meant to. Emotions are nebulous when she settles into this way.

Superion shakes her head. “Nothing that should concern you. A few bruises.” She gives Beatrice a meaningful look—one she’s not present enough to catalogue. “There’s a cot in the back. Rest. We’re fine here.”

It sounds like an order, and even though she’s put the church behind her, she still respects Mother Superion. She can still recognize that she’s done all she can for the group, within reason. So she makes her way to the back room, feeling nothing. She sits on the edge of the cot, feeling nothing. She shrugs off her outer layers, feeling nothing.

Her mind has been in that faraway place, however, and as she returns to herself, everything sinks in.

While information comes in in pieces, on thing is for certain—there’s pain, everywhere. It would make the most sense to take stock of the worst places, the ones that need her immediate attention, but when feeling rushes back into her, the only thing she can think is that she needs to get out of this room and to wherever she’s gone—

There’s a jolt, razor sharp in the already excruciating throb of her abdomen. It’s quite obviously from when she’d been launched across a courtyard. The intensity winds her halfway to standing and her hip smarts as soon as she’s fallen back to the cot. She tells herself several times that she needs to get herself back in that empty place, that world where she feels nothing. Above all things, she needs to be there because she needs to find Ava.

A week prior, there had been a desperate call for help, a train from the small Finnish town she’d wandered into the month before, and Beatrice had found herself right back in the fray. Seeing the faces of her friends again after all their time apart had been bittersweet. When the fight had come to them, she’d remembered the last words Lilith had said to her. A holy war.

Despite her best efforts, she’s in the middle of it.

“Fuck,” she says, because she curses now. Because she knows that her knee is going to give out if she tries to stand. Because she’s effectively trapped herself in this room.

Frustration wells up in her like a lit fuse.

Assess the damage, she thinks, because what the hell else can she do?

The buttons of her shirt are slow work, her hands are weak from gripping her machine gun, her knives, the side of a building as she hoisted herself and Yasmine back to safety.

God is lost to her now, but it is a miracle that none of her injuries have drawn blood. A massive swath of skin along her side is purple and yellow but unbroken—it is the very worst of things. It hurts to draw breath, and hurts even more to bend and pull her pant leg up past her knee, to find the skin there in much the same condition. Upon further inspection, her hip, too, is a wild mess of bruises.

She’s a wreck, and what do they have to show for it? A few inches of ground? A few battered nuns, scrounging up whatever tools they can find?

Ava.

They have Ava. She just… doesn’t know where.

Beatrice had seen it happen as if in a dream.

The blinding light from above, the shockwave that had sent the tarasks flying in all directions, but hadn’t so much as nudged the sisters. When she’d looked, it was Ava’s form in the center of the light—Beatrice would know it anywhere, in any world—flickering in and out. She remembers shouting, desperate, stumbling through the wreckage. The details from there are hard to recollect. It’s when she’d been grabbed and thrown, it’s when the fight had resumed and she’d lost sight of Ava.

But she had seen her. That she’s certain of.

She closes her eyes, wincing as she tilts her head to the ceiling. The breath she tries to take is shallow and does nothing to steady herself.

“Beatrice?”

The pain of movement is forgotten, the voice like a ribbon of gold around her heart.

There’s Ava. There’s Ava.

The breath is gone in a rush, and Beatrice forgets the rest of the pain and she tries desperately to stand, to run, to move. Her leg gives out and Ava’s on her in a second, easing her back down.

“Ava,” she says, voice breaking, throat tight, “Ava.”

Ava kneels in front of her and she takes Ava’s face in her hands and she can’t look away. Suddenly, that place she goes—the one that is empty and lonely is filled with life. Filled with Ava. And she’s here, she’s real and alive and breathtaking in all the ways that Beatrice has loved. Loves. She feels nothing but it, looking at Ava.

“Bea,” Ava says, fingers wrapped around Beatrice’s wrists like they’ve been fused there. “Bea, you—you’re hurt.”

“You’re here,” Beatrice responds—nothing else matters. “Ava, you’re—“ She doesn’t have other words.

It should hurt to speak. It should hurt to lean forward, but then her lips are on Ava’s and nothing hurts, everything aches. Ava makes a small noise that lets loose something in Beatrice’s chest, and she wants to draw Ava closer, but her body betrays her, her whole side lighting up as if on fire. As if to remind her that respite is fleeting. But she doesn’t care, nothing else matters—

Ava notices her wince and pulls away. It hurts to try to pull her back, but still Beatrice tries. “Fuck,” Ava says, voice shaky, “Bea—hold on. You need—“

“I need you to not leave. I’m fine, I promise.”

“I’m not—you’re not fine, your—oh, God, Bea your side—“

Another Beatrice might have taken modesty into consideration. Her shirt is wide open, her trousers undone, and Ava is knelt before her, a hand on her bare knee. She just—she just wants so keenly that the constant, painful reminders of her body’s journey through battle feel like they’re killing her. She wants to pull Ava up and on to her lap, she wants Ava’s mouth on hers again, she wants, she wants, she wants. And maybe it’s her pilgrimage and her seperation from the church that’s allowing her this clear revelation, or maybe it’s just the relief to be in the same room as the girl she loves. Maybe that’s all it’s ever been.

“Let me… shit, I don’t know how good I am at this yet.” Ava focuses down on Beatrice’s splotchy, wounded knee, and the dark room is slowly illuminated by the glow of the Halo.

It feels… itchy, at first. It’s not a scab, but the injury takes on the properties of one—Beatrice tamps down the overwhelming need to scratch or pat at it, but then—as soon as it began—it’s gone. Ava pulls her hand away and the skin is as normal as it’s ever been. An oblong scar where bone is closest to skin from one too many skinned knees, but other than that? Nothing.

“How did you…” Beatrice trails off, swinging her leg back and forth easily.

“I’d… you know, I’d really like to explain it, but, uh. I have no fucking idea.”

Beatrice can’t help it, she laughs, a little hysterical. And then she wants to throw up.

“Don’t—no laughing. Stop it,” Ava says with a worried smile. She sets the tips of her fingers at the massive bruise on Beatrice’s side, and Beatrice can’t tamp down the shiver that rockets through her at the feeling. “Sorry. Sorry, I just need to...” Ava says, her voice thick, “just let me…”

The Halo does its work again, scrubbing her pain from her, raw and red until it’s not anymore. Beatrice takes a breath, and there is no pain.

“Good?” Ava asks.

“Good,” Beatrice responds. She wants that to be the end of it, but when she tries to move in again—“I think there’s another…”

Herein lies the problem. Her hip.

Ava looks down, and they’re in the middle of a war, but Beatrice wonders if she closes her eyes for just a moment, maybe they’ll be back in the Alps. Maybe there, this touch is necessary for another reason. Maybe Ava is looking up at her like this and maybe nothing has ever been wrong.

But they’re in the blown-out remains of a church, and there are demons everywhere, and in her darkest moments she’d worried that this—her and Ava—was lost for good.

Ava hovers over her bruise, and Beatrice nods. Ava is delicate, fingers light over her hipbone. This is not the time to wish for another life, but still she does. And for the first time in months, the wish has legs. It climbs out of that place she goes and it smiles at her, and Ava smiles at her too, proud of her work.

Beatrice draws her in, and the war rages on, but there are no more lonely places.

She has Ava. It’s enough.

