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possibilistfanfiction · 4 months

Note

anything surgeons au, especially butch!bea omg

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘yeah?’

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

‘agreed.’

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

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

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

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

‘that works for me.’

she nods once, seriously. ‘no parents?’

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘i — i can do it.’

‘dr. choi.’

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

beatrice laughs, and it makes tai smile.

‘no.’

‘she’s —‘

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

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

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

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

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

‘she’s doing great,’ you reassure.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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analogoose · 2 months

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Rating: Mature Chapters: 1/2 Pairing: Avatrice

There are no gentle rebirths.

Every sequence of Beatrice is an absorbing force for Ava and her worries. Time always passes differently in her presence. Slow. Relenting. Even black holes provide comfort, keeping the light safe inside. A lighthouse. Both shelter and warning. Their weight an anchor in an otherwise hostile environment.

And there is something else there—a diffracted similarity to Beatrice. A suggestion that they’re both different from everyone else. Like pieces of the same whole. Two fragments of the same rock, humming with identical resonance.

Or: This town is full of monsters. But none like them.

monster au collab w @terrornothorror who made some amazing art for this fic! go check it out!

#warrior nun #ava silva #sister beatrice #monster au #wn fic #it's finally hereeeeee #terror's art is srsly so cool everyone pls stare very intensely at it #vampire #vampire ava #alba baptista #kristina tonteri young

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gohandinhand · 1 year

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turning sun into sugar, spinning straw into gold (1/2)

Fandom: Warrior Nun

Pairing: Ava/Beatrice

Rating: T

Word count: ~9k

Read it on AO3

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

They’re different here, again, off-duty and alone together through the rapidly shortening afternoons. In Switzerland they’d had this only for stolen moments, cradled in the refuge of a dark bedroom. Here, nestled in the safety of the trees and a sky shuttered with clouds, the intimacy of the night bleeds forward into the day.

#decided to split it into two chapters after all so here is part 1!#part 2 is so so close to being done (it's already 9k)#just polishing the ending so it won't be long until it's up #hope you enjoy my pnw propaganda :)#wn fic #myfic #pnw au #pnw ava

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daisychainsandbowties · 8 months

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THE STAR WARS AU [4/10]

word count: 30k

rating: m

summary: Ava is a fugitive Jedi. Beatrice is an Inquisitor. Things go about as well as you’d expect.

excerpt

She felt Lilith approach. Her steps were firm, audible even on the carpet, not like Crimson’s prowling softness, her sneaking-up-on-you gait. She half-expected Lilith to reach out and hit her, but the Third Sister only stopped.

When Beatrice opened her eyes very slightly she could see where the scuffed knees of Lilith’s pants almost touched the bare and slightly-wasted curve of Beatrice’s own knee. Lilith reached out, her fingers slipping softly under Bea’s chin – the barest touch – and then she pressed her lips down to where the scalp was ruined.

And the pain of it disappeared.

Later, Beatrice only remembered the way Lilith took the filthy handful of hair and blood and skin out of her hand and dropped it almost reverently into the recycler, which ate the lot in a gasp of escaping air.

She took her into the bathroom, first pulling her up off the bed and not flinching whatsoever when Beatrice simply collapsed against her. Slumped, loose-limbed but for her elbow, which she kept tucked into her ribs. Beatrice’s head fell against her chest, which was not covered with the chest plate of her armour. They were on the station. They were safe. It was soft.

Lilith’s hands distracted her, their lacework of scars and how it loaned an odd terrain to her touch. The contact might have made Beatrice shiver. She wondered where those scars came from, who they came from, but she found herself soothed by them, unexpectedly.

More than scars, they felt to her like the writing you read in the dark, or if you cannot see; bumps with meaning inside. Beatrice found herself trying to read them as Lilith lowered her onto the little stood in the bathroom, as she slipped one hand down behind her ears to gather up all the hair.

But it wasn’t any language - just touch.

She took the razor out of Beatrice’s hands and stood behind her, running it over the scabs on her scalp, brushing the hair away when it feel onto her shoulders. Lilith’s fingers were warm, tacky with spots of blood, but wherever she found a wound she would trace it with her thumb, and then with her lips.

