#warrior nun fic

[princington]

"Bea,” Ava breathes again, held perfectly still between the vice of the arm around her waist and the fingers tangled in her hair. She can’t move forward. Can’t pull away. Can only watch Beatrice watch her lips, feel the heat of her against her bare stomach, taste the breath of her on her tongue.

who needs comfortable love ch 5 by @the-ominous-owl

#just a little redraw to warm up before i tackle comms again #avatrice #warrior nun fanart #warrior nun fic #fic rec: who needs comfortable love #my art #fanart #this scene lives rent free in my brain forever and always #princington

[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

[quietblueriver]

Did I write an AU based on a McDonald's commercial? Somehow, yes. I...I don't even know, y'all. But here's a hopefully fun, fluffy thing.

*

Ava watches Beatrice walk into the McDonald’s, pristine gray and yellow polo tucked into ironed black pants, and thinks for about the thousandth time that nobody should be able to make a fast-food uniform look that fucking good.

“Yo, Silva,” a pen hits her helmet and falls to the concrete next to her. She doesn’t look but stretches her arm out behind her and flips the bird in the general direction of the voice. “Fuck off, JC.”

“Rude. Stop staring at your girlfriend and get back over here.”

“She’s not my girlfriend.” The response is rote at this point, because he makes some comment every fucking time they hang out here (and, yeah, sure, that’s because every fucking time they hang out here Ava stares at Beatrice or talks about Beatrice or daydreams about Beatrice but whatever) but she still winces at herself because she sounds like she’s five and also because she would rather not have to say Beatrice isn’t her girlfriend.

Reaching down to retrieve the pen, which is one he’d stolen from her earlier anyway, the dickhead, she turns back to him and says, “Go home, JC. I’m done for the day.”

“Aw, Ava, c’mon. We just got here.” It’s whiny and Ava’s the smallest bit endeared, as always, because he’s charming and guileless and really actually wants to spend time with her, even after she dumped him pretty unceremoniously when her interest in him flamed out about three weeks into their sort-of relationship. He’s giving her puppy-dog eyes and she rolls her own because he’s absolutely ridiculous. “We’ve been here for two hours, JC. You have study group with Zori soon anyway.”

He looks like he’s going to protest, but Chanel steps in. “Let’s go, doofus.” She wraps an arm around his shoulders and pulls and Ava smiles at her gratefully until she says, smirking, “Ava has to go make pathetic heart eyes at the pretty girl over an ice cream cone she doesn’t want.” “Hey, I always want ice cream.” It’s…not a great comeback, and she knows it, sighs when Chanel laughs loudly and turns to walk away with JC, a totally rude, “Yeah right,” serving as her goodbye. Ava’s undoing the strap of her helmet when Chanel nearly yells, still walking toward the bus stop, “Ask her out, you idiot!” Ava flinches and looks toward the entrance of the store, but nobody is there to hear the call-out.

Also, though, she’s totally going to do it. She’s going to ask Beatrice out. Today. Right now. Because she wants to and has wanted to for like six fucking weeks and because on Friday some girl, some stupidly hot girl, had been leaning over the counter and touching her and Beatrice had blushed and Ava had squeezed a ketchup packet so hard she’d ruined JC’s white tee and damaged her own dignity pretty badly in front of Mary and Lilith, who is terrifying and who had looked at her like a fucking Orca who had found a bunch of baby seals to snack on. Literally the only thing that had made the night okay was Camila, an absolute saint, texting Ava later to tell her Beatrice wasn’t going out with the girl even though she’d really tried but “Ava get it together already because she’s not going to wait forever and she shouldn’t! She’s great!” She is. Cam’s right. So. Yeah. It’s time.

Ava runs a hand through her hair and trades her helmet for her favorite cap, putting it on backward and clipping her helmet to her messenger. She takes stock. She’s wearing denim shorts and a black crop-top underneath one of her favorite button-downs, black and covered in colorful shapes. Her right knee is scabbed over from a fall last week and there’s a hole forming at the big toe of one of her black-and-white checked Vans. She wiggles her toe and sees the threads move, the tip of her lime green sock poking through. She looks like herself. She looks good.

She pushes her shoulders back and walks out of the park and into the parking lot, board in hand. It’s a Monday afternoon and school hasn’t let out yet, so when Ava walks in, dropping her board into the little stand by the door, hardly anyone is there. She sees a very stressed woman with three small children by the indoor playground and a dude messing with his phone and eating fries in the corner and that’s it. It’s great, because it means Ava won’t feel bad about trying to keep Beatrice talking to her for as long as possible (she really, really has it bad) but it’s shit because it means she has no buffer time.

And yep, she’s almost immediately greeted with an amused, “Hello, Ava.” Leaning against the drink station and looking like she’s about to have a really good time is Mary. Ava sighs and smiles, waves a little and fortifies herself for the shit she’s about to take. At least Lilith isn’t on today.

For reasons she isn’t totally clear on but thinks boil down to “queer fam helps queer fam get jobs,” this McDonald’s is staffed by like half of her History of Medieval Spain seminar. She’d felt like she was in a very realistic and mundane dream two weeks into the semester when she’d walked in from the new skate park to get an ice cream cone and been served by the hottie with color-coordinated notes who sat next to her on Tuesdays and Thursdays from 9:30 to 11am while the also hot but absolutely terrifying woman who sat across from her glaring at everyone filled fry containers and the smoke show who sat next to her manned the drive-in. (How her History of Medieval Spain seminar came to be fucking stacked with hot queer women is less of a mystery—Professor Suzanne “step on my throat” Superion draws a very particular kind of student and Ava couldn’t be happier to fall into that category.)

Mary makes a tv-gameshow-style motion at the soda machine behind her, as if offering a prize. “Thirsty?” She’s so fucking smug, and she’s also depressingly right, which makes it way worse. Ava looks at the children now snacking at the table with their keeper and resists the urge to flip Mary off, sticking her tongue out instead because she’s very mature.

Before Mary can respond, they’re interrupted. “Hello, Ava.” Ava smiles automatically, turns in the direction of the voice so fast she’s at risk of whiplash and blurts, loudly, “Hi Bea!” She bounds over to the counter and leans against it, palms pressed flat and body tilting forward. It’s a genuinely innocent act; she just wants to be closer to Beatrice, who’s standing behind the register. But she watches Bea’s eyes drift down and then guiltily snap back up and she knows that the position combined with her top also does great things for her tits. She preens a little, self-confidence growing, and says, “How’s my favorite ice-cream-magician-slash-Religious Studies-major today?”

It’s a lot, but whatever—she’s way past pretending she’s anything other than a lot and anyone who has an issue can go find less. And anyway, it gets exactly the reaction she wants: Beatrice’s cheeks tinge pink at her enthusiasm, a small, pleased smile appearing on her face like it does nearly every time Ava says something even remotely complimentary. It’s a little weird, because in class Beatrice is like, model student who knows it. She always pays attention and makes points so good that Superion writes them on the board and operates with a general level of confidence that does embarrassing things to Ava. Outside of class, though, Beatrice kind of folds into herself. It seems almost like she isn’t used to people seeing her, remembering her, being glad she’s there, and Ava thinks that’s fucking wild and absolutely wrong.

Beatrice deserves someone who will be loud about her. She thinks of the girl from Friday, with her beautiful cheekbones and her wandering hands, and of Beatrice’s blush, the one Ava did not appreciate seeing directed at someone else even if she was, in the better parts of herself, very glad to see Beatrice getting the attention she deserves. And, yes, totally, Beatrice deserves all of the attention but she wants to be the one who gets Beatrice’s attention. And she wants to be the one who gets to be loud about Beatrice in a respectfully possessive way. If Beatrice is down, of course. The girl in question is still smiling at her, and Ava’s body leans even further forward on instinct, drawn to the stupidly perfect human in front of her. Her palms catch her weight, her feet lifting slightly from the ground. Beatrice’s eyes don’t wander again, sadly, but her head tilts in this way that Ava thinks indicates affection, and she’ll take that, for sure.

Bea’s voice is teasing as she asks, “Do you know a lot of Religious Studies majors?”

Ava grins at her, grins bigger when Beatrice angles just slightly closer, which Ava might think was an unconscious move if Beatrice weren’t maybe the most intentional person on the planet (there are at least four colors in her highlighter system and Ava’s 95% sure she irons her t-shirts). “Nope. But I don’t need to to know that you’re my favorite and the best.”

Mary says, loudly, “I’m going on break.” She passes by them and adds, enjoying herself way too much, “Beatrice, I was just asking Ava here about a drink. I’m sure you can also see she’s incredibly thirsty. Must be the skateboarding.”

Ava glances at the kids, still working through a pile of french fries, and puts her feet back on the ground, angling her body against the register so that she can flip Mary off and keep it shielded from tiny human eyes and from Beatrice. She wants to tell her to lick rust. She says, instead, “Thanks so much for your concern.” Mary keeps her shit-eating grin and saunters outside.

When she turns back to the counter, Beatrice is looking over the register at Ava’s hand in amusement and okay so Ava apparently hadn’t hidden her finger as well as she’d thought but at least Bea seems to think it’s funny instead of off-putting. She had once admonished Ava, totally unironically, when Ava had let fly an admittedly impressive string of curses after realizing she left her coffee sitting on a table in the student union. The tone of that ”Language, Ava” had made Ava’s stomach drop in a very unexpected and pleasant way.

“The usual?” Her eyes are really fucking pretty.

“Yep. Yeah. Please.” As Beatrice turns to grab a cone Ava gets her shit together. Right. Yes. Go. “Actually, Bea.” She turns back holding a cone and smiles, eyebrow raised in question as she waits, and Ava wants to kiss her. “Would you want to go out with me sometime? In, like, a date way?”

Her smile is gone then and she’s blinking slowly and oh shit, did Ava mess up? Was Bea not interested? Was Bea not gay? There’s no way Beatrice hadn’t noticed her flirting because she had literally never been subtle and also Bea had just been staring at her boobs and talked to Ava and smiled at Ava and blushed at Ava more than anyone else? Or anyone else Ava had ever seen. And Cam said! And Mary wasn’t mean enough to let her make an ass of herself, right? Not like this. Lilith, maybe, but…

Ava has become distracted, staring at the kid’s meal toy display to Bea’s right as she spirals, and when she looks back, Beatrice’s mouth is twitching and her eyes are bright with amusement, and oh, shit. “Um,” she tries to run a hand through her hair and hits her hat. Smooth. “So, exactly how much of that did I say out loud?”

“I apologize for so obviously staring at your chest earlier.” Her tone is at least half genuinely apologetic but the rest of it is amused? Delighted? Something in that range and definitely at Ava’s expense and that’s fair given the gay panic monologue she’d apparently just spouted at her crush in her place of work.

“Jesus Christ,” she mumbles as she tilts her head back and rolls her eyes to the ceiling. After a breath she forces herself to look at Beatrice, who is fully smiling now. She throws the cone away and steps toward Ava again and then her hand is on Ava’s forearm, which she had crossed with the other over her chest in what was a totally ineffective attempt at self-preservation. Hard when the attack is coming from your own fucking mouth. Beatrice’s hand is warm and her fingers are calloused and Ava short circuits (whatever fucking circuits are left) at the contact, staring in disbelief until Beatrice says softly, still amused, “I would love to go out with you sometime.”

“Yeah?” It’s the most she can manage. The fingers over her arm squeeze just slightly and Ava knows if Bea pushed even a little bit she’d fall right fucking over. “Yes.” Warm brown eyes meet hers as she takes her hand back. Ava misses the contact immediately.

“Cool. Um, maybe Thursday? Dinner?” Bea doesn’t usually work Thursdays and Ava’s shift at the gym near campus ends at 3pm so she’ll have time to go home and shower and lose it a bit over what to wear but not so much time that she’ll be able to talk herself into a full panic.

“Thursday works perfectly.” Ava pulls her messenger around and rummages for her phone, pulling it out and handing it to Bea. Based on what she knows from class and a lot of longing stares, Beatrice keeps all her stuff as neat and tidy as she keeps her uniform. So, she’s pretty sure her own phone is something out of Bea’s nightmares. One corner of the screen is shattered and scratches dot the rest while the back, an ice blue color Ava really likes, is covered in spidery lines from way too many drops and impacts suffered in Ava’s pocket at the park. Still, she can’t be fucked to get a case because it’s pretty and sleek and smooth(ish, at this point). Beatrice’s lips purse slightly but she says nothing, taking it, entering her number, and calling herself before handing it back. She removes her own phone, in its pristine black case, and immediately creates a new contact.

A group of teenagers comes through the door, loudly, followed closely by Mary, and Ava watches as Beatrice sets her shoulders. It’s very cute. Ava is going to date her. Incredible. “I’ll text you.”

Her smile breaks and her face is suddenly concerned. Ava’s nervous until: “Your ice cream. I completely forgot.”

Ava grins and waves her phone, nearly drops it and is stupidly charmed by the little flinch from Beatrice at the fumble. “Got something way sweeter.”

Beatrice shakes her head and half hides a smile, cheeks pink. Ava’s feeling very proud when she hears a loud groan from Mary, who’s stepping behind the counter again. “Absolutely not, Silva. Get out of here with that.”

