#beatrice jam | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

disciplesofthelamb · 3 months ago

Text

"Greetings, fellow loyal cultists, as many of you already know, our great leader, The Lamb, has been very busy. But do not fret, I, Silas, have been left in charge as their loyal disciple-"

"Correction, WE were left in charge."

"Have some manners Briar, I am speaking."

"No, because you always do this! Why are you acting like you're better than us?!"

"AHEM, anyway... Like our dear friend Silas was saying, we were left in charge in the case of our leader being unavailable, so we will be happy to answer any queries you may have!"

"Thank you all for your attention, have a blessed day. Remember to praise The Lamb!"

Art I was gifted (Thank you!)

Silas and Dotty by @bididoodles: here.

Briar, Dotty and Silas by anonymous artist: here

WARNINGS

⸸ This blog may depict sensitive topics that may be triggering to some, and although I do try to put content warnings when needed, I often forget.

⸸ This blog is a work in progress, things are subject to change.

⸸ NO NSFW, suggestive asks are fine.

⸸ English is not my first language, please forgive any mistakes. 💔

⸸ Not all asks are answered.

⸸ Specify which character your ask is meant for, otherwise I will choose at random.

[About the characters under the cut!]

ABOUT THE CHARACTERS

[Silas, Briar and Dotty are my own cult of the lamb ocs! Here are a few things about them:

☾ Briar (She/Her) : A rescue from Anura, she was found by the lamb along with Dotty in the ruins of their old village. She became a disciple becase she complimented the lamb when they were having a bad day and just happened to be level X.

Briar is diligent and good at keeping things in order, but she struggles with properly communicating and sympathizing with others, so she can often come off as blunt and insensitive. Due to this, she has learned to mostly keep to herself. Despite that, having a strong sense of justice and not a lot of patience means that she often gets into arguments with other cultists (Something she is trying to work on.)

She enjoys working in the lumberyards.

Likes: Painting, Anything pumpkin-flavored, Rain, Napping, Woodcarving, Watching the sunrise, Stuffed animals, Jewelry, Carpentry, Dotty.

Misc info: Tries to avoid conflict (fails). Prefers to stay indoors. She just wants some peace and quiet frfr. I lied before, she probably would yell at you tbh. Has a terrible case of RBF. Perfectionist?? kinda. She doesn't actually hate Silas, she's just overly critical of everything he does because he's an asshole + she likes making fun of him.

Voice claim: Lady Redundant Woman/Beatrice from Wordgirl

Follower traits: Zealous, Ascetic, Hot Tempered

Pinterest board:

✭ Dotty (Any pronouns) : A rescue from Anura, she was found by the lamb along with Briar in the ruins of their old village. She became a disciple because she refused to work without Briar.

Dotty is cheerful and energetic, she can be a bit of a pushover since she doesn't like seeing others upset or holding grudges. She always tries to see the best in people, which can sometimes make her seem gullible as she has a hard time believing people may have ill intentions. Some may say that they have seen her sneaking around in the dead of night, but there's no way someone as sweet as her would have anything to hide!

She does a little bit of everything around the cult, but farming is where she's most comfortable.

Likes: Walks in the forest, Bugs, Berries, Arts and crafts, Foraging, Sewing, Strawberry jam, Diced apples, Stuffed animals, Briar, Puzzles.

Misc info: She has like a billion hobbies and she loves all of them. Very fidgety for seemingly no reason. Collects rocks. She will make you a friendship bracelet a day after meeting you. Addresses people by pet names when she can't remember their name. Prolly ate a lot of dirt and sand as a child. Veryyy clumsy. Dotty is just a nickname, her real name is Dorothy, but she never tells anyone that.

Voice claim: Raggedy Ann from Raggedy Ann & Andy: A Musical Adventure

Follower traits: Unrepentant, Strong Constitution

Pinterest board:

✦ Silas (He/him) : A rescue from Darkwood, he was found as he was about to be sacrificed in Leshy's name. After his rescue he swore to devote himself to the lamb for the rest of his days, yet he was the first to dissent when faith got too low. He became a disciple because the lamb "Thought he was cute."

Silas can often be unpleasant and uncooperative, and after his brother's passing he isolated himself completely, refusing to give anyone he wasn't particularly interested in the time of day.

Silas does not enjoy working. After becoming a disciple he completely gave up on doing most of the tasks around the cult. When he does decide to work, it's either cooking, praying, or refining materials. He was banned from working at the drinkhouse because he kept taking the drinks for himself.

