#Avatrice Fic

[jtl07]

There's a story behind each trinket, each wrapper, each pebble and Beatrice learns to always turn out Ava's pockets before putting her clothes in the wash. While the machine rumbles, she'll have Ava explain each one, allow herself to lean into Ava's side as she plucks each item from Beatrice's palm. (When they get to the end, Beatrice leaves her palm open and sometimes, Ava will take her hand. And Beatrice will want - Ava; will want to ask what kind of story Ava thinks they'll have, how many chapters, how many novels will it span. It's the same part of her that wants desperately to hear forever from Ava's lips.)

Art for pocketful commissioned from the ever incredible, the incomparable @princington

(More thoughts - about Prince, about their art - below the cut)

Prince has done so many wonderful works of art for the Warrior Nun fandom, especially their fanart for fanfics - there have been countless times I've discovered a new beloved fic through their art. It's even more special when it's your own fic - it's like looking through someone else's eyes, and when it's an artist like Prince, it's nothing short of awe-inspiring. So when I was thinking of getting art commissioned for pocketful, I knew it had to be Prince.

They were very kind and easy to work with, and they took one of my favorite moments I've written and made me fall in love with it all over again. I mean, look at their expressions! If you've seen Prince's work, you know that they have an extraordinary ability in drawing emotion in such a heartfelt way. I love the fondness, the intimacy, the devotion. I just - [goes off to flail and squee for 10 minutes]

And then there's the physical closeness, how Ava's almost in Bea's lap, how indulgent Bea is as Ava is pointing out the different items in her palm (I love that there's a leaf!). There's so much to love in this - the contrasts and "them"ness in their posture, in their clothes. Also the way Bea has her hand tucked between her thighs makes me think about how she tries so hard to keep her hands to herself, yknow? (That theme was one of the things that made me want to write this particular fic to begin with.) And gosh, how comfortable they both are here, in this humble, gentle space they've carved for themselves. It's incredible, seeing this scene like this.

Prince, we're so lucky to have you - thanks for all you do and for sharing your amazing work with us. I'm going to treasure this for a very long time <3

#everyone say thank you Prince!!! #gonna go and squee and cry and flail and all the things for the rest of the night #the rest of the week oh gosh #avatrice #avatrice fic #jt writes fic

[princington]

Come back to me.

come back (even as a shadow, even as a dream) ch 10 by @karatam

#avatrice #avatrice fic #avatrice fanart #my art #fanart #fic rec #the way i was at a debut!!! and had to wait so many hours to sit down with this chapter #spoiler alert #? #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

[infinityinakiss]

avatrice au fic recommendations:

i don't think there is a single avatrice au fic that i haven't read so here are some my favorites. i tried to find ones that weren't as popular, so hopefully there are couple here you haven't read.

I want to believe by puppybusby @yashastrongarms - x files au - basically 23k of avatrice flirting while being incredibly reckless with alien shit. unfortunately, it is only a one shot that doesn't delve into their relationship, but it is so worth it. and the tension. woof.

Truly a Steadfast Love by StoicLastStand - medieval au - they have a whole series of ficlets, but this is one of my favorites. there's a tournament to win ava's hand in marriage, ava goes undercover to fight for her freedom, but she ends up falling for the very knight who everybody wants to win. i also love their lucifer au, Greater Sacrifices.

a lover, or something of mine by Smokestarrules - reincarnation au - each chapter is a different life with a different story, and i promise you, if you have anything that even resembles a heart, you will cry. i keep going back and rereading chapter 4 because apparently i love to hurt myself. i also love the world is just illusion (trying to change you) by them, it's a road trip au.

i should love you (and i swear i do) by Noteveryonefitsintothebadbitchgenre - harry potter au (fuck jk rowling) - its that trope where they're married and they talk about each other constantly but nobody actually knows they're married. their students all think that professor silva and professor young have a friendly rivalry, but there are a couple of moments that don't add up.

purple by sxftmelody - hitman au - technically, but really it's just sad, i always cry at the end. beatrice helps ava run away after a job, and slowly they open themselves up and start to fall in love. tw: major character death. also love turning page by the same author, mercenary/princess au.

in our corner of the world by definitelynotthere - roommate au - i know, i know, there's a thousand roommate aus, why would i recommend a fic that isn't even finished and will probably never get finished? i don't know, i just really love this one, and if you're like me, you'll go "ooh, two cakes" and read it anyway.

The last hero of Ogygia by jessnope - percy jackson au - specifically calypso au, ava is calypso and beatrice is the flirty hunter that washed up on her shore. it's super cute.

stay there, 'cause i'll be coming over (while our blood's still young) by britishngay - spiderman au - ava's character voice is actually designed to be spiderman, and bea is the perfect doctor lady that patches spidey up when she gets hurt. plus beatrice telling lilith to "shut up and sit down" will never not be iconic.

sunday people (sunday shines for you) by gilligankane @piratekane - another roommates au - jealous ava is back again and out for blood, specifically jenn-with-two-ns blood.

this is my prayer (I'm in love with you) by nyxtyka - my best friend's wedding/spies au - i'll be honest, this fic went to my marked for laters to die. i don't know if it'll ever be finished, but it is one of my favorite aus, i promise it'll be worth the pain.

spellbound by onomofication - witch au - beatrice is the witch in the woods that ava goes to to finally find a way to explore the world like she has always wanted to. but as she gets to know the surprisingly kind, serious, kinda-sorta witch, she discovers that maybe the world was smaller than she had once imagined. i also love another fic by this author, hit me with you best shot, which is basically a cupid au, where ava runs around trying to stop jc, a cupid, from shooting the love of her life, beatrice.

the celestial glow is blinding by understreetlights - firewatch au - did i think ava and beatrice sitting around, looking at trees, and falling love with each other through walkie talkies was going to be interesting? no, but the world loves to prove me wrong.

too cold, it's withdrawal by KatieQgle - captain america au - give this one a chance, even if you don't like marvel. beatrice is hot as fuck as bucky and honestly the winter soldier plot line needed a little sapphic yearning. come on, avatrice in the army in the 1940s, being badass and fighting nazis together? who wouldn't love that?

i have a ton more, reach out if you want them!