Ava smiles at Beatrice one last time before basically skipping out, grabbing her board. She almost eats it three separate times because she’s so distracted on the way home, but she’s not even a little mad about it.

It’s both awesome and kind of torture to see Bea the next morning in class. They sit next to each other, like always, and Ava manages to keep it mostly together, flirting only slightly more than usual and letting her knee press into Bea’s below the table for most of class, the barely-there red under her freckles the only sign she’s even aware of the contact. She works an extra shift on Wednesday because she wants that date money and JC could give a shit about giving it up, only works because his parents make him even though they give him a shit-ton of spending money anyway.

It’s a bummer not to see Bea but she’s also texting her kind of non-stop. She started Tuesday night when she got home:

What’s Dracula’s favorite ice cream?

She didn’t expect a fast response, imagined Bea was busy with the flood of students and families who came in after work and school, so she was a little surprised to see Bea’s name pop up twenty minutes later: Blood orange?

Have you had blood orange ice cream?

No, but I am sure it exists. Not the answer then?

A good guess but no. It’s…

Vein-illa

Three eye roll emojis. And then a truly terrible joke about snails. It had gone on from there, intermittent jokes and also little snippets of actual conversation. It’s still happening Wednesday night as Ava gets ready for bed. She settles and then nearly hurls herself out of bed in excitement when she reads Bea’s latest text: Goodnight, Ava. I’m really looking forward to tomorrow. From most people, it wouldn't be much, might even be discouraging. Ava knows Beatrice well enough at this point to know that from her, it might as well be fifteen firework emojis and twenty-seven exclamation points. She doesn’t bother to play it cool, as fucking if she would do anything other than encourage way more of that, and sends back immediately: Night, Bea. Me too. Really really. Along with three mutlicolored hearts.

She knows something is wrong the next morning when she gets to class because Beatrice is waiting outside of the classroom staring at her shoes and gripping the straps of her backpack (both over her shoulders, tightened evenly) as if they’ve personally offended her. When Ava gets close, Bea looks up and smiles unevenly and says, “I’m so sorry, Ava. I can’t go tonight. Lilith got the flu and I have to cover her shift.”

It sucks, of course, but Bea’s looking at her like she’s done something unforgivable, like she’s waiting for Ava to tell her off. Not for the first time, Ava wonders where exactly Bea comes from and what kind of shitheads she’s used to. She walks closer, slowly, smiles as gently as she can and takes a risk, reaching forward to tuck an escaped strand of Bea’s hair behind her ear and letting her hand skim Bea’s jaw as she pulls back. Bea’s eyes are big and her face is more relaxed, even if she does look a little confused and her hands are still white-knuckling the straps of her bag.

She keeps it simple, pretty sure Beatrice needs it. “Wanna try for this weekend instead?”

A few people file past them into the room and Ava knows they need to go sit or incur the wrath of Superion, whose anger is hotter in theory than in practice. She takes another chance, reaches up to tug at Bea’s left hand and laces their fingers. When Beatrice allows it, flexes her fingers lightly between Ava’s, Ava pulls them into the classroom, smiling a little at Bea’s still-wide eyes. She appears to have come back to herself by the time they reach their seats, squeezing Ava’s hand in an intentional way before taking off her backpack and settling in. As Superion gathers her notes, Beatrice leans closer, pressing her knee into Ava’s as she says quietly, “How does Saturday night work for you?” Ava beams.

Saturday morning she ends up, surprise surprise, at the skate park with JC, riding a little aimlessly and doing some reading for her Russian Lit class while he dicks around in the bowl. When he dips after a few hours, elbowing her just a little too hard as he tells her to have fun with Beatrice that night, Ava smiles like an idiot while he laughs.

Her stomach rumbles around noon and as she eyes the empty drive-thru, she makes a plan. Yeah, okay, so she’s gonna see Beatrice tonight but she wants to see her now and she’s right there and also, Ava’s legit hungry and it’s not even busy. So. She’s gonna get a fucking cheeseburger.

When she pays, Camila grins and Ava shrugs one shoulder as she says, “Cute, Ava.” When she rolls up to the window, Beatrice blinks in surprise and then shakes her head a little and the edges of her mouth tick up. “We’re not supposed to let you order on foot you know.”

Ava takes the burger and pops her board conspicuously. “Four wheels, baby. Totally counts as a vehicle.”

“Pathetic, Silva!” Mary calls over Bea’s shoulder and Ava shrugs again, winking at Bea before she rides off.

It takes her no time to finish the burger, and there are still no cars in the line, so she finds herself ordering fries, smiling at Camila as she laughs and bracing her arms on the window as Beatrice gets her order, her cheeks a shade darker this time around. Ava tips her helmet at Bea and says, as she takes her snack, “I only have fries for you.”

“Get out of here immediately with that.” Mary’s closer this time, swats at Ava from around Bea’s back, but the look on Bea’s face is open and affectionate and she’s so fucking handsome and Ava wants more of it. A lot more of it.

It takes slightly longer to finish the fries but luck is on her side because it’s still slow when she does, so she rolls through yet again. When Beatrice hands her the coffee, both eyebrows raised but still blushing, Ava says, easy, “I got thirsty.”

“You’ve been thirsty, Silva. Go away.” There’s no bite to it, and Mary doesn’t swat at her this time, just turns and walks toward the fryers shaking her head. Turning her attention back to Bea, Ava fidgets a little as she asks, “See you soon?” Bea bites her bottom lip and nods and Ava thanks bisexual Jesus that she only nearly face plants on her way down the drive.

It gets busy, of course, so Ava parks it outside and finishes her coffee and reads. She’s getting ready to go change for her date date date when she hears, “Ma’am. Your ice cream.” Ava’s up in a second, delighted as Beatrice holds the cone out to her and ducks her head. Ava can’t help but stare as she takes it, feels some drip down onto her hand. Beatrice’s hair is down, over one shoulder, and the sun is setting and wow .

“Your cone is going to melt.” Beatrice is looking at her now, a little flustered. “I might, too, if you keep looking at me like that.” Ava takes her hand, carefully but with more confidence than she had earlier that week, and offers, “Walk you to the bus stop? I know it’s traditional to walk someone home after a date but like, I can do before, too, right?” Beatrice brings their bodies slightly closer together as they start toward the sidewalk. “I’d like that."

#avatrice #sister beatrice #ava silva #warrior nun #warrior nun fic #modern au

[sapphicstacks]

“When— when you look at me like that… what does it mean?”

Ava furrowed her brows. “I have a look?”

The pink on Bea’s face spread down her neck and over her ears. She looked so beautiful that Ava couldn’t help but stare, enraptured. “Yeah, sometimes you— you’re doing it right now.”

Oh. Apparently, Ava had her own look of something.

Ava smiled softly, lovesick and hopeful that this shower would never end. “It’s love, Bea. I think you’re seeing love.”

Beatrice ducked her head as if she was briefly embarrassed. “Oh.”

Ava took the opportunity to press up onto her tiptoes and gently kiss Beatrice’s forehead. “What is it?” She mumbled against the wet skin.

“Has it always meant that?”

“I think so.”

Beatrice lifted her head again to make eye contact with Ava. “Does that mean… you’ve loved me for a long time?”

the final chapter (and an epilogue) of choose the devil I know (over the heaven I don’t) on AO3 now.

#💜 #i will miss this story more than i thought i would #thank you for loving it #it means so much to me #avatrice fanfic #avatrice fic #avatrice firefighter au #warrior nun fic #sapphicstacks ao3

[lucytara]

avatrice fic: the opposite of faith

She wants Beatrice to fingerprint her, to tattoo her, to leave a mark so deep not even the Halo can rid her of it. Her muscles feel too tight, stretched uncomfortably over her bones. There is something ravenous inside of her, and Beatrice is going to set it free.

You are the only thing I've ever lived for, Beatrice says.

You are the only thing I've ever died for, Ava says, and even that wasn't enough to keep me from you.

[ava comes back right - so right she is a god. and, well, gods need worship. 14k words, rated e.]

#avatrice #warrior nun fic #warrior nun

[call-me-maggie13]

It’s a Tuesday when Lucia calls the first time. Beatrice is leaving her apartment for a run when her phone rings, interrupting her favorite part of the song she’s listening to on her headphones. There’s no caller ID, but Beatrice recognizes the number, so she answers.

"Hello, this is Beatrice." She’s formal. Lucia likes to try to blur the line between a professional relationship and a friendly one.

"Hey, Bea - "

"Beatrice." She corrects, dropping to her knee to retie her laces.

"Yeah, Beatrice." Lucia’s mocking her, Beatrice isn’t stupid, but she lets it go.

"Is there a reason you’re calling?" Beatrice asks after Lucia goes silent.

"Right! Yes! Carlos misses you, I was wondering if we could do lunch sometime this week so he could see you?" Carlos. Beatrice loves Carlos. He’s fun, witty and charismatic and kind. He’s always been one of her favorite kids she’s worked with. Lucia, however, is one of Beatrice’s least preferred parents.

"I don’t know if you remember, but I’m in - "

"In the city. Yes, I remember. Carlos and I just moved here too! Isn’t that exciting?" No. Beatrice thinks. Exciting is not a word I would use. Lucia drops her voice, nearly to a whisper. "He’s having a hard time making friends at his new school, I think seeing a friendly face would make him feel better about the move."

Beatrice sighs, checks the time on her watch and realizes she’s spent half of her allotted running time on the phone with Lucia.

"I can’t do lunch, but I can do an early dinner. Maybe Thursday? I’ll have to - "

"Yes, perfect! That works!" She hangs up before Beatrice can tell her she will be bringing Diana. She could send her a message, but that would mean Lucia would message her back and Beatrice doesn’t want to speak to her anymore than necessary.

Beatrice tells Ava about it that evening, between Diana’s snack and her bath while Ava’s scrambling about looking for the keys Diana hid.

"Who is this again?" Ava looks up from digging through the couch cushions, cheeks flushed and hair tousled.

"It’s a kid I used to work with before I started uni. Him and his mum." Diana giggles around her fingers when Ava looks under the couch, Beatrice bouncing her and asking where the keys are quietly. Ava’s asked her three times, Diana isn’t answering either of them. "It’s okay if you don’t want - "

"No, it’s fine! It sounds fun, just - make her eat something other than chicken strips, please? You always say you will then you cave when she pouts. She needs to try new foods." Ava looks under the coffee table and through Diana’s toy bin. She’s going to be late if she doesn’t find the keys soon.

"Okay. I won’t have her out late, we’ll be back before the sun goes down. Won’t we?" Beatrice tickles Diana who squeals and pushes away, nearly toppling out of her arms. Beatrice grabs her leg to keep from falling and her shoe falls off, jingling when it hits the ground. Diana glances between the fallen shoe and Ava for a moment before she starts giggling maniacally.

"They were in your shoes? Are you serious? Diana, you little…" Ava picks the keys out of the baby shoe, holds Diana’s face between her hands and sighs fondly, shaking her head. "You little punk." Ava laughs and kisses both of her cheeks. "I love you. Be good, yeah?"

Diana smiles and wipes her wet hand down Ava’s cheek. Ava grimaces and rubs her cheek against Diana’s sleeve, earning a full body laugh and a gleeful wiggle. Ava presses a soft kiss against Beatrice’s cheek before she’s gone. 

Beatrice almost considers going after her, almost considers asking her to say no, almost considers telling her she doesn’t want to go. But she doesn’t. 

She doesn’t.

 Read more below the break or here!

Beatrice stops for the third time. Considers turning back. It’s not too late, she can still say she can’t make it. Diana bounces beside her, swings their intwined hands back and forth. She spins, twists Beatrice’s fingers over her head before dropping it and racing around her.

"Let’s go! Let’s goooooo!" Diana whines, taking her hands and tugging her forward. "I wan’ nuggies!"

"It’s want, baby. Try again." Diana pauses to pout, tucks her hands under her elbows and sticks her bottom lip out. Beatrice quirks her eyebrow and fights back a smile. "Try again."

"I. Want. Nuggies." She pauses between each word to huff, spins on her heel to take two steps forward then turn back to Beatrice with her head cocked.

"Okay. But I will have you know, your mama wants you to try something else." They resume towards the restaurant hand in hand, Beatrice’s blunder already forgiven and forgotten. "Like maybe something not chicken?"

"No. I like nuggies." Diana pouts again, gives her tiny chin a tremble to prove her point.

"If you try something else, we can get ice cream on the way home?" Ava would never barter with Diana like this and she would be upset if she knew Beatrice was doing it.

"Sprinkles?" She comes to a complete stop, nearly causing the people behind them to crash into her. Beatrice nods and scoops her up, apologizes quickly to the strangers and hurries down the sidewalk.

It really is unfair, how late they are because she couldn’t decide if she actually wanted to come. Carlos probably thinks they’re not going to show up, the thought stabs her in the chest and speeds her steps. 

"Beatrice!" The boy bolts down the sidewalk and crashes into her legs, nearly tackling her to the ground. Beatrice chuckles and ruffles the boy’s unruly curls.

