#my sister Ava is my opposite

[storybookprincess]

wanted sibling feedback while glasses shopping & i’m so validated

#my sister Ava is my opposite #i adore her but she is a minimalist & practical & straightforward #i am a maximalist & act like an 8 year old whose diet is raw sugar packets & nothing else #hence these convos happen often #liv speaks

[brenshor]

Please I'm begging come home

#warrior nun #warrior nun season 2 #renew warrior nun #ava silva #warrior nun edit #avatrice #ava silva is superior you cannot tell me otherwise #my memes #ava x beatrice #sister beatrice #savewarriornun #ava is bisexual jesus #fuck #i mixed up two of the words #the go and the where should be on opposite slides #sigh #and the follow is blurrier than it looked on my phone screen #damn #anyways #hope no one has done this yet

[thepastisneverdead1966]

“Be Free”

Think I’ve finally figured out why “be free” was such a touching line so here’s my poor attempt at articulating it:

When Beatrice said “be free” to Ava, for a second I wasn’t sure if she was saying it to Ava as she left the realm that trapped her body and soul with paralysis and responsibility too great for anyone, or was she, perhaps, saying it to herself too.

Ava and Beatrice were both trapped in their reality. Ava was physically restricted yet her mind was full of life. Beatrice was mobile, active, deft might even be an understatement, but her mind a guarded labyrinth. In a way, they are polar opposites.

Beatrice did not become a nun because she was religious. She WAS religious, but that was not what led her to devote her life to the church. As Beatrice put it herself, “pain is what made [her] a sister warrior”. The pain that drove her to become a well-trained and restrained warrior stemmed from a sense of guilt that she could not erase. She may have distanced herself from, or even cut ties with her family, but it came from within, a deep-rooted belief that she did not deserve anything other than a life-long repentance.

But Ava knew what it was like to be trapped. She knew what it was like to be unable to live, and I mean LIVE, not exist. They were polar opposites, they were exactly the same.

So it’s only natural for Beatrice to say “be free” because she truly loved Ava and knew she deserved to be, even if that meant she had to let her go. And when Ava said “I love you” to Beatrice, it meant the same thing.

Above all things, I want you to be free.

I think that’s a notion beyond love.

#I might sound like I have a point but I don’t #I just miss them sm and I want you to think about them too #warrior nun #avatrice #ava silva #sister beatrice #warrior nun thoughts #Ava Silva and Beatrice no last name I love you

[wonderrbeam]

My H&H gender swap au: A Mother’s Calamity

This au is where the adults are their opposite genders and a buncha’ other stuff that I’m going to try to explain! Martha Greywhinder has basically kept the same personality Martin has, she is still the cold, stern and disciplinary parent and still holds a lot of abusive qualities. But she cares for her children (who are very much her and Glor’s biological kids in this au)

Her sister, Arlene Greywhinder, of course still develop M&A Harmony Toys and basically most of the same stuff that happens in the vhs tapes happens in here. Such as the kidnappings, murders, and other crimes Martin has committed.

Martha sees how other people view her not so alive toys and gets pretty pissed off at that and the fact that she’s beginning to find out her husband and her sister have been bonding a little too much from the inflict of her abuse. The Broadcast Incident happens and unfortunately Ace Wilson gets murdered. Martha gets obsessed on making the perfect toy and poor Banzo gets turned into a killing machine.

Arlene finds out and the same events that play in Go0d_By3_ArThur happen except Arlene doesn’t get get shot and doesn’t mention running away with Glor and the kids. Martha’s relationship with Thomas, Macy, and Ava are pretty good, she can be pretty or very cruel sometimes but overall she adores them a lot.

Sadly, one of Martha’s creations injure Thomas and Macy (who unfortunately were near at the moment) very badly and that eventually gets them killed. Arlene and Glor are obviously very heartbroken and both began to put the blame on Martha (which definitely and reasonably they should) and Martha, who is very devastated and currently grieving of the loss of her first two kids, of course doesn’t see this and instead argues with the fact that she knows how they’ve been acting towards each other behind her back.

Arlene and Glor take Ava away from her and they both successfully flee to Arlene’s house. Causing Martha to get even more upset and goes on a rampage, killing them both, which Arlene turns into the Ice cream man, or woman shall I say. And Glor turns into a vengeful spirit.

Due to Martha’s grief she digs Thomas and Macy out of their graves and resurrects Thomas into a Henry Doll, and Macy into the Singing Sofia Marionette, desperate to have some sort of contact or connection with her son and daughter. Martha also manages to take Ava back during the rampage, leaving her being the only fully alive daughter she has.

And that is all for now! If you have any questions I’ll willingly and happily answer them!

Also here is female Arthur! :D (Arlene)

#harmony and horror #h&h #harmony & horror #h&h au #gloria greywhinder #martin greywhinder #arthur greywhinder #thomas greywhinder #macy greywhinder #ava greywhinder #gender swap au #genderswap #quick doodle #amy wilson #h&h amy wilson

[cursedextrovert]

Yes, and you will understand the OCS isnt just a found family. They are THE found family. We have:

Lilith: the oldest, burnt out, wear people's expectations too long they became expectations she has on herself. Very mean but mostly bark cause she gotta have that mean look to scare people away. Protective but would prefer communicating than force. Unstable.

Mary: second oldest. Learnt from the oldest so she will bark and bite. No bullshiting with her. Very protective.

Yasmine: nerdy, middle child, keep being forgotten at the mall but she doesnt mind, very confused, just happy to be included most of the time, able to have niche hobbies and interesting career because all the expectations are placed on the oldests.

Beatrice: nerdy, second youngest, can be considered somewhat middle child. Crippling anxiety. Fear of abandonment and commitment. Niche hobbies and interests. Sheltered and learned from the older so she will bite and take no prisoner. Quiet so will be forgotten at the mall too(I'm sorry). The "angel" side to Ava, telling her what are and arent wise.

Camila: geeky, too much real life knowledge from the older ones without actually live it so shes a bit chaotic. She knows a lot about how ones should behave but doesn't know how to hide her emotions yet. She likes to be seen and prasied by her sisters. Silent but deadly. She will not be in the front of a fight but will slash your tires afterward and kidnap your dog(only cause she loves them). Will be next to Ava in any shenanigans they pull together and be the opposite of the voice of reason.

Ava: the youngest, very sheltered, keep getting lost after following some sort of bugs, a menace, will pull all sort of pranks on the others and get smacked or tickled the shit out of at the end, always forgiven because she's the youngest. Energetic and extravert. Make friends with everyone. Partake in reckless things and have no concept of riskes(often encouraged by Camila, talked out of by Beatrice and got "she will fall and learn" comment from Lilith and Mary). Fight with Lilith on a daily basis because they're too different in ways of approaching life.

Every dynamics are just heart-warming and adorable and chaotic and full of loving banters. And I eat every fics with them at found family or on a road trip up. I love them so much just thinking about them brought tears to my eyes gosh- what if they just start a whole sitcom with them travelling together in a van like that puppybusby's Discovery fic.

#Avatrice #the ocs #warrior nun #save warrior nun #lilith #camila #mary #yasmine #beatrice #incorrect warrior nun #ava silva #found family

[noteveryoneis]

Grocery shopping with three kids is like balancing a goldfish’s bowl on your head — impossible and always ending in disaster.

Especially when one of them is a little girl with ADHD and who is going through her teenage rebellion at eight years old. Ava has already lost sight of Nina five times in the span of thirty minutes, no matter how many times she has asked her to stay with them and not get lost. Every time she finds her, the little girl just rolls her eyes and mutters ‘ugh’ like Ava is just the most annoying bitch on Earth — at least she hasn’t said it yet, she still has some respect left for her mother.

‘Dad would have let me have it,’ Ava hears after she tells her to put back the Laffy Taffy she tried to add to the cart.

Ava clenches her teeth, doesn’t say anything (of course her dad would have let her have it, as he doesn’t care about her, about her sisters, about what they eat and who they are and if they are loved), but she sees the way Neves looks up at her quietly, as if her five year old brain can sense that her mother has just been hit in the chest by an invisible arrow, and Nova’s grip on the shopping cart tightens, like she is doing everything in her power not to smack her little sister with one of the pool noodles on display.

Still, Ava makes the most of it. She makes whooshing noises as she turns the cart, drops kisses on Neves’ nose from time to time where she is sitting in the child seat, helps Nova choose the best pens and even lets Nina get the Barbie notebook she really wanted. 

She’s mentally doing the math of how much they’ll need and if she can add a bottle of her pain meds to the list when she hears the voice behind her.

“My my my, as I live and breathe, if that isn’t Ava Silva.”

Her first reflex is to grip the cart like it’s going to float away, muscles locked up. She's been hearing that so much lately, the snarls and mocking chuckles from everyone who knew her from before — and from now, Ava Silva who left her shiny little city after being kicked out like a dog by the father of her kids and came back with her tail in between her legs to her hometown (when in reality Ava is working her ass off so that her girls can go to school and live in a real house where they each have their own rooms and where they can go to the beach every weekend and she loves it).

But then she recognizes the hoarseness of the voice and the way it sounds like a warm smile — or like coming home. And so Ava whirls around, only to be met by the sight of none other than Mary freaking Masters, grinning down at her.

People have had a lot of different reactions at Ava’s return. Camila blew up her phone at the first text Ava sent announcing her move, Lilith tried to stare her down, Mrs. Salvius smiled at her and wished her a warm welcome back, Duretti almost kicked her out of the school and Superion announced loudly that she was praying Nova wasn’t anything like her mother — fondly and teasingly too, Superion was a softie even though she claimed the opposite.

But being picked up and hugged tightly? A first.

Mary’s laugh echoes in her ear as Ava hugs her back, grinning like an idiot.

“Jesus, kid, I heard you were back and town and I didn’t believe it, but you’re actually here!”

Mary sets her back down on the ground, smiling at her (the only thing stopping her from ruffling Ava’s hair is probably the fact that she’s a grown woman of twenty-eight-years old).

“Yeah, I am, moved back three weeks ago. Glad to know news still travel fast around here.”

“You know it,” Mary laughs, like she just knows how much the residents of their hometown love talking back behind each other’s backs.

All three of the girls are still staring at the two of them in silence from the cart, big eyes open as if wondering who the fuck this woman is.

“Right, sorry,” Ava laughs, taking a step back and putting a hand on Nina’s shoulder, the other setting on Neves’ back, leaving it to Nova to decide whether or not she wants to hide behind her mother — she doesn’t, looking curiously at Mary as if trying to remember her. “Girls, this is Mary, Nova’s godmother. Mary, well, you already know them.”

They all greet her in a concert of little ‘hi’s as Mary smiles back at them. 

“You guys have grown,” she whistles, raising an impressed eyebrow — right, she hasn’t seen them since Neves’ birth. “Especially you,” she tells Nova, “Jesus Christ, you’re tall, kid.”

“Everyone keeps saying that,” Nova frowns.

“Most people here haven’t seen you since you were a baby,” Ava reminds her.

“Yes, but what else am I supposed to be but taller? Of course I am, I’ve grown!” Nova says, raising her hands to the sky. “And what if I have had dwarfism? What would you guys have said?”

“No’, you don’t have dwarfism,” Ava says.

“But I could have!”

Ava throws in the towel at that one, turning back towards Mary who is raising an eyebrow with a shit-eating grin.

“Cute kid.”

“Thanks,” Nina grins because of course she does, flipping her hair back to make her sisters laugh (and it works).

