#also yeah Beatrice deserves SO MUCH better she's unbelievably cool

[nadiajustbe]

THANK YOU FOR TAGGING ME LMAO THIS POST IS *GOLD*. I always found it funny that two main factors of Justin running away and being cursed in all two books he's in is the following:

1) To literally lay his head for his best and closest friend, who were also assumed to be dead for weeks, while everyone INCLUDING his brother asked him not to do it, because the country needed him in a face of a war.

2) Because he didn't want to marry a random woman even though it was an only way to maintain peace between the counties. He couldn't give a single damn about world piece, BEING A GENERAL, because he didn't want to marry.

This is just. Outwardly hilarious.

honestly prince justin had to be like. a little bit gay bc he left the safety of the palace and royal life to go on a suicide mission to the wastes to go find his bestie everyone (basically correctly) assumed was dead. like he knew he had like no means of going up against the witch of the waste or anything and he just. did it anyways,,, all for his bestie ben suliman.

[possibilistfanfiction]

another wn prompt “brusque”

[also a lil snippet from part 4 of girls against god, shoutout to camila & mobility aids]

/

camila lounges better than you had expected, honestly, much to your delight.

‘so,’ she says, stretched out on one of the chairs on your patio in a pair of bea’s shorts and one of the t-shirts that’s so old you don’t know who it originally belonged to, feet bare, ‘how’s your back?’

‘well —‘ you think about lying, but this is camila, so it would both be wrong and completely unbelievable anyway — ‘pretty bad.’

she hums. ‘and what are your plans to make that better?’

you don’t have any, really, because bea is trying so hard not to push and you want to live in denial as long as possible. ‘i guess talk to dr. salvius. last time she said she would come up with some interventions that might help.’

‘last time, as in when you went three months ago?’

‘uh, yeah?’

camila sits up. ‘beatrice is so in love with you, you know.’ the clench of her jaw is a little unexpected, her next words brusque. ‘i love you. we all love you, ava.’

you feel yourself pout but you can’t help it. ‘you don’t sound like you love me right now.’

camila stands and moves to sit on the end of your lounge chair, takes your hand. ‘there’s no shame in needing any help, with anything.’

‘i just hate —‘ you wipe sudden, embarrassed tears from your cheeks, and camila waits patiently — ‘i hate feeling like a burden.’

‘ava,’ camila says, ‘you won a war.’

‘yeah,’ you say, ‘and now, sometimes, i can’t even get out of bed. i have this beautiful partner who basically gave up her entire life for me, and this beautiful house in, like, paradise, and it’s just —‘

camila rubs gently up and down your spine while you get your breathing back under control.

‘i swear to you, ava, none of us, especially not beatrice, think any less of you because you’re having problems with pain and mobility.’

‘i — i have a history of that being the opposite.’

she nods calmly, her hand still steadily wrapped around yours. ‘i hear that. but, and i know you know this, but ��� when you were younger, you deserved so much better.’

‘i guess.’

camila squeezes your hand. ‘first, you deserved care. more than anything. but, practically, you deserved physical therapy, and an electric wheelchair, and all kinds of adaptive resources. you shouldn’t have had to stay in one room, just because you didn’t have the same mobility as me, or as bea.’

bea has told you the same thing, mostly gently, sometimes with a frustrated edge to her voice that betrayed the deep hurt she feels on your behalf, after all this time.

‘and i know we can’t make up for the abuse you had to go through, for so long, but i know that bea is desperate for you to get all the help you need. she isn’t saying it, because you two are frustratingly respectful of each other’s boundaries, but it’s eating at her.’

you sniffle. ‘i know that. she thinks she’s very measured but sometimes i can read her like a book.’

 ‘you know, before you were together, every time she’d check in from switzerland, all she could talk about was you. always exasperated, but always about all the ways you’d made her laugh.’

’that’s so gay.’

‘ava.’

’sorry, sorry.’

‘what i’m trying to say,’ camila tells you, intent, ‘is that so many people with spinal cord injuries live really cool, really normal lives — with way less pain than you’re fighting your way through now, and all kinds of cool aids that i’m certain dr. salvius would love to create with you. we’re not going to let your life be less full or smaller or less happy because you need help sometimes.’