"Hi, Carlos! How have you been?" The boy steps back and flips her hair out of his face, grinning at her with a gap in his teeth. "Oh! When did you lose that tooth?"

"Last night! The tooth fairy gave me fifteen bucks! Look!" He presses up onto his toes and pokes the empty space with his tongue. Beatrice peers into his mouth intently, inspecting it with the same fervency with which he presents it. "Who’s this?"

"This is Diana! Diana, can I introduce you to my friend Carlos?" Diana shakes her head and buries her face in Beatrice’s shoulder. "That’s okay, you don’t have to talk to him until you’re ready."

"Beatrice, hello!" Lucia steps up behind Carlos, strokes Beatrice’s shoulder, her hand lingers. Beatrice shrugs it off awkwardly.

"Hello, Lucia." Beatrice takes a half step back and a deep breath, forcing a smile and turning back to Carlos. "So, I’m hungry, are you?"

"Yeah, we already have a table, right, mom?" Lucia confirms and leads them to the booth while Carlos launches into a story about his friend’s birthday party. "So then, I told Marley, dude, you can’t just say stuff like that. People are going to think you’re weird. But like. People already think Marley’s weird because she tells everyone she was named after a dog. But it’s okay that she’s weird because it like. It’s not weird when she does it. You know?"

"I do! I know someone like that." Beatrice smiles fondly as she thinks of the last time she’d been to the farmers market and Ava spent twenty minutes deciding which lemon looked the sourest. "Have you ever read Stargirl?"

"Yeah! Marley is just like Stargirl! It’s her favorite book!" Carlos bounces in his seat. Lucia places a hand on his knee to still him.

"Sorry, he’s got a little crush." Lucia winks and Beatrice has to bite her lip not to snap at her. He’s eight. He’s allowed to have friends of the opposite gender. Carlos deflates at her words, sinks into his seat and drops his hands into his lap.

"It sounds like you found a really cool friend. Is Marley a friend from school?" Carlos nods weakly but doesn’t look up from his hands, Beatrice frowns. Diana stops scribbling on her menu to look at him quizzically, dropping her crayon to turn to Beatrice with her head tilted. "Have you decided what you want?"

"Nuggies," Diana whispers and Beatrice grins bemused, Diana rolls her eyes and sighs, pushes the menu to Beatrice and climbs into her lap. "Read, please?"

Beatrice reads the children’s menu to her quietly, answers her questions when asked and offers suggestions when Diana struggles to decide. She settles on macaroni and cheese, with much exasperation and disgust. Beatrice gives their orders to the waiter when he checks on them.

Lucia keeps rubbing her foot up the inside of Beatrice’s leg, somehow finding it even when she moves. Beatrice scoots to the far edge of the booth and silently begs her to stop. Diana seems unamused at every attempt Lucia makes to initiate a conversation and Carlos doesn’t recover from his mother’s comment, it’s truly awkward and uncomfortable and Beatrice can barely contain herself when they get their checks.

"Why don’t we go to the park?" Lucia suggests as they step out of the restaurant, Carlos’s face lights up as he waits excitedly for Beatrice’s reaction. 

"Umm… I don’t know, Diana seems pretty tired, maybe some other time?" Beatrice bounces Diana in her arms, presses a soft kiss against her temple.

"Dada?" Diana whispers and curls into her neck. Beatrice hums and presses their foreheads together. "He sad?" Beatrice nods softly and Diana turns back to him. "We play a little. Okay?"

Carlos bounces and nods, taking the hand Diana offers him.

"Dada?" Lucia asks, bumping their shoulders together. Beatrice takes a step to the side.

"Uh, yeah. I actually don’t like when people touch me, Lucia. So, could you stop, please?" Beatrice’s cheeks burn as she says it and Diana presses a cold hand over the heat.

"Ah, but I’m not just people, yeah?" Beatrice barely dodges the arm Lucia tries to swing over her shoulder by leaning to set Diana on the ground. Diana takes her hand and tugs her forward, Beatrice welcomes the distraction and follows her happily to the swing set, offering to push her when she climbs into the seat.

"I can do it!" Carlos volunteers and Diana beams at him, squeezing her fists around the chain and laughing when he pushes her forward. He bounces in place at the response, and Beatrice has to bite her tongue every time he asks Diana. "Higher? Higher?"

She knows her limits. Beatrice tells herself. She knows when she wants to stop.

She stays nearby, just in case. Ready to pounce in and save her if she asks to stop and Carlos doesn’t. She’s chewing on her nail when Lucia sidles up beside her, expensive perfume making the inside of Beatrice’s nose itch. Lucia tries to pull her hand out of her mouth but Beatrice steps away, curls her hands under her elbows and tucks them into her side.

"So how long have you been working with her?" There’s a hint of something else just beneath her words, something burbling and churning and dark.

"Oh, I don’t." It’s true, in a sense. Beatrice has stopped accepting Ava’s money in exchange for her babysitting services. So Beatrice isn’t quite lying when she says it. It’s not the entire truth but she hopes it’s vague enough that Lucia doesn’t press.

Of course, she could be granted no respite because Lucia charges ahead full-steam.

"Oh, so is she like your niece? Friend’s kid? Who is she?" She’s fishing, trying to find the answer to a question Beatrice isn’t ready to face on her own, certainly not with someone the likes of Lucia.

"Mine. Yeah, she’s mine." Diana tumbles out of the swing and Beatrice’s heart stops in her chest. She waits two heartbeats before moving, slowly helping Diana brush he wood chips from her face. She forces her voice to remain calm and level so Diana doesn’t hear how much it scared her as well. "Are you okay?"

Diana bursts into tears, throws herself face first into Beatrice’s chest and squeezes her arms around her neck as her body is wracked with sobs.

"Oh, baby! I know." Beatrice rubs her back and picks her up, smiling sadly at Carlos when he tries to apologize. "It’s alright, buddy, she’s just scared. I’ll see you again soon, yeah?"

The boy nods enthusiastically and Beatrice feels Diana lift her head to wave goodbye to him sadly before she returns to her hiding spot in Beatrice’s neck. Beatrice squeezes her tightly, rubbing her back as they depart, stepping quickly across the street and pausing outside the nearest ice cream shop.

"Do you still want ice cream, my love?" Beatrice’s hand pauses on the door, waiting until Diana shakes her head and burrows herself deeper into Beatrice’s embrace. "Can I check to make sure you’re not hurt?"

Diana sniffles as she pulls away, allows Beatrice to seat them on a nearby bench and check her face and hands for injury. She finds none, despite the overall redness from her fall.

"Does anywhere hurt, baby?" Diana shakes her head and blinks tears out of her eyes. "Hey, it’s okay. You’re allowed to be scared. What happened was scary, it’s okay if you feel like you need to cry. Would it make you feel better if I told you it scared me too?"

"You scared?" Diana’s voice is painfully infantile, reverting to a similar pattern of speech from when she first started speaking. Beatrice kisses her forehead and nods.

"Yeah, kiddo. I thought you were really hurt and that really scared me." Diana tucks her thumb into her mouth and blinks at her slowly. "I get scared a lot, you know?"

"Whens?" Diana curls back into her chest and Beatrice hums in thought for a moment.

"Like when your mama got sick. When you run off and I can’t see you. When I have exams at school. Sometimes I get scared when it storms and the thunder makes the windows rattle. I get scared all the time, my darling." Beatrice hates being scared, she feels like it makes her stupid and irrational. She knows that fear is a valid emotion and it exists for a reason, but she has never quite managed to shake her parents’ voices from her head when she’s scared.

She hopes Diana never has to experience that.

She’ll do her best to ensure Diana never has to experience it. 

"Do you know what helps me when I get scared?" Diana nods against her chest, curling her fingers around the neck of Beatrice’s shirt. "Sometimes I count all the pretty things I can see. Sometimes I sing a song until I feel better. Or sometimes I take some deep breaths. Do you want to try one of those?"

"Count?" Beatrice hums, squints and looks around.

"The sky is very blue today. What about you?"

"Flowers." Diana points to the wildflowers clawing out of the cracks in the sidewalk, then to a pair of birds chasing each other through the air. "Birb."

"You," Beatrice nudges her softly, smiles gently when she lifts her head tearily, "You’re the best thing I’ve ever seen."

"I love you." She stumbles over the v sound, pronounces the word like lub with a tender smile

"I love you too, meu patinho." Beatrice kisses the top of her head. "Did you at least have fun today?"

"Carlos is funny."

"He is. Would you like to see him again?" Diana hums and mumbles into Beatrice’s neck. "I didn’t understand that, darling, could you say it again?"

"Yeah. We go home now?"

"Alright, we can go home now. Are we going to tell your mama about how much fun you had with your new friend?" Diana yawns and shakes her head, Beatrice watches the sun dye the clouds pink and purple. It’s still early for Diana to go to bed, but she’s had an eventful evening so Beatrice could make an exception to their schedule. "Can we at least tell her about your not chicken nugget dinner?"

Diana giggles but nods regardless, twists a lock of Beatrice’s hair through her fingers. Beatrice’s heart swells and her skin warms and she feels like her heart might explode when she looks at the little girl in her arms. Something inside her twinkles. She never expected a love like this. Something that plays her heartstrings like a symphony in her chest, fills her chest with a light no star could ever compete with. It’s endless, she realizes.

It makes her wonder if her parents ever looked at her the same way she looks at Diana.

~*~

Ava does not like Lucia.

She’s not jealous. That would be absurd.

But she can’t deny that her chest burns when she comes home and Diana regales her in their latest adventure with Carlos and Luisa — it doesn’t matter how many times Beatrice corrects Diana, she only refers to Lucia by the wrong name.

Today, they played tag with a group of kids at the park. Two days ago, they saw a movie. Last week, they went to an art class at the library.

Ava doesn’t have a reason not to like Lucia.

Except for every reason Beatrice gives her after every play date.

"So then she kept trying to take my hand, like we’re a couple or something and every time I would pull my hand away and tell her I wasn’t interested but she doesn’t care." Beatrice sighs and kicks her feet over the arm of the couch, stares up at Ava from her lap. "I don’t understand why she keeps trying to touch me. I don’t like when people touch me. I’ve told her I don’t like being touched at least two million times. It’s annoying."

The hand scraping through Beatrice’s hair pauses at her words, Ava barely pulling away before Beatrice whines and drags her hand back to her scalp.

"Why’d you stop?" She doesn’t give Ava a chance to answer, instead continuing her rant. "Regardless, she made a joke about me confusing Diana by allowing her to call me dad. Which is hilarious because last week, she tried to get Carlos to call me dad and I had to respond with my name’s Beatrice, pal, I’m not your dad. Then Lucia was all well, you’re not Diana’s dad either. And I swear, Ava. I swear I almost hit her. Who does she think she is? I mean, seriously."

Ava is certainly not going to ask the difference between her and Lucia, doesn’t ask why she’s allowed to play with her hair nor why Diana is allowed to call Beatrice dad while Carlos is not. She knows, on some level. Ava’s not stupid, she knows she gets a version of Beatrice Lucia will never see. She knows there’s a piece of Beatrice that is reserved exclusively for her. She knows Beatrice would choose her, if she forced an ultimatum between her and Lucia.

Ava knows.

She knows how she feels about Lucia is irrational and unfair.

She also knows Beatrice would never see Lucia again if she asked.

She knows. Right?

"Bea?" Beatrice stops her rant and tilts her head up. "Does it bother you when I do those things?"

"No. Of course not. Why would it?" Beatrice pushes herself upright, shifts until she’s practically sitting in Ava’s lap.

"Because it bothers you when Lucia does it." Ava looks away,

"You’re not Lucia."

Ava doesn’t know how to explain herself. She doesn’t have the words to express why that doesn’t make sense. Beatrice babysat both their children, has spent extensive time with both of them, read both their children to sleep, eaten at both of their tables. Why is she different? Why is she the exception?

Or is Lucia the exception? Is Beatrice like this with all parents except for Lucia?

"Ava." She quirks her head, furrows her eyebrows, ducks to meet Ava’s averted gaze. "I trust you."

It’s not enough. The words make Ava’s heart skip a beat, but it doesn’t smother the smoke in her lungs.

"I like spending time with you. I like when you hold my hand and kiss my cheek and make me laugh. I like when Diana calls me dad. You’re not just the mother of the child I babysit, you’re my friend too. My best friend. I would tell you if you did something that bothers me and I know you wouldn’t do it again.

"I like you." She grins before scrunching her face up in mock disgust and continuing. "I don’t like Lucia."

It makes Ava laugh, Beatrice's pout miserable and nose crinkled. In response to the sound, Beatrice smiles widely, leans back into Ava's chest, and tucks her nose into the crook of her neck.

~*~

She’s doing it on purpose. Beatrice might not be great at reading people but she is certain that Lucia only wants one thing from her. One thing that Beatrice has absolutely no interest in ever giving her.

Diana crawls inside the enclosed slide, tucks her knees to her chest and closes her eyes when Carlos finishes counting. He grins from the top of the playground, peering over the sides and searching for Diana.