Likes: Formal clothing, Journaling, "Research" (reading YA romance novels), Tea, Writing, Scented candles, Silver jewelry, Fountain pens, Red wine, Overpriced cigarettes.

Misc info: Manwhore, terrified of commitment. Chronically jealous. Calls himself a "hopeless romantic" but his standards are too high to actually date anyone. He'll tell you that he likes old literature but if you ask for recommendations he won't have any. Acts confident but is actually rlly insecure. Thinks that writing shitty love poems is peak romance. Knows how to play chess, but he sucks at it. Cares a lot about his appearance. Lazy, refuses to do manual labor (he might chip a nail :C). Had a younger brother named Mylo (which he asked the lamb to rescue not long after joining himself) they drifted apart soon after he became a disciple.

Voice claim: Ashton Fox from Fantastic Mr. Fox (placeholder)

Follower traits: Lustful, Materialistic, Poet

Pinterest board:

⸸ Playlists for all three can be found here

⸸ Additional info: Briar is a snowshoe hare, Silas is a striped hyena, and Dotty is a raccoon.

Silas is the oldest of the group, he joined the cult before the other two.

Silas is 6'2 (187 cm), Dotty is 5'4 (162 cm) and Briar is 5'3 (160 cm). I have no idea if those measurements are accurate idk how feet work.

Briar and Dotty are dating, they have been since before The Lamb indoctrinated them.]

ROLEPLAY INFO

"Briar speaks like this."

"Dotty speaks like this."

"Silas speaks like this."

Actions look like this.

[Moderator speaks like this.]

Others

@askacultleader (My other blog!) and @no-less-than-a-lambgod As our glorious leader

@ask-theredcrown As our Lord, The One Who Waits

@ask-thegreencrown and @he-ofhavoc As Leshy

@askthe-yellowcrown As Heket

@ask-thebluecrown As Kallamar

@ask-thepurplecrown As Shamura

@ask-thepurplecrownbearer As The Goat

Mortals/Miscellaneous entities

@askthe-littlepoet As... Who's this one again?

@the-sleepydragon As Imora

@tomb-the-god As Tomb

@keni-the-moth As Keni & Candy

@askdennycotl As Denny

@the-followers-of-them As other cultists!

@helob-the-spider As Helob

@terrorofthetarots As Clauneck

@ask-kudaai-the-weaponsmith As Kudaai

@ask-thefox As The Fox

@follower-of-the-old-faith As Ratau

[Hello everyoneeeee it's me Zip again, I made another blog :3

This is purely to indulge myself because these guys have been infecting my brain for a while now.

If I forgot to add you in my pinned post or if you would like to be removed please tell me!!]

#ask blog #oc blog #cult of the lamb #cult of the lamb oc #cotl oc #cotl au #cult of the lamb au

29 notes · View notes

risetherivermoon · 1 year ago

Text

Hi!! i drew some sapphic rosestarkillerchaser for @not-rab 's birthday!!! love u jam 🫶🫶 have a good birthday!!

i present to you; Jamie Potter, Beatrice "Bea" Crouch, Regulus "Lucy" Black, and Evanna Rosier

126 notes · View notes

whoslaurapalmer · 7 months ago

Text

i know kit has like actual folders with her in penultimate peril but i think when she was younger she used whatever book she was reading at the time as a filing system/a folder/a purse. she'd bring it with her everywhere so she could read it, and she'd never forget it anywhere, so of course she'd put important things she needed in it. money and notes and recent assignments and letters from her siblings and reminders she's written to herself and a pen clipped on the cover

beatrice meanwhile is a Big Purse person but it also has No Necessities and isn't even necessarily always Big, it is just Jammed with things. multiple books, pairs of stockings, scripts, a bottle opener, the pocket dictionary, six pens because she keeps stealing them from people, a pocket knife, pretzels she forgot about that went stale that she WILL try and eat later regardless, maybe even a pair of shoes. emergency heels

bertrand has the Seemingly Bottomless Inside Jacket Pockets where he does carry The Necessities. always some sort of snack. that is not stale. definitely some candy too, though

#lulu talks about the sad lemon man #1) i used to use my sketchbooks in school as a filing system.#2) i once found stale pretzels in my bag and was so desperate i ate them. it was very sad.#3) i am also however the necessities person.#friend watching me pull snacks and water out of my purse: okay i'm taking survival lessons from you.#me: you gotta be prepared.#4) i never brought emergency heels with me but don't think i didn't try and figure out the logistics of how i'd do it

27 notes · View notes

nox-is-simming · 8 months ago

Text

And with the final addition of an outdoor seating area, some new bookshelves, and a desk for Jordan (when she moves in), that's Bea's cottage done!