It was strange, unwelcome, necessary – her warm breath when she leaned in to blow the tiny, prickly hairs off the back of Beatrice’s neck. Her movements stilted as she put both her hands down on Beatrice’s shoulders, thumbs pressing into the little nub of bone that marked where the acromion and the clavicle meet. Her voice, mercifully invisible in the dim bathroom light, the hair shifting beneath their feet like discarded feathers as she said, “There. You’re free.”

And Beatrice – stupid stupid – said into the relapse of their silence, “No, I’m not.”

It was as if a thin sheet of glass stood between them, and every touch, every word, all the halfway-honest looks, all of their tenterhook movements, put tiny cracks into the surface. They bloomed out from the scars on Lilith’s hands, and when Beatrice turned her back the glass grew mimicries of the scarring on her back. When she reached out, it took the reflection of her arms.

Then there were moments when a word or a gesture would suddenly and violently bring the whole superstructure of glass down around their feet. That time, Beatrice got to witness it in the bathroom mirror.

Lilith with the razor in her hand, one palm pressed flush into Beatrice’s scalp, angling to take in the artful mess she’d made. It would have been enough for Beatrice if Lilith had simply run the razor through and through and through on the highest setting, shearing everything down to the scalp, but instead she’d attacked each section with a delicacy that came out of her and felt, to Beatrice, like a shock of cold water.

Tilting her chin back to trim her hairline, mussing to upset the little errant hairs away when the razor clipped them. A too-soft murmur of “Close your eyes” as Lilith dusted her scalp with an open hand, very carefully placing both palms to either side of Beatrice’s head to tilt it, just so, or to coax it straight again.

Then the glass broke, and Beatrice watched Lilith freeze, fist curling white around the electronic razor. Dressed down to the blank pants and shirt she wore under her armour, tight around the shoulders but untucked at the waist. A shadow crossed her face and then decided it wanted to stay, settled down underneath her eyes, slipped black tendrils inside until her gaze shone, wetly.

She walked out of the room without saying a word, leaving the razor on top of the bedspread, scattering a few flecks of black around it.

Beatrice had, by dint of vomiting onto the bed in the middle of the night, contrived to switch out the velvet black bedspread for something the colour of cream. There were better dreams in that fabric, but even after she dusted the hair away and put the razor back into its drawer, the bed held onto the image of Lilith tossing the razor down as she swept past.

That night Beatrice dreamed she was back in the chair again, with one arm unlatched and the other tucked tight to her chest. She hit Lilith again and again and again, until her face turned into a smear of blood.

continue on ao3

#fic: luminous beings #warrior nun #avatrice #ava x beatrice #beatrice x lilith #wn star wars au #casper writes #wn fic #somehow palpatine returned etc etc.#can't believe this just reached 100k what is wrong with me

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bazaarwords · 4 months

Text

“It’s beautiful,” she says, feeling a little wistful. (A little oxygen-deprived, maybe also.)

Bea turns, taking in the view, and Ava watches her as she does.

“It is,” she says. She turns back to Ava, their eyes meeting. Something is softer here, something shifts. Or maybe—maybe something settles into place.

Ava likes it, whatever it is.

happy honda-days i'm sorry this took so FUCKING long

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call-me-maggie13 · 1 year

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The rain is ice cold and coming down in sheets. It soaked through Beatrice’s jacket in less than ten minutes but she still has the hood drawn up around her head and is trying to pretend it’s helping. It’s not, her hair is clinging desperately to her neck and a river pours religiously down her nose. But she’s pretending none of this matters.

Of course, the first time in a year that Beatrice has forgotten her umbrella, Mother Earth decides to break the drought and send in a flood none too different than the one Noah built an Ark to survive. The campus is empty, not a single soul is desperate enough to brave the sudden hurricane level downpour. None but Beatrice, who cuts behind the Cat’s Cradle trying to get to her car in half the time. This proves to be a fatal mistake when she sees something dart underneath the dumpster.

She thinks nothing of it and continues her endeavor before being yanked to a halt when she hears a baby crying.

No. Not a baby. Almost, but the sound is off. She’s reminded of the Tiyanak, a vampire that takes the form of a baby to lure unsuspecting travelers to their demise — no bigger than two feet tall with glowing red eyes and razor sharp fangs, most still dragging around their rotting umbilical cords. The monster had haunted her nightmares well into her teen years before she could convince herself they didn’t exist. She remembers the first time she’d heard the folklore, she had avoided the forest behind her boarding school for months — which had been the entire purpose of the story, to warn the first years away from where the older girls had hidden their contraband.

