#baby sister beatrice

[call-me-maggie13]

Bea taking care of Shannon on her 21 birthday

Absolutely lmao

Bea is bored af and she’s just like “ugh again Shannon? Really?” And she’s texting Mary (who’s taking the picture) “are you sure you want this one? There have to be better options for you.”

^this is Shannon on the car ride home

“Bea, don’t go so fast.”

“Shannon, the car’s not even on yet.”

“Dear god, I’m going to die.”

[aggressivelyaverage21]

Baby Bea and the OCS Chapter 1

8 Years Earlier: One week following Beatrice's 17th Birthday

Stepping off the train in Antequera, Beatrice can’t help but feel like a cliche. Here she is. A school girl in a strange country, again. All her belongings were in a duffel bag slung over her shoulder as she looked wide-eyed at the beautiful architecture of the Spanish town. It rolled and moved with the hills. The buildings looked like they belonged there just as much as the mountains did like they might have been there just as long.

It was different from Porrentyry. The home of the ever-prestigious St. Charles College et Lychee, god, even thinking of the name, made Beatrice want to roll her eyes. It was greener there. But not really in a good way. It made the buildings look stuck there. Like they didn’t belong.

Though young, Beatrice wasn’t blind to the fact that all these observations about belonging were likely just her projecting. At least this time, she knew more phrases in the local language than “Hello” and “Where’s the bathroom?” when she walked through the streets of a new place. Alone, and a least less afraid than the first time she’d done it. Maybe this could be it. Maybe this would be a place she could fit.

As she walked the streets, she stopped at a little corner bakery. The smell pulled her in more than anything else. It was delightful. She’d been training since the Nun visiting Maison du Cœur Eucharistique mistook her for a novitiate and started the recruitment process for the OCS, but the Roscos Fritos smelled so good she couldn’t resist.

One treat, one final indulgence, before she entered a life of service couldn’t hurt. Right?

The man behind the counter she orders smiles at Beatrice, warm and easy, as he passes the bag to her. However, when she reaches to dig through her pockets, he holds a hand, stopping her. “¿Eres del Convento?”  

“No.” Beatrice shakes her head, looking down at herself. She didn’t think she was dressed as a nun. Loose-fitting black pants and shirt. Her hair was pulled back in a neat bun. Little did she know she’d be sitting at a bus stop in an outfit not dissimilar to this one going the opposite direction. However, for now, that wasn’t her.

Not yet, at least. If they let her stay, it wasn’t exactly a done deal. She still had to convince Mother Superion to let her stay. That she was worth it. An endeavor that may prove impossible, seeing as she was still trying to convince herself too.

She didn’t know much. She’d tried her best to research the order and talk to the sister who’d recruited her, but the OCS was secret at best and very good at keeping that secret. She was told to come in good physical shape and be ready to train hard. Beatrice was no stranger to training, to discipline and pushing herself to her limits, but this was an unknown world.

Beatrice wasn’t afraid of hard things. Her whole life was hard. A sentiment she often found herself refuting. Her life was privileged. She knew that much. She should be thankful for all she was provided with growing up, and she was. However, that didn’t mean it wasn’t also hard. Fitting into boxes she didn’t belong in. Pretending to be things she wasn’t, being good at things so that she had any value at all. It was hard, and it was exhausting.

She didn’t think joining the church would solve that problem. She wasn’t that delusional, but she figured if she was going to have to pretend, to hide parts of herself away, and be miserable, she might as well make something of it. Be of service. Help.

It didn’t hurt that here she would have the opportunity to prove to a god she longed to be loved by that she was doing everything she could to make up for the sins of her heart. She’d slipped one time, and that was it. It hadn’t even been anything at all. It had been innocent childhood friends misconstrued into something perverse, but perception was reality, and that time had long passed.

She’d never felt a dread like this. Thinking about all the ways she could fail. What might happen if she did. She knew this was going to test her in all the ways she could be: physically, emotionally, mentally, spiritually. Likely socially as well. There were going to be late nights and early mornings. Training. Prayer. Studying. Beatrice wouldn’t say she was scared. That felt like admitting something she wasn’t going to be able to overcome.

In the darkest parts of her mind, even if Mother Superion allowed her to stay, Beatrice wasn’t sure she’d overcome any of it. Those nagging ‘what ifs’ played like a broken record in her mind. What if they found out? What if she wasn’t good enough? What if they rejected her? What if she didn’t have what it took? What if she was terrible at it?

Quitting doesn’t count if it is before you even started, right? No. The humiliation of quitting would be less than the humiliation of failing, right? You are doing this. Failure isn’t an option.  