#i've still got a few gameplay posts left + the community area to show you guys :)#ts4 #the sims 4 #deligracy tiny town #tiny town challenge #beatrice jam

3 notes · View notes

lyn-js · 8 months ago

Text

Dancing under the Moonlight | Chapter 1. Center Stage

Bradley Bradshaw x OC Reader (Nickname Honey)

Summary: After the Uranium Mission, Bradley Bradshaw decides he wants to settle down. Maybe even start a family at some point in time. But he felt so tired (and old) to be in the dating scene. That's until he sees a beautiful new bartender at The Hard Deck. Not only that; turns out she's Penny's niece, Beatrice. They both hit it off amazing, but for some reason, Beatrice isn't letting her walls down yet. But Bradley is going to get to the bottom of what Bea's big secret is.

Warnings: Swearing, angst, drinking, mentions of past abuse, fluff, eventually smut 18+, age gap (24 & 35)

Check out the Masterlist

You're dancing, swaying with the music, feeling your body finally letting go of the stress, pain, and loss from the real world. Once you get on that stage, everything melts away.

Once the dance was over all of you moved seductively off the stage getting some whistles from the guys in the audience. After you made your way off you all giggled and waiting to change for the next dance. You lock arms with your Best Friend Chantal trying not to get separated from each other until you reach the dressing rooms. You both unlock from one another and sit down at your stations. Luckily you're seated next to each other so you both can still chat while getting ready.

When wiping off your smudged and sweaty makeup from your last performance, you suddenly hear a ping from your phone that was on the table.

You drop everything you're doing, and see it was a text from Bradley. Your whole face lights up, and you try to unlock your phone as fast as you possibly can and open the message.

B🐓: Hey Bea, what are you up to on this fine evening? You: Oh ya know, just sitting down reading a good book. What about you? Jamming out with Jerry Lee Lewis. 🙂 B🐓: Hey J.L.L. happens to be a classic. Thank you very much. And what if I did tell you I was?

You laugh out loud when you read the last text, you knew he was an old soul when you two were talking about music the other night. You want to reply, but the backstage assistant Sean said curtain time was in 5 minutes. You drop your phone and finish your eye makeup. You look over and see Chantal looking at you with a smirk on your face.

“What C?” you stand up, unzipping your costume to get changed into another, looking at her in the mirror “Oh nothing, are you talking to loverboy again?” she tries to say innocently. But she says it loudly, to make sure everyone can hear. Everybody around you keeps making “oohs” and loudly whistles. She started to catch on when you were glued to your phone for the last couple of days at rehearsal. Then finally telling her about Bradley, and your awkward, yet really sweet encounter.

Your cheeks burn up at the thought of actually being together with Bradley, and for him to think he could have feelings for you. But you try to wipe that from your mind.

You never liked lying to anyone, but now you most certainly don’t want to lie to Bradley. But, How could he ever possibly be with you after you tell him you're basically a stripper? You get paid to show off your body and dance on a stage. He certainly wouldn’t want you after that.

Plus Zeke always made you feel bad about your career. Calling you the worst possible names you could think of because you showed off your body, and flirted with the customers. But you’ve tried to tell him multiple times you were never flirting with the audience because you were on stage most of the night. And the only free time you had was when you were backstage taking a 5-minute breather, or getting ready for the next performance.

“He doesn’t know. Does he?” Chantal asks while getting up to come stand next to you. You don’t answer, you finally get undressed, and put on your other costume. But you stop when you feel her wrap her in her arms around you, so you can let some tears fall down your face.

You and Chantal have been best friends since you could remember. You both met in junior high when she was the new girl at school, one day at lunch she was getting picked on, and being making fun of her for what she was wearing, and what she looked like. One of the idiot students decided to be bold and yank on one of her braids. With one broken arm, two bloody noses, (obviously not you two), and one big lecture from the principal, you two were glued to the hip ever since. You both know each other like the backs of each other's hands. So she knows what's going on with you all the time.