She instinctively starts moving away from the sound, heart speeding away from her as she tries to rush out of the alleyway. She makes it to the end only to find someone has parked their truck completely blocking the exit and has trapped her inside the alley.

Now, she’s faced with two options: climb the vehicle and risk getting caught and possibly yelled at or turn around and face the possible deadly immortal infant she’d narrowly escaped.

It’s moments like this Beatrice finds herself wishing she didn’t care so much about the repercussions of her actions.

Beatrice squares her shoulders and forces a steady breath before turning back towards the noise. Beatrice is a grown woman, she is not scared of a scary story she heard nearly two decades ago. Of course not. There’s no such thing as the supernatural, Tiyanaks do not exist. They were made up.

She still jumps when she hears the baby cry again, this time much louder and significantly closer. Her heart hammering as she searches for the monster that’s going to devour her.

She sees a tiny shadow dart from the middle of the alley under the dumpster again, sending her scrambling backwards with a shout. She clenches her jaw and searches the alleyway for anyone who could’ve seen that absolutely mortifying reaction when the baby cries out from under the dumpster. The same dumpster the tiny shadow just disappeared under.

"Uh-uh. Nope." She shakes her head and forces her frozen legs to move away, gasping around her heart as she tries to sneak past the shadow.

She barely spares a glance in its direction when it crawls out, scraggly and crying, just shakes her head again and continues past it. It launches up the side of the dumpster and that’s when she recognizes it as a kitten.

A kitten.

She shakes her head again and tries to ignore it climbing up the side and toppling inside with another not-baby cry.

"Fuck." Beatrice sighs, she knows the trash was collected earlier today and the kitten is too small to jump out of the empty container. She throws her head back and glares at the dark clouds while considering her options. There’s only one, really.

She pulls herself up the side of the rusted metal container, holding her breath and reaching inside for the tiny animal almost submerged in the pool of nasty water collecting at the bottom. It screams at her and bobbles away from her to the far corner, baring it’s tiny fangs and arching it’s spine as it hisses at her.

"I’m trying to help, mate. Let me help." The plea falls on deaf ears, the kitten batting its paw at her straining fingers. She’s not close to it, at all, but she would rather tear her arm out of socket than splash around in dumpster water for an ungrateful kitten.

She huffs and pushes herself more fully over the side, now hanging precariously by her torso as she reaches for the angry little monster that has decided it hates her during their twenty second interaction.

"Look, mate. I’m not going to leave you here to drown, so you have two options: come with me willingly or I will drag you out of here screaming." She waits for an answer that she knows won’t come, but she offers the kitten the chance to decide it’s fate. It chooses wrong, attempting to back deeper into the corner. "Terrible choice, buddy."

She pulls herself up, throws her leg over the side of the container and curses every god that’s ever been believed in as she splashes into the container. Her socks squish as her shoes are flooded with the murky water and she cringes before turning toward the tiny animal. It tries to bite her when she grabs it, only unsuccessful due to its miniature jaw that doesn’t open wide enough to fully bite her. The kitten is barely the size of her palm, obviously much too young to be separated from its mother.

Beatrice knows she should probably tuck the creature into her jacket to protect it from the rain, but they’re both already soaking wet and she doesn’t want dumpster water dripping down her chest. Plus it’s thrashing wildly and trying to dig its claws into her neck.

Climbing out of the dumpster while holding the kitten proves to be much harder than Beatrice had anticipated, trying not to accidentally crush it in her hand as she pulls herself out.

The kitten is not grateful at all for her valiant efforts not to break its ribs, protesting loudly at every movement out of the trash, down the alleyway, and into her car. She’s glad she’s had the forethought to keep a spare towel in the backseat, gingerly wrapping the kitten in it and setting it in the passenger seat with the seat warmer on.

She tries her best to keep the kitten settled in the seat during her drive to the nearest pet store, but it thinks it’s a mighty beast despite the fact that it wobbles wildly when it stands. The animal shelter is closed, so she has no choice but to keep the animal overnight, which is inconvenient at best.

She considers taking it into the pet shop with her, but she’s not certain if it has fleas and she doesn’t want to spread them if it does, so she leaves it curled up in her passenger seat with the car running. It’s not an ideal situation, but it will work.

The boy at the register greets her with wide eyes when she pulls herself out of the rain, dripping rainwater onto the rug in front of the door. She smiles at him before setting off for supplies, glaring at the bags of food as she tries to decide which is the best.