#warrior nun #warrior nun fic #warrior nun fanfic #warrior nun fanfiction #ava silva #sister beatrice #avatrice #avatrice fanfiction #avatrice fic #fanfiction #fanfic #fics #sister camila #sister yasmine #mother superion #wn #save warrior nun #my fics #my writing

[greenorangevioletgrass]

fever pitch (b.b) - prologue

soundtrack: mastermind - taylor swift pairing: footballer!bradley x popstar!reader synopsis: Bradley shoots his shot in public, but will he fumble when he meets you in person? warnings: language, drinking, meet cute notes: my first series in a while! this is shamelessly based on the epic Taylor Swift/Travis Kelce saga currently happening rn, and combine that with my innate love of football (the kicking kind, not the NFL kind) and... voila! I hope you enjoy this. Let me know what you think in the comments, reblogs, and asks. Happy reading! <3 ✨I do not have a taglist. Please follow @ficsbygreenorangevioletgrass and turn on the notification to get the latest update on my fics✨

Soccer Sensation Bradley Bradshaw Fails To Shoot His Shoot With Y/N At Her Concert?

Arsenal captain Bradley Bradshaw may be among his club’s top scorers this season, but even he misses a chance in romance like the rest of us.

The 29-year-old athlete spoke about his missed opportunity with the multi-platinum songstress Y/N while speaking to his former teammate Héctor Bellerín on the latter’s podcast, “More Than A Footballer”, earlier this week.

When asked about any fun stuff he did last weekend, Bradshaw replied,

“I went to the Y/N concert at Wembley [Stadium]... it was awesome. It was pouring rain, but it was amazing. I don’t remember Wembley ever being that electric aside from, like, cup finals. She was sensational.”

Bellerín nods in agreement, having heard great things about the famed singer-songwriter’s live concerts.

Unprompted, the American midfielder then continued,

“If you’ve heard about the tour, there’s this tradition of trading friendship bracelets. And I actually made one with my number on it, hoping I could give it to her after the show…”

The Cockney-raised Spaniard cackled in surprise and teased him, “But she didn’t wanna see you, bruv? [That is] legend!”

“No hard feelings!” Bradshaw raised his hands in defense over the Zoom call. “She needed to dry off and get warm. Gotta make sure she stays healthy, protect those vocal cords. But yeah, I was a bit bummed out about it.”

Bellerín laughed and jokingly addressed the camera, “Y/N, if you’re watching, give my boy a chance, will you?”

Mononymous pop sensation Y/N is hot off of her Kaleidoscope North American Tour, which wrapped in September. Her six-show run at Wembley Stadium this November officially kicks off the European leg of her sold-out tour. 

Will they be the next pop royalty and conquer the stadiums with their own crafts, or will this fizzle out as this week’s viral anecdote? The ball is in your court, Y/N.

Y/N’s representatives have not responded for comment.

***

Your Miu Miu heels click and clack against the ground. The pavement gleams after the rain and glistens under the streetlights. Everywhere you look, your eyes hurt. Down, and you worry about slipping into a puddle and falling on your ass. Forward, and a million camera flashes are ready to give you an aneurysm.

All in the name of reporting your night off of work, performing live in front of 90,000 people in a stadium.

In other words, all in a day’s work.

There’s a moment of reprieve, when the silvery white blitzes disappear into the dim tangerine lighting of the lobby. The flight down the stairs is so dark, you’re seeing green. It takes your eyes a moment to adjust, but as soon as they do, the thumping bass line of some dance music hits your ears. Clashing perfumes doused on the dancing, dressed-up bodies that you have to weave through.

You are seriously regretting your girl friends’ invite to a night out. You could’ve just had them over to your hotel, open a bunch of red wine, and you would’ve still had a blast. But no. You had to say yes to going to the Cuckoo Club with Lacey, Amara, and Jo.

And this evening is making you feel quite cuckoo.

There’s champagne at your booth and you’re much too eager to take a glass and start a toast. “Cheers, bitches!” you yell over the music, clinking your glass against theirs before downing the whole thing in one go.

It’s nowhere near enough.

There’s not enough buzz to dull the assault to your senses—not even after the three glasses of wine at dinner earlier. Everything is still too loud, too bright, too crowded, too… much.

“Hey!” you nudge Amara, who is sitting right next to you. “Let’s do shots!”

She turns to you, eyes widening at the slightest. “I thought you wanted to take it easy tonight!” 

“Changed my mind,” you shrug, as you get up to the bar.

While you make your way through the crowd on the dance floor, Bradley Bradshaw looks up from his booth and does a double-take at the girl who just walked by. Even in a high-end club full of the well-dressed and well-heeled, people still get starstruck. And why wouldn’t they? You’re about as famous as an iPhone. 

His eyes widen and immediately whips out his phone to shoot a text to his oldest and most trusted friend Natasha Trace.

‘Dude, I’m in the club and Y/N just walked in. What do I do??’

Natasha thankfully texts back almost immediately. Then again, maybe being a Communications Director for a major company requires her to be a good texter. ‘Wdym what do you do? Just go talk to her.’

‘You were supposed to introduce us!’ Bradley replies, eyes darting between his phone and you at the bar, conflicted.

Natasha is a mutual friend of yours, too, and when the Bracelet-gate clip went viral, she laughed in his face for a full 5 minutes before deciding to set the two of you up. But the schedule never really aligned, so he hasn’t got a chance to see you. Not even after he went to your concert with a friendship bracelet and a dream.

And now, seeing you here in the same room at the same time as him…

‘What do you want me to do, get down there and do it for you?’

‘...Can you?’

He senses the judgment even as the three dots appear on his screen. 

‘Stop being a pussy, Bradshaw. Let me Netflix and chill with my gf in peace.’

Bradley scoffs, half-annoyed and half-fond. ‘Asshole. Have fun.’

The dance floor clears up, just enough to see that you’re right there. Leaning against the bar in your dress like a dirty daydream, talking to the bartender, and he couldn’t just let you go without a word. He thought about it, and he simply couldn’t.

“Oi, where are you off to?” His teammate Martin hollers, while the others watch him make his way to the bar in determined strides.

He squeezes past patrons across this jungle of a club, hoping to God that somebody hasn’t beaten him to talk to you yet, or you haven’t ducked out completely. Oh fuck. You’re still there, though. Good. You’re still at the bar, still glimmering under the mirrorball. Just a tap on the shoulder away. You can do it, Bradshaw…

“Excuse me, I—”

You feel the hand on your shoulder just as you turn and stand up, and in a flurry of miscoordination, looks up just as the other person moves in.

In a stroke of dumb luck, Bradley feels the top of your head slamming up against his nose and he groans in pain. “Ohh!”

“Shit! Oh my God…” you gasp, reaching out to the man in front of you. He’s tall, very tall, and you can’t quite see his face with his massive hand clutching his nose. “I’m so sorry…”

“No, it’s okay. My bad…” It really doesn’t seem like it, so he lets go of his nose and smiles sheepishly. Gosh, he must’ve looked stupid right now.

But you see it differently. What you see is a dashing man in a sleek tieless navy suit and a well-groomed mustache, straight out of a Cinemascope flick, ever so handsome despite his reddened nose from the way you just accidentally headbutted him. “No, that was totally mine. Are you okay?”

Your eyes are crystal clear even in the dim light, the concern is palpable in your gaze—and rightly so. It’s just that he’d take the headbutt any day, if it means he can look at your beautiful face. “I’m… I’m swell. Y/N, right?”