You let out a sigh while trying to put on your outfit, but she cuts in and helps you finish zipping up the back. “Why don’t you tell him? You are obviously into him,” you still are silent, but give her a little nod. “Then why don’t you go for it, Honey? What’s the problem?” After she finishes zipping you up you turn to her. “He deserves someone better.” She wanted to say something else to you, but your conversation was interrupted by Sean sneaking his way through you and Chantal. “Honey, we all deserve someone better. But right now you all need to get your little buns on stage.” You roll your eyes kiss him on the cheek, and walk back to your station. You put on a final coat of lipstick, grab your police cap making sure it fits snugly over your volumed and curled-out hair, go walk on stage, and get in your stance with the rest of the group. The next thing you know, the spotlight is turned on you.

It’s Showtime.

(Bradley’s POV)

God, I can’t get enough of that girl. As soon as we started talking I wanted to know more about her. What does she like to do in her free time, what’s her job, her favorite hobby, and what she likes to do for fun?

Now you sound like a crazy stalker right now.

But every time you think of her, you want to know more. You’re being pulled in. You gravitate towards her, and you can’t get enough. You never really opened up that much around a person at all. Not even the squad, but she feels so different from everyone else.

After the first time you met Bea, around those last couple of days, she would come by The Hard Deck and sit at the bar wanting to be near Penny. As soon as you would see her walk in, you would ditch the group to go see her and chat a little bit. You wanted to get to know her, wanted to see what she was like. We both talk about where we grew up, and what our families are like. I even talked to her a little bit about my mom.

With the other relationships, I’ve had over the past couple of years it was always a tough subject to bring up. They would always pressure me and make me talk about what happened, and every time I would always get emotional and put my walls up and never want to talk about it again.

That was the deal breaker in why they never lasted, but when I was around Bea, she would never force me to answer the questions, she let me take my time with what I was going to say. She made me feel comfortable for who I was, and I knew she would never put that against me. And over those past couple of days, the group caught on when I would leave, and ditch them to go hang out with the “mystery girl” at the bar, they would call her. Eventually, I told them about Beatrice, and they knew for a fact that I was smitten with her. Any chance they would get, whether it was at work, in the air, or even when we would hang out for a movie night they would always make fun of me(Mostly Nat)for having a crush, and not telling her how I feel.

But I wanted to give Bea some space. I knew she just got out of something traumatic, and I didn’t want to force anything onto her.

Plus She was young. She would move on to the next young, good-looking guy she sees and leave me in the dust. She deserves more. She also wouldn’t know how to deal with me being on deployment, always being gone for weeks, maybe months at a time. I know she wouldn’t want to wait for someone like me. You snap out of your mind when putting the Bronco in park, and making your way into The Hard Deck.

When I walk in I immediately spot the group at the pool tables as usual, and make my way over. When I got there I made my way over to sit next to Bob who was chewing on some peanuts. We make casual conversation until Phoenix comes over with her pool stick. “Bradshaw, whaddya doing hear? I thought you were staying in?” She asks in a curious tone. “Oh, ya know. Wanted to get some fresh air, might stop in here for a little bit.” But I know this woman can see right through my bullshit, and knows why I’m here.

“You're lying B,” she tells me straight forward, not really giving me anytime time to make an excuse. But I do anyway. “What are you talking about? I wanted to come see you guys. Is that a problem to see my friends, Nat?” “She hasn't texted you back!” she sing songed the words to me. I just wanted to tell her off saying it wasn’t the problem.

But that was the problem.

“Dude she’s probably at work, or she’s at home.”Payback chimed in, and then Fanboy “Yeah, she’ll text you later probably, don’t get in a fret.” now I’m starting to get a little annoyed. But, they might be right, she probably is at home doing something.

Pulse, the question work for Beatrice was always a little rocky when I tried to ask her what she does. At first, she didn’t answer, so I didn’t want to push her since she didn’t do it to me. But I asked her again and she gave me a made-up answer. “Oh yeah. I’m also working at a dinner not far from here.” And I know that she just got hired by Penny to work at the Hard Deck part-time. I just wanted her to tell me the truth.

But I’m not the type of guy to make her tell me something she doesn’t want. I’m gonna give her space until she wants to tell me.

“Does everyone want to be in my dating life, and give me advice?” “well, technically you're not dating her.” I look over to see the one and only Hangman. “To be honest it’s none of your business, okay?” you tell him with an annoyed tone, not really in the mood to speak with him.