“Oh, I just know which one of you has the Silva genes,” Mary says, pointing a finger at her, clearly amused.

“Alright, that’s enough,” Ava stops her. “The tale of mama’s adventures will have to wait,” she says, redirecting Nina towards the cart and ushering Nova back to her sisters.

Mary smiles back at her, really smiles, not just one of those uptight fake smiles that Ava has been receiving since her move back here — except for Teacher-Hot-Neighbor Beatrice whose smiles always look timid and hesitant, like she’s not sure she’s allowed to do that, and Camila who is just genuinely a ray of sunshine.

“Shannon has been talking about you,” she says, softly and a little more seriously. “She’s been wondering where you and the girls were at, she’s going to be happy to know you’re all so close.”

She doesn’t ask about JC, like she already knows, or maybe she had seen it coming, like they all did. Ava smiles back, not knowing what to say.

“You know I have to invite you all to our house for dinner now, right? The wife wouldn’t let me live if I didn’t.”

“You have a wife?” Nina asks, her head poking out from behind Ava’s hip, tiny fingers hooking into the loop of her shorts.

“She’s Neves’ godmother, come on, you guys know that,” Ava explains, frowning.

They’ve met them five years ago — okay, Nina was three and probably doesn’t remember it, and Nova was six and already didn’t like talking to people (which annoyed JC greatly and made her miserable). All things considered, she doesn’t blame them for not remembering Shannon and Mary.

“Yup, I have a wife,” Mary says instead, not missing a beat as she shows her wedding ring. “She’ll want to meet you guys as soon as I tell her about you.”

“Are you gay?”

“Okay, that’s enough,” Ava intervenes immediately, shoving the shopping list into Nova’s hand. “Take your sister around, don’t get lost and, Antonina, please stop asking questions about people’s sexualities.”

Mary is laughing her ass off as the two little girls scamper away, Neves kicking her little legs from her child seat, smiling slightly to herself. Ava sighs, pinches the bridge of her nose, trying to stop herself from laughing too. Now she understands everyone’s suffering from when she was younger, karma is a bitch. 

“I’m serious,” Mary says after a few seconds of laughing like a madman. “We’re throwing a cookout next sunday, you have to come. And bring your comedian kid with you, I like her,” she says, like Nina is a shiny new toy (Ava can already feel the headache coming just thinking about how much chaos the two will bring together).

“I’m… I’ll see what I can do.”

“Nah, you know I don’t take no for an answer. Seriously, Ava, come. Shannon will be thrilled to see you. We’ve missed you, kid.”

Neves tugs on her shirt, Ava picks her up and sets her on her hip, putting a kiss on her hair and letting the anxiety melt away as the girl wraps her arms around her shoulders.

“Okay,” she says. “We’ll come.”

Mary smiles again, Ava feels a bit warmer already.

#fic: strangers in this town #warrior nun #avatrice #ava silva #shotgun mary #shitpost or whatever the kids say #this is shit but i don't care cause it finally hit me that i'm a lesbian so i'm happy

[rainia]

the “she made me feel like a person” has been stuck in my fucking head, dude. Because I wonder how much Ava shared the same exact sentiment. Her whole life had been shaped by pressure and expectation. By training and discipline. By the inherent violence that comes with being navy.

Then there was this pirate. So fierce and free. So filled with determination and drive. Completely unbound by the pressures Ava felt, and yet still weighed down by the past. What must it have been like, to look into what seemed to be your opposite and see the same fierce light shine reflected back at you? To be so different and yet, exactly the same. And to know, that she saw You, in return.

None of it would matter, then. The pressure, the responsibility, the violence. She saw you, for you. A person. No longer navy, no longer the daughter of the vice-admiral. No longer an older sister who had to set a good example to her sibling. Just Ava. And that was all you needed to be.

#jrwi #jrwi spoilers #rain rambles #hhrrrrggg them. #gay people huh </3333

[felicitysmoaksx]

Hi everyone! Not much to say except I wanted to have this done by Valentine's day. Obviously, that didn't happen. But oh well! I hope you enjoy this chapter nonetheless. For song recommendations, I recommend The Archer by Taylor Swift and Homecoming Queen by Kelsea Ballerini. To set the mood with where Sarah's head is at. And Only Us by Kaitlyn Dever and Ben Platt for Sarah and Connor's relationship.

Rating: Explicit (Minors DNI 18+)

Summary:   It was only a two-hour and twelve-minute flight to Chicago. Yet it was the longest flight of Connor’s life, as he stared at his phone-willing it for any updates about his girlfriend.

Word Count: 3.2k

Warnings: Implied Car Explosion, implied Sexual Content, Depictions of parental abandonment, depictions of violence, inaccurate medical procedures

Read On AO3 | Part One |  Fic Playlist | Fic Playlist but Less Shippy | Want to be tagged when I post a Rheese story?

It was only a two-hour and twelve-minute flight to Chicago. Yet it was the longest flight of Connor’s life, as he stared at his phone-willing it for any updates about his girlfriend. When he bought his last-minute ticket, he also bought the wifi package so he could enable wifi-calling to ensure he didn’t miss an update about Sarah’s condition. Her sister had told him she had told Ava she could share information about Sarah’s condition with him. 

“I-Hank wants all of us back at the district to find out who this.” Erin sucked in an audible breath that he could hear through the phone. After he had spoken to his boss (probably harsher than one might, considering Ms. Goodwin had the power to fire him) and hadn’t so much as asked, as told her he was coming home early, presentation be damned; Will’s phone had been passed back to the detective. 

She might’ve been holding back another sob, “So I can’t be here with her and my brother isn’t able to get here until tomorrow morning because of heavy rain in New York-” 

“Go do what you need to do. I’ll be there with Sarah.” His reply was instantaneous as he reassured her, “As soon as I’m in Chicago, I’m by her side.” 

“I figured as much when you said you were coming home. So I told Dr. Bekker she can share Sarah’s medical information with you.”

But that conversation had been just before he boarded the plane and since then his phone had been unnervingly silent. He didn’t even get a meaningless notification, which only made Connor that much more worried and agitated. Sighing, he dropped his head in his hands as he rubbed his eyes. With no news of how his girlfriend was doing or how her surgery was going, his imagination was conjuring every worst-case scenario.

Connor touched the screen of his phone and resisted the urge to throw it when it lit up. He still had another hour and a half on this flight. Plus the forty-five minute drive to Med from the airport. 

[LINE BREAK]  [LINE BREAK] [LINE BREAK] [LINE BREAK] [LINE BREAK]

Two and a half hours later, he was at Med. He didn’t even go home to drop his luggage off. Instead, it was dropped in the corner of the doctor’s lounge in the ED. Erin was there when he found Sarah’s room in the ICU. Looking a little worse for wear with her matted curls and a neck brace, From where he stood, he could see white gauze on the side of her neck..where the bullet must’ve been...Sarah seemed to be sleeping peacefully though. He sighed audibly in relief. “Thank God,” 

The detective’s eyes snapped up and met his. Connor nodded in silent greeting to her, before he was moving forward to the sleeping brunette’s side. Then he sighed in relief as he pressed his lips gently to her forehead. 

“Hey babe, ” he whispered when he pulled away from Sarah, despite her sister sitting in a chair on the opposite side of her bed, and could probably hear everything he was saying. Still, he softly teased Sarah, “You know if you wanted me home early, you could’ve just asked. You didn’t have to worry me half to death.” 

“When I didn’t hear anything, I started thinking of everything that could happen in her surgery,” Connor explained to her sister and Erin nodded in agreement. 

“Me too. That’s why I stopped by before we started running down leads. I arrived just as they finished getting her settled in here. Dr. Bekker said the surgery went off without any complications. They pulled two bullets out of her and she should recover well, but there will be some scarring on her neck. But that’s to be expected. And her sedation should wear off in a little while and she said the neck brace is just in case she gets restless.”

“What happened to her wrists?” Connor asked, spying the angry-looking bruises and cuts on the skin of her wrists. Erin hesitated before she told him. 

“Barbed wire. Her wrists were bound together with barbed wire.”

Instantly, Connor lifted his eyes away from her wrists. Then he shut his blue eyes and counted backward from ten. Twenty. He made it as far as thirty before the monster in his chest was nothing more than a roar in his ears. When he finally opened his eyes again, he stared at Erin. 

“What happened? How did this happen to her?” He asked, “Do you know anything yet?”

“We don’t know for sure. But our working theory is that Hank asked Sarah to talk to Justin. Because he was worried about Justin falling into old habits and his knack for finding trouble because of those habits.”

She was quick to reassure him when she saw a dark look on Connor’s face. “He wasn’t. He was actually trying to help a friend’s widow get out of a bad situation after her ex-boyfriend roped her in. We’re guessing that Sarah went to talk to Justin because the last app open on her phone was a Find My Friend app and she was…caught in the crossfire of it all.” 

The monster roared once more. Feeling restless, Connor stood up and paced until he was at the foot of her bed, where a paper chart hung on a clipboard. 

“Paper chart?” He said aloud, more to himself than Sarah’s sister, while he flicked it open to look at it. Even though Erin had told him Sarah would be okay, he knew he’d feel only a little better if he knew what happened during her surgery. 

“Something about the wifi being down while I.T. is working on it? At least that’s what I heard.” Erin shrugged while she untangled a knot in Sarah’s matted curls. 

[LINE BREAK]  [LINE BREAK] [LINE BREAK] [LINE BREAK] [LINE BREAK]

“You said Dr. Bekker was handling Sarah’s case?” Erin looked up at Connor’s tone more than the question. Because she could hear the quiet anger in his words, she raised an eyebrow at him as she nodded, “Yeah, why? What’s wrong?”

“The pain meds she has her on? They won’t do any more than the equivalent of an aspirin. For a bullet wound.” He said with the anger rising in his voice, “Did she tell you about this?”

“Yes,” Ava had been weary to give Sarah anything stronger, explaining the effects it could have on the baby. But when the blonde had been getting her settled, she offered to change it if Erin wished. She almost considered it. Then she remembered the words of her sister just a week earlier about having this baby, Erin opted to stay with Dr. Bakker’s treatment plan. 

“Did she say why?”

“Yes,” but Connor didn’t know about the baby yet. Her sister had been waiting to tell him until he got back. 

“Are you going to tell me why?” His confusion was apparent with his eyebrows raised at her. Erin turned back to look at her sister. She frowned slightly. 

“It’s not my place,” the police detective explained, knowing Sarah would want to tell her himself. But the curly-haired brunette wasn't awake to do so right now. Erin sighed and turned back to face him, “It’s not my place to tell you…My sister really should be the one to tell you. But with Sarah being sedated, I will if you want. ”

Her sister’s boyfriend was silent momentarily as he glanced back down at the chart in his hands. Then he whipped his head up to stare at Erin. Something flickered in Connor’s eyes, and Erin saw it. A realization. It was almost like watching an old cartoon with a light flashing over his head.

“She said she had something to tell me. Nothing bad, but she was waiting until I got back because she said it was an in-person conversation.” He said slowly. Then he was flipping through her chart. He must’ve found what he was looking for because he stopped abruptly. His eyes never wandered from the chart as he said, “Sarah’s pregnant…eight weeks according to her blood panel…”

“Yeah,” Erin confirmed even though her sister’s boyfriend had the proof in his hands, “That’s why Dr. Bekker gave her the lesser pain medication. She said she was limited on what she could give Sarah, worried about how it might affect the baby.”