There’s a shift in your gaze. First, alert—you’re assessing how much of a potential threat this person is, whether they’re gonna be weird about you— and then it relaxes. Not a threat. Then a slightest hint of mischief, like she wants to know what kind of dynamics they would have. “Have we met?”

And boy, can he.

“We haven’t, actually. But I went to your show at Wembley earlier this week. You were amazing.” He offers a handshake. “Bradley Bradshaw.”

You didn’t quite catch his name over the blaring music, although you shake his hand anyway. “Sorry?” 

He leans into your ear, “I’m Bradley Bradshaw.”

You don’t know which one makes your heart skip, the sudden close proximity, the warmth of his timbre, or the whiff of his perfume.

“Right. Nice to meet you, Bradley Bradshaw.” You accept his handshake, hoping he doesn’t see how flustered you are in the strobing purple light.

“Likewise.” He nods with a smile. “And may I just say… you look stunning.”

“What, this old thing?” You brush down the art nouveau-inspired Balmain dress on your body. You’re just being modest, of course; you know you’re dressed to the nines. You have never been much into facial hair, but somehow that mustache suits him very well. “You don’t look so bad yourself. You remind me of a… young Robert Mitchum. Or Paul Newman— or one of those Golden Age leading men.”

His face lights up. It’s hardly the first time he received that kind of compliment, but when it came from you, it feels… different. It feels special. It makes him just a little bolder. “Yeah? Maybe after a few drinks, I’ll be quoting lines from Butch Cassidy. Or would you prefer Cat On A Hot Tin Roof?”

This piques your interest. A man of culture, it seems. But of course, you can’t be too sure. “I’m more of a Paris Blues kinda gal, I’m afraid.”

Gosh, you don’t swoon so easily and he likes you so much for that. “Makes sense.”

“How so?”

“It’s a good underrated musical movie, for the musically gifted… And Sidney Poitier was just fantastic in that.”

“Huh.” You raise your eyebrows. You honestly thought he was just spouting the famous titles. But the fact that he has likely seen this hidden gem might just mean he’s really into it. “Aren’t you full of surprises.”

He leans in to speak in your ear yet again. “If you stick with me for a bit, I might show you another surprise or two.”

The music drowns out your racing heart just barely, and the bartender places a whole set of tequila shots on the bar top, and it snaps you out of your reverie for a moment. 

“Wanna get some air?”

He seems surprised, but of course he wasn’t gonna throw away this shot. “Sure. Why not?”

You instruct the bartender to send the shots to your booth, not even spending ten seconds to ponder staying in this deafening hell hole. Not when this man looks like peace. Perhaps an undercurrent of mystery underneath, but his whole demeanor is as calm and comforting as those old-school movies you put on to fall asleep. At the same time, something about this person pulls you in, it’s almost magnetic, and you can’t help wanting to see this through.

#bradley bradshaw #bradley bradshaw imagine #bradley bradshaw fic #bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley bradshaw fluff #footballer!bradley #footballer!bradley x popstar!reader #top gun imagine #top gun au #ava writes #fever pitch

[simplyavatrice]

it was everyone but you

#ava silva #warriornunedit #avatrice #avatriceedit #warrior nun #avasilvaedit #i could honestly write an entire novel about why i love ava #and why her character means so much to me #her past #the things she went though #they speak volumes to me personally #and i love that they didn't break her heart and her spirit #i love the joy she lives her life with #the way she changes and grows and understands #the way she loves #she's incredible #and i will never stand for slander towards her character #from the very beginning #she was trying to LIVE #and i love that #myedits

[hi-avathisside]

Right now, sitting under the night sky, the moon looks beautiful tonight.

A little too beautiful, each blemish, each scar,each spot, looking like an alluring painting, each one made with intricate details.

The moon, as i must say, reminds me of everything beautiful, the serene beauty of the hill stations,the tranquility felt when you sit on the bank of the river, the peace felt in the first sip if tea in the morning, the happiness felt when u see the person you've been yearning to see for the longest of time, the contentment when you achieve something, the pride you feel when you get through something which you thought you could never, all these emotions mixed into one, form the moon, i believe.

#pyaar #shayari #love #poetry #spilled poetry #spilled feelings #spilled thoughts #spilled words #spilled writing #spilled ink #ava writes #written by ava

[piratekane]

Their phones go off at the same time, a tiny ding that echoes across their apartment. Mary frowns at Shannon’s phone, Shannon frowns at Mary’s, and they both reach at the same time.

“Beatrice,” Mary reads off Shannon’s phone.

Shannon turns Mary’s phone right side up and purses her lips. “Ava.”

Mary groans and lets her head fall back against the couch. “What did they get themselves into this time?”

Shannon pats her leg gently before she steals a chip right out of the bag Mary is still clutching. She throws one back, mouth puckering at the salt and vinegar taste. “Between the two of them? It could be anything.”

Mary blindly thumbs her passcode out and the screen brightens. Shannon opens her messages app. 

Their larger group message - F is for friends who do things together - sits towards the top of Shannon’s messages list, just below the other group message that lists her, Lilith, and Beatrice as its only members. 

Mary’s messages also has a group message named lilith stop changing the group name back to something boring between her, Ava, and Lilith.

“On three?”

They both open their individual messages at the same time. Mary hums something unintelligible. Shannon frowns.

“Ava went-”

“-on a date.”

Shannon leans over to read Mary’s screen.

Ava (8:41 PM): halp i went on a date

Bea (8:41 PM): Ava went on a date last week.

“Did you-”

“-know Ava was seeing someone?” Mary shakes her head. “Did you-”

“-know Ava was interested in seeing anyone?” Shannon shakes her head this time.

Mary hums again, interest piqued. She abandons the bag of chips, brushing her hand off on her dark jeans. Shannon absently reaches over and brushes the crumbs onto the floor. They can vacuum later. When Mary cradles her phone and sinks back against the couch again, Shannon follows her, pulling her legs up under herself as she leans into Mary’s side.

“What are you going to say?”

Mary regards her. “What are you going to say?”

Shannon shrugs. “I’m going to ask Beatrice who the date was with.”

“I’m going to ask Ava that too.”

It’s a race to see who can text back first, and Mary beats Shannon by a few strikes of her thumb against the glass screen. Shannon pulls Mary’s phone over so she can read it.

Mary (8:43 PM): who?

“Who?” she reads. “That’s all you said?”

Mary shrugs, unbothered. “What did you say?”

Shannon (8:43 PM): Who did she go out with?

“I used a full sentence.”

“It’s texting, babe. Full sentences are for-” Mary stops when Shannon arches an eyebrow in a challenge. She smiles, all teeth. “Full sentences are for losers.”

“This loser makes your dinner,” Shannon reminds her.

Mary is still grinning. “I can dial a phone, you know. A whole world of food, right at my fingertips. Besides, don’t pretend like I don’t make a mean chili.” She nods knowingly when Shannon rolls her eyes. “That’s half the reason you’re in love with me, admit it.”

“Yeah, the other half is because of your humility.” Shannon doesn’t bother softening it and Mary laughs. “So humble.”

Mary’s next words are swallowed up by the ding of her phone, Shannon’s phone is half a second behind.

“Who is JC?” Mary asks.

“Someone in Ava’s biology class,” Shannon answers, reading off her phone. “At least, I’m assuming? Bea said Ava went out with someone from her biology class.”