#is it clear that i love 15k one shots? #i'm sorry for all the unfinished ones they're just too good #and hey maybe you can manifest them updating #just don't harass the writers #fic writers are like cats stuck under a building #you have to lure them out with gentle words and treats #warrior nun #avatrice #warrior nun fanfic #avatrice fanfic #avatrice fanfiction #avatrice fic #avatrice au #also i'm sorry if i didn't tag everybody on tumblr i just suck at tumblr sometimes #some accounts i just couldn't find #if there's an account that i forgot to tag please let me know

[possibilistfanfiction]

anything surgeons au, especially butch!bea omg

[an accidental 2.7k words of baby tai for the culture]

//

you don’t ask for beatrice to consult on the case just because the baby really does look like her in a tangible way: brown eyes that shine in the sun; gold skin; soft dark hair; a happy smile. tai — an orphan, which you also don’t prioritize when you ask her, but whatever — is small for her three months and quite sick, a bad valve in her tiny heart doing more damage than good. 

it’s a difficult surgery, complicated and intricate and, even though you’re the best in your field, a hardcore rockstar, you’re not a cardio surgeon. you ask beatrice to consult on the case because, even if you’d never admit it aloud in front of her, she is the best in the world.

‘dr. villaumbrosia,’ beatrice says, meeting you outside the picu. she’s not operating today, you’re fairly certain, or at least hasn’t yet, based on her neat navy slacks and oatmeal-colored sweater under her white coat, chelsea boots certainly not what she would wear in the OR, her buzzed hair not hidden under one of her surgical caps, her wedding band still on her finger rather than tucked away, pinned to the inside of her scrubs. you’ve known her for years and years, have watched her fail and succeed and succeed and succeed, have watched her fall in love and get married, have watched her build a home, a life — which includes you, in all the ways that matter, in the ways you will very rarely thank each other for and feel anyway. 

but still, ‘dr. choi,’ you say, ‘thanks for coming.’

she nods. ‘it sounded like an interesting case from your summary.’ she takes the ipad you offer her and looks at the scans of tai’s heart, then her vitals, then the scans again, a little closer and with something like wonder filling her eyes, just at the corners but enough for you to feel a spark of hope in your chest. she looks up at you. ‘we can do this, i think.’

‘yeah?’

‘it’ll be —‘ she pauses, nods to reassure both of you, sets her shoulders, and you know that’s it — ‘it’ll be difficult, but it’s not impossible.’

‘agreed.’

‘can i meet her, then? the patient? i’d like to get an idea of how small this heart actually is.’ 

‘of course.’ you open the door and it’s just like any other consult; beatrice is always brave enough to partner up on any peds cases, even the most heartbreaking, the most hopeless. 

tai smiles at beatrice, who is always good with children the same way you are: you talk to them like human beings, and you listen, and you take things seriously — their pain and their fear and their recovery. tai is too little to tell you anything, but beatrice still leans toward her gently and smiles at her babbling, runs a gentle hand over her soft hair, makes sure to warm the head of her stethoscope up on her thigh before pressing it to tai’s chest. 

there’s no way for you to realize it at the time, but you will swear for years that you knew, even before beatrice and certainly before ava, that tai was special; beatrice closes her eyes and listens to tai’s failing heart carefully. ‘i’ll need an updated echo,’ she tells you and your intern, standing uselessly behind you. ‘and then, if you’re free afterward, dr. villambrosia, let’s meet in the skills lab? i’d like to run through the procedure.’

‘that works for me.’

she nods once, seriously. ‘no parents?’

you shake your head. ‘she’s here through my org, from chengdu.’

beatrice considers this briefly but soldiers on, like she and ava haven’t had quiet, sad fights about children and adoption and a family and a home. ‘if you feel comfortable, i can hand off my follow-ups this afternoon to dr. amunet and we can get this taken care of. it’ll be a long recovery, so i’d rather it not degrade any further if we wait.’

‘as long as the run-through feels good,’ you say, ‘i think it’s the best course of treatment.’

beatrice nods, smiles once down at tai and rubs her little chest while tai squirms and babbles happily. for such a sick kid — on oxygen and a feeding tube, two ivs because her veins are so small — she’s generally happy, bright in a way that peds usually isn’t. she’s not guaranteed to survive so, like all of your patients, you don’t get too attached. beatrice hasn’t had that problem before, either, caring but not too much, unlike ava, who feels each loss as if it’s his own. but the way that beatrice lingers and lets tai hold onto her fingers while she tells your intern exactly what she wants from the ekg and bloodwork — you think this might be different. 

/

it’s touch and go for a while: you and beatrice are brilliant surgeons but, even with all of the tests and scans and practice, tai’s surgery is longer and more difficult than you could’ve prepared for: her heart is weak and so, so small; even beatrice struggles to place the careful, clever sutures you’ve watched her throw with ease, most surgeries, and for years. it takes longer than you would’ve liked to get her off bypass, much longer than you would’ve liked for her heart to start beating again in beatrice’s hands. 

but: it does beat. weak and small, yes, but sure, and steady, and even, all the valves and ventricles ready to heal as they should be. tai’s cheeks, once she’s settled in the picu again, are rosy, her skin warm, her oxygen sats already up comfortably from before. you’d wired her sternum shut and the incision running down her tiny chest will leave a scar, and she’ll probably need another procedure or two as she gets older — but she will get older, as far as you can tell. 

beatrice goes through — a little unexpected for the aftermath of a successful surgery, and far beyond the end of her relatively easy scheduled shift — all of the potential complications tai could face, how she was without a flow of properly oxygenated blood to her brain for an amount of time that frustrated her — maybe even frightened her. for as long as you’ve known beatrice — dr. choi — through undergrad and medical school, then residency and fellowships, into your first few years as attendings, she’s as unflappable as they come, unless it’s someone she loves who might be hurt, who might not get well. you’ve seen it with ava and her back, and shannon and mary after a car accident that looked much worse than it actually was, and even one time camila got the flu. 

it surprises you in the moment when beatrice, carefully taking off her scrub cap — patterned with little otters and rainbows, a ridiculous gift from ava that beatrice horrifically wears with not a single ounce of hesitation or embarrassment — slips into her hospital-issued fleece quarterzip and sits down in the chair by tai’s bassinet once you and the nurses get all of her machines situated. 

‘i’ll stay with her, dr. villaumbrosia,’ beatrice says, soft and formal.