"Is there anything I can help you with?" The boy asks from the end of the aisle, smiling when Beatrice turns to him.

"I just found a kitten and I’m not sure what I need for it."

"How big is it?" The boy — Bodhi, his name tag reads — faces the bags of food deliberately when Beatrice attempts to describe the infinitely small size of the beast. "It sounds like it’s about three or four weeks old, so it’s probably not eating solid foods yet. Here."

Bodhi drops to his knees and pulls out a little silver container labeled formula and a small bottle. He grabs a small box of wet kitten food as well, extending the items to Beatrice.

"Sometimes street cats wean off of milk sooner than domestic cats, so there’s a chance it could be eating wet food, but you should totally try the bottle first." He explains before turning abruptly. "You’ll need a litter box, litter and at least a water bowl. Probably some toys too, but kittens don’t usually do much when they’re that small so you could probably wait for those. Do you want a collar?"

"I don’t know if I’m going to keep it." Beatrice admits as they pass the collars. The boy nods and drops a small bag of litter into the empty litter box he’s holding, her grabs a small water and food bowl set from one of the end caps before leading her to the register.

"You should probably give it a bath with dish soap when you get a chance, it’ll kill the fleas if it has any."

Beatrice’s skin itches when she remembers how she considered wrapping the possibly flea-infested animal in her jacket.

Bodhi helps her carry her items to her car, waving goodbye before he returns to his job. Beatrice stares at the now sleeping animal curled into a ball on her passenger seat, she really hopes it doesn’t have fleas.

It takes three trips to get everything inside and Beatrice wants nothing more than to fall into a deep, dreamless sleep.

"What the hell’s all this?" Lilith grumbles as she stalks into the hallway where Beatrice is fighting with the enraged kitten. He scratches her wrist in an attempt to free himself from her grasp, screaming out when she doesn’t release him.

"He was in the dumpster. I couldn’t leave him."

"It was in the trash? And you brought it home? What the hell?"

Beatrice explains that the animal shelter is closed and it’s raining so she didn’t want to leave the poor little guy to freeze to death or drown.

"It’s just a couple nights, at most."

"Yeah, I doubt that."

Lilith ends up being correct in her assumption, the rage-consumed and murderous natured kitten gets a name and a fluffy bed and a bright green collar with a bell. He ends up sleeping most nights beside Beatrice’s head on the pillow, curled tightly up and purring so loudly her head vibrates.

Beatrice calls him by her first assumption, Tiyanak, but explaining the name becomes cumbersome so she searches for a new name. He earns the name Arson a month after his arrival into their home, when he pushes a burning candle off the counter and onto the carpet. He singes a hole through the floor and Lilith complains about losing their security deposit but she’s laughing when she suggests the name.

Find more here.

#warrior nun #ava silva #avatrice #sister beatrice #warrior nun s2 #bea and ava #warrior nun season 2 #wn s2 #save warrior nun #warrior nun netflix #warrior nun fanfic #renew warrior nun #wn fic #ao3 fic #babysitting au #babysitter au #fic: like the princess

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warriornunsgirlfriend · 1 year

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avatrice + 11. “The sun isn’t even up yet and you want me to do what?”

Okay this isn't exactly about avatrice but I was excited to share anyway. A sneak peek of a future scene in my Childhood!AU from Lilith's POV! Please enjoy!

“The sun isn’t even up yet and you want me to do what?”

It was a miracle really that Lilith had managed to even convince Beatrice to meet her here, the lights from the gym muted in their refuge under the bleachers. She’d woken up early and roused a very annoyed Beatrice out of the bed next to hers, begging her to meet her in the gym before classes.

Now they sit, their knees pressed together in the small space. From here Lilith can see every weakness in Beatrice’s form. The tired lines just underneath her eyes, the way her shoulders tighten, sitting impossibly straight even in this cramped position. Beatrice’s voice is whispered, harsh against the quiet hum of the electricity in the fluorescent lights above them.

“Oh come on, Beatrice. It’s just practice. It doesn’t mean anything.”

She watches as Beatrice’s eyes widen only minutely and a soft flush appears across the freckles scattered along her cheeks. She looks almost ridiculous, like a deer caught in a headlight and under any other circumstances, Lilith might have teased her for it.