After replacing the chart at the end of the bed, Connor fell heavily into the chair he had been sitting in before. This was not how he was supposed to find out he was going to be a father. 

How she reacted to Boston offering him a job made so much sense now…More sense than it just it had originally.

“Connor,” he looked up at his name being said quietly. Erin continued to caution, “Be gentle with her about this. She was nervous to tell you. But I don’t think it’s as much to do with you, as the experiences she watched my mom go through.”

[LINE BREAK]  [LINE BREAK] [LINE BREAK] [LINE BREAK] [LINE BREAK]

Connor felt his mouth dip downwards. Sarah hadn’t told him a lot about Erin’s mother. But he knew enough to know he didn’t like the woman and he hadn’t even seen her. 

“Sarah said she tries to be a con woman,” he mumbled, well aware that he might need to tread carefully because he was talking about Lindsay’s mother. Erin opened her mouth to respond. But Sarah mumbled something unintelligible before she could.

 Erin and Connor both turned, but the curly-haired brunette was still asleep. Connor's lips twitched, slightly amused that, she talked in her sleep even now. (Something she vehemently denied she did like most people denied they snored.) He moved before Erin could so much as blink. Gripping her limp hand in both of his Connor pressed his lips gently to the skin of the back of her hand. “It’s okay baby. You’re okay. We’re okay.”

But when Sarah started whimpering quietly, Connor stood up. With gentle hands, he soothed the deep line that had appeared on her forehead. “Shh…it’s a dream baby. A dream. You’re safe. You’re okay. You’re okay. I’m right here. Your sister is here. You’re safe.”

“Con-woman is much kinder than Bunny deserves. Especially how she treated Sarah after Robert left the last time,” Erin told him, once Sarah was settled again and Connor had sat back down. “But yes, she tries to be one and her favorite scam to run was before she hit forty, she was telling whatever jerk she was with that month, that she was pregnant to trap them into taking care of her. They never took it well.”

The female detective sighed, scrubbing a hand down her face. Connor watched her squeeze Sarah’s other hand, “I don’t think she likes to admit it. Or if she’s even aware of it, but I think Sarah internalized those memories so much more than she realizes that she expects you to be unhappy with her about this baby.”

Connor’s frown deepened at Erin’s words because there was no way he could be upset with Sarah about this. But he wasn’t sure how to convince her of that, if she had been internalizing since she found out and had been for the last week. His girlfriend was a stubborn woman like that. 

Erin left a little while later after she received a text from Jay Halstead. He was waiting in the parking lot. It was time to start running down leads. She stood up to leave and leaned over to press a kiss to the brunette’s head.

“Any advice?” He asked when she pulled away. Erin raised her eyebrows at him. Connor cleared his throat and continued, “On what to do with her and this pregnancy? How do I reassure her? Do you think I should tell her I know? Or let her come to me first then tell her I knew.”

“I don't know, but you’ll figure it out,” Her eyes held a few tears, but Sarah’s sister gave him a watery smirk, “Because you love my sister and unlike all of her other past relationships, I don’t feel like I need to worry about picking up the pieces of her broken heart with you.”

“Does this mean you like me?” He called softly, a ghost of a smile on his face when she started to walk away. She glanced over her shoulder and shrugged but her tone seemed teasing more than serious. “Don’t flatter yourself, it means I tolerate you more than anything. But the others never got past dislike. So you’re already farther ahead than them.”

[LINE BREAK]  [LINE BREAK] [LINE BREAK] [LINE BREAK] [LINE BREAK]

In another universe, Sarah slept for another day and a half, but in this universe, with the lighter medication; she woke up sooner than later. 

Before Sarah resurfaced the land of the living, she lay between awake and asleep trying to make heads and tails of where she was, and what was going on. She knew she wasn’t in the trunk of the car anymore because there was a steady beeping in her ears. There was also a weight on her stomach, but she knew it wasn’t Justin’s unconscious body on top of her anymore. And her neck…her neck…It was like there was the worst crick in her neck, but worse. So much worse. Someone was holding her hand…

She awoke fully with a soft gasp of pain. A dim, dark room greeted her when the brunette finally blinked sleep away from her eyes. Her eyes darted around the room…She was in the ICU…which explained the steady beeping. That was her heart monitor. 

Sarah looked at the hand interlocked with hers. Then she sluggishly moved her gaze down her body…Her boyfriend who was supposed to be in Boston was holding her hand. Her boyfriend, who was also fast asleep with his head resting against her hip. That explained the weight she felt. She thought, raising a hand to curl into his dark locks. (His hair was damp) Usually, when he was asleep, Connor would practically purr and nuzzle deeper into her when she played with his hair. 

But these weren’t usual circumstances. Instead, he made a noise and turned to face her. His ocean-blue eyes were just opening until he saw that she was awake.

“Hey,” he whispered, sitting up so fast that he almost gave her whiplash. If she could only move her neck, which she just realized was immobilized by a neck brace. Connor cupped her cheek gently, “There she is.”

“You’re home,” Sarah pointed out the obvious in a voice that did not sound like hers, as he sat at the edge of her bed. His arms were on either side of her as he leaned in to kiss her forehead. He lingered in the kiss as he nodded. Sarah continued, “You’re not supposed to be home for another few days…Unless I’ve been asleep longer than I think I have.”

“You haven’t,” Connor reassured her, pulling away. “But I should probably call Ava before anything else. She told me to call it something happened because she thought you’d sleep through to tomorrow.”

[LINE BREAK]  [LINE BREAK] [LINE BREAK] [LINE BREAK] [LINE BREAK]

“Ava said we can take off your neckbrace if you want to. Are you in any pain?” Connor asked her softly, after a quick phone call with Ava, in which the blonde woman told him she’d be there as soon as she could. Because in the span of that phone call, his girlfriend drifted somewhere. He could see it in her brown orbs. They were getting warier with each second that passed. When she didn’t answer him, he touched her hand, “Sarah? Baby?”

“I was shot.” 

“Yeah,” Connor exhaled softly. He almost felt like a volcano with his emotions threatening to build and boil over. But he needed to keep it together. For Sarah’s sake. The trauma surgeon continued to explain methodically, focusing on the facts of her case, “Ava pulled two bullets out, but you should make a full recovery and-”

“Did she tell you about…anything else?” 

“You mean about the baby?” Sarah sucked in a sharp breath at his words. Connor winced. He didn’t mean to approach the subject of the baby like that. Especially given Erin’s words from earlier, about Sarah thinking he’d be upset. (Granted he didn’t know how he was going to tell her he already knew. But it wasn’t going to be that blunt.) He squeezed her hand. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to just blurt it out like that. But no one’s told me anything that suggests they aren’t fine. But we can ask Ava to do an ultrasound when she gets here. Or I can get a nurse to page OB right now. It’s up to you.” 

Some of the tension loosened in Sarah’s shoulders, but she asked, “You’re not upset with me? About the baby?” 

“No baby, it took both of us to make them,” Connor said gently, taking a seat on her bed again. Like earlier, his arms were on either side of her.  “We haven’t had the kids talk yet, but I am not upset. I’m the farthest thing from upset and now our conversation last week about my job offer in Boston makes a lot more sense to me now.” 

“I almost told you after you told me about Boston.” His girlfriend nodded, but wouldn’t meet his eyes. So with gentle hands, Connor grabbed her chin until her brown orbs were blinking owlishly at him.

“I wish you had,” he murmured tenderly and when she started to protest, he continued, “I understand why you wanted to wait until I was home, but I wish you hadn’t waited because then you wouldn’t have had the chance to think I would be upset with you about this pregnancy when it took both of us to make this baby.”

One of his hands came up to rest protectively on her still-flat stomach, to cradle their baby. Their baby. Sarah covered his hand with hers before she interlocked her fingers into his. “I wouldn’t have even let that thought cross your mind.  Mostly though, I wish you would’ve let me know that there was a chance you were pregnant.”

“You were in Boston. Nothing you could’ve done from there.” She mumbled.

“Except we could’ve had a conversation so I could reassure you that we’re in this together.” He paused to lean down so he could press his forehead to her head. “And you wouldn’t have had to sit all week, if I know you, the way I think I know you, spiraling because it was a bad week and you were overwhelmed enough by everything else that had happened.” 

The way she was back to not meeting his gaze told him that he was right. Holding in a sigh, at her flight or fight response tendencies, Connor pressed his lips back to her forehead.  Her hand curled into his shirt. 

“Will you kiss me?” The brunette asked in a shy whisper and he pulled away to look at her. Their hands were still interlaced. Then with his blue eyes soft, Connor leaned in and captured his girlfriend’s lips in a tender kiss. He felt a tongue at the seam of his lips, which was unusual. Because he was usually the one who initiated kisses like this in the relationship. Still, Connor opened his mouth and allowed her to deepen the kiss. Her tongue moved against his almost languidly. Until, her movements weren’t so lazy as she moved her free hand to grab the back of his head. 

Connor went with it, letting Sarah dictate the pace of the kiss. Then his chin knocked against the top of her neckbrace and it all came crashing down. Where they were. Why they were here…

“Wait, baby…” Sarah sucked on his bottom lip. He barely contained his groan of pleasure. The brunette wasn’t usually this forward. Connor hated to stop it, but now wasn’t the place, and it certainly wasn’t the time. 

“Rhodes, I said you could take off her neck brace. I didn’t say you could maul her like she was your last meal.” Sarah pulled away from him at the sound of Ava’s dry voice. Her cheeks were as red as they were the first time the blonde woman caught them on the roof two months ago.

#chicago med #one chicago #sarah reese #connor rhodes #my writing #rheese

[veronicaleighauthor]

Barbara Howard

I’m a huge fan of Abbott Elementary. For those who may not be familiar with it, here’s a brief description:

A workplace comedy centered around a group of dedicated teachers – and an oblivious principal – in a Philadelphia public school where, despite the odds stacked against them, they are determined to help their students succeed in life.

I started watching it not long after the show started, but recently I did a binge watch of it before Season 3 started and fell in love with it. One of the things I really appreciate about the show it’s character, Barbara Howard (portrayed by the brilliant Sheryl Lee Ralph). A veteran kindergarten teacher of over thirty years, you immediately fall in love with her. When we’re introduced to her, she declares she’s a “woman of God.” She’s a Christian and not ashamed of being so. Unlike other portrayals of Christians on comedy shows, even when Barbara says something comical or faith related, we’re never really laughing at her. As opposed to Glenn Sturgis on Superstore, who we laugh at all the time. Now I love Superstore and Glenn Sturgis and I enjoy laughing at him. And it’s perfectly fine for a Christian character to be ditzy, or hypocritical, or the villain; I’ve done it enough in my own stories. But Barbara Howard is one of the few positive portrayals of Christians out there.

The other characters on Abbott Elementary, Janine especially, highly respect Barbara and look to her for guidance since she’s one of the veteran teachers. She’s not perfect, but she’s never hypocritical, or cruel, or vicious. She is very open about her faith, yet she is never abrasive or judgmental. She never attempts to evangelize her coworkers. Others don’t share her beliefs, but they listen and understand her Christian beliefs are part of who she is. Ava, who is her polar opposite in personality and behavior, has referenced church and discussed beliefs and has even given Barbara some much needed advice, which Barbara took. Her closest friend is Melissa Schemmenti, who has some shady connections. Over the years she’s mentored the younger teachers, Janine, Gregory, and Jacob. Her students adore her and more than one has returned to tell her how much of an impact she’s made on their lives.