"God, they’re so cute. We would be amazing parents." The comment is accompanied with an arm around her shoulders and a soft sigh. Beatrice ducks out from underneath Lucia’s touch and frowns at her, eyebrows sewn together with utter confusion.

"Would be?" Beatrice might not be Diana’s actual parent, but she sure as shit isn’t a bad understudy. 

"I meant like… like together. Both of us."

"I’m doing pretty great with her mother, actually. I don’t think Diana needs anyone else telling her what to do." It makes her stomach twist, the thought of Lucia and her, together.

Lucia laughs at her words, loud and jarring and it makes Diana lift her head from her hiding place on the slide. Carlos sees her move and races to tag her without even acknowledging his mother. Lucia tries to touch her again and Beatrice’s fingers burn when she clenches them into fists at her sides.

"Stop. Touching. Me." She clenches her jaw and takes another step back.

Beatrice doesn’t do anger. She doesn’t do rage. She doesn’t do losing her temper. Beatrice is patient and and forgiving.

Or, as Shannon would say, she’s a pushover.

Either way, Beatrice doesn’t get upset easily. It’s not in her nature.

Lucia seems to take it as a challenge. Like Beatrice’s burning ire is a taunt, like it’s all for show and they’re playing a game.

"Oh, relax, Bea."

"My name is Beatrice."

"Plenty of people call you Bea."

"Only the ones I like." She takes another step back when Lucia reaches for her hand before turning on her heel and storming away. She smiles warmly at Diana when she approaches her, strokes her hair when she tumbles into Beatrice’s legs. "We gotta go, patinho. Your mama’s gunna be home soon."

Diana frowns but wishes Carlos and Luisa farewell, taking Beatrice’s hand and tugging her out of the park.

Beatrice decides not to tell Ava about Lucia anymore. Every time she complains, Ava gets quiet and distant and Beatrice doesn’t like how upset it makes her sometimes. So she decides she will suffer in silence.

~*~

Shannon is easy. She’s easy and relaxed and she goes with the flow. She doesn’t pick fights or start problems.

Except when it comes to Beatrice. Shannon would commit eleven different forms of high treason and treat the Geneva Conventions like a checklist for Beatrice.

"Where are you going?" Beatrice freezes with her hand on the doorknob.

"I’m going with you. You better hurry or we’re gunna be late." Shannon bumps Beatrice carefully out of the way and steps through the door, starting toward Beatrice’s car.

Beatrice doesn’t say anything the entire ride. Diana sings and dances and talks to herself in the backseat while Beatrice grips the steering wheel with all her strength to try to hide the way her hands are shaking.

The house is larger than Shannon had been expecting. An ugly modern, blockish thing with funky shaped windows and uneven roofing. It doesn’t look good or fancy or pretty. It looks like a stain on the skyline.

Like it brings her neighborhood property value down.

There’s a bounce house set up in the front yard, though it’s empty. There are children’s shrieks coming from the backyard, a cacophony of voices and laughter leading Beatrice around the side of the house to the garden gate.

"Hey! Bea! You made it!" Lucia tries to dive into a hug after letting them through the gate, but Shannon intercepts by throwing herself between them and offering her hand to shake.

"I’m Shannon, Beatrice is my sister." She’s silently begging Lucia to say something, to give her an excuse to punch her.

Other than all the reasons Beatrice has given for her.

"Oh. Do you not remember me? We’ve met, years ago." Shannon remembers, it was a scene much alike the one they’re in right now for Carlos’s third birthday. Lucia had annoyed her even then, but she hadn’t made any advances on her baby sister, so Shannon hadn’t really a reason to hate her.

"Sorry, I meet a lot of people in my job, only have the mental capacity to remember a few of the important ones and my personal favorites." If there’s one thing Shannon has learned from her mother, it’s how to make an off-handed comment that slices through someone’s soul. Lucia’s face falls but she doesn’t respond.

"Beatrice! Diana!" A minuscule little girl breaks free of the crowd waving, followed closely by Carlos. He’s older and much taller than the last time Shannon had seen him, and he’s wearing more than a diaper, but it’s certainly him.

Immediately, he’s offering his name and his hand for her to shake, introducing her to his mother and his best friend Marley.

He’s taken Diana to an inflatable slide before Shannon has a chance to ask where to put his present.

"Why don’t you put the gift with the rest and Bea and I can - "

"I’m good. Beatrice can put it with the rest. You and I can do whatever you need her help with, though." Beatrice squeezes Shannon’s fingers when they exchange the gift, a meek nod and tight smile before she’s disappearing into the crowd.

"Oh, I need Bea’s help."

"I taught Beatrice how to do everything she knows. If she can do it, I’ve probably been doing it better for longer." Lucia sighs and shakes her head, rolls her eyes when she turns away and enters the house.

"Hey." Beatrice ducks out from behind a group of young parents chattering loudly over their drinks.

"I don’t like her."

"You don’t have to treat her like that." Shannon laughs and slings her arm over Beatrice’s shoulders.

"When she calls you the right name, I’ll consider being nicer."

"No you won’t." Beatrice smiles and rolls her eyes, presses heavily into Shannon’s side.

"I said consider. I never said I had any actual intention of doing it." Beatrice laughs and searches for Diana in the line for the slide. She can’t deny that her heart stutters when she can’t immediately find her.

"Da!" Diana waves from atop the slide, smiling until she looks down. Beatrice extricates herself from Shannon and moves to the bottom to wait for Diana, who appears to have no intention of moving.

"Are you scared?" Diana nods softly, eyes wide and wet. Carlos crawls beside her and offers his hand, whispering quietly. Diana shakes her head and pushes away from the slope, dropping his hand. "I’m coming up, okay?"

Diana meets her at the top of the ladder, arms raised for Beatrice to pick her up.

"It’s okay. Do you want to go down together?" Diana shakes her head again and balls Beatrice’s shirt in her fists. "Alright, we will have to climb down though. We can’t live up here, can we?"

Diana shakes her head, lifts her head warily and glances to the ladder. "Carlos has cake."

"I can ask mom if we can cut it now." Carlos waves at someone near the base of the slide. "Do you want me to ask? I’m gunna go ask."

And with that, he’s gone.

Beatrice pushes as far away from the slope as possible so other children can go, holds Diana and pats her back until she lifts her head and turns to watch some of the kids jumping and falling down the slide. She blinks slowly, thumb tucked carefully between her teeth.

"Do you want to try again?" Marley bounces and waves while she waits her turn in line. Diana lifts her head slowly and waves back but doesn’t respond to Beatrice’s question. "You don’t have to but if you would like, you can sit on my lap and we can go down together."

Beatrice motions for the girl at the top of the stairs to go, squeezes Diana tighter when she flinches at the girl throwing herself haphazardly down the slide. She watches quietly as more and more kids go and Beatrice is beginning to think she’s going to change her mind when Marley finally emerges from the line. 

"Carlos said they’re gunna do the cake soon, do you wanna climb down with me?" Marley offers her hand but doesn’t try to push Diana, she waits. Diana glances between her and Beatrice warily, fist squeezing tightly around the neck of Beatrice’s sweater.

"We can all go together, but it’s up to you, patinho." Diana nods and makes no move to follow Marley down the steps.

Carlos calls for them from below but neither of them move, Marley offers a cursory glance but doesn’t respond when he calls her name.

"Dada?" Diana buries her head in the crook of Beatrice’s neck, Beatrice hums and squeezes her tighter. "Scared."

"I know. It’s okay to be scared, Diana. Everyone gets scared."

"I’m scared of the dark and vampires and multiplication," Marley chimes, crawling to them. "But the sun still goes down and vampires aren’t real and my mom makes me do my math homework. You can do things that scare you."

"Okay," Diana nods and takes Marley’s hand.

"You wanna go down?" Diana nods and tugs Beatrice’s hand.

"Do you want me to hold you?" Diana nods again and Beatrice agrees, moving to the edge of the slide and letting Diana settle in her lap. "Are you ready?"

"No." Beatrice squeezes her closer and Diana takes a deep breath. "We go now."

For the first time, Beatrice looks down the slide and her stomach drops. Why is a kid’s slide so tall?

"Dada. Now." Beatrice nods and pushes off, squeezing her eyes closed and trying not to scream at the plummet. When they hit the bottom, Diana squirms out of Beatrice’s arms and bounces to the exit when Shannon is standing bemused.

"Was it fun, kiddo?"

"No. Cake?" Shannon laughs and watches her race off to Carlos.

"You alright?" Shannon pulls Beatrice up, helps her out of the slide. "I thought you were going to wet yourself."

"I’m fine. It was great. Ava’s supposed to do the high stuff," Beatrice jokes.

"The high stuff? It was a kid’s slide, bumble Bea."

"I hate you, you can leave." Lucia looks up at her jeer, eyes l alight with something that drains the warmth from the moment. Shannon glances between them and steps in front of her to block Beatrice from Lucia’s view.

"I’m not leaving until I get cake." She says it loud enough for Lucia to hear before turning to Beatrice and dropping her voice. "Let me say something, Bea."

"No. Shannon, it’s his birthday."

"So? You know I wouldn’t say anything to him."

"Shannon." Shannon rolls her eyes and turns back around just in time for Carlos to blow out his candles.

"Why won’t you let me do this for you?"

"Because I remember the last time you did this for me. And we both know you don’t look good in stripes or in orange. If you think about it, I’m actually protecting you." Beatrice watches Diana waiting to get her piece of cake and glances at the back door to the house. "I’ll be back, can you - "

"Is she gunna do a flip?" It’s Beatrice’s turn to roll her eyes, sighing fondly before slipping through the door in search of a bathroom. Luckily, Lucia had the foresight to plaster directional signs on the walls so Beatrice doesn’t have to search hard. 

Lucia is leaned against the wall waiting for her when she comes out.

"Saved you a piece of cake," Lucia straightens and extends a slice of cake.

"Oh. Thank you, but I’m not very fond of sweets." Beatrice smiles politely and waves the cake away, glancing past Lucia in the direction she had come.

"Oh that’s fine. I have something else for you too." Beatrice doesn’t like the way Lucia smiles at her.

"I should really get back to Diana…" Beatrice glances down the hall again, hoping Shannon somehow knew she needed her and materialized to rescue her.

"It’ll only take a few minutes. Diana won’t even notice." Beatrice jerks away when Lucia tries to take her hand.

"No I really - "

"Hey, Bea…?" Shannon. "I think we should go…"

Diana’s holding a racecar napkin over her elbow. It’s stained a deep red.

"Oh my god, what happened?" Shannon slaps her hand over Beatrice’s when she tries to move the napkin. "Are you okay?"

Diana nods and shifts toward Beatrice so she takes her, Shannon fixes her with a look that Beatrice doesn’t understand but she follows her out of the house anyways. They wish Carlos a happy birthday in quick farewells before leaving.

They’re halfway to her car when Shannon speaks.

"I knew she would try something."

"I was gone for two minutes, what happened?"

"I saw her follow you." Beatrice stops and turns to her.

"To Diana. What happened to Diana?"

"Oh. Nothing, she’s fine." Shannon lifts the napkin to prove her point, revealing a red stained, uninjured elbow. Beatrice scoffs and rubs the red dye away with her thumb.

"What did you - "

"Fake blood. You can buy it by the gallon at a Hallow-"

"You just carry around fake blood? Shannon!" Beatrice pauses to reinspect Diana’s skin, double-checking she has no injuries before fastening in her car seat.

"I knew you would need an out and Mary never lets me use the fake blood. Come on, you gotta admit that it - "

"I don’t have to admit anything. Don’t use Diana like that, she’s not a prop." Beatrice closes Diana’s door carefully before turning to face Shannon.

"You wouldn’t have left if it was me bleeding." She right. Probably. Truthfully, it would’ve depended on how much fake blood Shannon was willing to use.

"I didn’t need an out, I was fine." Beatrice starts to storm around the car when Shannon grabs her wrist.

"Fine? Beatrice, you looked like you were going to throw up. Maybe I could’ve gone about things differently but I don’t like her. I don’t trust her."

"You don’t have to like her or trust her, I do."

"Do you?" Shannon drops Beatrice’s arm, watches her walk around the car and climb in the drivers seat.

"Do I what, Shannon?" She knows. It’s answer enough for both of them to know.

Shannon doesn’t respond.

~*~

The next time they see Carlos, Beatrice has taken Diana to the local children’s museum. Diana is shoving colored scarfs into a tube then chasing them when they are blown out the top. She loves it.

"Beatrice!" A small body collides into her back, tearing her attention from the little girl to greet Carlos.

"Hi, Carlos. Diana, do you want to say hi?" Diana waves before returning to her previous task, Beatrice smiles and ruffles her hair before turning back to Carlos. "How are you doing, buddy?"

"I’m good. Marley is here, do you wanna see her?" He bounces in place when he asks, positively vibrating about the edges.

"I would love to see her! Could you bring her here, I don’t think Diana’s quite ready to move on yet." He agrees and disappears into the sea of children.

"Good morning, Bea." Beatrice sidesteps a hug, shrugging off the hand Lucia strokes across her shoulder.