But right now, anxiety is coiling through her own chest and she tightens her fists at her side to stop her hands from giving away how nervous the request is actually making her feel.

“But why do we have to practice kissing?”

Lilith can feel the back of her neck prickle with heat as images of a certain sixth year girl with gorgeous skin and a teasing smile flash across her mind. It’s a fair question but she can’t bring herself to admit the truth, that she’s never kissed anyone. The thought of actually admitting that she’s bad at anything, let alone something so simple, is mortifying. So she just shrugs.

“Don’t tell me you haven’t thought about it, Beatrice. You’ll meet a man, or someone one day, and you’ll be grateful for the chance to practice.”

The way Beatrice wrinkles her nose at the thought is almost enough to lighten the nervous weight on her own chest and she has to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from smiling. She doubts very much it will be a man who steals Beatrice’s heart one day but it isn’t Lilith’s place to say so. Instead she nudges Beatrice’s knee with her own. “Come on, I never ask you for anything. And if you help me with this I swear I’ll owe you. Whatever you want.”

The nervous knot loosens ever so slightly when Beatrice rolls her eyes and finally gives in with an exasperated sigh. “Fine. But you have to stay with me during break next week?”

Her voice falters at the end, as if she isn’t sure for a moment that Lilith will agree. Which is absurd, really, because it’s such an easy request. She’s no happier at home than Beatrice is. “Deal.”

“Okay. How-how do we do it?”

The question takes her off guard and for the first time Lilith’s resolve almost disappears. It had seemed easy before when she was imagining the scenario in her head. Practice with Beatrice had seemed a lot less daunting than asking Lucia straight up for a date. But now Lilith falters, considering Beatrice for a moment before finally huffing out an annoyed breath.

“I think we just need to go for it.”

Beatrice nods and then squeezes her eyes shut, her face scrunching up in concentration as she freezes. Lilith only rolls her eyes and leans forward, closing the small distance between them in a fluid motion. “Geez. I’m not going to bite you. Relax.”

The words are murmured for just an instant before Lilith closes her eyes too and presses her mouth against Beatrice’s, lingering for one brief, chaste moment.

Beatrice’s lips are chapped and the small touch tickles against her own before Beatrice is pulling away, her eyes flying open.

“How was that?” Her words are rushed and another bright flush dusts across her face. It occurs to Lilith that Beatrice must be as nervous as she is.

She only rolls her eyes to hide the mirth just lying under the surface of her nervousness and shakes her head. “I think you have to stay still for longer than a second for it to really count.”

The challenge does the trick. It’s enough for Beatrice to frown, her eyebrows drawing forward as she huffs in annoyance. “Fine. Try again, then.”

Lilith only shakes her head, amusement loosening the nervous coil in her chest completely now. It really is too easy to rile Beatrice up. But underneath the humor a surge of warmth settles against her chest. Beatrice may be uptight, and even a little oblivious sometimes. But she’s a good friend and any anxiety Lilith might have had over the request eases as she leans forward to kiss Beatrice again. ______________________________________________________________

The afternoon sun slants across their two bodies, laid out against Beatrice’s bedroom floor. A song plays idly in the background on Beatrice’s record player, filling the room with soft noise that fades easily into the background around them.

Lilith turns her head to watch her friend for a moment, the way the light trails down Beatrice’s face, her eyes closed and her lips parted as she breathes out evenly. It’s the most relaxed Lilith has ever seen her and she can’t help but smile at the image. Whatever Ava is doing, it’s obviously doing wonders for Beatrice. Even if she is an annoying shit.

“What’s it like? Being with Ava?”

The question is blurted out before she can stop herself. But she finds that she doesn’t quite regret it, even if the back of her neck does warm. She shifts and props herself up on her elbows so she can look at Beatrice, who only opens her eyes and turns her head toward Lilith, pondering the question for a moment.

“It’s…. wonderful.” Beatrice breathes out the last word in a small exhale, a soft blush creeping along her ears and cheeks. Her lips tilt upward in a soft smile and she grins sheepishly, “I didn’t think it was possible to be this happy.”

The sight sends a pleasant ache through Lilith’s chest. Even a few months ago it was obvious Beatrice wasn’t happy. Lilith very much doubted Beatrice would have known what happiness looked like even if it slammed right into her. Which Lilith supposed, it sort of had.