:: Spoilers from a Recent Episode ::

The recent episode of Abbott Elementary is fantastic. The school’s auditorium is lent out for Barbara’s choir group to sing in. Since Barbara is a talented singer, Ava encourages her to try out for the program. And Barbara does; it’s her wish to sing “Shackles” from MaryMary since in the past it inspired her. We see though that the church ladies don’t really like Barbara. We eventually find out they consider Barbara too “modern” for their tastes. They think she wears too much makeup; that she has too many piercings; that when she goes on cruises, she becomes Sea Barbara who is different from Land Barbara; they also object to her friendships with the more “colorful” teachers of the school.

Barbara isn’t accepted amongst those who are her brothers and sisters in Christ because in their eyes, she is “different.” She may never find acceptance in her church family. However, Abbott Elementary rallies around her and reminds her she will always have a place in their family.

:: Spoilers over ::

Anyway, the whole episode really inspired me because I’ve been struggling with some stuff. And in all honesty, I’ve drifted from God. He’s drawn me back, as He has in the past. But I was able to relate to Barbara and what she was going through – no matter how devout you are in your faith, there will always be another who thinks you aren’t truly living for Him. In the end, we’re only accountable to God and it’s His opinion that matters – not that person in your life giving you the side-eye for you not living up their expectations.

So, if you haven’t already, try Abbott Elementary. You’ll enjoy it, I swear! I can’t wait for tonight’s special episode.

#abbott elementary #barbara howard #faith #christianity #god #jesus

[confusedspaceotter]

Daily avatrice analysis (day 4)

day1 day2 day3 day4 day5 day6 day7 day8 day9

apologies if this is bit of a mess, had a bit of trouble trying to put my thoughts into words, which is why there's so many gifs/pics today

now without further ado

So

Ep 6

now you might be wondering

cause there isn’t a avatrice interaction in ep 6

or is there?

may i present the last 5 mins of ep 6

when Bea show up and pick up Mary

(I would like to headcanon Bea volunteered to come all the way to pick up Mary not only because Mary is her friend but because she suspects Mary already found Ava and she wanted to see her)

And I would like to think that I’m right(Bea your gay is showing people don’t just stared at your left mirror standing like that)

Look the Mary’s face when Bea asks is Ava coming 

She knows.

Mary, probably:

Anyway now back to ep 7

before i talk about the “Beatrice is a badass” scene 

Two things i wanna talk about 

One

How do I know Mary knows something is up with Beatrice and Ava?

One episode later she basically compared what Shannon is to her 

To what Ava is to Bea 

“Letting Duretti get away with murder”

That’s 100% about Shannon

Now we all know who Shannon is to Mary ;)

The fact that she used their relationship and tried to convinced Bea hey you gotta do something you girl friend might die if you don’t 

Yeah she knows definitely 

And Two, this conversation between Bea and Camila

fun fact, Camila is this first one to call Beatrice Bea 

I would like to headcanon that whenever Bea were tasked to train new recruits, in order to make them feel more comfortable, at some point Beatrice would let them call her Bea as is sign of closeness(Kinda like a “ My name is Yasmin Khan but my friends call me yaz situation)

Or is just Camila being Camila 

either way is cute asf 

and I love that Ava after being trained by Bea for two months calls her Bea most of the time too

just look them IM-

Remember when I said that she is not good at initiating physical contact yet her love language is physical touch?

This is what I meant 

There’s still a slight hesitation but she definitely are more comfortable here

make sense cause she did know Camila longer compare to Ava

plus Bea is her mentor/mum 

Beatrice and Camila is THE softest duo istg

Now

on to the famous “beatrice is a badass” scene 

Got nothing to say except yes Ava I agree she IS a badass

Look at how Ava admires Beatrice awwww

Tbh same girl seeing Bea kick ass like that does things to me too

Bea calling out(? sister Crimson’s next move 

Coolest shit I seen(at least one of them there are plenty of cool scenes in the show

Also that outfit?????

They never missed with Bea’s casual outfit 

Whether is in S1 or S2

Not a single one look bad 

I swear imo every outfit deserves to be show off in a fashion show or something 

And that side kick(? Damnnnnnn girl 

She really likes to side kick people 

(Anyone who know what this move is called I know nothing about martial arts)

And she looks cool doing it 

We can also see the kid Ava showing 

Look at her smile I’m-

girl must think that Beatrice is really cool and reminds her of those action heros she used to saw on TV

Just pure admiration from Ava

Now some people think that the halo is sentient 

Some think that it only acts as a tool and the one whos in change is the halo bearer 

Personally I’m leaning towards the halo is just a tool the one who’s in control is the user

And how powerful it can be is up to the bearer

Because in ep 3 when she is tied to the table 

I’m guessing all she’s thinking is how to free herself

And the halo reacted to her thoughts by phasing her though the bed, freeing her

I think the same happened here 

All she is thinking is how to save Beatrice and Mary

From the trajectory of the bullets(the slow mo at the end of the gif )

Is going the opposite side from where Mary and Bea is

Here’s a chart(? I draw to demonstrate this

(Handwriting reveal?)

Anyway my point is

Ava and Mary’s sibling dynamic is real 

And Ava might be a cocky little shit (affectionate) towards Mary sometimes but she cares about Mary

Next we see that Ava got shot by an arrow

And Bea rushing to her side immediately 

No thoughts just 

All hail protective Beatrice 

Oh also has this been done before

Now something that I noticed from the walk to the van I want to talk about

One 

Bea putting her hand on Ava’s waist to support her

Two 

How she practically jumped on the van to check on Ava

And it doesn’t end

Baby girl checked not once but twice on Ava’s wound

I can hear Camila going 

Bea? Did you just check her wound twice???

Now this could just be a simple error 

They accidentally included an extra shot

But being the overthinker that I am

I would like to believe Bea was so worried about Ava that she had to check twice

This scene is giving Clarke Griffin from the 100 coming to Lexa’s room and change her perfectly fine bandages to a random cloth just so she could talk to Lexa

Bea chill out she’s not gonna die she can heal herself 

Anddd that’s it for today 

Tmr is gonna be a long one

And it might get personal too but who knows 

Stay tuned to find out :)

day5

#daily avatrice analysis #almost pushing 1k words today #longgggg post #thank you for waiting! #warrior nun #avatrice

[eternal-reverie]

I still need to do my khdr rewatch but I just wanna say ever since I first saw Baldr, I had a nagging feeling that he was someone potentially chaotic and then that came true…

but uh I just going to put this out there; I think there’s some potential he’s the Master of Masters.

OK HEAR ME OUT

Upon learning Baldr had a missing sister, my mind went immediately to the only other pair of siblings we know in the overall story: Lauriam and Strelitzia. Missing sisters meeting their tragic demises, which then torment their brothers into yielding into their dark impulses; thematic parallels done very much on purpose between khux and khdr.

Then I thought of how exactly siblings were involved in these circumstances. So Lauriam and Strelitzia were chosen as union leaders. Who decided that? MoM, when he gave the list to Ava. And it’s such a choice??? Like I spent hours thinking of why in the first place, and MoM probably had a good idea that darkness was going to infiltrate the dandelions (since it was looking over his shoulder while he wrote the book) so why did he choose to involve these family members other than to guarantee future events down the road? And honestly before Dark Road released, I thought that one of the reasons he brought them together for the task was cause…it would be a touching family reunion! Just a kind gesture. Perhaps something he wished would have been granted for him….He could never separate siblings after what he went through…as Baldr.

So if Baldr is the MoM, where he’s calmed down after the darkness possessing him vanquished, and with foresight about the events that led him to his end, he somehow becomes this master figure with a unique hatred and fear towards darkness, then leads his other fallen classmates as the foretellers.

My large leap in this logic is that kh is not the type of series to let characters go that easily. And with so many new characters introduced in Dark Road, I simply cannot believe that we saw the last of them. I think the most likely way we’ll see a lot of them again is when the foretellers are inevitably unmasked; a restoration to their original identities that were obscured by the abstract aspects and roles that only served to the seal darknesses away within themselves (similar to how defeated organization members were restored their humanity and original names.)

and you know!!!! we would be so shocked if we point out Urd, Hermod, or whoever on the screen after a foreteller’s true identity is revealed in kh4?!? “False lights” and all, I think it makes sense that Baldr, named for the Norse mythology god of light, who’s such a character driven to extremes, could have his moral pendulum swung so hard the opposite way to enact all of this. This whole risky plan is just his attempt at redemption and saving everyone he hurt in the most drawn out way possible so much suffering for literally everyone in the story so far like holy crap I hope it’s worth it??? Sora help

tl;dr Baldr could be MoM because of the cinematic parallels between the pairs of siblings in khuxdr; speculating why the MoM had both Strelitzia and Lauriam chosen as union leaders and if he has a soft spot for family???

#kingdom hearts #khux #khdr #kh #kh baldr #kh theories #this theory has festered in my head for like a year or two #has anyone else said this??? #I feel crazy about this but I had this thought ever since his introduction to the story #there’s a bunch a holes in this I know. but it’s a hunch #watch it be vali or something lol the only character in khdr that has a matching eye color with the gazing eye #i was going to make an argument that baldr has similar color eyes but they’re pretty grey #baldr

[quietblueriver]

There Are Roads Left in Both of Our Shoes (Ch. 1)

Sister Kathleen hands Beatrice the envelope at the end of their meeting, pulling it from the small black messenger bag sitting next to her on the park bench they had used as a meeting point. 

“This came to Cat’s Cradle, via your last publicly listed assignment. Camila said to apologize—they had to open it. Standard security.”

Beatrice is too busy staring at the name on the corner of the envelope to pay much attention to what she says next. 

A. Garde 

“Beatrice?”

Kathleen is looking at her in mild concern. 

“I apologize. What did you say?”

“I was just asking if you needed anything else before I go? Sister Camila said she would be checking in at the usual time.”

“No, thank you. And thank you for bringing this.”

She shrugs, pulling at her gray cardigan and straightening her navy skirt as she stands. She’s not in a habit, of course, but she has found the closest civilian approximation of one.  

“Of course.” She sighs. “I truly hate having to wear these clothes. I cannot wait to get back to Cat’s Cradle.”

Beatrice hums as if she understands while thinking privately, and far from the first time, that she made the correct decision in leaving. Her navy trousers, brown oxfords, and gray button-down aren’t exactly loud but they are hers, chosen and worn based on how Beatrice feels about them. She brushes a strand of hair back from her forehead, another unexpected joy. It’s shaved down on the sides, the length on top held back, generally only somewhat successfully, with a dollop of mousse which Beatrice keeps buying not for its efficacy but because Ava loves the smell of it so much. The cut requires maintenance beyond what Camila could provide in the kitchen, and Beatrice knows her careful attention to it often crosses the line into vanity. She is grateful for the opportunity to be vain in this way. She’s working on using gratitude to fill the spaces that once would have been filled by shame.

Kathleen pulls her bag across her chest and nods at Beatrice. “I should get going, then. I’m hoping to catch the earlier train, if I can.”

Beatrice stands to see her off, running her fingers over the envelope before placing it in her own messenger, a worn, light-brown leather that Ava had found for her secondhand and which she loves in a way that still feels strange to her, after years of denying herself attachment to worldly things.  

“Safe travels. Please tell everyone hello from me, and from Ava. She was sad to miss you.”

“I will. I was sorry to miss her as well. Please give her my best.”