Mary snorts. “Figures that if Ava isn’t giving me all the pieces, Bea is giving the rest to you.”

Shannon smacks Mary’s knee gently. “Don’t be mean. She’s trying.”

“Who, Bea?”

“Ava.”

Mary shakes her head, hiding the smile on her face. “She’s something, that’s for sure.”

Shannon snorts. “Don’t pretend like that kid isn’t one of your favorite people. You have a terrible poker face.” 

Mary’s smile sours into a meaningless scowl. “No, I don’t.” She pulls her phone away from Shannon and thinks for a minute.

Mary (8:44 PM): scale of 1 to 10.

“That’s what you’re going with?” Shannon’s fingers hover over the phone, thinking. “A hotness scale?” 

Mary shrugs. “What’re you going to say?”

“Well I’m not going to ask if he’s cute.”

Mary shrugs again. “Of course not. Bea doesn’t care if he’s hot or not.” She nods at Shannon’s phone. “What’ve you got, Masters?”

“I’ve got a girl in love with her best friend at the other end of these messages. So I need to be… delicate.” 

Mary softens when Shannon looks back at her. “I know.” 

She watches as Shannon turns back to her phone, forehead wrinkling in thought.

Shannon (8:44 PM): How do you think that went?

Satisfied, Shannon sinks further into Mary’s side, warm and soft. Mary smiles, her hand curling around Shannon’s knee, pressing gently against a scar left behind after an ACL tear when she was younger.

They’ve always slotted together so perfectly. They knew it from the moment they met, two terrified freshmen on a large campus with no friends. The study sessions, the lunch breaks between classes. When Shannon finally leaned in, finally curled her fingers around Mary’s jaw and closed her eyes, they each felt something click. A world opened up. Study sessions turned into makeout sessions. Lunch breaks that felt like dates became actual dates. 

Mary had been looking for a home for years. She finally knew what it was like to have one.

Shannon walks her fingers over Mary’s knee. “Do you think they realize we’re sitting right next to each other? I feel like they don’t—otherwise they wouldn’t be talking to us about this.”

Mary shrugs. “It’s Tuesday. You usually work on Tuesday nights. So I’m sure Bea thinks you’re just killing time on your shift, and Ava assumes I’m looking for some kind of entertainment.” 

“Is this entertaining for you?”

Mary grins. “Like you wouldn’t believe.”

Their phones beep almost simultaneously.

Ava (8:44 PM): mid-8 nice smile

Bea (8:44 PM): She said it wasn’t groundbreaking.

“Groundbreaking,” Mary repeats. “Ava said it wasn’t groundbreaking?”

“You would know, wouldn’t you?” Shannon shrugs and reaches for the bag of chips again. She doesn’t like salt and vinegar, but she’s also committed to not getting up for anything short of an apocalypse. “Beatrice doesn’t usually misquote people, though.”

Mary makes a face. “Kid surprises me every day.” She hums quietly.

Mary (8:45 PM): and it took you this long to tell me?

Ava (8:45 PM): okay in my defense Ava (8:45 PM): no i’ve got nothing

Mary (8:46 PM): what happened?

She knows Ava. Something had to have happened for her to bring this up. Because she probably buried a terrible date, said forget about it, and focused on other things. Like her next iced coffee. Or Bea.

Ava (8:46 PM): we ran into JC at dinner tonight Ava (8:46 PM): it was weird Ava (8:46 PM): bea has been idk  Ava (8:46 PM): quiet 

Mary snorts. “No shit,” she says out loud. But her brow wrinkles in concern.

Mary (8:46 PM): was he a dick?

Ava (8:47 PM): no, definitely not he’s really nice

Mary nods to herself. Good. Because she’s been short on gym sessions this week, and she could go a few rounds with someone to make up for the difference. Shannon nudges her, catching her attention. “Right. Okay.”

Mary (8:47 PM): going out again?

Shannon rolls her eyes. “You’re so verbose.”

“Don’t be using those million dollar words on me. We’re not all in school for this kind of stuff.”

“Ha.” Shannon elbows Mary gently, soothing the sting of it with a quick press of her lips to Mary’s shoulder. “This kind of stuff is just talking to people, Mary. It’s not limited to just future social workers.”

“Maybe I’m not good at that.”

“I think you’re not giving yourself enough credit.”

“Well I think-” Mary cuts off when Shannon’s elbow digs into her side again. She huffs. “Fine. We’re both incredible. I can already see the headlines when you win social worker of the year.”

“That’s not actually a thing,” Shannon points out.

Mary’s face softens, her eyes going somewhere far away for a moment. “It should be. Could have used someone like you when I was in the system.” Shannon’s hand spreads out against Mary’s thigh, warm and weighted. Mary meets Shannon’s eyes, a hesitant smile on her face. “But I know you’ll make sure they’ve got it better than I did.”

“Of course,” Shannon promises quietly.

For a long moment, the air stills between them. Shannon can picture Mary in her freshman year - hard-headed and brash and walls pulled up to her chin. She’s still hard-headed, still brash. But the walls are knee-height now and crumbling every day as Mary lets herself breathe, surrounded by their friends. 

Mary finally smiles and squeezes Shannon’s knee, pouring a thousand unsaid words into her touch. She wants Shannon to know that she saved her life, but sometimes the words don’t come out the right way. So she puts it into touch and hopes that Shannon gets it.

Bea (8:48 PM): Shannon? You still there?

Shannon blinks, the world rushing back in on her. Ava, Bea. Their back and forth high wire act where each of them are afraid to fall - even if Ava doesn’t know that yet.

Shannon (8:48 PM): Sorry, just needed a moment. Shannon (8:48 PM): Does a date need to be groundbreaking?

Bea (8:48 PM) According to Ava, it’s a requirement.

“Want takeout tonight?” Mary asks as they wait. She opens her mouth but the words are cut off as her phone goes off.

Ava (8:48 PM): no, no more dates for me. he’s nice but it’s not groundbreaking

Mary holds up her phone. “Guess Bea wasn’t kidding.”

“Told you,” Shannon says, preening only a little bit. 

Mary (8:49 PM): that’s a lot of expectation going into a first date

Ava (8:49 PM): can’t i have a great romance?

Mary pauses. Of course Ava deserves a great romance. But what is that, exactly? Because she’s sat through movie nights with Ava, people-watched with Ava. She knows Ava thinks The Notebook is romantic and that’s toxic as hell. She knows Ava thinks the two guys who sit under the tree at the quad and share a single iced coffee is romantic, and that’s just gross. 

She knows Ava thinks what she has with Shannon is romantic, and she’s not wrong about that.

“Ask Bea what Ava thinks is ‘groundbreaking’,” she instructs Shannon. She’s curious what the rating system is here.

Shannon (8:49 PM): What does Ava think is groundbreaking? 

Bea (8:49 PM): Leaving the orphanage. Meeting us.

Mary shakes her head. “No way Ava didn’t actually say ‘meeting Beatrice.”

Shannon (8:50 PM): Are you sure she didn’t mean meeting you?

Mary raises an eyebrow in surprise. “Nice and direct there, Masters. I thought you were being delicate.” 

Shannon shrugs and waits patiently for Bea’s response. Sometimes Bea reminds her of the fawn she came across once as a child. Skittish, awkward limbs everywhere as it tried to find its footing and run. But when Shannon approached it, hand out and open, it let her get close. It took a few minutes, Shannon suspended in the middle of the woods. But it slowly approached her and let her touch it, nuzzling into her hand. Beatrice can be like that: skittish, but seeking out comforting touches.