It takes her a moment to place the odd fluttering emotion in her chest. Hope, she realizes with a jolt of surprise. If Beatrice of all people could find happiness, then maybe it wasn’t completely unattainable. Maybe it’s something Lilith can earn too. The image of Camila’s mischievous smile, the soft dimples at the corner of her lips, and the way her curled hair catches the light plays across Lilith’s mind, sending a pleasant swoop through her belly.

“If I confess something to you, do you swear not to judge?”

Beatrice’s eyebrows furrow ever so slightly and she shifts too until she’s propped up on one elbow, her head resting against her hand. “Do you have feelings for Ava, as well?”

Her lips purse against a teasing smile at the question and Lilith barks out a surprised laugh. “Don’t be ridiculous, I wouldn’t date Ava even if she was the last person on this earth. You can have her. Besides, I have my sights on someone else.”

Beatrice’s grin widens, a genuine smile with a flash of teeth. She nudges Lilith’s leg with her foot. “Are you going to tell me who it is?”

It’s new, this sudden vulnerability and understanding between the two of them and Lilith clings to the warmth it brings even as she falters for a moment, anxiety tightening around her chest as she answers. “It’s Camila…”

Beatrice’s eyes widen in surprise and Lilith is ready, an apology right on the tip of her tongue. She can feel the flush on her face as she opens her mouth to explain, to take it back maybe. But Beatrice only grins again, her eyes bright with delight. “That’s wonderful!”

“Really? You’re not mad?” Lilith had honestly expected more pushback. Considering that just a few weeks ago they weren’t even talking, she hadn’t expected Beatrice to be so supportive. She studies Beatrice’s face for any sign of hidden frustration, or annoyance, but she doesn’t find any. Beatrice’s smile is still relaxed, her eyes squinting against the sunlight streaming through the blinds covering the window. But her expression is sincere, open, and Lilith finds herself relaxing as Beatrice answers,

“Why would I be? I think it’s great, truly.”

“I don’t know.” Lilith shrugs, her attention moving to the carpet underneath them. She tugs at a loose strand, wrapping it around her finger as she answers, “She’s your little. I know you feel responsible for her.”

The memory of their argument is still raw between them, the lingering words heavy against Lilith’s chest. She can’t quite bring herself to meet Beatrice’s gaze. Silence settles over them, awkward and stifling for several long moments.

“I’m sorry, Lilith. What I said before, it wasn’t fair—“

Lilith rolls her eyes to hide the uncomfortable prickle of nervous tears welling in her eyes. “You’ve already apologized. You don’t have to—“

“Let me finish.” Beatrice raises her hand and Lilith falls silent, swallowing against the stupid lump in her throat.

“It wasn’t fair and I want you to know, I don’t really think you’re…what was it I said?”

“Heartless.” Lilith almost whispers the words, her heart clenching painfully against them, a juxtaposition to the accusation. Beatrice was right, she hadn’t been fair to say it. But Lilith couldn’t deny there was truth in the perception she gave off to people. Her mother was heartless. Her grandmother even more so, and if Lilith was honest her biggest fear is that she would end up mean and bitter, just like them. Beatrice’s words, said in a righteous fury of the moment, had pierced Lilith’s weakest point.

“I don’t think you’re heartless. And I think Camila would be really lucky.” Beatrice’s hand wraps around her own and it takes every ounce of willpower Lilith has to stop the sob threatening to choke out of her. She finally looks up, her eyes stinging with tears only to find Beatrice’s own tears reflected back at her. Despite her best efforts, her vision blurs and she feels a single wet drop escape down her cheek. She laughs, watery and weak, and Beatrice does too.

Maybe this is what happiness really looks like. Or at least something similar. The warm sun heating her skin in the afternoon, shared tears and laughter between friends. She can feel all the cracks within her, frayed and ragged. It doesn’t heal, not even close. But Lilith thinks, here with Beatrice’s tear-filled laughter mixing with her own, maybe for now this is enough. The promise of a new beginning. For both of them.

#warrior nun #warrior nun fanfic #my fic #Sister Beatrice #beatrice warrior nun #sister lilith #lilith warrior nun #beatrice x lilith #beatrice/lilith #beatrice and lilith #WN fic #WN fanfic #I've got mail!#whatwordsmiss

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book-and-music-lover · 10 months

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To Pierce This Armor

Wordcount: 2.8k Rating: T Relationships: Sister Camila & Sister Lilith (Warrior Nun) Characters: Sister Lilith (Warrior Nun), Sister Camila (Warrior Nun) Summary: Lilith cracks, just a little, after the fight that nearly destroys everything, and seeks a familiar face in this new unknown. Somehow she ends up standing in Camila’s bedroom, hoping to be understood.