Then and there, in this quaint bakery in this small Spanish town, while a baker looked at the strange young woman before him, Beatrice made herself a promise: You will convince Mother Superion to let you stay. And you will stay. They will have to drag your body from this order before you will ever quit.

All that was too much to dump on a stranger, a man she would likely see around the small town if she did get to stay. In a language, she still needed to be more confident in her pronunciation or vocabulary to get across any of that accurately. So, instead, she settles on disclosing “Soy nueva.”  

“Las hermanas no pagan.” He smiled like it was the hundredth time he’d reminded one of the women from the Convent that their money was no good in his bakery.

Beatrice figured it likely was. It was a kindness she felt she hadn’t yet earned. So instead of listening to the man, she took a few euros from her pocket and held them up to the man before placing them in the tip jar. She smiles as he shakes his head at the unnecessary gesture, flipping the towel back over his shoulder casually as he does. “¡Buenos días!”

Beatrice is halfway out the door when she realizes, for all her confidence getting off the bus, she had no idea where she was going. Pausing in the middle of the frame, she turns back around, bell smacking against the glass, stopping the baker from returning to the kitchen.

“ ¿Hermana? ”

Beatrice cringes a bit as the words tumble out of her mouth. Her lack of situational awareness was truly embarrassing. “ Um, ¿Donde esta-” But before she can even finish the question, he’s smiling at her knowingly as he points to his left as if to say, ‘That way. Can’t miss it.’ His smile only widens, making his eyes glimmer in amusement when the bells ring loudly, presumably just up the street.  

“Gracias.” Beatrice turns to look down the street, shaking her head when she sees what could only be the gates of a colossal convent. She really could have found it on her own. Yet here she was, not thinking things through. The closer the time gets to when she’s supposed to step through those gates, the more she can feel her heart beating frantically and her chest tightening with each passing minute.  

“Con mucho gusto. ¡Mucha mierda, Hermana! ”   It was a little puzzling at first, but she vaguely remembered that it was a version of ‘break a leg.’ Beatrice feels her cheeks heat up as he winks knowingly at her like he didn’t just say the Spanish equivalent of “shit” to a young woman hopeful of becoming a nun. To him, the young woman looked much too young to be getting into the kinds of things those nuns got into. Yet still here she was.

And though she took the time to enjoy the treat, there she was. She was standing in front of those grand black gates to the convent. Through the bars, she could see women in various combinations of gear. Sisters were walking around in navy habits, chatting idly. Women in black workout gear were returning from a run. A few more were in what looked to be Gi’s sparing.

This was it.

This was what she’d worked so hard to graduate early for. She worked so hard to skip her final year of school for an opportunity to serve the church like this. A chance to make up for what she was. To maybe finally do something worthwhile with her life.

READ MORE

[inmyspinnychair]

ava silva, babyyy

[gold-dust-angel]

Hmm so it turns out many people consider Ava a bad protagonist and find her annoying??? And that the show is slow??? And that it endorses disability erasure???

I hardly ever fall in love with main leads especially 'the chosen one' types and yet Ava was so easy to get behind and even relatable and I love her so much. And god I wish the show was even slower and it had more episodes like I wanted to see the dynamics between the sisters in depth, Ava and Bea's relationship progressing, little lost moments, their quiet times, their training sessions, them joking around and being normal idk. It still went by too fast?

And I might be wrong here but to me it wasn't disability erasure. Ava's disability is very much a part of her throughout. It's why she spends half the season running away because she hasn't lived yet. It's why she can't give up the halo either. It's why she can't drain the halo too much or can't fight as good as other warrior nuns (minus not being trained yet of course). It's her deepest fear. And it is so fundamental to her and Bea's relationship too like Bea touching her after that fight with Crimson, Bea reassuring her, Bea understanding her fears and hesitance....her disability is a very much constant presence throughout the narrative even though under the surface and ahhhhh I want to scream so bad rn.

I'm straight up not having a good day today and then finding out about these shitty opinions about this beloved sunshine of a character—

Are people allowed to have opinions I don't agree with? Yes.

Do I want to hit them on the head with a stick despite? Also Yes.

Now I'm wondering am I biased because I've read way too many fics and post analysis' and therefore see more depth than there was? Does it even matter?

[princington]

Ms Beatrice and her baby

Like The Princess Ch 2 by Wanderings_of_wonderings

[birgittesilverbae]

You need a lesson in Camaraderie.