They leave in opposite directions, Beatrice gripping the strap of her bag tightly where it sits across her chest. 

******************

Ava finds her later, sitting at their kitchen table, staring at the opened-but-unopened-by-Beatrice letter.

“Bea?” She calls out from the doorway. “Sorry I took so long.” Beatrice hears the familiar sound of her shoes being toed off and kicked in the general direction of the mat by the door. “I got distracted by the fruit Mrs. Brunner had just put out. Bea, the strawberries. Don’t worry, I got some, and then...” Ava stops when she spots her, frowning slightly in concern. 

“Beatrice? You okay?” 

Beatrice smiles at her, puts the envelope down, and stands. 

“Much better now.”

And she is. It’s jarring, still, that she can feel this way about someone. She is working on loving and letting herself be loved without guilt, and she’s getting better by the day, the shame being slowly but steadily pushed away by determined love. Ava closes the distance between them and drops a whale-patterned reusable grocery bag onto the table. Beatrice can see the little basket of strawberries tilting precariously on top of what she thinks must be a sleeve of Hobnobs. She reaches over to put the basket on a more even surface and slides the bag a little further toward the center of the table. She uses her other arm to catch Ava, who has thrown most of her bodyweight into Beatrice, wrapping her arms around Beatrice’s neck and kissing her soundly. Her fingers play in the short hair at the nape of Beatrice’s neck, running back and forth, and she pulls away to nose into Beatrice’s collarbone. Beatrice loves her. Beatrice loves her. 

“Hi, darling. I missed you.” 

Ava pulls back to kiss her again and shift her arms to Beatrice’s waist. 

“Missed you too, Bea.” She pushes the lock of Beatrice’s hair from her forehead, tracing a finger down her cheek and along her jaw. “What’s going on?” 

Beatrice smiles at her and breaks away to grab the envelope, taps her fingers against the paper nervously. Ava watches with concern. 

“Kathleen brought me this today. She says hello, by the way.” Ava hums an acknowledgement. “It was addressed to me and made its way to Cat’s Cradle. It’s from someone that I used to know.”

“A wedding invitation?”

“I haven’t opened it yet.” Ava eyes the broken edges of the envelope and Beatrice clarifies, “They opened it at Cat’s Cradle. I haven’t looked at it. But yes, if I had to guess, it’s a wedding invitation.” 

Beatrice shifts back and forth slightly on her feet, an uncharacteristic move, but she feels unbalanced. Ava notices and tilts her head in the direction of the living room, waiting for Beatrice to nod before tugging her toward the sofa. It’s incredibly comfortable, with worn leather cushions, and it’s deep enough that Ava can wedge herself between Beatrice’s body and the back on movie nights because “sometimes I want to be the big spoon, Bea. Hand me a pillow so I can see the screen.” Now, Ava sits sideways, one leg curled up on the cushion, and waits for Beatrice to join her. She does, mirroring Ava, their knees touching and Ava’s hand immediately grabbing at her foot, squeezing it affectionately before sliding her hand up to grasp Beatrice’s ankle in a light hold, her pinky sliding just under the material of Beatrice’s low-cut sock. 

“I…” Beatrice starts but is not at all sure where to go from there. 

Ava waits what is an astounding amount of time on the Ava scale of patience before saying, “You know we don’t have to talk about it. You’re allowed to have things that are yours, Bea. But I’m here to listen if you want.”

Beatrice runs her fingers through the hair, currently blue but recently silver, that frames the left side of Ava’s face. 

“I like this color.”

Ava grins. 

“You’ve mentioned.” She trails her hand up Beatrice’s calf, rests it there. “A few times.”

“It bears repeating. You say you like mine often enough.”

Ava reaches forward with her other hand, runs it through Beatrice’s hair. She pulls her forward into a kiss, breathes out against Beatrice’s mouth, “Because I really fucking do.”

She rocks back a bit, wipes at Beatrice’s bottom lip with her thumb and cradles her jaw. Beatrice contemplates forgetting about the envelope for the night, letting herself fall into Ava and, afterwards, strawberries and an evening of reading quietly with her feet tucked under Ava’s thighs while Ava watches that food competition show where they try to fool people into thinking cakes are shoes. Ava is trying to read her, but she must be having a difficult time. It makes sense, because Beatrice isn’t sure about her own mind at the moment. 

“Really, Bea. Wanna talk about it?” At Beatrice’s silence she smiles rakishly and presses her fingers into Beatrice’s calf. Beatrice’s stomach swoops. “Not that I’m not totally down to take this detour, but I can wait. Believe it or not, I had a plan for this evening anyway. Most details are still tentative, but this,” she moves the hand deliberately up her calf to her inner thigh, leans close until her lips touch the skin just below Beatrice’s ear, “is a definite item on the agenda.” She whispers this last phrase with intention, as if she’s asking Beatrice to do something filthy to her, uses the same breathy tone she uses to rile Beatrice up when they’re in public. Beatrice knows she’s teasing her; it’s a favorite bit of Ava’s, to bring Beatrice’s love of order and organization into the bedroom. She feels the heat pool in her stomach anyway, shivers slightly. She’s so easy for Ava. It would be embarrassing if Ava weren’t the best thing to ever happen to her by an incredibly long shot. As it stands, she’s fine being easy for Ava forever. Ava pulls her hand back to Beatrice’s ankle, leans away slightly, and shrugs, “If you’re down, that is.” 

She’s smirking. She knows exactly what she’s done to Beatrice. And Beatrice has always been competitive, has always been a strategist, so she’s very good at finding ways to even a playing field. She gives herself that, lets the envelope and all of the weight it carries fade further into the background in favor of this easy and uncomplicated desire. She takes the hand Ava still has resting against her jaw, grips it lightly and pulls until the thin skin at the inside of Ava’s wrist is at her mouth. She meets Ava’s eyes and then presses her lips to skin, lets her tongue dip out just slightly. This would be enough, Beatrice knows, but she recalls Ava’s breathy invocation of agenda items and decides to push just slightly further. She turns Ava’s hand so that her thumb is against Beatrice’s lips again. Eyes steady with Ava’s she opens her mouth and takes it in, bites gently, soothes it with her tongue. 

Ava’s pupils blow wide and she sucks in a breath, hard. Beatrice lets her hand go and it hangs in the air, Ava staring blankly for a moment before shaking her head, asking so quietly that Beatrice isn’t entirely sure she means to say it out loud, “Jesus Christ, why the fuck is that so sexy? It’s a thumb.”

Beatrice says, “Language, Ava,” with mock reproval, just for the look she knows she’ll get, the slight eye roll and quirk of Ava’s lips. Beatrice lets her own mouth shift into a smile. “Was that a real question, or...”

Ava meets her eyes, amused. “If you want to give me an answer, sure.” Beatrice leans forward to do just that but Ava holds up her hand, pressing her still-wet thumb against the skin of Beatrice’s neck and her palm against her sternum. “Wait.” Beatrice stops immediately. “Tell me later. Better yet, give a demonstration. First,” she nudges gently at Beatrice’s socked foot with her own, plain gray pushed against neon green with pink squiggles, and moves her eyes to the envelope that had at some point been wedged halfway underneath Beatrice’s knee, “I want to hear if you want to tell me.”

Beatrice breathes out, watches Ava’s toes wiggle unconsciously, loves them. She does want to tell her. If things in their lives were in any way normal, Ava might already know this story. Their lives aren’t normal, and they never will be, but Beatrice is starting to believe they might be able to find something that works better for them both anyway. Something for a former nun and a more-than-human woman who spend their time fighting demons and can’t in good conscience, don’t honestly want, to spend it doing anything else. Something that lets them be who they are and still leaves space for them to get to know each other softly and intentionally. 

It’s been just over six months since Ava got back, and they’d spent most of that time with the OCS, training and helping to fight new demons, preparing new recruits for the war. It had been brutal, but Beatrice had Ava again, so she was hardly going to complain. Six weeks ago, a tarask appeared randomly in the courtyard in front of Ava and kneeled, an apparent request for Ava to go speak with Reya. Beatrice had waited dutifully next to her as she slept under the crown of thorns and when she sat up, grinning, just under an hour later (“Who the fuck knows how time works, Bea? I swear it wasn’t more than half a day.”), Beatrice had felt relief so powerful she could hardly breathe. They had a break. Maybe not forever, likely not forever, but for the moment, Reya had her war in hand, and they had only a slightly-higher-than-normal number of wraiths and some other demonic escapees to deal with. 

A month ago, at the kind but firm instruction of Superion, Ava and Beatrice had left Cat’s Cradle to spend some time in the world. They were still technically working for the Church. They were in fact currently living in a Church property only a few towns over from their old apartment. (They went to visit, for a weekend. Hans had fallen over himself hugging Ava, no surprise, but Beatrice had been taken aback by the force with which he hugged her, a happy, “Chefin!” spoken too loudly into her ear.) Most of their time, though, is spent…living. Ava has made friends with the children on their street and the purveyors at the farmer’s market. She’s interested in gardening, loves the feeling of dirt in her hands, and spends time on the roof with their elderly neighbor, tending to raised beds and discussing soil and the weather. Beatrice has made friends with the librarian, and the teachers at the school where she volunteers as a tutor. 

They’re learning to build a home together, taking what they learned in the first tiny flat they shared and letting it grow into something deeper. Now, when Ava finishes breakfast and washes her mug without prompting because she knows that Beatrice has a compulsion about dishes in the sink, Beatrice can kiss her in appreciation. When Beatrice sees something that makes her think of Ava—a book she might like, a small pot of basil at the market, a ridiculous beaded dog keychain sold by the arts program at the elementary school—she can bring it home to her without feeling the need to pretend it’s anything other than proof that Ava is always on her mind. They learn about each other, gently and without the pressure of the end of the world, as they cook dinner and spend mornings in bed and shop at the market and walk the trails just outside of town. They’re new to this, still, but Beatrice is already in love with their life, feels hope and fear flare bright inside her any time she lets herself think about keeping it. 

She looks at Ava, sitting across from her, waiting patiently and running a thumb over the exposed skin of Beatrice’s ankle where her hand has made a home again. She wants Ava to know her, even when it’s hard. She lets herself open, and trusts Ava with a new part of her life. 

“You know that my family summered in France, for most of my life...”   ******************

Beatrice is 12 years old when she first sees Amelia. She’s in town, which is probably a generous term for the small collection of businesses and residences closest to their summer house. She had come after her ballet lesson, eager to go outside after being forced to spend hours in the small dance studio her parents had set up for her. Amelia is reading underneath a tree outside the only pub, laying back with one leg crossed over the other, foot kicking the air and head propped up on a backpack, blonde hair spread out behind her.

She looks up when Beatrice passes, and smiles. 

“Hello!”

Beatrice, unused to strangers speaking to her, much less doing so enthusiastically, is somewhat confused but responds politely, because she has been raised to do so. 

“Hello.”

The girl pushes herself up without any grace or self-consciousness, her book pressing into the ground in a way that makes Beatrice want to rescue it from her immediately. She comes toward Beatrice and holds out a hand, dirty from her journey up from her spot under the tree. 

“I’m Amelia. Who’re you?”

Beatrice blinks at her. Who taught this person how to introduce herself? (Later, she’ll watch Ava greet Yasmine with a high-five and think back to this moment.) Still, she does the polite thing, internally locating the nearest washroom as she grips the girl’s dirty hand. 

“I’m Beatrice. Beatrice Hunt.”