‘there’s plenty of nurses, and dr. amunet, if you want to go home.’

beatrice shakes her head and leans over tai’s sleeping form, heavily sedated for the next few days so she’s not in pain, and runs a gentle finger along her cheek. ‘she — she doesn’t have anyone,’ she says, as much explanation as you need. ‘plus, dr. silva is on call tonight anyway.’

you resist the urge to say something mean about ava; he’s actually very talented and smart and he makes your best friend, your sister, very happy, and very full — even if he is the most annoying person you know. tai is alone, and all beatrice has to go home to, right now, is a beautiful house that’s empty of all of the life ava brings anywhere, leftovers in the fridge, a house that you know has an empty bedroom just down the hall from the primary, holding a lot of ava’s patient, quiet hope in the space.

‘okay,’ you say, not bothering her, just this once: tai is very small and still very sick; you’ve read enough studies to know that comfort, especially with babies who haven’t known as much of it as they should, can be extremely monumental in their ability to heal. ‘i’m sure you can handle if anything pops up, but i’d like to know anyway. text me.’

beatrice looks up from tai to nod, a grim smile on her face mellowed, seemingly, by tai’s steady breaths against beatrice’s palm. ‘will do.’

you nod and don’t bother to ask for anything else from her, taking your leave while she takes her glasses off and rubs her eyes, then slumps a little in the chair but keeps her hand on tai’s stomach, soothing and warm and present. tai has been alone her entire life, even if it’s only been very short; you believe that her body will know that she’s not anymore, at least for now.

/

it’s not often that you choose to come to work early, not often that you allow yourself to have much attachment to patients and their outcomes beyond whether or not you practiced the best medicine possible — no one would be able to do peds and neonatal surgery if they did — but you park far before the sun comes up and force yourself to grab three cups of coffee from the cafe before you head to the picu.

it doesn’t surprise you when you see both beatrice and ava by tai’s bassinet now, beatrice fast asleep, slumped over fully on ava’s shoulder, and ava scrolling through an ipad, probably taking care of charting here rather than in her office. ava smiles up at you, never deterred by your grumbling or eye rolls, and, just this once, you smile back.

‘dr. silva,’ you greet. ‘how’s she doing?’ you ask, handing him the coffee.

‘totally steady all night,’ ava says quietly, sounding far too proud of a baby that isn’t even really beatrice’s patient, let alone theirs. ‘she’s really strong, even if she’s small.’

you look over tai’s vitals from the past night quickly and it’s true, she is getting better even faster than you could’ve hoped. ‘she is.’

ava smiles, then looks over at a fast asleep beatrice, a little aching. ’bea said she’s an orphan?’

you sit down next to them both and nod; you assume beatrice gave ava enough of the details. ‘we’ll work to place her with a good family once she’s recovered well.’ the warning is unspoken: don’t get too attached.

ava looks over at beatrice, who has spent the entire night asleep in the picu over a baby whose heart she massaged until it beat again in her hands. he nods. ‘yeah,’ he says, hopeful despite it all. ‘yeah.’

/

‘i — i can do it.’

‘dr. choi.’

‘no,’ beatrice says, ‘it’s fine. i’m on call tonight, and it’s good for her.’

it is, you both know it, but tai is healing and, if all goes according to plan, will be released in a week or two, hopefully to a family who’s equipped to care for her, to raise her gently and generously and well. beatrice — and ava, whenever they make up a very flimsy excuse — have been in tai’s room often, and you know they’ve grown attached even though you warned them not to. but beatrice taking her scrub top off and picking tai up gently, careful of her leads and her still-tender chest, and then holding her close and settling into a rocking chair. 

‘beatrice,’ you say, sitting down across from her. 

‘have you — has there been a family chosen?’

you’re not the one in charge of any of that, your contributions to the organization being both your sixth-generation-surgeon money and your sixth-generation-surgeon talent, but you know there hasn’t been a decision made yet. you shake your head. 

she nods. ‘we…’ she swallows, readjusts so tai is held even closer, her left ear close to beatrice’s heart. ‘i spoke with ava. a lot, actually. and, well, you obviously know i’m chinese; i can teach her how to speak mandarin and make mapo doufu and she won’t — she won’t miss that part. and ava knows about not having a family of origin, and he’s, like, the best. and,’ she continues, ‘we’re both surgeons. you know she’s going to need care now, but also her whole life, and i — i fixed her heart.’ she can’t even look at you, just looks at tai’s peaceful little face as her voice gets wobbly and she sniffles. 

beatrice, above all, means what she says. she’s maybe one of the least impulsive people you’ve ever met, agonizing for as long as you’ve known her over haircuts and new hiking gear and dinner reservations, as methodical as it comes when she practices medicine. 

‘i —‘ she looks at tai once more and then takes a deep breath and meets your eyes. ‘i love her.’

you know, more than anything, ava has made beatrice want to be brave. you let it sink in, let it hit you like a tidal wave of easy warmth, then really let yourself look at your oldest friend and every careful thing about her, lean muscles and long-healed scars, the most careful thing held against her chest — the same skin, bathed in the light of an easy sunrise. ‘well okay then.’

beatrice seems surprised, for a moment, as if you would say no, or doubt her, or discourage or argue. ‘really?’

you nod, brusque mostly so you don’t cry. ‘i’ll connect you with aja; she’ll be able to help you with all the paperwork. i’ll put in my recommendation, of course.’

beatrice adjusts tai so she can free a hand to wipe a few tears. ‘thank you, lilith.’

‘let’s just hope she takes after you, not ava.’

beatrice laughs, and it makes tai smile.

/

‘no.’

‘she’s —‘

‘your daughter,’ you say. ‘you’re not tai’s doctor any longer, haven’t been in months.’

beatrice frowns, arms crossed. ava smiles far too serenely for your liking next to her.

‘she’ll be fine, babe,’ she says. ‘it’s just a post-op, super normal.’ she turns toward tai, happily squealing at a nurse playing peak-a-boo with her while they get her situated on the exam table. 

beatrice glowers but concedes, softening immediately when ava squeezes her bicep. they’re both definitely exhausted but happier than you could’ve really imagined; the empty bedroom now filled with a plethora of toys and clothes, colorful animals on the walls, a safe crib with a space mobile you’d personally given them. it makes sense to you, easily, that they’re good parents — kind and attentive and funny — even if, right now, they’re driving you insane. they’re both in comfortable clothes, not bothering with anything more on their shared day off. 

you have to physically shoo beatrice away as you’re listening to tai’s heart, which is ridiculous because you’re sure beatrice does it at home, probably every night. you’re more relieved than you would ever let on that her heartbeat is normal and steady — perfect, as far as you’re concerned. you go through the rest of her check-up and she’s as healthy as can be, gaining weight well, rolling over, holding her head up, starting to eat baby food — yes to bananas; no to green beans so far — not sleep regressing as much as they’d feared. 