"I’ve told you, my name is Beatrice." She tries so very hard to keep the edge from her tone, but Diana looks up worriedly at the change in her voice. Beatrice forces a smile and she returns to her game. Beatrice searches briefly for Carlos’s unruly curls in the everflowing ocean of children, catching and returning a yellow scarf that falls into her face.

"Da!" Diana calls, tugging on Beatrice’s hand before continuing in a whine. "Hungry."

"We were just about to head out for lunch, if you want to join?" Lucia winks when Beatrice meets her gaze, twisting Beatrice’s stomach into a knot.

"Thanks but - "

"Bea!" Beatrice’s head snaps to Ava waving at her energetically, trying to weave through the children racing between them. She smiles reflexively, waves and lifts Diana to see her, setting her back down and watching her race to her mother. Ava captures her, picks her up and kisses her cheek before dropping into Beatrice’s chest. "Hans needed me to trade shifts, I have the day off. I was thinking we could get lunch?"

"I was actually just inviting them with us!" Lucia’s voice is overly saccharine, too bright. Ava lifts her head from Beatrice’s shoulder and stares at the woman curiously, smiling and waving at the children when they greet her.

"This is Carlos, the boy I was telling you about, his friend Marley, and his mother Lucia." Ava twists to meet her eyes when the woman’s name comes out sharper than Beatrice had intended. She asks about it silently, searches for the words Beatrice isn’t ready to say. Beatrice looks away.

"Well, what do you wanna do, Di?" Ava bounces her softly. Diana looks between Beatrice’s tensed jaw and Carlos’s buzzing excitement.

"Go Carlos?" Ava nods once and waits for Beatrice to agree as well before acknowledging Lucia.

Ava makes small talk with Lucia while they make their way to the restaurant next door, Beatrice’s fingers curled tightly around hers. When they are taken to a table, Lucia’s hand presses briefly into the small of her back and she winks when Beatrice bumps into Ava trying to shrug her off. The children elect to sit across from the adults with Beatrice sat between Ava and Lucia. Beatrice prays this meal won’t be as awful as she thinks it will.

Ava kisses the back of her hand before relinquishing it to take Diana to the bathroom. 

"So?" Lucia’s hand scrapes up Beatrice’s thigh until she shoves it off her lap. "Who’s that?"

"She is Diana’s mother, Ava. Please stop touching me." Beatrice tries to fight the rising pressure in her lungs. Lucia smiles coyly and winks when Ava slides back into the seat next to Beatrice.

"Are you alright?" Ava presses into Beatrice’s side, squeezes the hand she pulls into her lap.

"Fine." Beatrice forces a smile and she knows Ava doesn’t believe her, she knows by the wrinkle between her eyes and the little quiver of the corner of her mouth. Carlos shoots a straw wrapper at Beatrice and she laughs brightly, dropping Ava’s gaze to fling the wrapper in his direction. 

Lucia pats her knee and Beatrice suddenly finds she isn’t hungry anymore. Beatrice crosses and uncrosses her legs more times than she can count, trying desperately to listen as Carlos and Ava discuss the best Pokémon and why it’s Mimikyu. Marley disagrees and brings Mew into the conversation but Beatrice can’t focus enough to join, even when they all try so hard to get her involved. Ava keeps pausing to look at her, especially when Beatrice chokes on her drink because Lucia squeezes her thigh.

"I’m going to clean myself up." Beatrice blots the wet spot on her shirt with her napkin, ignoring the stares she receives when she scrapes her chair back and rushes to the restroom.

She stares at her wild eyes and hair in the mirror for only a moment before pulling her shirt off and holding it under the hand dryers, more thankful than ever that she decided to wear a top under her shirt today.

The door creaks open and Beatrice sighs, doesn’t turn from the hand dryer. She waits for Ava’s worried voice to ask if she’s alright, she waits for the light touch on her elbow to silently ask her to turn.

Instead, arms slither around her hips, curl around her stomach and turn her in place. 

"Lucia. Umm, could I… could I just get a minute… I’m not feeling too well." Beatrice takes a step back, hits her elbow on the hot metal of the dryer. She has nowhere to go, Lucia stands between her and the door.

"So Ava, huh?" Is this what a rabbit feels like when a wolf decides to make a meal of it?

"I would really prefer not to do this, please." She hates how her voice shakes, how her hip clips the edge of the sink, how her shoulders press into the cold tile wall.

"It’s okay, we don’t have to tell your girlfriend." Lucia winks and her breath singes across Beatrice’s face. She squeezes her eyes closed and tries to disappear.

Beatrice forgets how to breathe, she feels the world collapse into this single moment as her blood runs cold and Lucia kisses her.

Her stomach turns hard and she freezes, she disappears. Beatrice is certain she’s going to fall through the floor and wake up in hell, that this is some sort of demonic torture method for whatever sins she’s forgotten to ask repentance for. But when Lucia tries to force her tongue in Beatrice’s mouth, she remembers how to move.

Beatrice shoves her shoulders hard, sends Lucia stumbling backward and crashing into the far wall. She makes a beeline for the door, swings it open and wrenches her arm out of Lucia’s cold grip.

"Bea?" Ava’s already on her feet, eyes wide and fingers brushing over the inside of Beatrice’s wrist. She doesn’t try to regain the contact when Beatrice yanks her arm away. "Hey, are you okay?"

"I just remembered I have a thing, I’ve got to go." Carlos watches her dig through her jacket for a handful of cash, dropping it on the table before ducking through the group coming in the door and turning down the sidewalk.

Ava lifts Diana from her seat, hurries to follow Beatrice onto the street, spins in place to try to find her when they emerge. 

Beatrice has disappeared without a trace.

Ava tries calling her, tries sending her messages but she receives no replies. So she makes her way home with Diana, promises to order pizza in exchange for her lunch being cut short.

She’s there.

Pacing in hurried circles and chewing on her thumbnail in front of Ava’s door. Her eyes are red and her breaths are ragged and wet, her nail beds on the opposite hand are raw and bleeding in some places from where she’s torn the skin apart between her teeth.

Ava doesn’t try to stop her movements, doesn’t try to figure out what’s bothering her, she simply opens the door and steps out of the way for Beatrice to enter unimpeded. Beatrice offers no acknowledgment, no explanation as she pushes into the apartment and locks herself in the bathroom.

Ava settles Diana in her high chair with chicken nuggets and broccoli pieces before going to check on Beatrice.

"Hey, Bea." She knocks on the door. "It’s just me. Are you okay?"

"I’m going to take a shower." Her words are rushed and she stumbles over them like Bambi on ice.

"Okay. I can get you some fresh clothes, would you prefer that?"

"Thank you." Ava rests her forehead against the door and sighs, lets her eyes close as she tries to will Beatrice into being okay.

She gathers her softest pajamas, the set Beatrice always steals when she forgets to bring her own. She hears the water screech on, the shower curtain scream closed. Diana whines from her entrapment and Ava lets her down, bribes her with cookies into going down for her nap early before she returns to the door. She knocks firmly and receives no reply.

"Hey, Bea." Ava calls through the door. "I have those pajamas you love. Do you want me to leave them out here or - "

"You can come in." Ava inhales deeply and nods, twists the knob slowly, staring intentionally at her feet as she steps into the steam filled room.

"I’m just going to leave these on the counter, I’ll be in the living room if you need me." She spins back to the door after dropping the clothes where she’d promised to leave them, pausing when she hears a sharp sniffle from behind the curtain. "Bea? Are you alright?"

"Yeah. Just - can…" Beatrice takes a shaky breath. "Can you stay?"

"Oh. Umm yeah. I can stay. Do I - do I need to like… I’m not quite certain what I’m supposed to do." Beatrice makes a coughing sound that resembles a choked sob and Ava wants to wrap her in a blanket and tell her everything’s going to be alright. "Do you want me to sit here next to the tub?"

"It’s fine, you don’t - "

"That wasn’t my question, Bea. Do you want me to sit next to the tub, yes or no?"

"Yes." Her voice nearly gets lost in the water hitting the bottom of the basin, Ava barely catches when she adds infinitely quieter. "Please."

"Of course." Ava presses her back into the cold porcelain tub and hums quietly to herself, crossing her legs and hoping Beatrice will tell her what’s wrong without her having to ask. She’s not sure why she offers, but Beatrice doesn’t seem to be doing much more than standing under the scalding hot water. "I have a bath bomb or bubbles if you would prefer to take a bath."

"I - are you sure?" The curtain shifts and Beatrice’s hair drips water onto the tiles beside Ava.

"Absolutely. I mean, the bath bombs have little toys in them, but if you’re willing to overlook that." Ava stares at the animals on the bathmat.

"Are they good toys?" Beatrice is trying very hard to sound lighthearted, Ava knows she’s trying to wash away the stifling dark clouds that have settled in the room with them.

"Well, Diana loves them." Ava offers a half smile over her shoulder, not quite turning enough to meet Beatrice’s eyes. Beatrice laughs wetly and the water turns off briefly before she starts to fill the tub. Ava digs through Diana’s bath supplies, raising the bath bomb box above her head triumphantly when she finds it. "I have lavender and chamomile, orange and grapefruit, or… well this just says milk. I don’t know what that means."

"I would rather not smell like soggy cereal," Beatrice tries to joke, but the tears in her voice drown the humor. "The chamomile one sounds nice."

The curtain screams as it’s pushed open slowly, Ava stares intently at the door when she turns to hand the bath bomb to Beatrice.

"Thank you." Her voice is softer than it had been before, strained with emotion and Ava wants so desperately to wrap her in her arms and tell her it’s okay.

"It’s just a bath bomb. I think it was like four dollars for the set."

"Not. Not that. For - " Beatrice makes a clicking noise. Ava presses her back into the side of the tub. She doesn’t turn. "For being you. For being here."

"I never left. I’ve always been here, Bea. I always will."

"You can’t promise that." Ava almost turns, for barely a second she starts to. But she stops. She doesn’t want to make Beatrice uncomfortable.

"I can. And I have. And I will." Beatrice’s hand drips water down her neck when she brushes Ava’s hair over her shoulder. The droplet races down Ava’s spine and makes her shiver.

The water sloshes as Beatrice leans to turn it off, Ava can hear the bath bomb fizzing quietly as it dissolves, Diana’s music box slows to a stop. Ava worries Beatrice can hear her heart thumping against her chest. Lavender and chamomile wrap around her like a warm coat, carried by the steam from the broiling hot water.

Ava twists, keeps her head trained on the opposite wall while she extends her hand for Beatrice to take if she wishes. She does, threads her wet fingers through Ava’s and squeezes. Ava squeezes back.

"You can look." Ava’s heart stops and she shakes her head reflexively. "It’s okay, Ava."

"Are you sure?" Father forgive me but fuck you, this is not the time for these feelings. Beatrice’s free hand is gentle as it takes Ava’s chin and slowly turns her head for their eyes to meet. Her smile is soft and sincere, Ava reciprocates it easily.

She’s folded into herself, knees tucked under her chin, arm squeezing around her shins, shoulders curled into her thighs. She looks so small. Small and broken. Eyes red and puffy, nose raw, cheeks flushed. Ava’s never seen her like this, it twists and pulls and stabs her in the heart.

"Are you alright?" She rubs her thumb over Beatrice’s knuckles, watches her throat bob when she swallows.

"Fine." Ava raises an eyebrow but she doesn’t ask again, Beatrice drops her chin onto her knees and sighs, cuts her eyes away. "I’m sorry."

"You don’t have to apologize. You’ve done nothing wrong."  Beatrice shrugs and Ava offers a half smile. "Do you want me to wash your hair? It always makes me feel better when I’m upset."

Beatrice nods and Ava grabs the shampoo bottle as she moves behind Beatrice, massaging it into her scalp. Beatrice sighs deeply and leans into the touch, the soap foams and drips onto Beatrice’s shoulder. Ava watches the bubbles race down her back, trail over a freckle on her back.

"It was Lucia." Ava’s head snaps up as Beatrice turns, presses her chin into her shoulder.

"That upset you?" Beatrice nods. "Did you get into a fight?" Ava rinses the soap off her hands, cups water in her hand to rinse Beatrice’s hair.

"We aren’t - it’s not like that. I don’t - " Beatrice shakes her head, turns away. She sniffs and her voice wobbles, she continues barely in a whisper. "Please."

"Sorry. It’s not my business. You don’t have to tell me." Beatrice sighs again. "You can if you want, I just don’t want to pry."

"Ask."

"Uh, what?" Ava pulls back, braces herself on the edge of the tub.

"Ask. Please. I can’t…"

"Did she do something?" Beatrice nods. "Something you didn’t like?" She nods again. "Something you didn’t want?" Another nod. "Did she hurt you?"

Beatrice twists completely, tears in her eyes and chin wobbling. Soap tracks down the side of her face and Ava wipes it away without thinking. Beatrice flinches away.

"Sorry." She pulls away. Beatrice chases her hand with her own, leads it back to her face.

"Please."

"What’d she do, Bea?" Ava holds her face steady, listens to the water drip from the faucet.

"It’s not - it’s not even - I shouldn’t - "

"Hey, hey. Listen to me, you’re safe. You’re safe now. Whatever happened, I’m here." Ava doesn’t think before pulling her into her arms, soapy water drenching her shirt when Beatrice tucks her head into her neck. Ava cradles the back of her head, scratches the foamy skin there softly. "I’m here. You’re safe."