SISTERS CRIMSON & CAMILA & BEATRICE

WARRIOR NUN (2020-2022) || 1x07

[thistleation]

Warrior Nun Inktober - Day 6

Knives

[mybrknhrtt]

‘‘i was all alone with the love of my life, she's got glitter for skin, my radiant beam in the night. i don't need no light to see you.’’

[sistertinysips]

Do y'all ever think about the fact that Bea was thrown out of her home TWICE??!!

She was sent away from from her family home for being gay

And then Mother Superion threw her out on Duretti's orders even tho she pleaded:

"Mother please... the OCS is my home too"

She was kicked out of her home and family FUCKING TWICE

Do you ever think about that? Do you?

Even her absolute most perfect "best" wasn't enough, not for her parents, not for the church and god. Never acceptable or accepted. NEVER GOOD ENOUGH TO BE KEPT AROUND FOR GOOD

[katbarrell]

Ava likes to match

[call-me-maggie13]

The people have spoken, part one of the baby Bea and Shannon fic is up now! Find it here or below!

Shannon isn’t sure what to think of her. She’s known Beatrice for two years already, they’ve written each other every day, spoken about everything their little minds could conjure up. But they’ve never spoken.

Even now. They don’t speak.

More accurately, Beatrice doesn’t speak.

Beatrice hasn’t said a single thing in the last three days since Shannon and her mother flew to Europe to retrieve her. She hasn’t moved either, curled on her side under the bed, back pressed against the wall.

She hasn’t eaten since lunch yesterday, the food abandoned to grow cold on her bedside table.

Shannon’s parents don’t say anything, but they’re worried. They’re making the same faces they were when Shannon had to have her tonsils removed. Only they don’t speak about it like they did with her tonsils.

Shannon doesn’t know what she’s supposed to do. She’s never had a sibling before. She’s never known someone as broken as Beatrice.

At least, if she had, she didn’t know. They must’ve been better at hiding their ache than Beatrice.

Or maybe Shannon just wasn’t paying enough attention to notice.

Regardless, Beatrice is ruining her summer break. She’s supposed to be going to summer camp in two weeks but she knows her parents have already forgotten because they’re distracted by Beatrice’s depressive spiral.

Shannon has to fix this. She has to fix Beatrice so she can go to summer camp.

And maybe a part of her really wants to meet her. To meet the Beatrice she’s known in letters that dots her I’s with hearts and has an exciting energy that bubbles off the pages and fills Shannon with a sense of wonder that she’s never known before. Maybe she wants to be selfish and be loved by that Beatrice.

But mostly, she just wants to go to summer camp. She’s supposed to go sailing and waterskiing. She’s excited to learn how to sail and waterski.

"Beatrice?" She gets no response. She wasn’t expecting one, but she’s determined to get Beatrice out from under the bed. Even if that means crawling under it with her. "Bea? Can I join you?"

Beatrice is staring blankly at her. Hollow. Like she’s looking through Shannon more than she’s looking at her. It makes Shannon’s stomach twist into a knot.

"Okay, I’m coming in. Scoot over." Again, no response. Beatrice doesn’t even blink, like she doesn’t hear or see Shannon. Like she’s vacated her body and left nothing but the shell of her existence to rot beneath the bed.

Shannon frowns but she shimmies under the bed and crawls to Beatrice’s side, curling around her like a koala. She wiggles until she’s behind Beatrice, her back presses against the wall and Beatrice’s pressed into her chest.

Shannon doesn’t know what to do. But she remembers when she was little and her and her father were in a car accident that scared her so badly she couldn’t sleep, she remembers how her mom had held her the entire night so she felt safe enough to sleep. Then she did it again the next night. And the night after that. She did it every night until Shannon forgot how scared she had been and she could sleep on her own again.

Maybe that’s what Beatrice needs. To be reminded she’s safe. And she’s not alone. Not anymore.

Her parents didn’t tell her what happened. She doesn’t know why Beatrice lives with her now. She just knows she doesn’t want her to go back.

Even if that means she can’t go to summer camp.

She wants to Beatrice to stay.

It takes seven hours before Shannon’s able to convince Beatrice to vacate her home under her bed. It takes four more to convince her to eat.

She doesn’t know what she’s doing, but it’s working. At least, she’s nearly certain it’s working.

[akitasimblr]

MARIA, THE FLOWER GIRL & ANIKA, THE RING BEARER 💒

🕸️previous | next🕸️

[plutosrobin]

chap 11 ft sam & henry :(

She kisses Ava like she’s starving, like she hasn’t taken a breath in years and Ava is air. Desperate and rushed and messy, Ava winding her fingers into Beatrice’s hair and teasing loose the neat little bun at the base of her skull so her hair spills free.