‘she’s doing great,’ you reassure. 

‘fuck yeah she is,’ ava says, then sighs. ‘before either of you start, first of all, language is all relative.’

‘ava, we can’t have her first word being f—‘

‘— secondly,’ ava interrupts, then looks at beatrice putting tai back into her dinosaur onesie, slipping a warm cap onto her head, ‘she’s the best baby of all time.’

‘she is wonderful,’ beatrice says, still a little reverent.

ava elbows you as beatrice carefully pulls socks onto tai’s feet. ‘one of the better ones i’ve met,’ you concede, because you really do love tai, and, all things considered, she’s an easy, happy baby. ‘certainly better than i thought would be possible with either of you.’

ava rolls her eyes. ‘i read your recommendation.’ horrifyingly, she starts reciting it, so you move as quickly as you can.

‘i have a tight schedule today,’ you interrupt, beatrice laughing quietly, smiling at both of you with far too much amusement.

‘bye lil,’ she says. ‘thanks for everything.’

‘yeah, yeah,’ you say, but there’s no bite to it. ‘see you at dinner.’

#wn fic #avatrice fic #avatrice #surgeons au #i don’t often imagine them as moms but oh boy when i DO #tai … i love her. lilith also loves her #butch bea 🥺🫡 #a mom!!!! #if u rmb how zola was adopted in grey’s anatomy no u don’t but also objectively better w queer ppl 💁 #also sorry if u know things about medicine. in the spirit of grey’s anatomy #it is merely a plot vehicle here lol #also yes lilith does peds bc she is HARDCORE

[book-and-music-lover]

Yesterday's History, Tomorrow's a Mystery Moodboard by the author (me), and artwork by my wonderful Big Bang artist @pcrearts! See the full version of it here! <33

Chapters: 5/5 Fandom: Warrior Nun Warnings: No Archive Warnings Relationships: Ava Silva/Sister Beatrice Summary: 

Beatrice has never had a s’more, and that needs to be fixed. Immediately. To rectify this, Ava insists that they borrow Hans’ car and two-person tent (in exchange for picking up every extra shift for the next two weeks) and drags Beatrice on a three-night, four-day trip to the mountains of their little Swiss town. Ava’s ready to cross a few things off her life to-do list – including learning how to skip rocks and teach Beatrice how to live in the moment, amongst other things. After all, she only has one life left to live, so live it she will.

This is my Avatrice Big Bang entry, an event hosted by the wonderful @sapphicneige. I've made such an amazing community during this event, I am so glad I took the leap to join!

Read here on AO3

Spotify playlist

#avatricebigbang #avatrice fic #warrior nun #warrior nun fic #avatrice fanfic #ava x beatrice #k's written words #Avatrice big bang

[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

[gohandinhand]

turning sun into sugar, spinning straw into gold [2/2]

Fandom: Warrior Nun

Pairing: Ava/Beatrice

Rating: T

Word count: ~9k chapter (~19k total)

Read it on AO3

Canon divergent from the end of 2x02; what if they didn’t get called back to the fight, but had to find a new place to hide away, train, and fall in love? AKA a thinly veiled excuse to write a love letter to the pnw

The rain comes to stay and the life force of the trees shifts from leaves to trunk and branch, the bark overgrown with a carpet of moss reanimated now by the constant mist. The trees stretch their naked branches into the sky — like fingers, like roots, reaching for the clouds, like the very concept of a tree has been inverted. There’s still life and growth and green in the moss, a jewel of life, and these trees that look like they’ve been drawn in thick chartreuse crayon are a stark contrast to the still-dark evergreens that remain, unchanged, like guardians.

A reminder, a benediction; there is more than death and nothingness, even if winter is coming.

#wn fic #myfic #pnw au #pnw ava #avatrice fic #okay gonna go cry now thanks!!!!! #the culmination of seven months of writing i can't believe it's over

[sunsafewriting]

Do A Flip - chapter 7 (11.2k words)

chapter excerpt:

Shannon.

She’s always been a light sleeper, prone to waking up a few times a night, and the effect is magnified when she’s somewhere different. 

Tonight, different is their backyard: Diego has been desperate to go camping, and sleeping out under the stars behind Shannon and Mary’s house is their trial attempt at the whole experience. 

Beside her, Mary is still out, eyes closed. She tends to frown in her sleep, which Shannon finds charming; or perhaps what she finds charming is the way the frown clears when Mary wakes up, how she sees Shannon and her expression changes, first thing. 

Shannon slips out of their makeshift bed and stands, stretching her arm, working through a couple of nerve glides. Sometimes, when the weather changes too much too quickly, her old shoulder injury still twinges. It’s not too bad, anymore, but it’s better to get ahead of these things. 

From here, she can see the banked remains of the small fire they’d had in the pit, and the arrangement of the others, strewn out across the lawn. 

Diego, Ava, and Beatrice are lined up on a collection of mats. Ava has curled around Beatrice, and the way the two of them are pressed close makes Shannon sure they’ve slept like this before, but that doesn’t necessarily mean anything. Together, Ava and Beatrice have made an art out of avoiding change, or rather, of changing everything except that last little thing that makes it impossible to go back. 

Diego’s head pops up from his nest of blankets. In the moonlight, Shannon can see him blink, rubbing the back of his hand across his eyes. He catches sight of her and squirms free, scooping up his water bottle from the ground nearby before weaving his way over to her. 

He’s wearing a hoodie that he inherited from Ava recently — it features a graphic of a turtle in a judge’s wig, with the word TORTLE printed below. Shannon’s not sure he actually gets it, but he wears it all the time now anyway. 

"You’re awake, too," he says — softly, so he won’t wake everyone else.

"Yep. Thought I'd check out the stars for a bit."

They sit down together in two of the chairs by the firepit and tip their heads up to look at the sky. 

"How are you liking camping so far?" Shannon asks. 

"It’s cool," he whispers back. "Definitely marshmallows are the best part." 