She always thought that it was the best way to approach Bea: slowly, hand open. Ava proved her wrong, crash-landing into Bea’s life with a gracelessness that was endearing from the very beginning. Maybe Bea just needed the right person to cut through her trepidation and bring her out of her shell.

“You can be delicate and still be direct. It just has to be a precision hit,” she replies.

“Hammer vs scalpel,” Mary says nodding. It’s just funny because she and Shannon are always so careful around Bea, whereas Ava always seems to need more of a blunt punch of truth. 

Speaking of which. Okay, so if that’s what Ava thinks…Mary cycles through things in her mind. How does she go about this? If meeting Bea was groundbreaking, then a great romance has to be the same thing. Synonymous, like Mary and Shannon. Her eyes flutter closed as she thinks. Maybe Shannon has a point on blending her approach. 

Ava always thought that mopey girl meeting the vampire was a great romance. And she knows this, but Ava has terrible taste in movies. She really needs to watch something of substance. Like Love and Basketball. But she can work with this.

Mary (8:50 PM): thought great romances were reserved for your vampire book

Mary has a plan. She’s easing Ava into a conversation. Because Mary knows that Ava wants a great romance. More importantly, she deserves it. She just might not know that she wants - and deserves it - with Beatrice.

Their phones ding in double time, the replies chasing after each other. 

Bea (8:51 PM): I’m sure she meant ‘us’ and not me.

Ava (8:51 PM): bella isn’t the only one who deserves a sparkly love interest

Mary puts her phone down for a moment. “How are we doing this?”

Shannon thinks about it for a minute. “I’m not sure,” she admits.

Mary sighs. “Ava can be as dense as that meatloaf you made once and - hey! It was!” She ducks the hand Shannon sends towards her shoulder. “I just mean, she’s either sitting behind a huge wall named Denial, or she really doesn’t get it. So we need to, like, be smart about this.” She sighs. “Why are we doing this?”

“Because Lilith would do a horrible job at it?”

Mary snorts. “You got that right.”

At least Ava knows she deserves happiness. Kid hasn’t had a lot of love in her life, with the raw deal she got growing up. Mary knows something about that. So maybe Ava doesn’t need a delicate touch, but a little positive reinforcement and reassurance that she does deserve love from someone who gets it doesn’t hurt.

Mary (8:53 PM) no kid, you do too

“Bea is just as bad.” Shannon holds up her phone. “I know for a fact that Ava said Bea and not us, but she’s going to pretend like that isn’t true because that means she has to face a reality where Ava feels the same way about her as she does about Ava.”

“Maybe you should have gone into psychology.”

Shannon makes a face. “Absolutely not.” 

Shannon (8:53 PM): Bea. Even if she didn’t say you, you’re allowed to want her to have.  Shannon (8:53 PM): And if she did, you’re allowed to acknowledge what that means.

Bea (8:54 PM): I’m not sure what it means.

Shannon groans as she reads Bea’s response. She takes a deep, steadying breath. She loves Beatrice. She’s loved her from the minute they crossed paths in their English seminar - a sophomore level class that Bea tested into. But for someone so smart, she sometimes tends to miss signs right in front of her face. 

No, Shannon thinks. She can read the signs. But the years with her parents… Maybe she just doesn’t want to see them. Maybe she doesn’t trust them. Maybe she just needs a little nudge.

Shannon (8:55 PM): I think you know what it means.

Mary breaks her concentration as she reads Ava’s text out loud, forehead pinched in thought. 

Ava (8:55 PM): i just don’t know if i’ll get it.

Mary sighs. “Are we sure Lilith can’t do this?” She goes to text back, but three grey dots pop up before she can, so she waits.

Ava (8:55 PM): but i think Ava (8:55 PM): i think i realized something

She shoves her phone under Shannon’s nose, all thoughts of Lilith taking over flying out of her mind. “Babe.”

Shannon’s reply is swallowed up by Bea’s next message. 

Bea (8:56 PM): Correction: I don’t think I’m allowed to want it to mean what I think it means.

Shannon sighs. “Oh, Bea.”

Mary doesn’t hear her, too wrapped up as she frantically types, backspaces, types, and backspaces again. “Do I play dumb?” she asks herself. “Or do I just say finally?” She types something out and erases it one more time before she sends something.

Mary (8:56 PM): what’s that?

Shannon (8:57 PM): And in a perfect world, what do you want it to mean?”

Three grey dots pop up on Mary’s screen and linger there long enough that Mary puts her phone down and picks through her bag of chips until she finds one big enough that when she fits the whole thing in her mouth, she has to blow out her cheeks to keep it in there. Shannon makes a noise of mild disgust.

Shannon’s phone beeps first. 

Bea (8:58 PM): I think you know.

Shannon (8:58 PM) Lightning won’t strike you down if you say it.

“Might,” Mary mumbles through a mouthful of chips. Shannon’s eyes cut to her. “What? You know Bea is thinking it.” 

Shannon can’t really argue with that, so she doesn’t try. She just waits for Bea’s response, which comes quicker than she thought it might. 

Bea (8:59 PM): I want her to mean that I’m groundbreaking.

“Atta girl,” Shannon whispers to herself.

Shannon (8:59 PM): You are.

Mary’s phone finally beeps. 

Ava (8:59 PM): i was thinking about it and Ava (8:59 PM): bea is groundbreaking, you know?

Mary (9:00 PM): obviously

It’s a gut reaction, but Mary texts back before she can stop herself. She almost follows it up with something softer to cut the edge off it. 

But she’s been watching Ava trip over herself the last few months and honestly, it’s a bit exhausting to not want to sit her down and bop her over the head with a printed book of all the texts Ava has sent her talking about how Bea looks today, or what Bea said today, or how she wants to do something, but has to check with Bea first.

The book would cost her an insane amount of money to print and it would be bigger than the Shakespeare text she uses as a door stopper since she spilled orange juice on it and can’t sell it back.

Ava (9:00 PM): what do you mean obviously?! Ava (9:00 PM): mary Ava (9:00 PM): mARY Ava (9:00 PM): what does THAT mean?!

Mary stifles a laugh, lets a sigh slip through, and closes her phone. She lets her head fall to the back of the couch and takes a deep breath. “I shouldn’t have said anything.”

Mary’s phone goes off again, beep after beep after beep after beep. She doesn’t dare pick it up. 

Shannon picks up Mary’s phone, types in the passcode, and chuckles as she catches up on Ava’s messages. “You really shouldn’t have.”

Then her own phone dings, catching her attention.

Bea (9:02 PM) But I’m not sure she really feels that way. Surely, she would say something.

“Do you ever want to wrap them up in, like, the world’s tightest hug?” Shannon asks.

“Sometimes I want to wrap them to a post and leave them there until they figure their shit out.”

Mary’s phone goes off again and she picks it up this time, opening her messages.

Ava (9:02 PM): there’s nothing OBVIOUS about it Ava (9:02 PM): it’s rude actually Ava (9:02 PM): to say something like that and just NOT ANSWER UR MESSAGES Ava (9:02 PM): Mary pick up your phone. Ava (9:01 PM): at least when i told bea it wasn’t groundbreaking she didn’t go RADIO SILENT Ava (9:01 PM): in fact we went out for coffee because i got bea one but Ava (9:01 PM): wait

Mary smiles slowly. There it is.