[aggressivelyaverage21]

Back to writing this absolute maximalist fic with @kloperslegend

She's an overthinker, she's still a runner...

Beatrice feels a bit like a caged animal after meeting her mark… attempts at tension relief inside to varying degrees of success

Beatrice found herself pacing the staged, but relatively bare, North Carolina apartment.

Circling.

Couch. Living room. Kitchen.

Bedroom. Kitchen again . Porch. Living room again.

Penduluming through the apartment as something in her refused to settle. Part of her was trying to blame it on the location. Unfamiliar. Different.

It wasn’t that the apartment they set up for her wasn’t nice. It was—very nice, considering how expensive rent was nowadays. The furniture was seemingly expertly staged by someone who knew the finer points of interior design—nice and aesthetically pleasing but not too expensive to blow her ‘grad student’ cover story. It wasn’t necessarily to Beatrice’s tastes—but who was she kidding? Her house in Southern Pines wasn’t overly personalized either—much to Chelle’s dismay—but even as a minimalist Beatrice felt there was barely anything in the Durham apartment that belonged to her. And something about that just… tweaked her the wrong way.

So it wasn’t a place that made her comfortable, but ironically enough Beatrice was used to that. And it was nice. Even if Beatrice recognized the quality wasn’t for her , per say. The agency likely had several of these apartments set up for use at any given notice—she was just surprised one of them happened to be in Durham, North Carolina of all places.

Apparently “the CIA is everywhere, Cap.” Mary had patted her on the shoulder as she opened the apartment up to Beatrice's surprise. Even if Beatrice knew very well that “everywhere” shouldn’t technically be the U.S. The law said they were prohibited from acting on US soil—Not that Beatrice wanted to get into an argument about the finer points of US Constitutional Law with anyone over the matter, though she supposed that instinct did bode well for her cover.

The important thing was, there were loopholes.

Loopholes she would be exploiting soon enough if everything went to plan.

The “suspected terrorism” loophole? It was a stretch, but there was no doubt Primeiro Comando da Capital posed a threat. Especially now that the PCC was dipping their toes into arms trafficking. So the “intelligence gathering on a foreign national for the purposes of national security” loophole? Ding. Ding. Ding.

No. If she was being honest with herself, she knew why she was so irritable, why the spare decor was undeservedly receiving her ire.

It was because her team, at least at some level, still didn't trust her.

It had been days now since Beatrice’s first contact with Ava. They returned to the states two days following their ‘ meet cute’ as Mary had taken to calling it— “how professional,” Beatrice grumbled as she received a variety of curt nods and pats on the back from members of her new team. It was mostly a precaution to keep her cover but also served to make herself potentially available if Ava reached out again. They’d arrived early yesterday morning, jet-lagged and pretending not to be with copious amounts of caffeine (Beatrice had decided to steer clear of the other beverages when they boarded the flight back).

But when they landed at the Fayetteville FBO and piled into two SUVs—Were they walking cliches right out of a James Cameron movie? Yes. Did Beatrice have some sense of pride that she was with the ‘cool kids’ of Special Activities now? Also yes—Beatrice was told to go with Superion, Mary, and Shannon, who she learned rather quickly was the Team Lead. She didn’t think anything of it until they were turning the exact wrong direction out of the airport to return to Fort Liberty—a drive Beatrice had made enough times she might be able to do it with her eyes closed; a drive she’d actually made with at least one eye closed returning from some assignment at some ungodly hour on four hours of sleep in as many days.

Beatrice knew she had a cover. She knew, in theory, things would be happening to solidify said cover while they waited to hear back from Ava. However, she had not expected to be deprived of her nearby home in Southern Pines when that happened. It seemed… impractical at best.

However, Superion was very clear: she was not to return to her own home, nor go anywhere near Fort Liberty, and as much as possible she should avoid places she previously regularly frequented. Which shouldn't be a problem because Durham was nearly two hours north anyway.

It was overkill. That’s what she would have said had anyone asked. Internally, though, it stung.

Did Superion expect either Ava or her father to, on a whim, waltz down from New York where they were on holiday (and enjoying it if Ava’s messages and occasional photos were any implication), simply for an extended shopping trip in Durham, a college town of a city with population of a measly 200,000?

Obviously not. Superion might be cautious, a good trait for a leader to have, but she wasn't stupid. Locking Beatrice away like this wasn't because she actually thought she was in danger: it was because somehow, somewhere, Beatrice had fucked up in her eyes.

What the fuck had she done to make her team decide she needed to handled with kid gloves?

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