Only Shannon, Ava, and Diego eat marshmallows — Beatrice is bothered by the texture and Mary finds them too sweet — but between the three of them, they’d managed to finish off a whole packet. Shannon had about three marshmallows total, so most of the credit has to be split between Ava and Diego’s industrious efforts. 

"Marshmallows are the best part," Shannon confirms. 

Diego’s attention drifts back to the stars for a moment, and then over to their campsite: the inflatable mattresses and the sleeping bags and the heaps of pillows — almost every single pillow from their house.

His expression shifts, and she can’t quite read him anymore.

"Everything okay?" 

At Diego’s age, if asked anything about how she was feeling, Beatrice had a variety of responses. She’d inform Shannon, stony-faced, that she was fine, that it didn’t matter, or just change the topic completely. Occasionally, when she did open up, it was almost always accompanied by a preface: this is ridiculous, but —

It’s a habit that stuck through her adolescence, a sense that emotions could only be discussed after having gained distance from them, after positioning them as inconsequential or unimportant. 

Shannon doesn’t really hear Beatrice talk like that anymore. Maybe it’s growing up and growing into herself, and being away from her parents. Maybe it’s Ava’s influence, and how she wants to put every one of Beatrice’s feelings under light and examine it and take it seriously. Or maybe it was a conscious choice, out of fear that Diego might pick it up, might start to speak and think in the same way. 

"Yeah," Diego says. "It’s just nice, isn’t it? It’s really nice."

"It is," Shannon replies. 

There’s a beat, and then Diego admits, "I wanted to try it because of what you said. You said that camping trips were your favourite thing when you were a kid."

Actually, what Shannon said was that family camping trips were her favourite, but this omission, it seems, has been made deliberately: Diego is watching her very carefully, now, his fingers tugging at his hoodie sleeve. 

"Is this like the ones you remember?" he asks. 

"Well, my brother used to snore like a tractor," Shannon answers, and Diego’s nose crinkles in amusement. "But other than that, they were exactly like this." 

Diego nods, satisfied, and the two of them sit there a little longer, until Diego yawns, and then he’s off again, saying goodnight to Shannon before disappearing back into his nest, wriggling a bit closer to Ava before going still.

#it's been 84 years etc etc #this was supposed to be 5k but once u add the over rewriting of the me it doubles in size #do a flip #sunsafewriting #avatrice #ava x beatrice #avatrice fic #avatrice fanfic

[quietblueriver]

fingers crossed for your writing! prompt for you: mask

Hi!! Thank you so much for the prompt and the crossed fingers. Very happy to be writing Avatrice again. Here’s a short, soft thing and a play on both mask and masc that’s hopefully not too far off the mark. 💜💜💜

Ava leans against the doorway and watches as Beatrice stares at a black t-shirt that she assumes came from the basket of clean clothes beside the bed, lips pulled down at the corners, a few locks of newly shorn hair falling over her forehead with the angle. Ava wants to tuck it back, run her own thumbs over the buzzed sides in that way that makes Beatrice close her eyes and breathe a little deeper.

“Hey,” she says more quietly than she normally would, smiling gently as Bea’s attention snaps to her, body visibly tightening in the moment it takes for her to assess Ava’s threat level. Once a soldier and all that.

“Sorry to surprise you.” She sticks out a socked foot and wiggles it, thick pink and purple stripes on display. “Got a comfy assist with my stealth game. Camila was not joking with this yarn.”

The tension leaves Bea’s body as she lifts her left leg from where it hangs over the side of the bed to wiggle back with her own pair, a more muted blue and gray sticking out from the bottom of gray sweatpants. She doesn’t say anything, but she puts the shirt down and shifts on the bed, tucking socked feet criss-cross underneath her knees and creating a space that Ava fills happily, crossing her own legs so that their thighs are pressed together.

“You good?”

“Yes,” Beatrice offers quickly before she catches herself, shrugging a shoulder at Ava with a small smile. “Mostly,” she amends, and Ava indulges her earlier impulse and presses Bea’s hair back from her forehead before running her thumb over the clipped hair just above her ear. As she’d hoped, she gets fluttering eyes and a content sigh.

“Wanna talk about it?”

Brown eyes blink open and she runs a hand through her hair before turning her head to face the mirror that hangs from their closet door. Ava’s eyes follow, and they meet in the glass, Ava leaning over to rest her chin on Bea’s shoulder.

“‘Sup, handsome?” Her breath tickles Bea’s cheek and she rolls her eyes even as she smiles that smile she saves for Ava, a little bit of pink in her cheeks.

Her eyes drift and Ava presses a kiss to her cheek before settling back and giving her some space.

“I look like my uncle.”

Ava stops fiddling with their duvet, brings her eyes slowly back to Beatrice in the mirror. She’s waiting for her, lips turned up just slightly and eyes soft, and she dips her head a little to let Ava know it’s okay to keep looking, to keep checking.

And she does, eyes tracking the movement of Bea’s chest and the twitch of her toes where they’re pressed under her knee, a flash of soft blue wool.

“Jacob. His name was Jacob. He was…” The shift in her expression as she searches for the words she needs brings her lips to a pout, but her tone isn’t sad or angry when she finds what she’s looking for. “I wanted very badly to be like him, when I was small. He laughed a lot, and he was very smart but he didn’t…he didn’t use it to make me feel small. He was silly with me, in a very intentional way. Always sought me out and asked me questions and told me jokes that…well, you would have liked them.” Ava sticks her tongue out at her and Bea looks a little proud and a lot fond. “Exactly. I didn’t know what to do with that, but I liked it.” She pulls at the silver chain around her neck, the ghost of a prayer. “He died when I was eight. A car accident. I think…looking back on his funeral and the people who were there, I think maybe he was…like me.” Her jaw clenches, determined, and Ava loves her as she says, voice firm, “Gay. I think he was gay.”

Ava moves a hand to the small of Bea’s back, and Bea puts a hand on her knee, skin warm through the fabric of Ava’s leggings.

“It…as far as I know it was a surprise to my father. Uncle Jacob always brought dates to the big Christmas party and to all of the family events, beautiful women that were funny like he was and talked to me like they cared what I had to say but also like I was still a child, like I was only expected to be a child. One of them snuck me extra cake when my mother wasn’t looking, but when she winked at me, suddenly I couldn’t eat anything else.”

She’s blushing a little, and Ava presses her lips to the cotton covering her shoulder, smiling into it.