Shannon glances at Mary, most of her attention still on her conversation with Bea. She’s making headway, she can feel it. Bea at least admitting that Ava could maybe feel the same way about her is step one. Step two is getting Bea to just say it out loud.

Shannon (9:03 PM): She can’t say something if she doesn’t know.

Bea (9:03 PM): I certainly can’t tell her.

Mary reads over her shoulder. “She certainly should. Because it would save all of us a lot of trouble.”

Ava (9:04 PM): Mary.

Mary (9:04 PM): Ava

“How do you tell someone that the person they’re hopelessly in love with is hopelessly in love with them? Asking for a friend.”

Shannon ignores her.

Shannon (9:05 PM): Bea, you don’t need to tell her right now. Shannon (9:05 PM): But you should think about it.

“What do you think the odds are that they’re sitting next to each other on the couch right now?”

Shannon snorts. “That sounds exactly like something they would do.”

“Picture it,” Mary continues. “Sitting on opposite ends of the couch but you know Ava’s got her feet all over Bea which is disgusting. And they’re probably having a charged conversation where they talk about the weather being nice, but Ava is really talking about Bea’s eyes or whatever. And they’re just… texting us about each other.”

Shannon laughs this time. “How did we end up like this? Mom-ing two helplessly in-love-with-each-other - and I say this affectionately - idiots?”

“I must have really pissed someone off in a past life.” 

Ava (9:05 PM): bea IS groundbreaking

Mary (9:05 PM): you’re repeating yourself

Ava (9:05 PM): i’ve always thought so

Mary (9:06 PM): i’m not going to argue with you

Mary leans into Shannon’s side. “Be honest. They would benefit from some professional help, wouldn’t they?” She dodges Shannon’s hand again. “Or at least someone like Camila. If Ava wants to go for a drink or throw some darts or fix an engine, I can do that.”

“Okay dad,” Shannon snorts.

Bea (9:07 PM): I can’t think about it. Because if I think about it, I’m going to tell her. And if I tell her and she doesn’t say it back, I don’t know what I’ll do.

Shannon (9:07 PM): You’ll do what you always do. Persevere.  Shannon (9:07 PM): But I don’t think you’ll need to.

Mary’s screen lights up with a text that she thinks about ignoring. She shouldn’t have opened this box, shouldn’t have pried at the lock that held back this little revelation. She should have just said it was nice that Ava went on a date and left it at this JC guy being an 8. She should have put down her phone and focused on wowing Shannon with the pico de gallo she managed to make earlier.

Ava (9:07 PM): she’s my favorite person, full offense

Mary (9:08 PM): like that’s going to offend me. i’m shannon’s

Ava (9:08 PM): do you think i’m bea’s

Mary drops her phone. “Nope. I’m not doing this.”

“Don’t be dramatic.” Shannon picks up the abandoned phone and scrolls back a few messages, eyes tracking the conversation. She laughs at Ava’s last message, before handing the phone back to Mary. “Ava loves fishing for compliments, doesn’t she?”

“She’s fishing in the wrong pond,” Mary retorts, punching out a quick response. 

Mary (9:09 PM): focus, silva

“She should try the other side of her couch.”

Shannon glances at her own phone and considers what the person sitting on the other side of Ava’s couch is thinking at this very moment. A minute stretches on with nothing from Bea. Shannon starts to worry her bottom lip between her teeth. 

She’s not trying to push. But Bea deserves something amazing to happen to her. And they can all - even Mary - admit that Ava is the most amazing thing that’s happened to Beatrice.  A needed respite for all the ways the world has let Bea down in the past. She nearly drops her phone in relief when it goes off.

Bea (9:11 PM): I’m not ready.

Shannon (9:11 PM): No one is ever ready for love.

Bea (9:12 PM): What if I never am?

There’s a fluttering in Shannon’s chest where her heart skips a beat at Bea’s text. Bea is so much more ready than she thinks she is, Shannon knows it. But she also knows that Bea’s parents run deep in her mind and that’s hard to overcome. It doesn’t matter, though. If she knows anything about Ava, she knows that her patience with Bea is neverending.

Shannon (9:13 PM): Someone who loves you won’t worry about that. Someone who loves you will want you to take your time, if that’s what you need. Love isn’t linear, Bea.

Three dots appear on her screen for a long moment before they disappear. Shannon takes a deep breath and hopes she hasn’t pushed it. 

Needing something else to do, she peers at Mary’s phone. “Are you-” 

A beep cuts her off.

Ava (9:13 PM): right. but if SHE’S groundbreaking that means…

“She’s going to be the death of me,” Mary groans.

Mary (9:13 PM): that means…

Ava (9:14 PM): hypothetical question Ava (9:14 PM): how do you know if you’re in love with your best friend or not?

“Finally!!”

“Mary,” Shannon scolds.

Mary (9:14 PM) i’m sure there’s a buzzfeed quiz for that

“Mary.”

Ava (9:15 PM): mary 

Mary (9:15 PM): ava 

Ava (9:15 PM): i’m serious

Mary (9:16 PM) so am i  Mary (9:17 PM): but if you don’t want to dig through the internet to find one Mary (9:17 PM): let me tell you what your results would be Mary (9:17 PM): you are

Shannon’s phone goes off and she mistypes her passcode twice before she manages to get it open. Mary leans over, hooking her chin on Shannon’s shoulder to read the message with her.

Bea (9:18 PM): She deserves someone who isn’t afraid to be in love with her.

“That’s not fair,” Mary says quietly. “That’s not fair to her.”

Shannon frowns. “To Ava?”

“To Bea.”

Shannon (9:19 PM): You’re not afraid to be in love with her. You’re afraid of the world around your love. Your parents did a number on you, Bea. That takes time to get over.

Their phones go quiet for a while. So long that Mary gets up and puts away the chips, and Shannon tidies up the kitchen. They decide on getting Thai for dinner because Ava sent them a Snapchat of her leftovers this morning with Bea in the background wearing a disapproving face. Ava had captioned it: she doesn’t like it when i eat over the sink.

By the time she finishes setting out the plates for dinner, Mary is just about to give up on her conversation with Ava. It’s stalled out. Ava will swing by before her class tomorrow for pancakes at the student cafeteria, and they’ll talk about whatever Ava is obsessed with this week - last week it was the manatees she saw in a video when she was supposed to be studying for an exam. They’ll pretend like this never happened, like Ava didn’t come to some big revelation on a Tuesday night in the middle of February while Mary is in her socks with the little handcuffs on them.

She likes that idea. That works best for her. But just as she thinks it, her phone beeps.

Ava (9:31 PM): i am?

Mary (9:31 PM): do you not know that?

“Shannon, help me,” Mary groans, even as she starts texting back. 

Ava (9:32 PM): there’s a lot i’m realizing i don’t know right now

“Go fucking figure,” she mutters. Her fingers fly over the keyboard.

Mary (9:32 PM): let me break it down for you. you went out with this guy last week?

Ava (9:32 PM): tuesday yeah

Mary (9:33 PM): and it was okay Mary (9:33 PM): it wasn’t groundbreaking or earth-shattering or anything that totally rocked your world Mary (9:33 PM): but your best friend is someone who checks all those boxes?

There’s another long pause, another minute of three gray dots dancing on her screen before Ava’s text pops up in its place.