"I shouldn’t feel like this. It was just - it was - it was - "

"It wasn’t just anything, Bea. If you’re upset, it’s not just anything. Don’t invalidate your own emotions." Ava drops her cheek against the top of her head, squeezes her shoulders and rubs a circle on her back. "I’m here. You’re safe."

She holds her while she cries, scratches the nape of her neck and rubs across her shoulders until the tears fade and the sobs stop. She lets Beatrice’s wet hair stick her shirt to her back and trickle water down her spine, resists the urge to press a kiss against her temple. She holds her until the steam stops rising and the water cools and the bath bomb fizz all pops. She holds her until she pulls away.

"Hey. Come on. Let’s get you dressed and into bed, yeah?" Ava rubs the tops of her shoulders and smiles. "Let me rinse the rest of the shampoo out of your hair, then I’ll brush it and braid it, yeah?"

"Thank you."

"Always." Ava guides her back around, tilts her head back and slowly rinses the remaining soap from her hair. Beatrice watches her silently through glassy eyes, Ava’s careful not to splash any soap into her eyes, cups her hands to block the water when she pours it over her scalp. She helps her up, hands her a clean towel from the rack. "I’ll be right outside, if you need me."

"You don’t - you can stay." Ava pauses with her fingers on the doorknob.

"I know. I’ll be on the other side of the door." She doesn’t close it all the way, she stays where Beatrice can see her through the crack in the door. The wet spot on her shirt is cold, makes the skin feel blasted with frigid Arctic air. The door creaks open quietly and Beatrice’s fingers are warm as she grazes down the back of Ava’s elbow to her wrist. Ava turns and watches a water droplet speed down the vein in Beatrice’s neck and spread into the neck of her pullover. She’s holding Ava’s hairbrush and a hair tie. "Bed?" Beatrice nods a single time, chews on her bottom lip until Ava taps her thumb against the flesh. She smiles when Beatrice releases the raw skin from between her teeth. "Come now, let’s take care of your hair."

She’s gentle as she leads Beatrice to her bedroom, as she settles her on the floor beside her bed, as she shifts so Beatrice’s back is pressed into her shins.

"Is this okay?" Her hand hovers over Beatrice’s damp hair. She nods. "I need you to tell me, Bea."

"This is okay." Ava’s fingers sift through her hair, bundle the hair together so she can pull the brush through it carefully. Ava doesn’t speak again while she twists Beatrice’s hair into a French braid, ties the hair elastic around the end and drops it over Beatrice’s shoulder.

"All done. Do you want to lay down? Or I can make tea. Or we can watch a movie. Diana’s down for her nap so we have - "

"Ava."

"Sorry. I don’t want to make you feel like you  - "

"I know." Beatrice presses deeper into Ava’s legs, drops her head over her knee. "I feel safe with you."

And there it is. That’s silly warm feeling that twists Ava’s heart in her chest and squeezes her lungs and makes her body pulse with each heartbeat.

Ava rubs her thumb over a freckle on Beatrice’s neck that’s shaped almost like a heart.

"Diana has one like this in this same spot." Beatrice twists to try to see what Ava’s talking about. "This heart-shaped freckle. She has it right here." She traces the muscle in her neck further up before pressing her thumb into the space Diana’s freckle is. She can feel Beatrice’s heartbeat thrashing beneath her fingertips.

Beatrice lifts her eyes from Ava’s hand to meet her gentle gaze, she turns into her, presses up on her knees to launch herself into Ava’s chest. She knocks the breath from Ava’s lungs as she tackles her back into the mattress, nose pressing into its home in the crook of her neck and arms squeezing tight.

Ava’s shirt is still wet and Beatrice’s breath across the cold flesh ripples goosebumps across her skin.

"You’re wet." She mumbled into the damp cloth, nuzzling closer.

"That’s what she said." Ava responds automatically before freezing. "Shit sorry, that was - "

Beatrice giggles, soft and unsteady. Ava feels her try to bury her smile in her shoulder, the curve of her grin pressed into her collarbone, the warmth of her laughter seeping through her skin and spreading through her chest.

"It’s okay." Beatrice smiles crookedly, face softer than it has been in as long as Ava can remember. She pulls away, rolls off her and pokes her side softly. "You should change out of your wet clothes."

Ava bites back another witty retort in favor of kissing Beatrice on the forehead and following her suggestion, ducking into her closet to shed the shirt and tug a dry one on. Beatrice is sprawled on her stomach across the bedspread waiting when she opens the door. She smiles, soft eyes watching her quietly.

Ava takes the hand Beatrice holds out to her, allows her to be pulled down beside her. She starts to curl against her when she hesitates.

"Is this okay?" Beatrice nods and Ava chews her lip but doesn’t move.

"It’s okay." Beatrice wiggles closer, guides Ava’s arm around her waist and tucks her nose into her neck. "I feel safe with you."

I feel safe with you.

Ava kisses her forehead again, holds her against her racing heart and prays she’ll never forget this moment.

#babysitting AU #Babysitter AU #fic: like the princess #warrior nun fic #warrior nun fanfic #warrior nun #sister beatrice #ava silva #avatrice #warrior nun s2 #bea and ava #warrior nun season 2 #wn s2 #warrior nun netflix #warrior nun season two #warrior nun season one #warrior nun s1 #warrior nun season 1 #wn s1 #angst #someone sent me a request about this but I can’t find it anymore so if that’s you lmk

[possibilistfanfiction]

avatrice + flaw

[wonderful prompt @analogoose made me immediately feral :)]

//

you're drunk, which isn't that rare an occurrence, but with all the training you've been doing lately, you don't usually let it get this out of hand. but there had been a pretty girl — sara, maybe? with the most gorgeous brown skin and a nose ring — who had been doing shots and dancing with you when you finished your shift, and, like, sure, maybe you don't believe you'll die, right? maybe you can beat adriel, there's gotta be a way, but, still —

you're a little teary just thinking about it, as you climb the stairs on exhausted legs and feel way more drunk than you had ten minutes ago when you'd left the bar. you unlock the door on your third try, then try your absolute hardest to be quiet. bea has left out some snacks for you, these chips you love that she finds 'disgusting, ava,' and you take them with you into the bathroom, which seems polite and quiet, even if it's kind of gross. you sit in the bathtub without any water and eat your chips in the dark, and then you get up and wash your face in the sink, brush your teeth, and strip out of your pants. you have a crop top and underwear on and, like, that's going to have to be good enough, because it's sweltering in your apartment and bea won't touch you anyway. you love her and you're in love with her and it had occurred to you days ago, when she was concentrating so hard, a little furrow between her brows, listening to hans explain the rules of gin rummy. you're in love with her and, god, it would be so selfish, it would be thoughtless and, like, there are other fish in the sea, or there will be, you guess, but even sara, who was beautiful and kind and pressed you up against the wall in the bathroom and scraped her teeth along your jaw — you're in love with beatrice, and she won't touch you.

you get into bed without too much noise, which is a fucking feat, thank you very much, and settle under the thin blanket beatrice had switched out instead of the quilt during the heat wave. ever faithful, she's in a big t-shirt and boxers, acceptable and very theoretically unsexy sleep clothes, but her hair is loose and light and her eyelashes are so long and the moonlight tints her skin silver, like a sword or a shield or a glass of communion wine. and, like, okay, it's probably ethically wrong that, when sara was kissing you, you closed your eyes and pretended that it was bea, but you were a bunch of tequila shots in and you might die soon, you've already died once, or twice, maybe, so — it's fine. it's fine, the world is going to shit but it's fine.

you're apparently wiggling too much, trying to get comfortable, because beatrice sighs and cracks open an eye and says, 'ava, you're wiggling,' exhaustedly.

'sorry, sorry.'

she sighs again, half asleep. 'it's okay.'

it's not, probably, but she's kind. 'hey,' you whisper, loudly, and you should definitely let her sleep but she's curled up on her side with her hands tucked under her chin, which makes you feel the kind of crazy that could destroy whole temples, just to protect her.

'what, ava?'

you're undeterred by her frustrated tone; she uses it very, very often so it doesn't have the same bite as it used to. 'do you — do you really think being gay, or, like, you know, liking girls, is a flaw?'

'ava.'

you just stay quiet and will the halo not to vibrate out of your skin.

'no,' she says, after a few silent seconds that felt like years. 'no, of course i don't think it's a flaw.'

'because, you know, i like girls.'

'yes, ava, i know.' it's a little pained.

'have you kissed a girl before?'

it's probably, definitely, invasive, but it's the middle of the night and you can't stop thinking about it. 'wouldn't you like to know.'

it pulls a laugh out of you, right from your heartspace, and her smile is soft and bright, pleased with herself. 'well, you weren't always a nun.'

'not always,' she murmurs, and the room is too blurry for you to really figure out what that means. she's so close to you, though, and you reach your hand out — a fucking miracle, still, to be able to move and run and dance and hold someone while you kiss them, while you stand up and let them press you back against a wall, or a bed, or the barstool after closing, and feel the firm press of muscles along their back, or the swell of someone's hips and stomach over their waistband, or — you touch her face, featherlight fingertips, over her cheeks, down her nose, along her dark brows. she lets you, maybe because it's the middle of the night or maybe because she wasn't always a nun, maybe because she likes to be pressed against things too. maybe she loves you back, and it's easier to be touched than to touch, for her. maybe.

'do you think i'm pretty?'

she doesn't even bother to say your name this time, just slams her eyes shut.

too far. 'sorry.'

'it's — of course,' she says, a little broken, a lot brave. 'of course i think you're pretty, ava. you're beautiful.'

'no one has told me that before.' it's a little like standing in a puddle of water while it gets hit by lightning, or watching moths flutter for the first time in lamplight — haze and magic, breathless — to admit. 'i — i didn't get to look at myself, very much at all, before, you know, the halo.'

she just hums, but it's soft and tender.

'did you ever get bullied?' you ask. you know she said that she was punished, for not fitting in, but you can't imagine her, really — powerful, exacting, gorgeous beatrice — being picked on.

'are we playing a very invasive game of twenty questions? it's three in the morning.'

'we can go to sleep, if you want.'

you think she will; you think she'll roll over, that she'll roll away from you, that you'll never get to tell her all that you mean. but then: 'i was bullied a lot, as a child in primary school, actually.'

'they were all jealous, obviously.'

she huffs a laugh. 'my eyes, first and most often.' she frowns and the halo buzzes in your back a little, reflecting your immediate and deep anger. 'my last name, sometimes; the food my nanny would pack for lunch.' her jaw clenches but then she sees the glow of the halo, which you don't bother to try to tamp down, not in the dark, not in this safe bed with someone you love, someone who has had cruelty handed down to her her entire life and has emerged gentle and brilliant and kind. she smiles slightly at the light from your back. 'and then, less seriously, my freckles.'

'oh, fuck that.' you bring a fingertip back to touch her face again. 'your eyes are, like, the craziest cool color? especially in the morning, when we're going to train and the sun is just coming up.' a poem in a book one of your friends had given you recently: you could drown in those eyes, i said. 'and their shape is gorgeous. they're part of who you are.'

she seems genuinely touched by the drunk, inelegant sentiment. 'well, tell that to ronnie white.'

'if i ever meet him, i sure will. i bet he's ugly.'

she laughs.

'and, also, all food fucking rocks, so that's ridiculous. and your freckles, are like, i don't even know, bea. like stars.'

she lets you trace them; she has freckles on her shoulders, now, in the summer sun, and a few on her collarbone; one, that plagues you, sometimes, on the top of her left hand.

'in his own image, or whatever, right?'

you still your hand on her jaw and it takes a moment to answer: 'well, allegorically, yes.'

'allegorically, whatever. fuck those kids.'

'it was a long time ago, ava. i'm fine.'

the way she holds herself, compact, even in sleep, to make herself smaller — it's a life she chose, but you don't think anyone really gave her much of a choice. 'fuck those kids, bea. fuck your parents, and fuck the shitty nuns who didn't treat me with any dignity, and fuck, you know, the whole goddamn patriarchy, while we're at it.'

'you know,' she says, a smile reluctantly lifting her mouth, 'i do enjoy a good moment of sheer hate for the patriarchy.'

'obviously, you're awesome.'

'you should sleep, ava.'

'yeah, probably.'

'okay. goodnight.'

'bea?'

'yes, ava?'

'you're really, really beautiful. i just wanted to say, in case no one has told you either.'

her eyes in the moonlight flash gold, a better gold than the halo, warmer and gentler. you could drown in those eyes, so it's summer, so it's suicide, so we're restless in sleep and —

'sleep well, ava,' she says. it feels like a miracle, when she brings her hand, calloused and careful, to run through your hair, and then pulls it back against her chest. she doesn't turn away from you, only scoots a little closer and lets you nuzzle your way into her body, little movements and warmth, the smooth skin of her legs against yours.

so it's summer — you think, as her hand sneaks its way under your shirt and rests in the middle of your back; your underwear are slick with wet heat but — you've risen from the dead; she won't touch you but this is close, her little breaths against the top of your head as her body grows slack. in another universe this is real life; in another universe you met in college, or at the beach, or she was your ski instructor, or you swiped right on an app after smoking a blunt and she messaged you back — in another universe this is just an afterthought, an ache that neither of you can explain some nights at twilight after a hard day when you come home to a vine over the door and a dog who runs back to you when you call. in another universe you get to love her; she touches you.

in this universe, her gentle fingertips pressed to your back and her freckles blooming more every day in the sun — this is just another miracle.