“Uh-huh.”

The blush deepens, and Ava smothers the rest of her grin against Bea, grasping and squeezing at her forearm to encourage her to keep talking.

She does, smile dimming a little as she says, “They were there at the service, those women, but so were a lot of other people I’d never seen before, all in a big group together.” Her fingers move against the fabric of her sweats, tug at her black tee, the twin to the one discarded a few minutes ago. “They were in the back of the line to greet us, at the wake, and my father was so…” Fingers run with agitation through already mussed hair. “He was so rude to them, Ava. Gritting his teeth and saying nothing when they offered condolences and shaking hands hard enough that he made people wince. I went to the bathroom and heard two of them talking about how it wasn’t any wonder ‘Jay’ lived like he did. I’d never heard anyone call him Jay before, and I didn’t know what they meant, but I knew better than to ask my parents.”

She swallows and Ava covers the hand on her knee with her own, quiet because she’s not sure if Bea is finished and she is trying her very best these days to give Bea the same space that Bea gives her to say what she wants to say. Even if it makes Ava squirm with the desire to comfort, to fill the silence.

“We left the wake as soon as we could without it being socially unacceptable to the people my parents cared about. My father was so angry on the ride home that my mom was afraid to talk to him, and…” The shaky breath makes Ava so fiercely protective that the halo starts humming under her skin. “After he pulled me into the car, I made myself as small as I could. He went into his study and slammed the door when we got home. They never talked about Uncle Jacob again. It was like he died twice.”

“Bea.” Her hand moves to rest between shoulder blades, presses in in comfort. “I’m so sorry.”

Beatrice smiles at her in the mirror before breaking their connection to turn and kiss her. The angle is a little awkward, their bodies having twisted over the course of the conversation, so she moves to fix it, adjusting so her knees are pressed to Bea’s thigh and making her hands at home on the sides of her neck. When Beatrice pulls back, she backs herself against the headboard and lifts an arm, and Ava’s chest is tight with affection as she moves into the space and settles, hand gripping the front of Bea’s shirt a little possessively. They’ve had this now for months, this bed and this apartment and this time together without world-ending bullshit, but she’s still not used to the luxury of it, of open, unapologetic affection, of Bea’s heartbeat steady under her ear, of time stretching out instead of bearing down.

“It surprised me, when I looked into the mirror and saw him.” Her voice is quieter like this, and Ava feels her words as she says them, cheek pressed against her chest. “In a good way.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes.” Fingers run through her hair and Ava lets her eyes close. “I wish I could have known him. I wish he could have known me.”

Ava nods against her. “Me too. He sounds way better than the rest of your family, not that that’s a high bar.” The words slip out thoughtlessly but she doesn’t want to retract them. They’re past pretending Ava wouldn’t halo blast Bea’s parents into the nearest body of water on sight and mostly past Bea feeling guilty for wanting her to. “I’m sorry you didn’t have him for longer.”

“Mmm.” It’s a little absent. A beat. “I used to be a nun.”

Ava opens her eyes at that, pushes up a little to raise an eyebrow at Beatrice.

“Oh yeah? I didn’t know.”

Beatrice pokes her in the ribs and she giggles as she settles back down.

“Yes, thank you.” Her voice softens, quiets. “I understand him. Or I think I do. Why Uncle Jay lived the way that he did.”

Ava splays her hand across Bea’s ribs.

“You used to be a nun.”

“Yes.” Lips touch her hairline. “I am glad that I’m not anymore.”

Ava presses her own lips against the body underneath her. “Me too.” She traces a pattern on Bea’s ribs. “I think he would be proud of you. Of who you are. Of how brave you are.”

Her body moves with Beatrice’s exhale. “I think he would have liked you.”

Ava pulls her chin up to rest against Bea’s sternum and grins her best roguish grin. “Well, I’m very charming.”

Her stomach swoops at the look Bea gives her, adoration undisguised and voice earnest. “Yes. You are. You’re wonderful.”

The kiss is short but sure, leaving Ava a little breathless. Affection thrums in her veins, and she pulls and pushes at Bea’s body until they’re reversed, Bea’s head pillowed on her chest and Ava’s fingers running through short hair, scratching at the nape of her neck. She runs her fingers under the silver chain and turns her head to watch their reflection. Bea’s eyes are closed, her breath slowing, and Ava takes the opportunity to look at her, sees for a moment Sister Beatrice as she was when Ava met her, ashamed and hiding so much of herself, desperately trying to be what everyone wanted and needed her to be.

Her heart breaks a little, for little Beatrice who became Sister Beatrice and for a man she never met. She blinks away the specters in the mirror and sees Bea again, soft and sleepy and brave, and presses a kiss of gratitude to her head.

#avatrice #avatrice fic #wn prompt fic

[spencerreidswhore187]

Take Me to Church

Ava x Beatrice (Warrior Nun)

Summary: Amidst the chaos of their lives, Beatrice finds solace in playing with Ava's hair.

Word Count: 0.3k

In the subdued ambience of their makeshift refuge, Beatrice sat beside Ava, the flickering flame of a solitary candle casting an ethereal glow across the room. The air was thick with the weight of unspoken battles and the lingering echoes of their pasts. Yet, amidst the calmness, Ava rested her head on Beatrice's shoulder, humming quietly as Beatrice's fingers gently traced through her hair.

Beatrice's gaze remained fixed, her movements deliberate as she navigated the strands of Ava's hair. There was a certain stoicism about her, a demeanour that spoke of a sister warrior's discipline, even in the seemingly mundane act of playing with hair. 

"You ever notice how we're always on the brink of chaos, yet there's something oddly grounding about this?" Beatrice asked.

Ava, nuzzling into Beatrice's shoulder, couldn't help but smirk at her unexpected insight.

"Grounding, huh? I wouldn't have expected you to go all Zen on me, Bea."

Beatrice's response was a subtle nod, her focus unwavering.

"Call it what you want. It's a distraction. Keeps the mind sharp."

As her fingers continued their purposeful dance, it was as if Beatrice was untangling more than just hair – unravelling the knots of tension that accompanied them wherever they went.

 "They say focus is a weapon," Bea murmured. "And if you can make someone lose focus on the chaos, even for a moment, it's a victory."

Ava, ever the pragmatist, chuckled at the notion.

"I'm all for unconventional warfare. Carry on, soldier."