“Well, Beatrice Hunt, I’m a bit bored. The book is good and all but I’ve already read it and I’ve been here for ages. It’s definitely time to find some ice cream. Want to come?”

Beatrice says yes. And suddenly she has a friend. Amelia is different to most of her friends at home, who are either chosen and approved by her parents or martial arts peers, acquaintances, really, who she is not allowed to see outside of classes and competitions. Beatrice learns that she’s two years older, going into ninth grade (“Year ten, I think.”), and also an only child. She likes strawberry ice cream. She is an excellent swimmer, and she competes for her school. She’s likely to make varsity early, whatever that means. She’s irreverent and funny and makes Beatrice uncomfortable without making her feel bad about it. She’s also very smart. 

(“It’s Virginia Woolf.” She holds out the battered book as they walk toward the small shop that sells ice cream, hardware, and sewing supplies, “Orlando. I’ve read it like 50 times now. You can borrow it, if you want. Just be sure not to get it dirty.” Beatrice, eyeing the bent cover in Amelia’s unwashed hand, is unsure what to say to that. Amelia leans in and whispers, like it’s a secret, “I’m joking, Beatrice. It’s beat to hell already, obviously.” Beatrice reads it in a night.) 

Somehow, Beatrice’s parents love her. Beatrice is worried the first time that she brings her home, about a week later, because Amelia is loud and unapologetic and Beatrice has never seen her without dirty knees or dirty hands or a spot on her shirt or all three. Turns out, there was no need to worry. Amelia has a stash of wipes in the backpack she always carries with her, and she puts them to use just off the road next to the drive to Beatrice’s house. She smiles at Beatrice confidently before they walk in. “Don’t worry, Beatrice. I’m good at this.” And she is. Her posture shifts, and Beatrice notices how tall she really is, how she can take up space in that way that women like her mother do—noticeably there but still obviously feminine. It’s a skill Beatrice, who feels comfortable in her body but always out of place, fears she may never master. Beatrice had known that Amelia was beautiful; it was difficult to miss, but suddenly her green eyes and easy smile are used with a purpose, and Beatrice sees her in a new way. Her diction shifts, which Beatrice notices the further into conversation they get, her r’s softer, less American but her words cut more precisely. It goes so well that Beatrice is nearly speechless during their entire interaction, earning multiple frowns from her mother. 

It’s just, Amelia’s suddenly exactly like the girls at Beatrice’s school, which is impressive, yes, but also makes Beatrice nervous. Those girls don’t really like Beatrice, for reasons she can’t ever quite grasp, which means she’s not sure what she’s supposed to do differently. Most of them aren’t mean to her, but Beatrice doesn’t spend time with them outside of school. Her parents aren’t pleased about her lack of social status, which they apparently track through the parents of her classmates, some kind of internal tally they must have at dinner parties about whose child gets mentioned most and in what context, which birthday parties and social events it seems like everyone but Beatrice attends. She gets the occasional invitation, but it’s almost worse when that happens, as no one is under the impression that she’s there for reasons other than pity or politics. 

Unfortunately for everyone, or at least for Beatrice, she’s not been able to identify the thing that makes it difficult for her to be the way the other girls seem to want her to be. She sits with them at lunch, because she feels she should continue to make an effort, and experiments with the factors she can control. She’s tried talking less, talking more, talking about things that she finds to be, frankly, dull. She doesn’t like discussing other people, which are a central topic of conversation for her classmates, and she doesn’t like making fun of the teachers who are by far the kindest people in Beatrice’s life. She can’t really engage with the conversations about popular culture, although those are better, because she spends her free time reading and praying and practicing martial arts. When she is expected to speak, which is rarely, she almost always chooses from a very short list of topics: class, homework, sometimes ballet (never martial arts, she learns quickly). She knows she’s not generally successful in saying anything interesting and is both grateful and disappointed when conversation flags and someone moves to a new topic, leaving her to be quiet again. Toward the end of the school year, she hears them talking about her in the washroom, about how she’s weird, awkward. She waits until they leave to emerge, brushing away tears and feeling shame coil in her stomach. That evening, her parents are home for dinner, and as they talk about their coming trip to Germany, Beatrice barely manages to eat, feeling suddenly like she’s merely at yet another table where she doesn’t understand the rules of the game she’s expected to play. 

In the end, though, Amelia isn’t at all like her classmates. She keeps smiling at Beatrice the whole time they’re at tea, making a funny face at Beatrice when her parents aren’t looking and talking about Beatrice as if she’s important and interesting, working her into the conversation as much as she can. She doesn’t seem thrown by Beatrice’s silence, just smiles encouragingly at her. 

Amelia talks about her life in a way that makes Beatrice’s parents eager to know more. Amelia’s parents are French and work in politics. They send Amelia to school in the United States, where her mother’s sister lives, which explains her almost-American accent. This information makes Beatrice’s parents frown until she Amelia casually mentions the number of students they send to Oxford and Cambridge, in addition to the Ivy League. They’re Catholic. The home they own nearby, which they bought last year, is easily identifiable because it’s massive (as is Beatrice’s) and not a “new addition to the area” which is something her parents say with such disdain that they might as well be spitting. In short, they approve. She’s charming and from a “good family” and Beatrice’s parents not only allow Beatrice to spend time with her, they encourage it. They seem impressed with Beatrice, by association, even if Beatrice feels like they are still confused as to why Amelia wants to spend time with her. Beatrice herself is still confused about that, but she puts it to the side as best she can. Near the end of the afternoon, Amelia catches Beatrice’s eye, quickly rolls her eyes and winks, back to blinking angelically by the time her mother has turned from pouring more tea.

Amelia comes over regularly. Beatrice gets used to spending a few minutes behind a tree at the end of her driveway, watching Amelia dig through her backpack, out of which she sometimes pulls a cardigan or clean shoes to complete her transformation. She can pleat her hair so quickly and neatly that it often looks better than Beatrice’s, carefully put together each morning. Beatrice resents this only a small amount. 

They wander the town and walk to the nearby creek to cool off their feet and eat oranges and read in the shade. They swim in the pool behind Amelia’s house and watch movies in the massive tv room her parents let her create. 

“I think they feel guilty for sending me to school in the States and because they’re never around even when I am here. It does suck. I wish I saw them more. Anyway, they told me I could do what I wanted with this room so I did. My cousin in the States has one just like it.” Beatrice cannot relate at all but enjoys watching The Hunger Games and the series of movies that Amelia swears are based on classics: Clueless, 10 Things I Hate About You, Romeo + Juliet. She thinks fleetingly that she might be able to discuss these things with her classmates, but, as Amelia gets deeper into a rant about Emma, waving the copy she had grabbed from their library wildly around her head to emphasize a point, Beatrice knows it wouldn’t be anywhere near as satisfying.

Amelia reads outside while Beatrice has ballet lessons with the instructor her parents hire to come to their home three times a week because they refuse to allow her to miss five weeks of class. Beatrice is not small enough or good enough or dedicated enough to warrant this attention. She knows it; her instructor knows it; and her classmates know it. She is looking forward to the day when the head of the dance school finally forces her parents to accept it but until then she tries and tries and tries. When she does conditioning and practices her katas and forms, she does them on her own, with written instruction from her teachers, even though she actually is good enough at this to warrant additional attention. Amelia reads in the room then, sometimes watching Beatrice. The first time, she says afterward, “That’s really fucking cool, Hunt,” and Beatrice blushes for reasons that she doesn’t quite understand. 

On Sundays, Amelia attends mass with Beatrice and her parents, running through the motions of the service and words of the prayers so seamlessly and attentively that Beatrice is convinced Amelia must find comfort in it the way that Beatrice does. She asks Amelia about church in the United States and Amelia laughs and says, “Oh, I only go when I absolutely have to. C&E Catholics, my aunt and cousins, which is totally good with me.” When Beatrice looks at her blankly, she supplies, ��Christmas and Easter. I don’t even believe in God, I don’t think. My parents definitely don’t but don’t tell anyone that.” Beatrice is shocked silent but Amelia is already moving down the small ledge near the creek and doesn’t seem to notice. It doesn’t bother her, she decides, as she gets ready for bed that evening. She adds Amelia to her prayers. 

Even though Amelia might not believe in God, she doesn’t make fun of Beatrice for her faith. She waits around while Beatrice goes to confession each week. When Beatrice tells her that she cannot come over because she is going to a service during the week, she is respectful, if disappointed, telling Beatrice to come over when she’s done. Beatrice chooses to spend some afternoons, on days when she feels particularly ungrateful or angry or inadequate, in the small chapel saying the rosary. She knows it’s not normal for someone her age, but she is comforted by the thought that she can do this thing to correct herself when she otherwise doesn’t know how. She can ask for forgiveness and it will be given. This ease of forgiveness and love is so foreign a concept to Beatrice in her day-to-day life that she has no trouble at all believing that God’s grace is a miracle. How could she be anything other than grateful? How could she do anything other than try her best to live up to that incredible gift? To apologize when she fails? Beatrice offers an explanation for her absence once, on a day when she feels like she has been especially resentful during ballet. Amelia squeezes her shoulder and says, “You don’t owe me an explanation, Hunt,” hesitates before adding, “You are really hard on yourself, though. You shouldn’t feel guilty for just being a person.” Beatrice isn’t sure what that means.

It’s the best summer she’s ever had, and when it’s over, she cries, absolutely embarrassed as they say goodbye in the foyer of her house. 

Amelia grins and hugs her tightly and says, “Hey, Hunt, don’t worry about it. I’ll see you next summer and we can write letters or whatever. It’ll be cute.”

Beatrice is surprised to find that Amelia was serious, receives a letter the third week of September postmarked from Washington, D.C. It’s very short, a list of book recommendations and a story about a dog in her neighborhood that keeps escaping and digging up the garden of the elderly woman down the road, all in scrawled handwriting and signed with a heart and Amelia’s name. Beatrice writes back two days later, unable to adopt the same informality without feeling like a fraud, but she lets herself start the letter, which consists mostly of book recommendations of her own, with “Hello” and ends it with a —Beatrice rather than a more formal sign off. She rewrites it three times before she’s satisfied. 

On her birthday, she gets a handmade card with a cat in a party hat on the front, drawn badly enough that Beatrice is only certain it’s a cat because of the arrow pointing at it, next to which is the word CAT. The inside reads simply, “Happy Birthday, Hunt! Do something fun. Miss you -A” 

On Amelia’s birthday, Beatrice sends a card she finds in her favorite book store, a T. Rex with a party hat on, “Have a Dino-Mite Birthday” written above him. She writes, “Happy birthday, Amelia! I hope you have a wonderful day.” The exclamation point feels aggressive but she keeps it anyway. Amelia writes her to say that she loved it, that it’s now taped up in her locker. 

Beatrice keeps trying with her classmates, but she still can’t seem to get it right. Beatrice can throw her aikido instructor, who is significantly larger, over her shoulder. She can speak four languages fluently and is working on two more. Her teachers regularly assign her work separately, because they want to challenge her. And, although she knows her parents are disappointed in her, she is still their child, raised to carry herself with a certain level of pride and decorum. She thinks, sometimes, that these girls would like her if they didn’t have to think about her. She thinks they want her to disappear, keep her hand down, be still, quit trying, stop being noticeable, if all she can ever be is different. Beatrice can’t bring herself to do this. She wonders if her life would be better if she could. 