'sweet dreams, bea.'

#wn #warrior nun fic #avatrice #avatrice fic #prompts #wow sorry this took me so long !! #switzerland era screaming always a classic i hope its ok!!

[riderwrites]

When Beatrice became a nun, they gave her a ring to show her loyalty to God. It was nothing fancy, a band she forgot most of the time. She took it off whenever the OCS went on a mission and would occasionally forget to put it back on. It was a bit different from regular nun’s rings. The design fits the OCS, slightly upstate than a simple band. Beatrice never thought much of it. 

When she went to Switzerland to hide with Ava, Beatrice thought about it more. It could easily pass as a normal wedding band. She kept it on to have some sort of connection to her old life, a reminder of the path she had. Distractions would only cost them and Beatrice was already crafting the most efficient route for Ava’s training. She hadn’t thought much of the ring until Hans pointed it out a month into working at the bar. 

“Hey, tell your wife to stop pretending that I don’t know she’s distracting me to put off doing inventory,” Hans said. Beatrice looked up from her paperwork, knowing exactly who Hans was referring to. 

“My…wife?” 

Hans’s face took on an expression of fear and he rushed to explain himself. 

“Oh shit, are you and Ava not married?”

‘No, that’s-” Beatrice’s brain was too caught on that idea to think of another word. “That’s absurd…why do you think that?”

“You’re wearing a ring,” Hans said. “And you guys live together and seem so close I connected the dots, or at least I thought I had.” He chuckled nervously as Beatrice turned down to look at her ring. She hadn’t thought about that implication of it. She had kept it on so men wouldn’t flirt with her so much at the bar. It worked to keep them off, the proposed finance or husband locked away somewhere. It was only now that someone might have a different idea.

“So is there a special someone?” Hans asked. 

Rest on a03!

#warrior nun fic #avatrice #ava x beatrice #sister beatrice #ava silva #one shot #holy shit I can post things to my tumblr???

[the-penguinspy]

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

:)

--

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

//

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

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

“Here.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s done. 

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

The work is done, and yet – 

The flame still burns. 

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

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

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

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

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

Her lungs burn anyway. They crave for air. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[the-ominous-owl]

Because it turns out the Halo can want things now, sort of. Not the way a human would, with thoughts or motivation or articulable desires. The Halo wants things the way a tree wants water and shoves a taproot through flagstone to get it, which is all well and good for the tree, but less so for the idiot trying to keep her patio intact. Unfortunately for Ava, she’s both the idiot and the taproot. The flagstone is her dignity. The water – for reasons becoming rapidly and unavoidably apparent – is Beatrice.

or

the one where the halo imprints on beatrice like a duckling and is dead-set on making it ava’s problem

#warrior nun #warrior nun fic #look i wasn't gonna post this until i finished writing it #but fuck it we need some love today #i also haven't obsessively edited it within an inch of its life like i usually do #so if you see typos no you don't shut up what are you a cop #owly writes things #sentient halo au

[emdashedem]

“Okayokayokay, shit,” Ava calls out, crouched over with one hand on her knee, the other waving in surrender. “I yield. Have mercy. Uncle. Whatever.”

Her legs are jelly beneath her, her lungs burn as if she’d inhaled a pint of rocks, and there’s a stitch in her side that may just be a heart attack in disguise. 

“I just need a minute,” Ava pants as she collapses, a breathless, sweaty mess, into the grass that lines their usual path. “Or five. Or a nap.”

A crunch of gravel steadily approaches, and before she knows it, Beatrice is standing over her, shielding Ava from the blinding blue sky with her hands on her hips and eyebrow arched in amusement that Ava doesn’t especially appreciate at the present. 

She could be dying.

She’s in no fit state to be mocked.

“Are you alright?”

“I think you killed me.”

“I thought you said 'today was the day', Warrior Nun,” Beatrice says, and — yep — definitely being mocked. There’s nary a hair out of place nor a bead of sweat on her brow, and frankly, it’s rude. 

“That’s not—”

“You said—”

“Bea—”

“—and I quote—”

Ava slaps her hands over her ears.

“Lalalalalala, I can’t hear you—”

“‘—I’m gonna make this run my—’” Beatrice cuts off abruptly and Ava lowers her hands, now rapt with attention. It’s all the wind she needs in her depleted sails.

“Make it my what, Bea?”

“You know what you said.”

“Mm, maybe,” Ava concedes, grinning as she sits back up on her elbows. She taps Beatrice’s shin with the toe of her shoe. “But I wanna hear you say it.”

“No.”

“C’mon, Bea. It’ll be our secret.”

“Absolutely not.”

“I’ll do laundry for the next month.”

“You do know that I already accepted your laundry bribe last week when you were trying to get out of inventory, don’t you?”

“Okay, but I’ll actually do it.”

Beatrice sighs, rubbing her fingers into her forehead. 

“Ava.”

“Beatrice.”

“I will not be taxed into saying biatch like some—”

“Aha!” Ava shouts in triumph. 

Beatrice groans and rolls her eyes in response, but there’s a light there, a flicker of mirth that slips through the cracks of Beatrice’s facade that seems to deteriorate more and more with every day spent under Ava’s relentless pursuit of Beatrice. 

Not the sister warrior, pride and joy of the OCS, likely successor to Mother Superion.

Not Sister Beatrice, her designated watcher, handler, trainer — whatever.

Not the Beatrice that hides behind layers of masks and mastery and perfection.

Just Beatrice.

The real Beatrice. 

The one that maybe Beatrice, herself, has yet to find. 

Every day, Ava gets closer, and every day, she’s desperate for more.

She grins, eyes closed to relish in her victory.

“See? I knew you had it in ya, Bea.”

“Yes, well,” Beatrice snorts and settles into the grass next to Ava. “If anything is going to drive me to curse, I suppose it would be you.”

Ava cackles with delight and earns another eye roll as her reward as Beatrice lays back, head next to Ava’s, face turned up toward the sky with a contented sigh, and Ava can’t help but stare.

She swallows as her eyes trace the slope of Beatrice’s nose, the quiet curve of her smile, the gold strand of hair tucked behind her ear that’s too short to tie back with the rest.

Summer in the Alps has done Beatrice well. 

It’s not like she ever needed the help. 

Still. Her skin glows, bronzed, the highlights in her hair and the constellation of freckles on her face more pronounced. But more than that, so much more than that, the tension in her shoulders steadily unwinds, and her smile is quicker to ignite with every day they spend under the mountain sun, and the sum of it all keeps the air out of Ava’s lungs for reasons entirely unrelated to their morning jog.

And then honey-brown eyes find Ava’s and Beatrice’s lips twist into something adorable and self-conscious, her brows quirked in a question.

“What?” Beatrice asks, and Ava can only blink in response.

And maybe it’s the uncharacteristic spark of heat in her cheeks, or the blossoming in her chest that could rival the flare of the Halo that’s only grown with time.

Because it’s barely past eight — the sun has barely finished its ascent, the birds still sing their morning song in the trees that tower over them, and the chill of the previous night still clings to the bed of grass beneath them. 

And yet, Ava has never felt warmer.

“I —” Ava fumbles, beginning without a plan, without a roadmap. Because what does she want to say? What can she even say? What words could do justice to the swell of her heart except — “Bea.”

But then an icy cold drop lands on her forehead, then another, and another, and another.

“Oh.”

And the sun that goes on shining, the brilliant blue sky devoid of any clouds as Ava blinks away frigid mountain rain that hits her like a freight train, and she’d find the entire thing completely disorienting if it weren’t so wonderfully enlightening.

Beatrice jumps to her feet, forearm pressed to the crown of her head as though that will protect her from the sudden deluge, and she reaches out with her other hand and pulls Ava to her feet like she weighs nothing at all. And then they’re sprinting through the forest, puddles splashing up around them, the pounding of their shoes against the ground drowned out by the thundering of the rain, their shrieks of laughter ringing through the trees and echoing through the town square as they race home.

They collapse in a fit of winded giggles, Beatrice into the brick wall and Ava into Beatrice, when they find shelter under the awning of their tiny apartment building 10 minutes later, as the rain washes the world around them away, and Ava’s face threatens to shatter under the force of her grin.

There’s a flush in Beatrice’s cheeks, her eyes shine, dancing with light, the strands of her bangs slicked to the sides of her face, and her smile is just as bright, just as delighted, and Ava wants to bottle it — all of this — for the days when it’s all too much, when the world calls them back to duty, when the universe rests heavy on their shoulders.

“So, how’d I do for time, boss?” Ava asks as she tucks her hair behind her ears, and her cheeky grin isn’t enough to budge the delighted one that’s mirrored back at her.

Beatrice laughs — loud and unbound — and Ava thinks she ought to bottle that, too, but then Bea is clearing her throat, her eyebrows drawing into something serious and stern.

“Passable,” she offers with a shrug. 

“Oh, come on,” Ava howls in affront. She points an accusing finger at Beatrice, taking full advantage of a functioning body that lets her gesticulate as emphatically as she pleases. “Admit it. Admit it. I totally made that one my bitch.”

“Ava,” Beatrice sighs, but it lacks all the weight of its usual exhaustion as she struggles to contain her laugh.

They’re breathless and soaked to the bone and Ava’s skin is slick, still humming from the constant pelt of rain.

And still, Ava has never felt warmer.

#this is what happens when I can't focus #it's avatrice brainrot hours #(but when is it not though) #warrior nun fic #warrior nun #avatrice #the switzerland era #dani drabbles #ficlet

[princington]

Ava kissed her in the middle of the dark hallway, and Beatrice realised that perhaps God had never forsaken her.

home is whenever i’m with you ch 25

#fic: home is whenever I’m with you #fanart #my art #warrior nun #warrior nun fic #Avatrice #I really enjoyed this last scene at the end

[willowedhepatica]

Beatrice was amazing in battle. 

Calculating and swift with the motions of her staff. Her movements precise and hits clean, connected to muscle memory from hours upon hours of training. 

Training that no one had forced upon her but herself. 

The group relied on her. Camila looked up to her. Ava she– Ava depended on her as an instructor. Her protector. 

Calm. 

Collected. 

Never ever faltered. 

Could never falter. 

She needed to be perfect. 

For the mission. For the world. 

Except, when she pulled herself away from the group and closed the door behind her she looked down at her hands that shook. 

It frustrated her. How her heart couldn't catch up with her brain. Stuck in the one sliver of a moment when she felt nothing but terror. For one blinding second in a fight where the weapon of the enemy came so close she could feel it grazing her skin. See the flicker of an image where it dug into her throat, her abdomen, her chest. When the bullet from a fired gun shot past her and she could hear the ringing in her ears. Smell the scent of sulphur and burnt metal. Taste it on her lips. 

And think, this is it. This is what ends me. 

It was worse now. 

Worse when the shot of a gun or the clanging of weapons from a further distance made her body tense up and eyes wander to the point of contact. 

Looking for Ava. 

Always looking for Ava. 

It didn't matter that she was the warrior nun. That she had a divine artefact with an ever humming light that would heal her wounds and power her through fights that were far too big for her. Beatrice was still terrified. Her heart still stuttered. Clenched and squeezed and throbbed like it belonged to her. Like Ava had grabbed it with her bare hands and breathed life into it. Breathed fear into it. Made it catch on fire like it was an actual working organ in her body and not a fake prop that had been put there when her real one was lost. 

Beatrice should be terrified. 

She should push the feelings away. Take her heart back and settle it elsewhere where no one could reach it. Not even her. 

Except Ava took a hold of her shaking hands and pulled her closer. Soft and tentative and so utterly warm, thumb tracing circles over her open palm. It left her body tingling. Made her want to take more until she grew addicted to it. 

But she couldn't. She couldn't, she couldn't. 

Never falter. 

Not even in front of her. 

Especially not her. 

Except she saw it. Ava had an obscure ability of seeing through her wall and perfectly constructed armour. Beatrice had a hard time admitting that perhaps it was just her who let her protection, her image – slip whenever Ava was around. Her heart did no longer listen to her brain and she wondered once again if Ava had gotten a hold of it. 

In a way, Beatrice knew she had. 

Ava guided her hand up to her own chest, placing it over her heart where it beat a steady rhythm. 'I'm here, I'm not going anywhere.' She'd said. And oh how much two simple sentences could convey. How the thread that had spun through their lives and left her tripping never pulled Ava away. Even when slipups made the yarn knot and the string tear by use. It would never snap. 

Ava wouldn't let it. 

Beatrice couldn't let it. 

She crumbled then. Her body falling into Ava's and hands digging into her clothes in an attempt to hold herself up. Her whole body shook. Beatrice let it. Let it consume her as Ava held her in her arms and pressed her closer. 