‘i’ll call her tomorrow,’ you say, and camila smiles. 

‘good, you absolutely should.’

‘will bea be mad that we talked.’

she shrugs. ‘i don’t really care. someone had to talk to you if she wouldn’t, and it was either me or lilith.’

‘terrifying prospect,’ you say, and then salute her. ‘thank you for your service.’

camila laughs. ‘i would say anytime, but i’m here in your gorgeous, ridiculous beach house in this even more ridiculous city, and i’d really like to just think about margaritas from now on.’

‘that,’ you say, ‘can certainly be arranged.’

bea wanders up from the beach, her wetsuit pulled down around her waist, perfect abs on display, her bikini top a little askew, a tattoo peaking out from the wetsuit along her hip. you stare, unabashedly, because she loves you and she never wanted, really, to give up her life to god anyway, you know by now well enough. there’s freckles all over her shoulders and her chest and she’s still a little wet, smelling like the sea, but you welcome the kiss she drops to the top of your head after she props her board up against the wall. 

camila gags when you simply stare at her above you, and you roll your eyes; bea just ignores it.

‘all right?’ she asks.

‘great,’ you say. ‘hey, after you shower, can you grab my cane before we walk to get drinks? camila has requested only thinking about margaritas for her time here.’

camila smiles at her hands and bea pauses, stock still, before she seems to whir back to life. ‘yes, of course,’ she says, like it’s the simplest and most frequent thing you ever ask for. she can’t help herself, though: she brings a hand to the back of your head tenderly and you lean forward to kiss her hip, just over the ink there. you let everything settle, and then bea nods resolutely. 

‘well, camila, i’ll spare you ava’s oogling and shower indoors.’

‘thank you for that; i’d rather not throw up today.’

‘hey,’ you say, put your hands up, ‘it’s not my fault bea had an outdoor shower installed for this express purpose.’

bea scoffs. ‘you asked for the shower.’

‘you could have said no.’ you shrug. ‘but you didn’t.’

camila groans. ‘please, beatrice, go shower. you both owe me tacos now too.’

‘fine, fine,’ bea says, but she winks in your direction and strips her wetsuit off the rest of the way and then walks inside without a second glance, shooting off an obnoxious little wave.

‘do not follow her,’ camila says. ‘i’m jetlagged and starving, and i don’t want to wait another hour before we get food.’

‘if you think we need an hour you’re insane.’

‘ava.’

‘fine,’ you say, lie back against where camila is sitting to essentially force her to cuddle with you, which she does without any protest. ‘i will not make love to my beautiful, sweet partner who only continues to grow hotter by the day.’

‘i’ll call lilith right now. she’ll teleport here in a second.’

‘no, no,’ you say, pat her hand. ‘there’s no need for that.’

camila laughs and you both doze off a little for a few minutes in the sun before bea touches your shoulder to shake you gently awake. she’s dressed in a pale linen short set, the top few buttons of her loose shirt mercifully undone, and you know she’s not wearing a bra. her hair is long, blonde, swept over her shoulder in waves ever-present whenever you’re by the ocean. 

‘you’re so beautiful,’ you say, and she kisses you before handing you the cane you’d reluctantly gotten a few weeks ago, when your flareup had been so bad you couldn’t even make it down the stairs in your house.

‘i’m awake,’ camila says. ‘so please, no funny business.’

bea, even in her loose, light clothes and sunny hair, still stands prim and proper, like she’s been caught doing something wrong. camila seems to sense that, and so she stands and taps bea’s butt, then laughs and says, ‘okay, time to buy me everything for dinner.’

bea nods, and her shoulders relax after she takes a deep breath: usually, the days stretch on and she smiles more than she ever has, with her strong thighs and the aikido classes she teaches to little kids at the dojo, the tattoos she quietly loves getting, the drag brunch you go to once a month on sunday. most of the time, she loves you so deeply — quiet, still, but with a reverence she hadn’t allowed herself at first, and a joy that tinges everything yellow like the sun — and camila smiles when bea settles and takes your hand. 

you grasp the cane in the other, and you walk the few blocks to your favorite place, camila and bea chattering the whole time. it’s easier, admittedly so, and when you walk home, after the sun has set, it’s a little easier then too.