Read on AO3 here

#warrior nun #warrior nun fanfic #sister lilith #sister camila #wn fic #k's written words

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willowedhepatica · 8 months

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"Do you love her?" Camila asks and it makes Beatrice grip the mug tighter. She works her jaw, staring into the leafy tea water that had already run cold. She would drink it anyway.

"I've only known her for six months."

"She's very charming."

"She is." Damn it, she is. "Even Lilith has gone soft. She let Ava go on a long monologue about whales and their mating cycle yesterday, it was quite amusing to watch."

"Beatrice."

Beatrice straightens automatically, her eyes shifting forward.

Camila's eyes are soft when they finally land on her. "It's okay."

"What?"

"To love her."

"I don't–"

"Oh, but you do."

Beatrice frowns. She doesn't know if it is because it scares her or irritates her. "How can you be so certain?"

Camila laughs, light and knowing like she just asked something ridiculous. Beatrice turns away. It was a serious question.

"You know a couple of days ago when we were at that party?"

Beatrice nods.

"Ava dragged you out on the dancefloor with all those people and loud music and sticky floors and you had only eyes for her. Even when someone bumped into you it didn't seem like you cared."

It had been a great night. She could remember how much Ava was laughing, her smile growing even bigger when Beatrice accepted her request to dance. She couldn't say no to that.

"She's very persuasive..."

Camila nods. "She is."

"I didn't want to disappoint her."

"You know you wouldn't do that. Even if you said no."

Beatrice humms. "What's your point?"

Camila takes a sip from her drink, sets it down. "You let Ava take you out of your comfort zone. I've never seen you smile more than these last few months and..." she gestures forward, "you're kind of glowing, even for how clishé that might sound, it's true. You can't deny it."

"I–" Beatrice clamps her mouth shut, leans back in the chair. "It isn't like that, it's... I don't know if that's true..."

"Why?"

"She makes me ache." She mumbles, almost without thought before she whips her head up as the panic wash over her. "It's not, I don't–"

"Bea, it's okay." Camila reaches forward and places a hand on hers but Beatrice draws away. She smiles anyway, a little sad this time. "Tell me. Tell me how she makes you feel."

It's a lot. Too much almost. Beatrice clench her hands into fists before unclenching them again. Takes a deep shuddering breath before speaking. "It hurts." Her lips twitch down, she shakes her head. "She makes me feel full." Of what? Everything, too much, not enough. Beatrice absent mindedly strokes her hand over her chest, puts pressure. "It feels like I'm going to burst. And yet..."

"And yet?"

"It feels like I could bear the pain. Over and over, every second I'm with her I could bear it. Every second I'm with her, it hurts less."

"That sounds an awful lot like love." Camila says. "Are you scared?"

"She makes me feel brave."

#wn fic #warrior nun #avatrice #sister beatrice #ava silva #my writing

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princington · 17 days

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Commissioned for Ch 16 of Dear Reddit (am I the asshole?) by Schmoo1

#avatrice #fic rec #wn fic #wn fanart #prince comms #my art #ava silva #beatrice #q

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possibilistfanfiction · 3 months

Note

Surgeons au: "please take a break"

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

beatrice is exhausted.

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

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

‘hello to you too.’

she smiles apologetically. ‘hello, darling.’

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

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

‘you went to the gym?’

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘you’re not at work right now, babe.’

‘i can’t think of anything else.’

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘really?’

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

you hum. ‘and for two?’

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

‘yeah.’

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘that’s what you got from that?’

you shrug.

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

‘yeah.’

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

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

beatrice just squeezes your hand.

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

‘ah, there we go.’

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

‘yes,’ she says. ‘and i love you.’

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘would you like to shower with me?’

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

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

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

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analogoose · 3 months

Text

Rating: Explicit Chapters: 2/2 Pairing: Avatrice

Some days it feels like her heart is trying to crawl out of her chest to get to Ava, no matter the distance between them. Even now, she wants nothing more than to be on the other side of the cage. To make it stop for her. Nothing else in this world belongs to Beatrice. Not this fight. Not her revenge. But this love? It’s hers. All hers.