She could hear Ava's heart beat against her ear. 

Beatrice was amazing in battle but she couldn't deny that it made her shake. That her body was as reactive as the heart thrumming in her chest. 

Because it was there. 

Alive.

And Ava could see it so clearly. So openly it made her feel vulnerable. But also it was Ava and she tucked her closer to her chest like she never wanted to let her go nonetheless. Not even when she saw that the thrumming in her heart sometimes stuttered. 

Beatrice allowed herself to falter. 

In front of her. 

Maybe if it was in front of her. 

It was okay. 

#it's always ava #or something something #ava comforting bea >>> #they are yet a couple here I believe #but that's up for your own interpretation #warrior nun #avatrice #warrior nun fanfic #warrior nun fic #beatrice x ava

[quietblueriver]

if you were still doin prompt? Beatrice as a zoo keeper/presenter and Ava in zoo/being involved?? Thanks if you still doin it x

Still here and delighted by prompts! Just dealing with life stuff, so I'm unfortunately unable to spend as much time writing as I'd like. Thanks for this, and thanks to everyone who has sent something.

Here's a little ornithologist!Bea fluff.

-

A toddler is already screaming, tiny hands opening and closing as they reach up toward their guardian, who is frantically searching through a small backpack, shaped like a lion’s head, for something. A slightly older child, ostensibly a sibling if the matching khaki shorts and purple otter shirts are any indicator, winces at the book in their lap. Beatrice sympathizes and makes a mental note to watch for their hand during the volunteer portion of the show. 

She’s distracted by a middle-aged man with a sunburn and a deep frown stepping boldly past the thick, bright yellow line and the corresponding, “Staff Only Beyond This Point” sign at the front of the stage to wave aggressively in Beatrice’s face. 

“Sir.” 

It’s tight and angry. Excellent. Beatrice forces a smile. 

“I have to ask you to step back behind the line, please.” 

His eyebrows raise at the pitch of her voice, and the familiar carousel of expressions of gender confusion passes over his face. He lands on disdain and, instead of stepping behind the line, runs his eyes up and down Beatrice’s body, squinting. “Ma’am. I guess. Sorry.” 

“It’s fine. I do have to ask again that you step behind the line, please.” 

He looks down and scoffs, takes a half-step back, his brown leather sandals still well in front of the barrier, and she forces eye contact, looks pointedly at the line again until he backs up further. When he crosses into the guest area, she asks, as pleasantly as she can, “How can I help you?” 

Another child screams somewhere in the bleachers, this one old enough to express specific displeasure. “I don’t want to see the monkeys! I want to see the bears!”

“When is the show going to start? We’ve been waiting for twenty minutes.” 

She lets her eyes wander to the sign posted on the stage beside her, a match to the one posted outside the doors of the little stadium as well as the one at the entrance to the Wings of the World section of the park. She doesn’t need to look at it; two years into her partnership with the zoo, she’s well aware of every presentation time, but she’s exhausted and he’s been quite rude already, so she takes a moment to herself, pretending to read carefully. 

“We’ll begin at 2pm, so,” she looks down at her watch and continues, as lightly as she can, “about fifteen minutes from now.”

He turns on his heel and is gone, Beatrice left alone on the stage to focus again on the small table in front of her, treats and toys laid out neatly, small laminated note cards underneath a photo of each of the day’s avian guests, in case she should forget any of her points. It has happened–rarely, and always, frankly, the fault of distracting behavior on the part of her co-host–and she likes to be prepared for all eventualities.

She’s straightening the notes under Sam, their beautiful bald eagle, when she notices a pair of green and yellow sneakers stop just behind the yellow demarcation, carefully avoiding it.

“Hello,” Beatrice offers. 

Wide brown eyes blink up at her and one small hand releases its grip on a well-worn stuffed manatee to wave at her. 

“Hi.” 

A man’s hand reaches to rest gently on the child’s shoulder and he smiles at Beatrice. 

“We’re sorry to interrupt. Marnie is very excited about the show and wanted to come take a closer look at the stage before we sat down.” 

Beatrice walks to the edge of the stage and smiles back at him, nothing forced about this interaction, and then turns her attention to Marnie. 

“Not interrupting at all. Hi, Marnie. I’m Beatrice. I’m an ornithologist. Do you know what that is?” 

“Birds!” 

She’s exuberant, jumping, and Beatrice laughs. 

“Exactly. Birds! And actually,” she looks at her watch again, “I have to go back and get ready to bring out our first guest.” 

Marnie’s eyes get somehow wider, the manatee crushed to her chest. 

“Dad.” 

It’s nearly reverent. The man’s hand squeezes her shoulder again, and he says, “I know, love. So exciting. Let’s go find a seat.” 

Beatrice waves to them both and then ducks back through the door behind the rock wall, breathes deep and releases the tension in her shoulders as she leaves the waiting crowd behind. 

It’s not like she has to do these presentations. She is a professor with a tenure-track position at the university. She has been published several times in leading journals, and her last article garnered enough positive attention that she received approval and financing for her next project with relative ease. She is Dr. Beatrice Liu. She has worked hard for that. 

She is also very fond of Camila Aguilar, the zoo’s curator, and Yasmine Amunet, a colleague with a longstanding and incredibly popular show on the mammals of the Pacific Northwest. She hadn’t been able to resist their poking and prodding to be a guest speaker during their inaugural Wings of the World presentation two years ago. She had started and never stopped, expanding the university’s relationship with the zoo to allow her graduate students to engage in some hands-on research and forcing herself to step out of her comfort zone for something that she loves. 

She does love the birds, and she also loves the opportunity to foster a love for them in the audience, complicated feelings about zoo patronage and resources aside. She has been told by multiple colleagues and acquaintances that she is “surprisingly good with children.” One of her favorite backhanded compliments. She likes them, generally. Likes less the feeling of being overwhelmed by sound and social interaction, but the balance is worth it, she finds. 

Marnie’s big eyes flash in her mind, and she smiles to herself as she enters the key code on the door to the temporary housing unit. Marnie is going to love seeing Sam spread his wings. She remembers vividly the first time she saw an owl up close, a nighttime zoo exhibit during a school field trip, remembers the swoop in her stomach and the way her chest expanded with the bird’s wings. Awe, pure and deep and lasting enough to push her through her doctorate. 

It’s the reason why she does this. 

Well. 

One reason why she does this. 

The other reason is already in the room, humming to herself as she stands on tiptoes to look into the window of the small room where they’re keeping an injured barn owl. She startles at the beep of the door as Beatrice steps inside, smiles bright and peeks her head over Beatrice’s shoulder before stepping directly into her space and wrapping arms around her neck, pressing a quick kiss to her lips. 

“Hey, Bea.” 

Beatrice kisses her again, because she can, and feels Ava’s smile against her lips. 

“Hello.” 

Ava pulls back and runs her hands down Beatrice’s sleeves, squeezing her hands before nodding back at the window. 

“They say Barney should be good to go in a week.” 

Beatrice sighs at the name, as always, and Ava smirks, as always, delighted at her displeasure. 

“I’m glad. Do you think she should get a new name, in honor of her release?” 

Ava tsks and reaches for the tablet on the metal cart in the center of the room, swipes quickly before holding it out to Beatrice, a worryingly triumphant look on her face. She finds a photograph of one of the wooden name plates common to certain sections of the bird exhibit, a barn owl etched into it. There, inscribed next to its common and latin names, is Barney. 

A bigger sigh. “Well then. I suppose that’s it.” 

Beatrice’s watch vibrates and she hands Ava the tablet with another kiss, reaches for her leather gloves and says, approaching Sam’s container, “Here we go.” 

-

They met two years ago, during Beatrice’s first presentation. Camila introduced them with a little too much joy, unsubtle from the start, and Beatrice had been a bit overwhelmed by her at first–so incredibly beautiful and unapologetic and loud. 

She was also, Beatrice discovered quickly, incredibly passionate and excellent at her job. The zoo’s memberships skyrocketed as Ava took over their marketing and outreach, working hard to increase attendance, but also to build relationships with local universities and community organizations, finding funding to subsidize school field trips and community days and young patron science programs. 

Beatrice was one of her projects, and considered herself lucky to be on the receiving end of Ava’s focus. Ava’s emails were persistent but not pushy, her responses were prompt and professional, and each lunch, each conversation, was easy and interesting and fun. It was Beatrice, in the end, who nervously asked her if she might like to go to dinner sometime, the plans for a summer day camp and pellet dissection unromantically laid out between them. 

Ava grinned, eyed the pellet diagram and said with a raise of her eyebrows, “Way to set the mood, Bea.” She had eased the sting of that with a yes. And a kiss. 

Now, as Beatrice settles Sam on her arm, she hears Ava’s enthusiastic introduction and rolls her eyes fondly. 

“Believe me when I say, it’s going to be un-bird-lieveable. And now, friends, please do not put your hands together for Dr. Beatrice Liu and Sam the Bald Eagle.” 

Beatrice emerges to a crowd of people twisting their wrists to wave their hands in silent applause, and she takes a deep breath as Ava walks by with a wink, settling on the stool closer to the end of the stage. 

-

The show goes well. They balance each other, Ava’s energy and anecdotes and charm against Beatrice’s more staid approach, and the hushed gasps at Sam’s wingspan are as gratifying as ever. She catches Marnie gaping several times, makes a point to allow her and the reader she noticed before the show answer two of the pop quiz questions so that they can get a special bird stamp after the show. 

Ava stamps purple otter, Molly, and her little sister, Abigail, while Beatrice tidies, but when she sees Marnie approach, she sets the notecards down and moves to stand next to Ava, who gives her the little wooden stamp with a knowing smile. 

“Hi, Marnie. Did you like the show?” 

“It was awesome.” 

Beatrice smiles and crouches down, holding the stamp in Marnie’s direction, and she offers her hand eagerly, bouncing as she says, “The hawk was my favorite, but I liked all of them. How do you get them to listen to you? How do you know so much about all of them? It’s so cool.” 

Before Beatrice can answer, Ava’s down next to her, nodding seriously. “I know, right? Dr. Bea is the coolest.” 

Despite herself, Beatrice flushes, and says, quickly, “I went to school to study birds because I love them so much. And now I get to meet great people like you and talk about them.” 

Ava’s standing again, offers to Marnie’s father, practiced without sounding like a sales pitch, “We have some options for programming if that’s of interest.” She turns to the table behind them and then hands him a magnet, a monkey hanging around one of the zoo’s youth program QR codes. 

They leave shortly after, Marnie tugging on her father’s hand, eager to see the giraffes, and Beatrice returns to the table to finish cleaning. Ava’s hand runs across her shoulders as she comes to stand beside her, bumping their hips together. 

When they make their way back inside, she presses Beatrice against the door firmly, kissing her with purpose until they both need to breathe. 

“I really love listening to you, like, inspire young minds with your bird talk. Very hot. With your latin and your fun facts.” 

“My bird talk?”

“I said what I said. Dr. Bea, crowd favorite.” 

Beatrice shakes her head, kisses her again. 

“I don’t know, love. They seem to find your puns pretty emu-sing.” 

Ava groans in delight, slips her hands into Beatrice’s back pockets and says against her lips, “Holy shit, I love you.” 

#warrior nun #avatrice #sister beatrice #ava silva #warrior nun fic #wn prompt fic

[sapphicstacks]

Ava is not in love with Lieutenant Beatrice Lin-Watson of Golden Fire Department Station 3. She is not. But, if she was (which she’s not), she thinks it would be understandable.

Forgivable, even.

She just thinks that people must fall in love with Beatrice all the time. How could you not, you know? When Bea holds your hand, she very gently rubs her thumb over your knuckles. When the nurses come in to give you pain medicine, she asks them to whisper before you can even flinch at the noise. When she has to go to the bathroom, she asks a nurse to stay with you while she’s gone, even though she thinks you’re asleep.

So, yeah. Maybe Ava isn’t in love with Beatrice (seriously, okay, she isn’t, and there is no need to read into the fact that she has to constantly remind herself that she isn’t), but it would be understandable if she were. But she’s not.

Chapter 5 con’t on AO3 of choose the devil I know (over the heaven I don’t)

#avatrice firefighter au #ao3 avatrice #avatrice fic #warrior nun fic #warrior nun #sapphicstacks ao3

[lucytara]

avatrice fic: show me something of a reckoning

Beatrice finds herself musing not over duty and sacrifice and God, but the truth of angels, if they can be created rather than summoned. If they can take the form of women with overeager mouths and careless limbs and eyes with a depth that beckons - a crooked finger, a spiral staircase - if they can be both human and not, both beautiful and terrifying.

Ava asks, What do you want, Beatrice?

(Tell me and I’ll give it to you. Tell me and I’ll build you a home there. Tell me and I’ll rearrange the universe to make it all fit, angels and demons be damned. Tell me it’s me. Me. Me.)

[ava/beatrice, canon divergent, fake dating-turned-real dating switzerland au. rated e. in this house we break our vows for love. 18.9k words.]

#avatrice #warrior nun #warrior nun fic #ava silva #sister beatrice #IM INSANE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! IM INSANE