Beatrice's fingers moved with a seasoned precision, each stroke a deliberate manoeuvre in a silent strategy. Though small and confined, The room was a sanctuary of sorts, shielded from the outside tumult by the quiet exchange between two warriors seeking solace.

"In the midst of battles and skirmishes, even nuns need a moment of respite. This... this is our moment."

Ava, in the embrace of the momentary truce, acknowledged the unspoken pact with a nod.

"If this is a warrior's version of a spa day, I'm all in."

A/N: Thank you for reading ◡̈

#warrior nun #warrior nun fanfiction #avatrice fanfic #avatrice fic #avatrice #fanfic #fanfiction #warrior nun fluff #avatrice fluff #ava silva #sister beatrice #ava x beatrice #beatrice x ava

[jtl07]

cooking with my (dead) mom

New notification: Ava Silva uploaded: "New series announcement: Dead Mom Recipes!"

#this wasn't the fic that i thought i'd be writing but yknow what #we're gonna just write what gets written and be happy with that #i should write more fics with food lol #avatrice #avatrice fic #jt writes fic

[princington]

"Ava!"

"What? You are!"

or

library au! by @softpluto

#every one of these is a gift thank you #avatrice #avatrice fic #avatrice fanart #author rec: softpluto #fic rec: library au #my art

[mermaidandthedrunks]

if saints and angels spoke of love (1/10)

Title: if saints and angels spoke of love

Pairing: Ava/Beatrice

Rating: E

Summary: Sister Beatrice likes complicated mathematical formulas, sci-fi novels, and routine. Then Ava Silva arrives at Santa Areala Academy for Girls like a shock of rain on a hot summer day.

ao3 link

#the catholic school au i've been wanting to write forever #avatrice fic #ava silva #sister beatrice #warrior nun #avatrice

[justawhitewall]

mirages of you [chapter 1/3, 12.9k]

After dying, becoming the Warrior Nun, and blowing up the goddamn Vatican to escape the devil himself, it's in a small apartment hidden in the Alps on a random Tuesday that Ava's life truly begins again (and again, and again).

Read on Ao3

for @gohandinhand's birthday :)

#avatrice fic #avatrice #warrior nun #warrior nun fic #my writing #HAPPY BIRTHDAY GOEY!!!! #this is theoretically for you but you'll probably hate it #love u tho #gohandinhand

[possibilistfanfiction]

Surgeons au: "please take a break"

[idk where this started & idk where this went but boy is it soft lol]

//

beatrice is exhausted.

you get home — to her house, but you have a key and most of your things have migrated over steadily: a drawer for your underwear; your favorite coffee roast in the cabinet; your spare cane in the corner of the bedroom; the garden you’d planted and tended in the back yard in full bloom now — and see her slumped over, her head in her hands, sitting on a stool at the kitchen island. it’s been like this for days, since she lost a patient from a routine surgery that went badly and then went worse than badly. it wasn’t her fault, not at all, but beatrice, you’ve found, despite her reticence and calm, is a person who feels everything deeply. for all of your differences, you think this is maybe the similarity that makes the most sense to you, the one that lets you navigate what she needs when things are too big and too near and impossibly sad.

she lifts her head, a blush rising to her cheeks, when you come in from the garage. ‘oh,’ she says, like she lost track of time; she probably did.

‘hello to you too.’

she smiles apologetically. ‘hello, darling.’

you toss your tote on the couch; on a normal day, when things aren’t so heavy, this would make her sigh in fond exasperation, but now she just waits, still, for you to slip your shoes off and pad over to her. 

‘i’m all sweaty,’ she says, holding up a hand before you can hug her. you glance down and see that she’s still in a pair of her climbing pants and an old hoodie, her hands still slightly dusty with chalk. 

‘you went to the gym?’

she nods, and you spare her the lecture of why it’s a bad idea to go bouldering after a marathon shift, especially when she hasn’t been sleeping even on her days off.

‘i just needed something else to think about, to — to feel with my hands.’

you’re, like, the most mature person in the world now, basically, because you read the room and refrain from making one of many of the dirty jokes that immediately pop into your head. it’s too easy anyway. ‘are you feeling better?’

she sighs, slumps even further onto the stool. ‘i’m feeling tired.’

‘yeah, i bet you are.’ you don’t care about her being sweaty, don’t care about any of it, really, but how to possibly comfort her. you rub your hand along her back, her perfect, strong spine, her exacting, taut muscles, the grief wedged between them all.

‘i have to read dr. adebeyo’s new research article, and review for my septal myectomy on thursday, and —‘

‘you’re not at work right now, babe.’

‘i can’t think of anything else.’

you don’t often ask things of her, mostly because she offers so much so readily but also because asking is still hard for you, impossible some days. but you’re working on it and, besides, this is for her: ‘please, please take a break.’ what happened wasn’t your fault, you want to say, but it would be too much and you get the feeling that she still isn’t quite ready to hear it yet.

she leans into your side then, a little awkward but bone-weary and still, you can tell, in love. it’s scared you for so long, what it’s like to be adored by someone, to be valued and admired; it’s the most terrifying thing you’ve ever felt in your life, worse than your accident and the scars along your back and the hollow of your throat and all the surgeries to follow, worse than the horribly hopeful future spread out in front of you when you got accepted to work with jillian, worse than when you matched with your dream program. beatrice simply is — in love with you, loving you — and, finally, finally, you’re starting to trust it. 