She keeps trying until she can’t anymore. They’re finishing in the changing room after physical eduction and Beatrice is returning from the water fountains. She hears them as she enters, groaning that Beatrice is too competitive, had been overly invested in their game of football. Beatrice hears a snort. “She would be.” There is laughter. “Gross.” “Yeah, but I’m right.” Beatrice coughs loudly and enters, listens as their laughter grows louder. She knows that they are implying that Beatrice might be different in other ways, ways that make Beatrice’s stomach hurt. They know, the small voice in her head says to her. They know. She pushes it away. There’s nothing to know.

Still, Beatrice begins to eat by herself, reading or studying. Better to be alone than to keep doing whatever it is she had done to make them think of her that way. Sometimes she sits in the classroom with her literature teacher, who likes Beatrice and is always happy to talk about books. She knows her parents would be disappointed, but she’s at the top of her class. She keeps winning at martial arts competitions. She focuses more in ballet, even though it does little good. She can’t make up for her social failures, for the capital she knows she loses her parents, but she can try to be good in other ways. She is good in other ways, although she knows it’s never enough. 

She and Amelia continue to write, irregular but frequent enough that Beatrice feels like Amelia is writing because she wants to rather than because she feels obligated. The letters get longer, and Beatrice starts to include more about her life, about herself. There’s not that much to tell, really, but every time Amelia responds with a question she feels something in her open up. In May, Amelia signs off with “SEE YOU SOON, HUNT” and Beatrice smiles for so long that during her evening Aikido class her instructor asks her if everything is alright. 

School remains the same, but in the last several weeks, it’s somehow it’s easier, knowing that she does have a friend, a real friend, who wants to hear what she thinks about books and who gets excited when Beatrice puts in details about her own life, her martial arts competitions, new foods that she has tried. She even finds the few social events she’s forced to attend to be more bearable. She knows, now, that she can find people who like her, even if they’re not exactly like her. She lets herself stay behind late at martial arts classes, speak to some of the other girls in class with her. She can’t see them outside of this part of her life, but she lets herself try to get to know them more, anyway. She finds it’s not as difficult as she thought it would be. 

Beatrice has never been more eager to go to France, is packed and ready hours before they are scheduled to leave. She is afraid sometimes that she made it all up or that it was a once-in-a-lifetime event. As soon as Amelia shows up at her house, with her charming smile and a bottle of wine that makes her parents forget that it’s definitely rude for a guest to be there so quickly after they arrive, Beatrice’s fears are gone. That summer is even better, somehow. They know each other now, have patterns they fall into and inside jokes they tell and Beatrice feels like Amelia knows her better than anyone else in the world and she’s glad about that. 

Beatrice lets herself talk more freely, talk about things that she loves. When a ladybird lands on Amelia’s sleeve, Beatrice gently picks it up and says, “Harmonia axyridis.” Amelia stares at her and then laughs, “Is there anything you don’t know? Man, Hunt, you’re an actual encyclopedia.” Beatrice has had people say things like this to her before, but always with an edge, judgment or jealousy driving them. Amelia looks at Beatrice like she’s something special, smile big and eyes bright. Beatrice and the ladybird are suddenly similar shades. 

When Amelia wants ice cream twice in one afternoon, Beatrice balks. “It’s a bit indulgent, isn’t it?” Amelia shoves her without any real force and asks, “You know you’re a kid, right? You sound like your mom.” She must see Beatrice flinch because she immediately apologizes, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I just mean, you’re allowed to do things that are a little irresponsible sometimes. I do. Lemme be a bad influence, yeah?” Beatrice gets a half-scoop and wonders briefly why it bothers her so much that Amelia called her a kid. She doesn’t let herself linger on the possible answers. 

She stays the night with Amelia sometimes. They turn on their sides and talk across the space between the twin beds in her room. Beatrice says things she wouldn’t if she had to look at Amelia in the light, things she’s hinted at in letters but never lets herself say outright. She confesses her hatred of ballet and her discomfort with most of the other students at her school. She tells Amelia, with shame, that she eats alone or with a teacher. Amelia, as always, meets her with kindness, and something more. “I’d eat lunch with you every fucking day. They’re shits, and they’ll be jealous of you, in the end. It’s good to be different, Beatrice. I’ve never met anyone like you. That’s a really cool thing.” Beatrice, blushing at the language, cannot quite believe her but appreciates her effort. 

Amelia’s easier with physical affection than she was last summer, grabbing for Beatrice’s hand as they walk through town, bumping their shoulders over ice cream, sitting close, close, close as they watch movies. Beatrice isn’t used to being physically close to anyone this way. The closest she comes is sparring. She finds that she likes it. There’s a clench to her stomach sometimes, when Amelia falls asleep on her in the movie room or brushes hair from Beatrice’s face in the pool, that Beatrice doesn’t want to examine. She hasn’t had a friend like this before. She tells herself it’s normal, pushes away any thought that it could be anything other than normal, and stays attentive in her prayer. She finds herself in the small chapel more often. She can’t quite bring herself to articulate her sin, but she knows, with growing certainty, that it’s there. 

Once again, she finds herself crying in the foyer of her house and once again Amelia is grinning at her. This time, she hands Beatrice a sheet of paper with an email address. “We can still do snail mail but this is faster plus I can send you articles and stuff.” 

And she does. They write each other at least once a week, and Beatrice now gets links to articles and music and movie recommendations. She also gets the occasional letter in the mail, with doodles in the margins and restaurant reviews for places that Beatrice will probably never go and stories about Amelia’s cousins or teachers. 

School is, shockingly, a little bit better. Beatrice doesn’t have close friends, but some older students eat lunch with her new literature teacher, who also likes Beatrice, and she joins them. She finds them much easier to talk to than the students in her year, and they say hello to her easily when they see each other outside of lunch. One, Jenny, likes Beatrice a lot. Beatrice knows because she’s generally quiet when they eat as a group, but she makes a point to talk to Beatrice in the hallways, smiles at her when she can’t stop between classes. She sometimes asks Beatrice to eat lunch with her outside, and they sit together in easy quiet. When they do talk, Beatrice finds herself blushing much more than she should be. She doesn’t ever tell Jenny no, even though she could. She feels guilt build heavy in her stomach. You know what you’re doing, the little voice says. Nothing, she replies with force. I'm doing nothing at all.  

At one point, Amelia writes that her aunt is excited to meet Beatrice because “she thinks I have an imaginary best friend. She doesn’t believe that a genius polyglot entomology nerd with a black belt is a real thing. She might come this summer for a week.” Beatrice has privately considered Amelia to be her best friend since about two weeks into their first summer together. That Amelia thinks of her similarly is shocking, and Beatrice feels gratitude and joy expanding in her chest. That first feeling is familiar, the second less so. She thinks of Amelia so very often, and this unexpected affirmation of closeness for some reason makes her feel better about that. 

Beatrice, for her part, sticks mostly to books and other media she finds interesting but tries to include at least one thing about her own life in each letter as well. She tells Amelia about lunch with her new teacher, about the class trip to Madrid, about how she’s working to improve her Spanish. She tells her about the new priest at her church, Father Louis, whose homilies are not as good as Father Mark’s but who is just as kind, had given Beatrice a very interesting book on women in the Church. She tells her about learning to make makowiec with the daughter of one of her parents’ colleagues, home for Christmas and happy to steal away with Beatrice to the kitchen while their parents pretended to like each other. She does not tell Amelia about the way her stomach fluttered when they stepped close to each other in the kitchen. She does not tell Amelia about how Jenny makes her blush, or about the new dreams she’s having that feature the exact wrong kind of person. She does not tell Amelia that she prays for her, or that she’s started to pray for herself in a new way, too. That is a burden she knows she will be bearing alone. 

In February, she gets an email with a subject line that is just a frowny face. It’s three sentences: 

My parents are making me go to a stupid fucking writing camp this summer instead of coming to visit. Write me? I’m going to miss you a lot. 

Beatrice finds herself crying. She gathers herself and responds:

Of course. I’m going to miss you, too. 

She deliberates for a full 15 minutes and then adds a &lt;3 for the first time ever, hits send before she can change her mind. Her palms sweat. She’ll know. Do you want her to know? She’s too afraid to answer her own question. She says her evening prayers and does the breathing exercises her instructors have taught her, easing herself into sleep. That night, the girl in her dreams is a blur of blonde hair and broad shoulders, but Beatrice knows exactly who she is meant to be, who Beatrice wants it to be. She feels it break through her as fingertips ghost over her arms, her neck, lower. She wakes, chest heaving and sweat along her back, burning with arousal and shame.

#avatrice #sister beatrice #ava silva #warrior nun

[milobat]

What is avantasia relationship like with each family member (plus ches and lif)

yippee my first ask here!!!! thx for the ask <3

Avantasia's Relationships with her family, Uncle Ches, and Lif

Dee

polar opposites of each other, almost like they're clones of their parents.

these two have been headbutting each other since they were in the womb.

not a day would pass w/o these two fighting over the smallest things. snacks, the bathroom, who did what, etc. on rare occasions, the two would throw hands at each other.

"You ate my limited-edition spicy ramen imported from Korea, didn't you?!" *has some sauce on his lips* "Ionknow." "DON'T 'iOnkNOw' ME!! IT WAS EITHER YOU OR HEAVY!!"

Dee is jealous of Ava's musical talents and her ability to make friends easily, while Ava is jealous of Dee's quick thinking and his ability to control his emotions.

But they do care for each other.

Dee has to remind Ava to take breaks from practicing, and Ava has to reassure Dee from their dad's harsh but honest words.

Twin Telepathy™️

*giving an intense scowl.* "Don't you fucking do it." *grinning menecingly.* "Watch me, bitch."

Dee is overprotective of Ava. He still treats her as if she were still little, though he's 9 minutes older.

If there's anyone in a room and they have to discuss something in private, they have their own language to communicate (They made it up when they were kids. It's basically Gibberish.)

Heavy

She loves Heavy to death and will kill anyone who hurts him and herself.

Heavy looks up to her as a role model and is always in awe every time she plays her euphonium or any other instrument.

"So with the euphonium, you can blow your lips onto that and play a note?!" "More like buzzing your lips on the mouth piece, but yeah." "That's so cool!! I wanna try!!"

Ava teaches Heavy how to defend himself with all of the fighting skills passed down from their mom.

Most, if not all, of them end with Heavy crying and Ava trying her best to calm him down.

Homework with Heavy... Good God, Ava tries her best not to screech whenever he gets something wrong. She is helping him, though. It's better letting her help than Dee or Glam.

If she's not doing anything other than practicing music, then they just hangout together. Doing pranks, going on bike rides, watching movies...

"Avaaaa!!! Can we go to Curlton's and TP his neighbor's place?!" "Yeah yeah, give me a minute, Heavs."

He tries his best to defend his older sister from bullies (and fails), leaving Ava to fend off herself (successfully).

Glam

He's both a mentor and a father to Ava.

Glam switches from loving father to stern music teacher quickly every time she enters his office.

Checking on her instrument, fundamental techniques, tone production, scales, reading and playing difficult music, practicing techniques... It's all there.

He's even pressuring her to go to a conservatory and be the best of the best. Just like how his father did.

"Ava, you are breathing through the rests. Do it again" *huffs* "At least give me a few seconds to breathe, Dad..." "Not possible if you are auditioning or on stage."

Ava grits her teeth and tries not to get an outburst in front of him. Her head gets dizzy from buzzing her lips for hours on end.

But still, Glam still views Ava as his little angel.

He absolutely adored dressing her up in cute dresses and putting her hair up in pigtails when she was younger! (Ava hated every second of it.)