Ava (9:35 PM): you’ve met her

Mary (9:36 PM): but i don’t think the sun shines out of her ass Mary (9:36 PM): and she’s one of my best friends, but i don’t know if i’d call her earth-shaking or whatever  Mary (9:37 PM): because i’m not in love with her.  Mary (9:37 PM): i don’t spend every moment talking to her or about her or wishing i could do those things Mary (9:38 PM): but you…

Mary glances at Shannon but she’s too busy, bent over her phone. She doesn’t even notice the eye roll that Mary sends her phone. Or the tongue she sticks out. Or that she immediately goes to her internet browser, finds the picture she’s looking for, and saves Ava’s new contact image as a clown.

Across the room, Shannon sits back on the couch and stares intently at her screen, willing a message to come through even as it remains blank. She sends out a quiet prayer to whoever is listening that Beatrice allows herself to give into this feeling, to let herself feel like she deserves this kind of love. 

Finally, a bubble pops up.

Beatrice (9:39 PM): I should be over it.

Shannon frowns.

Shannon (9:39 PM): Show me the person who says you should be over it.

Beatrice (9:39 PM): I’m afraid I’d be looking in a mirror.

“Oh, Bea,” Shannon breathes. She has to take a minute. She has to breathe in slowly and count to 7 before she exhales and counts to 11, and in between those spaces she feels her heart break just a little bit.

Shannon (9: 40 PM): Then cover your mirrors and come talk to me instead.

Satisfied with her clown selection, Mary plops down next to Shannon and switches back to her conversation with Ava. She realizes she’s just dropping bomb after bomb right now, throwing them like firecrackers and imagining Ava dance around them. She can practically see them exploding in Ava’s eyes as Mary’s words rearrange what Ava had thought before this conversation.

This is big. This is Mary holding up a mirror to Ava’s face and telling her to look at the truth. Part of her knows she’s going to regret this. If Ava didn’t shut up about Bea before, now that Mary has said something, has opened the proverbial door… God, she’s going to be so annoying.

Ava (9:41 PM): there’s so much to say about her though Ava (9:41 PM): she’s funny and she’s insanely intelligent Ava (9:41 PM): and she’s the first person i want to talk to when something good happens Ava (9:42 PM): or something bad Ava (9:42 PM): or something funny  Ava (9:42 PM): oh. Ava (9:42 PM): shit. 

Something occurs to Mary, and she closes her messages, opening her phone’s calendar. She scrolls back a week and her eyes widen as she reads the date.

Mary (9:43 PM): girl, i just checked the calendar. you went out with this guy on valentine’s day?!

Ava (9:43 PM): i didn’t notice!

Mary (9:43 PM): and THEN you went home and took BEA out for coffee?

Ava (9:44 PM): which wasn’t a date

Mary (9:44 PM): from the sounds of it, coulda fooled me

Mary nearly throws her phone but the only place for it to go is over Shannon’s legs onto the other couch cushion. 

And Shannon has that look on her face like she wants to cry or scream or do both, so Mary’s priorities shift. She puts the phone down on the table and turns, sliding one arm across Shannon’s shoulders and rubs her fingers against the bone there.

“Hey,” she murmurs. “You okay?”

“I don’t know why she’s so hard on herself.” Shannon sighs. “I mean, I know why she is. And if I ever meet her parents-”

“There’s a line, I know.”

“And I’m at the front of it.”

Mary smiles humorlessly. “I think you might be second.”

“Good,” Shannon murmurs. “Bea needs as many people in her life as she can get.”

“Who she has is a good place to start.” Mary rubs at Shannon’s shoulder again and leans forward, pressing a soft kiss to the side of her head.

Bea (9:46 PM): Ava says that sometimes, she wishes she could fight my mind for me.

Shannon (9:46 PM): I think you should let her.

Bea (9:47 PM): I think she would win.

Shannon (9:47 PM): Good Shannon (9:47 PM): It’s because she loves you, Beatrice.

Bea (9: 48 PM): I’m worried that, if she ever did, that feeling would be long gone before I was ready.

Mary shifts away as Shannon focuses on her phone, tongue poked out between her teeth as she starts a long message. It’s been a minute since Ava texted her back. A long time for Ava, who fires off texts as quickly as her thoughts come. But this whole conversation has been filled with pauses. It’s a different side of Ava.

It’s an Ava who had the world shift and is now dealing with the fallout. Mary gets it.

But she wonders, is deciding to be in a relationship so hard for other people? 

Because it wasn’t hard for her. It was probably one of the easiest things she’s ever done in her life. It happened so naturally, so - what’s the word Camila says? Organically. She’s so in love with Shannon, even if she shrugs it off when people poke fun at her for it. She’s not above telling anyone how much Shannon means to her, but she is better at showing it. 

Acts of service, Camila told her, when they did some stupid quiz where they asked about love languages. She hadn’t even known there were so many of them. She always thought she was just kind of okay at loving Shannon. Turns out, she was doing better than she thought, giving Shannon what it seemed like she wanted and needed. And once she figured it out, it happened as naturally as their relationship did. Maybe they just got lucky to have it so easy. 

Her phone beeps and Mary rolls her eyes at Ava’s message. Or maybe she and Shannon were just smart enough to use their damn words.

Ava (9:48 PM): do you think she’d want to go out with me?

Mary (9:48 PM): i don’t get paid enough for this conversation.

Ava (9:49 PM): my friendship is payment enough

Shannon hears Mary huff, feels the air across her shoulder. But she’s too busy to turn and give her the attention, too focused to hear about whatever thing Ava said that made Mary feel like she needed to pretend to be annoyed. Because she’s trying to come up with something to make Bea understand that she is worth all the praise people bestow on her. She’s so brave, so committed to healing the wounds her parents etched into her.

Bea needs to know that despite them, she is coming into who she deserves to be. And she’s got someone she deserves to love within her reach.

Shannon (9:51 PM): Anyone who is worth your time will understand and hold that space for you until you’re ready for something so big. You ARE making progress, Bea. I remember you as a freshman, so afraid of your own shadow. And now you’re bold and strong. You’ve come so far. And Ava has been a big part of that. She’s brought out this part of you that everyone knew you had, but you were too afraid to show. Shannon (9:52 PM): She’s good for you.

And before Bea can say anything, Shannon texts her again.

Shannon (9:52 PM): I know you’d be good for her too.

Shannon bites her lip and thinks before she types out, “You should tell her how you feel. She won’t say no.” But she stops and erases it. Maybe it’s too much for Bea to handle right now. Maybe she needs to slow down.

But another part of her, a voice that whispers excitedly in her ear and sounds just like her mother before she gives away a particularly juicy bit of gossip, says, “You could say it.” 

She could. She could be the little push that gets the cart rolling. She could be the one at their wedding telling this story. She can see it in her mind: Bea, flushed with embarrassment. Ava, smiling fondly and teasing Bea for having a crush on her. She can hear the glasses clinking as people call for a kiss and feel the claps on her shoulder when people thank her for helping them take that first step.

Mary sinks further back into the couch and stretches her legs out on the coffee table. Shannon doesn’t even notice. She’s working something over in her mind, and she has this look on her face. Mary can see the wheels turning, recognizes exactly where she’s seen that look before, and she doesn’t like where they’re going.

“We’re not playing matchmaker,” she warns.

Shannon’s cheeks pinken slightly. “Did I say we were going to play matchmakers?”

“You didn’t have to. I can see it written all over your face.” Mary shakes her head when Shannon opens her mouth to argue, resolutely. “I’m not getting in the middle of this.”