Full Summary:

It’s the question she asks after every fight. And every time, Ava’s answer is always the same.

One hand grabs the lapel of Beatrice’s jacket to pull her close, while the other settles itself on the back of her neck. “No,” Ava breathes, chin tilted up and body pressed against Beatrice. In this position, she can feel the muscles in Beatrice’s body all coiled and calculating—the way she gets in the ring. Their lips are only millimeters apart, and the urge to taste Beatrice is overwhelming. But Ava has been so patient, and this final move is always Beatrice’s to make.

Her eyes flutter shut. She hardly has to wait before there are hands on her hips and a mouth against hers, and Ava wants.

Or: Theirs is a love with teeth. It’s the only way they know how to survive.

#avatrice #warrior nun #streetfighter au #woohoo its finished!#this def was a journey #wn fic #ava silva #sister beatrice #goose writes

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gohandinhand · 11 months

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

Fandom: Warrior Nun

Pairing: Ava/Beatrice

Rating: T

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

Read it on AO3

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

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

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

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daisychainsandbowties · 6 months

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Chapters: 1/1 Rating: T

Summary:

what if Ava and Beatrice were in love and there were also pokémon?

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There was a ghost in the walls.

The first night it happened, Ava was half-asleep, staring down at the red and grey walkie-talkie stowed in the palm of her tired hand. She’d been doing physiotherapy all day – trying to make fists, to stretch her palm wide and scrunch it tight – and the bones themselves ached where they rested against sweat-slicked plastic.

It was just a scratching, at first, like something sharp against the plaster on the inside of the walls, almost smothered under the shifting of bodies in the rooms on either side of Ava’s. Lost, almost, to the slow tap, tap, tap of saline droplets slithering through her IV, the crinkle of the canula tape as her hand shifted very slightly, sending starbursts of nerve pain up into her shoulder.

Her breath, which wisped lonesomely up into the corner of the room she shared with a vase of drooping flowers, a creaky wheelchair, and a dozen posters tacked into the walls, bearing images of pokémon frozen, captured in the only way Ava would ever be able to have them.

(this isn’t true, but it is a fear she carries in her chest at night especially when she can forget about the doctors telling her that soon, soon, soon they’ll fly that surgeon over from the Kanto region. soon she’ll be shuffling stiffly through the hallways on her crutches and in possession of more than her hands)

(these things are easy to forget in the dark)

That first night, the scraping kept on for ten minutes before fading, and the walkie talkie never erupted with sound, so Ava slept. When she woke, it seemed like something she might have made up.

But then, two days later, when the moon sat low and bright in the sky and Ava sat up watching it leak across the floorboards, the sound came again. More concerted this time, unmistakable.

It seemed to come from one specific part of the wall, buttressed between a poster of a Dragonite and a faded photograph of a girl with a Rockruff fighting to escape from her arms. Ava smiled at it, despite the stab of fear that accompanied the sound of something in the wall.

(it’s easy to be afraid at night. that doesn’t make her a coward)

Ava stared at that spot and almost, almost ventured to say something before it faded, very suddenly. As though started away by her hesitation.

She came to visit the next morning – her, a word that seemed to linger in perpetual italics whenever she stood in the room, in the doorway with her mussed-up hair and her face noticeably marked with a fresh cut, a fresh bruise, a fresh sign of the fool’s errand Ava had sent her on.

“Hey stranger,” Ava had said, watching her drop her backpack by the door, festooned in rainbow pins, a trans badge she’d bought herself and affixed onto one of the flea-bitten straps with a look of feverish concentration.

“I don’t really know,” she’d admitted, when Ava asked what it meant.

“Okay,” Ava had said, and then flexed her fingers in a rhythm that meant she wanted to reach out, to hold.

Beatrice, as she let her bag thunk onto the ground, swinging the door shut behind her, raised an eyebrow in mock-offence, “I’ve only been gone a week!”

It was hard to be angry at her, to begrudge her the calluses on her hands, the way her shoulders had filled out even more in the past year, but still.

read on ao3

#warrior nun #avatrice #ava x beatrice #pokemon au #wn fic #casper writes #i love how this came out of absolutely nowhere because i tried to catch a dreepy in pokemon violet #and (still crying about it) he fainted from a BURN. very sad but anyway read my fic where i'm loudly gay about pokemon #wn pokemon au

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