He starts to become aware when Ava is at "that age" when boys start to come to her. His piercing stares and eerie smiles start to become more and more intense whenever his daughter is even NEAR a boy.

Ava gets stressed out whenever she's with her dad in public, both because of his expectations and that he's just so lovey-dovey towards her.

"Yes, my dear Ava is the sweetest! I remember when she and Dee used to have tea parties all the time when they were little!" "Dad... please stop."

Victoria

They're besties!!!

Ava has looked up to her mom all of her life. This is how a REAL woman is like!

She's a mini version of her mom, only more controlled with her emotions and smarter.

Growing up, she was spooked that her daughter was gonna grow up to be one of those "girly girls." She's relieved that Ava grew up exactly like she did; playing with bugs and mud and hating dolls and dresses.

Teaching Ava how to ride a motorcycle was... an experience.

"So... this is the ignition??" "Wha- No, Ava. THAT'S the hand clutch. Now don't grip on it too hard-" BRRRRRRRRROOOM!! "AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA-" "FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUU-"

Needless to say, Ava was scared of motorcycles for a while.

Since she was a toddler, Vicky has been teaching Ava how to fight. Glam was a bit concerned about his wife's teaching methods.

She's proud to say that her daughter is as mighty and strong as her. She's even prouder when she's stronger than her brothers and other boys!

"Guess what mom? I gave those dickheads who were harassing me the other day intense purple nurples." "That's my girl!"

Ches

Ava enjoys Uncle Ches' company, even when he's spewing nonsense about GMILFs.

She and Dee visit his record shop weekly to check out new CDs and vinyls. Also to check up on him and how he's doing.

Ches, on the rare occasions when his mind is right, gives his niece some helpful music and life advice.

"Heyyy Ava, let the music speak for ya... Play the hell outta that lil' tuba." "It's called a euphonium, Uncle Ches."

Whenever Ches recalls his times with WhoAreThoseFreaksOnstage, Ava is emersed in the stories of him and her dad being rising rockstars.

She's even surprised whenever Ches recalls him and Glam's early days at the conservatory.

Lif

Ava sees Lif as her first "real" friend, since she's been relying on her brothers as friends throughout her life.

They get along well! They make playlists for each other, hangout at the graveyard, even Lif drew a bunch of portraits of Ava!

Dee is very fucking jealous of his sister by this point.

"Dude! That looks so fucking rad!!" "Aw, thanks! Maybe you can show me some of your drawing talents?" "Haha... It's been a while since I've last drew something."

Ava teases the hell out of Dee about his crush. She even says that she will steal Lif from him (As a joke...?)

Not only does Dee have to worry about Heavy, but Ava too, being close to Lif... This is War.

#asks #metal family #metal family oc #ocs #metal family dee #metal family glam #metal family heavy #metal family victoria #metal family ches #metal family lif

[empressmcblondie]

Still on my “Warrior Nun” juice, but like... The show’s first season presents a clear dichotomy between freedom and entrapment, with freedom being marked by heterosexual intercourse and religious entrapment being marked by celibacy. While it is definitely arguable that either category is significantly more complex and entails many facets, Ava’s pursuit of sexual consummation with JC after running away from the OCS claiming that she “wants to live” and her hyper fixation on heterosexual dynamics is quite instrumental for her development. I think this can possibly be subtle commentary on how society, and more specifically the media, shape the way we perceive femininity, masculinity, and the interaction between them as predominantly heterosexual. Ava has explicitly said that she “watched a lot of TV” (paraphrasing here), solidifying it as her main source of information growing up. It is interesting to me that her near obsessive pursuit of heterosexuality, and particularly this focus on the loss of virginity, perpetuates many cliches we have all undoubtedly seen, and continue to see, in mainstream media. Initially I thought the show was falling in line with those cliches, because it essentially perpetuates them with the whole inexperienced-girl-must-have-sex-with-boy-to-start-her-life trope. However, thinking about it further, I realize that they push against them with a well-thought subversive approach. Heterosexuality as an idea governs everything that Christianity (as well as Judaism and Islam) aspire for. A “normative” family structure with a cisgendered father, mother, and children. Procreation is at the heart of the religious enterprise, and these images of woman as child-bearer have been subliminally projected to us through the media for decades. In fact, as we all know, organized religion’s agenda and extreme right winged political opinions are rearing their (ugly) head everywhere around the world nowadays.  I find it very provocative, then, to suggest that the union of freedom and religion (also represented by the characters that partake in this union) can be found through sapphic love. This union is what helps Ava to complete her mission (which is, in part, a religious one), which goes to show that the seemingly binary opposition between homosexuality (this is a crude categorization for the sake of discussion, and by no means intended as bi-erasure) and religion is not as rigid and insoluble as one may be led to believe. I think Sister Beatrice herself is the most interesting example of that, but I might expand on this in a different post.  I know this is not the most well-written analysis out there, and it probably just sounds like manic rambling (which it is), but with all my criticism of the show’s execution, I think that on the level of ideas, they had some very good things going. 

#warrior nun #avatrice

[daisychainsandbowties]

hello hello doing a re read of star wars au, and i was struck with curiosity. what do you imagine camilas tattoos are of?? on initial read i pictured more abstract textual/geometric designs, but the more i think on it the more i’m super intrigued by what you had in mind. tattoos in sw are actually weirdly pretty rare? baring various prison/gang tats and like the dathomir cultural tattooing (side bar: lilith rocking some dathomirian tattoos a la maul?? hawt)

camilas tattoos are clearly deeply grounding for her with the whole becoming the light you need in the dark etc etc. i wonder if they are ceremonial or personal? does she share the same lines on her skin as her (pirate)sisters do? or did she meticulously consider where each drop of not ink was to stain her skin?

so the original inspiration for cam’s tattoos comes from my little obsession with bioluminescence. squid exhibit bioluminescent tendencies with incredible frequency, and of course there are jellyfish, and even on land there's foxfire, which is incredibly beautiful. so i just thought in a fic that's all about light and luminescence i'd be remiss not to include a reference to one of my favourite forms of light.

for one thing, the light-emitting molecule that’s chemically activated in biolumenescene is called luciferin, which comes from the Latin word meaning ‘light-bearer’. of course, anyone who wields a lightsaber is literally a bearer of the light, but i also liked the idea of the ocs in this universe as a group of people dedicated to carrying the light forward - through the literal dark and the shadow cast by the Empire.

the tattoos have no specific shape. i kind of imagine them as those bioluminescent algae (dinoflagellates i think) that glow when their environment is disturbed. they have this very Cherenkov radiation-type glow. so i imagine cam’s tattoos as a bloom of ever-shifting dots and lines and draperies of lightsaber blue.

they have no set shape or position or arrangement, which is why Ava sees them moving, curling up into cam’s palm, glimmering when touched. they’re not constantly in motion, but they do move, and cam does have some say in how, though the light has its own whims.

she can - and she would have for Ava, if she'd been feeling generous - shape them in certain ways, make glowing blue birds or dragons or darting scrap rats. she can form constellations - and like the ocs pendants the whole network of tattoos can, in times of real peril, spell out warnings for those who wear them.

most of the time the tattoos just form lines, or glow like stars, or sometimes just shine out from under the skin (think aurora borealis).

while thinking on cam's tattoos, i also read about coal miners who used to use the phosphorescent properties of fish skin as a very faint light source to avoid the risk of setting off pockets of firedamp. the idea in star wars au, then, is that the light does something like the opposite of this. it invites danger - which is why cam has to keep her arms covered up.

i was thinking of the canon ocs, who hunt things nobody can see, and twisted that around a bit to make the ocs in star wars au this radically visible group. as the Sith are so fond of saying about Jedi - they can’t hide what they are. and they refuse to.

it just seemed really cool to have a group of pirate-archaeologists carrying their faith trapped underneath their skin, and also having a very convenient light source in any dark place they might roam.

plus, i loved the idea of cam & her fellow pirates, with their dedication to being light, also having the properties of living organisms who are, literally, luminous beings. creatures who live in a world so dark they use their bodies to make light.

#wn star war au #fascinating question tysm for asking #the tats are definitely there as a ceremonial thing #but they're also personal! and most of cam's fellow pirates have different patterns of light under their skin #(and the tattoos do spread and grow over time. crawling up the arms and over the shoulders #down to her waist. though they don't spread anywhere without 'permission' from their host) #(also yea lilith + dathomir tattoos is something i have Put Thought into alright) #ridemango #ask

[nat-seal-well]

Will I ever do anything with this? Absolutely not. Will that stop me from thinking about it? Also absolutely not. Because it’s fun :)

All of my AUs (the ones I write about and the ones that I don’t) are just me taking two of my favorite things and smashing them together. Because why not

So I would like you to consider: a WOT/TWC au

It doesn’t matter that most of the people who follow me don’t know what it is. It’s one of my favorite book series. It’s like a staple of the high fantasy genre and I adore every single volume (all 15 of them, if you include the prequel) even with all of their faults

This started just because I was like “huh if UB were Aes Sedai what Ajah would they be”

Here’s what I’ve been thinking:

Nat would be Brown Ajah, since they’re known for their devotion to collecting knowledge. The sisters of the Brown Ajah can usually be found in the library, and remarkably cunning and crafty (even though most don’t realize it, because of how often they’re lost in their research). I think it fits Nat pretty well. She’d love to be able to lose herself in the library until late into the night :)

Ava would be Green Ajah, without a doubt. The Green Ajah is also known as the Battle Ajah, and they focus on preparing themselves for Tarmon Gai’don (the prophesied Last Battle) and are excellent generals and the most skilled with combat. Unlike Ava, they tend to be flamboyant and frivolous, but I think she liked the tactical side. It would be fun seeing her all scowly and stern while surrounded by the exact opposite, haha.

Farah, I think, would be Yellow Ajah! I had a difficult time trying to figure out which one would work best with her. The Yellow sisters tend to be more arrogant, which doesn’t fit her, but they’re also flamboyant. Their specialty is healing. Farah isn’t a healer in the canon story but I think she would love working with the sick and wounded, helping them directly and making personal connections. She would love being more hands-on. And I like the thought of her in a pretty, fancy yellow dress, smiling and talking to the people she’s helping to make them feel more at ease and healing them. I love her

Morgan was the one that I had the hardest time with. Politics? No. Studying? No. Healing? No. Justice? No. Philosophy? Also no. Battles? Maybe, but I didn’t want to put two of them in the same Ajah. I think, though, that I would like to see her in the Red Ajah, for no other reason than the fact that it would be interesting. Red sisters focus on finding men who can channel and groups of women who can channel but aren’t bound to the White Tower. Because of this, they’re also very skilled at combat and I think it would suit her. Give her a red shawl, please <3

Rebecca would be Blue Ajah, I think. The Blue Ajah focuses on justice and righteousness. They travel a lot in search of causes to stand for, and tend to appear single-minded to others. Blue sisters are skilled at scheming and keeping secrets. Not only would it fit her well, but I also think she’d be the First Selector—the head of the Blue Ajah.

The au doesn’t go much beyond these thoughts. Really I would just love to see my favorite vampire ladies dressed up like fantasy characters, doing cool stuff with magic.

I have some half-ideas about the Detective too, lol

#sealy rambles #I realize like 99% of you have ZERO clue what I’m talking about #but I wanna talk about it anyway #so here I am #I’m never ever gonna do anything with this #I just like to think about it #for funsies :)