“We’re already in the middle of this,” Shannon points out.

“Fine. We’re not getting more in the middle of this.” Mary says it firmly. “These two idiots need to figure the rest out on their own. They don’t need hand-holding.”

“I think that this conversation has proven they need hand-holding,” Shannon argues. 

Mary can’t tell her that’s not true, because it is. Ava is coming to a lot of realizations tonight, and she wouldn’t have gotten there without Mary sticking herself into the middle of it. She knows it. Shannon knows it. And that infuriatingly addictive smile slowly stretching across her face, transforming into a full blown grin means Shannon knows she knows it too. 

“No,” she warns. She opens her mouth to say more when her phone goes off again.

Ava (9:53 PM): mary, i can’t not think about this now

Mary (9: 54 PM): could you talk to me about it a little less?

Ava (9:55 PM): but you’re the only one who knows!

Mary snorts. “I don’t think you’re that slick, kid.”

Shannon laughs as she reads it. “No, the only one who doesn’t know is Bea.” Her head tilts to the side, a knowing look crossing her face. “You still think they don’t need a little nudge?” 

Mary sighs, surrendering to Shannon’s logic and gives in.

Mary (9:56 PM): listen, baby girl. don’t just think about it. do something about it! 

Ava (9:56 PM): i don’t want to do something she doesn’t want to do Ava (9:56 PM): this isn’t trying jamaican food from the burrito place Ava (9:56 PM): this is our friendship

This means the world to me, Mary reads between the lines. She can’t help but smile. Mary talks a lot of shit most days, grunts her way through conversations that require a bit more finesse than she’s comfortable with, but she’s got a soft spot for her friends. A softer spot for Ava.

Ava (9:57 PM): i don’t wanna fuck this up

Ava has a lot of them wrapped around her finger. Even Lilith, who would never admit it, even under penalty of death. But it’s there. It’s real. They’d all go to the ends of the Earth for Ava Silva. Beatrice would be leading the charge.

Mary (9:57 PM): then just hold onto it for now. you don’t have to say anything yet Mary (9:58 PM): but you should think about it Mary (9:58 PM): because i think you’d be good together.  Mary (9:59 PM): and you’re right. you deserve a sparkly love interest. and bea is miles better looking than that edward guy

Ava (9:59): i knew you were paying attention last weekend

Mary (9:59 PM): you don’t know shit

Ava sends back an emoji with its tongue hanging out and its eyes rolling around its head. Mary closes her phone. That’s enough for tonight.

Shannon opens her phone one last time. Bea probably won’t text her back tonight, but that’s okay. She doesn’t open herself up a lot, doesn’t always tell Shannon what she’s thinking. She hopes Bea does that with Ava. She hopes Bea lets Ava see all the parts of herself that she hides away from everyone else, afraid to look those parts of herself in the eyes. 

Because Bea deserves it. Bea, in Ava’s words, deserves her own great romance.

She deserves it with someone who loves her as much as Ava seems like she does.

And Ava might not have known it. Ava may have just figured it out tonight, pieces she didn’t notice independently coming together into a whole picture. But Ava does now. And Ava will continue to love Bea the way she deserves to be loved. Shannon knows it just by looking at the two of them together. The way they fit so easily, the way she fits with Mary.

Shannon (10:00 PM): Be honest. Be direct. Tell her how you feel. If you never say anything, you’ll never know and you might just miss your chance. Shannon (10:00 PM): Just use your words, Beatrice. You’ll be surprised what happens when you do.

She sighs, sinking down into the cushion and dropping her head down on Mary’s shoulder. “We’re totally the parents of the friend group.”

“I hate that.”

Shannon smiles as she turns her head, pressing it into Mary’s soft shirt and breathing in the smell of sandalwood and their laundry detergent. This is her favorite place to be in the world, tucked into Mary’s side like there’s no one else around. 

Her mind goes to Bea. Is that what she feels like when she’s with Ava? She hopes so. Everyone deserves to have this feeling at one point in their lives. For all of their life, if they’re lucky. 

“Think they’ll take our advice?” Mary asks quietly.

Shannon thinks about it. “In time. They’ll figure it out when they’re ready.”

“Lord help me, it better be before we graduate.” Mary shimmies down a little, catching the television remote with her foot and kicking it towards Shannon’s hand. “Because if they haven’t gotten it together by graduation night, I’m going to sic Lilith on them.”

Shannon laughs and presses the power button on the remote. “No you won’t.”

“No, I won’t,” Mary mumbles. “But I’ll want to.”

Shannon pats her knee gently. “I know, babe.”

Mary turns, presses her lips to the crown of Shannon’s head. “I love you.”

Something soft in Shannon’s chest melts even further. “I love you too.”

She feels Mary smile against her hair and then turn her attention back to the television. They’re done talking about feelings for the night and that’s okay. Mary will make her tea before bed and pull down her side of the comforter and leave the bathroom light on for her when she’s done brushing her teeth. And in the morning she’ll make Shannon breakfast even though she’s going to go eat with Ava, and she’ll say I love you a hundred different ways that aren’t those three little words.

Sometimes, that’s enough. But sometimes, Shannon likes to hear the way they sound coming out of Mary’s mouth. 

And she knows Ava will like the way they sound coming out of Bea’s mouth too. 

You can do it, Beatrice, she thinks to herself. Just be brave.

(more forever roomates)

#forever roommates #warrior nun #avatrice #ava silva #sister beatrice #we're trying something new! #new perspective new format new everything! #everyone say thank you kay thank you kay #that's just a tag that exists on everything i write and it SHOULD! #nervous about this one folks so be very nice to me #the end is in sight! there is a plan! #this has been such an experience and i'm having the best time #if you're reading this far down i love you #and one more thing tell someone you love them because it is wednesday on my side of the world AND I HATE WEDNESDAYS

[justsalpals]

Kinda a spiritual successor to this post.

Tula is not clever.

She looks into the bright eyes of her children. Knows the cunning bearing of her sister. Trusts the violent willpower of her mother.

Tula is not brave.

The man she loved was bright and cunning and willful, until everything beautiful in him was snuffed out. Until his heart took its final beat. Until he went somewhere that she did not follow.

Her heart does not beat.

Not could not. Did not.

Tula is not clever. She doesn't have the wild solutions and dreams of her husband, reflected in the charismatic speeches of her sister's own partner.

What Tula has are claw and fang. She is a stoat, after all. She digs into life the same way she would the throat of a rabbit, fang tearing through flesh and mouth flooding with hot iron blood. She is scared, she is tired, but a hunt is a hunt and there are children to feed. She does not let go.

Tula is not brave. She cannot carry the same righteousness of her family, eager to take down the world should it dare to bare its teeth at them. She cannot afford to. Not when her children, her sister, her mother, her nieces and nephews that have yet to even blink in the light of day or feel grass under their little paws, still walk and breath and exist in this world that seeks to do them harm.

It seems an impossible task, to protect these few remaining parts of herself that Tula calls her family. How could she possibly be brave, when it takes everything she has left to be kind?

Her mother throws her to safety.

Her mother falls to the light.

Her mother crawls her way back to their sides.

Ava's heart does not beat. She will not follow Kenji just yet.

Like mother like daughter. They've always shared a stubborn will.

#burrows end #tula d20 #ava d20 #burrow's end spoilers #dimension 20 #my writing