‘you need a haircut,’ you say after a while — beatrice usually buzzes her hair every week, neatly and like clockwork, because ‘it’s easy, and, so i’ve been told at least, that it looks good,’ she’d told you, to which you’d rolled your eyes but had no argument against — and she snorts a laugh from where she’s pressed her face into your arm. it’s amused and exhausted, all at once. ‘i can do it, if you’d like.’

she waits for a moment, considers it. there’s the intimacy you’re familiar with: how warm her center is with your fingers curling inside, the way her mouth feels when you’re about to come. the way your body was able to feel during sex was the wildest, most heartbreaking discovery for you at first, but you settled into it with joy after a while. after chanel had very seriously given you a lecture your second week of college on how to be safe, it was fun and light and never so serious. with beatrice, it’s easy intimacy: you know that kissing her pulse point makes her arch her back and beg, that you know how to be kind, even when rough, every single time.

the intimacies of life, though, are where you sometimes both get stuck, the smallest parts of you that had hurt the most, that had had to heal so slowly, that you hold so tight to your chest. you hate playing all your cards, and you’re certain she does too: to be cared for can feel suffocating, in the wrong circumstances. to be cared for, though, you’ve discovered a few weeks ago when she brought you a heating pad and picked up the new pain medication your neurologist wanted you to try, in the right hands, in beatrice’s hands, is a miracle.

beatrice looks up at you, the question clear: you would do that for me?

you smile softly, lean down to kiss her like things are easy, like things are good. in so many ways, in the ways that sit in the marrow of your bones, they are.

she smiles back, finally, eyes brightening, unfurling after days trying to hide in the dark. ‘you think you can manage it?’

you nod. ‘you can trust me.’ it comes out so sincere, despite the fact that you add in a wink to try to dissipate it.

she straightens up, then, and squeezes your hand. ‘thank you, ava.’

you tell her, ‘of course,’ because, of course. 

‘you know,’ she says a few minutes later, sitting on a kitchen chair in the big primary bathroom, her shirt discarded in the hamper in your room, ‘i’ve never let anyone do this for me before.’

‘really?’

‘yes.’ she’s quiet for a moment, the buzz from her clippers, with the guard she’d precisely put on, the only noise as you run them along her scalp. ‘well, it’s fairly simple, for one.’

you hum. ‘and for two?’

she rolls her eyes, shrugs, blushes. you love her. ‘i didn’t…’ she pauses, tries again, ‘it’s close.’

‘yeah.’

she meets your eyes in the mirror, quiet. you know from what she’s told you about her past, when she was younger, when she knew who she was but was made to feel scared and so ashamed : the tears and the heartache and how much she thought her life wasn’t worth anything, the heaviness that sits around her like a soft cloak sometimes, even still. but, right now, you see her, and you care for her, exactly as she is. it’s different than anything you’ve ever had before, more than you could’ve convinced yourself to want: she’s going to stay. she wants to stay.

a smile grows on her face and it’s like the whole world lightens. ‘lilith thought i was having a breakdown, the first time.’

you laugh, go over the spiraling, small cowlick a few more times so it’s all even. ‘was she maybe a little bit right?’

she hums. ‘a little, perhaps. but i’d been curious for a long time, and i knew — it would feel right. i knew it.’

you resist the urge to kiss the top of her head, one of your favorite activities, only just avoiding it when you brush all the little hairs from her bare shoulders and some of them stick to your hand. ‘well, it suits you. i mean, i think anything would suit you, probably, but i get it.’

her smile softens, just for you. ‘plus, my mother almost fainted the first time i went home for the holidays. worth its weight in gold, honestly, for both me and lil.’

it’s rare beatrice mentions her parents, especially in a way that encourages a little laugh to bubble out of her chest. you grin. ‘i would’ve paid to see that.’

she fiddles with her watch band, one of her only nervous tells, and then sighs. ‘well, they’re visiting in a few weeks, after my boards.’

you take the guard off and tilt her head forward slightly so you can clean up her neckline. it gives her time to take a deep breath, and for you to calm your nerves. ‘oh. how do you feel about that?’

‘i mean, well, it’s fine. i suppose this is the sort of things parents would be proud of.’

‘any sane parent would be, like, bursting at the seams proud of you. i need you to know that.’

‘i —‘ she pauses, puzzles through it. ‘i do, for the most part. when they’re a continent away, it’s different. easier.’

‘for sure.’ you walk around in front of her and brush hair off of her forehead, the tip of her nose which she scrunches up. you’d told a patient the other day, scared and hurting, that dr. choi was the best, and, in all the ways that matter — her steady hands and kind hugs and the stretch of freckles across her cheeks — you had meant it. 

‘do you — would you like to meet them?’

you’d like to fucking punch them, but — ‘do you want me to meet them?’

‘yes,’ she says, certain and stoic. ‘you’re my partner, and we live together, and i’m going to spend the rest of my life with you.’

there’s such tenderness, such assuredness, the rain calming and her strong shoulders and the smile you feel on your face. it’s quiet, now, the clippers turned off and sitting on the counter. ‘we live together?’

‘that’s what you got from that?’

you shrug.

she takes your hand, laces your fingers together. ‘your lease is up next month, right?’

‘yeah.’

‘i can’t remember the last time you didn’t spend the night here, and i certainly can’t remember the last time i didn’t want you to.’

‘you’re full of big declarations today.’ it’s ineffective, because your laugh comes out as mostly a snot-filled snuffle when tears press at your eyes. you’ve never, really, had a home before.

beatrice just squeezes your hand. 

‘you’re gonna spend the rest of your life with me?’

‘ah, there we go.’

‘you do know that i’m, like, a whole lot.’

‘yes,’ she says. ‘and i love you.’

just like that. just like that, and it’s so easy. ‘i love you too.’ you wipe under your eyes, grimace for a moment when stray hairs get stuck on your cheeks, but you let out a big breath. ‘i can’t promise i won’t at least tell your parents off.’

‘if they say anything that warrants that, i’m fine with you causing a scene if you’d like. shannon loves to, so she’ll have fun.’

‘i think that might be too much of an opening for me, honestly. i’ve been waiting to yell at them since like, two hours after i met you.’

‘there’s no way you knew after two hours on my service.’

‘i could sense the, like, childhood trauma, gentle, brooding, gay vibes. i’m talented that way.’

she rolls her eyes but she’s clearly so fond of you, still holding your hand. ‘well, shall i shower, and then we can order in? catch up on the traitors, maybe?’

‘god, that is my love language. for real, bea.’

‘would you like to shower with me?’

‘okay, i take it back. that is my love language.’

she laughs, and stands, and you clean up and get in the shower and kiss her. you don’t do anything more, not tonight, not when things are still the raw end of a live nerve wire, hurt dissipating near the surface. you cuddle on the couch and steal bites of her biryani and she falls asleep, warm and soft, her head resting on your chest while you scratch her scalp. you live her, for real, you think, as you pause the episode before the roundtable because she hates missing it even if she pretends to not care — asking for a full recap the next day — and then rouse her as gently as you can and lead her by the hand to bed, to rest.

#wn #wn fic #avatrice #avatrice fic #butch bea 🥺🫡 #surgeons au #idk! the INTIMACY! mary oliver was right! #the girls who get it get it (gender expansive)