“All I’m sayin’ Rooster, if you don’t make a move, I might have to go after her myself?” When the words fall out of his mouth, my fists clench at my sides and I flare my nostrils. “Back off Man.” You try and walk over to where he is standing, just to give him a piece of your mind, but Ruben, and Bob are holding you back a little bit. Not letting you get near Jake.

When he sees you try and move over towards him he backs up and puts his hands up in surrender with a smug smirk on his face. “Whoa, whoa, whoa, Rooster. No need to get your feathers ruffled. It’s not like you're dating her.”

That’s all you hear from him, then he walks away to go over to the dart board. But you see javy gives you an apologetic look and walks over to where Jake is now. You just give him a silent nod and let him walk away. After that guys back off you want to go out back and cool off a little, so you do.

After a couple of minutes to yourself to blow off some steam, you hear someone come out.

“Hey, why don’t you tell her how you feel? By the way, you two are texting every minute, she might feel the same way?” She tries to say in a sympathetic tone. But it doesn’t work, and she knows it.

“You caught on to that, didn’t you?” you ask, and then let out a chuckle. “Dude, your phone is practically jammed in your face anytime we are on break. So yeah, everybody knows.”

“She deserves better,” was the only thing I could say to her. She just gives me a sigh and turns to go back inside to finish her game of pool with the other guys. I sit back on one of the chairs that are outside and look out into the sunset.

Trying to find a real reason why Beatrice would go for a guy like me. But also trying to think if she actually would be interested in me.

So now, I’m sitting here thinking about the one person I can’t be with just yet.

(Back to your POV)

Chantal dropped me off at Aunt Penny’s house an hour ago, I’ve just finished getting out of the shower trying to get all of the glitter, seat, and hairspray off my body and just trying to unwind and maybe watch a movie with Aunt Penn and Amelia.

But I realized I forgot to text Bradley back when I was at the club.

He might think I don’t like him anymore. What?? STOP it, Bea?!?

So you decide to just skip the text and just call him. Within the second ring, he picked up the call. Your heart was beating so hard you thought he could hear it over the phone.

“Hello pretty girl, what do I owe the pleasure this evening.” the nickname sent chills throughout your whole body, with little butterflies in your stomach.

You could only remember your mom calling you “Honeybee” and some other nicknames. But you could never remember the last time one of your boyfriends called you something. Especially Zeke.

You try and speak without letting out a whimper. “Oh, n-nothing. Just got out of the shower and lying in bed.” You may be imagining things, but it’s possible that you heard a groan on the other end. Your eyes widened a little bit when you finally remembered what you said a couple of seconds ago. But you try not to think about it too much and continue with your conversation with him. instead of not thinking about how you just made this guy get turned on.

“H-hey, I’m sorry I didn’t text you sooner. We had a busy night at the dinner.” You close your eyes, and feel a pool of guilt build up in your stomach.

I wish I wouldn’t lie to him. But this is the nicest guy I’ve met in a long time. I don’t want him flying for the hills when I tell him I’m an exotic dancer. I don’t want to lose him just yet so for now. Just put on a show like you normally do every other night.

“Oh, no worries Bea, I had some time to distract myself at the bar.” Another chill was sent through your spine, but not the fun, happy kind, the worried and a little bit jealous kind.

I mean, you’re not even together, so it’s okay for him to flirt with other people. But for some reason, you don't want him to flirt with anyone else, you want him for only you-

“What I mean by distraction, I meant hanging out with my squad. So don’t worry about your pretty little head thinking I was with another girl. Okay?”

You just give him a quiet “okay” and continue with your flirtatious conversation. Before you could say anything else he spoke up again,

“So, the squad wanted to go bowling this weekend, and I was wondering if you were free, you could come with. Maybe I can introduce you to the group?”

There was a growing smirk on your face, “They can’t shut up about us, can they?” on the other end you heard him let out a hardy laugh, then that made you giggle. You hear him die down from your comment and hear them speak again.

“Well, my friends would like to know who is taking up all my free time pretty girl.” You flop down back on the spare bed that Penny let you borrow, and just smile from ear to ear.

“Well, I’m working at the bar in the afternoon, but maybe we can all meet up there and make our way out? I’ll also try and see if some of my friends from the dinner would come to?” “Yeah, that sounds like a date. I’ll let you go and talk to ya later.” You both say your goodbyes and get off the call. The next second you start kicking your feet up in the air and scream into the pillow that was next to you.

You try and collect yourself when you walk back downstairs to have a little movie night with Aunt Penny and Amelia, you gather all of the junk food that you can and pile it onto the coffee table.

When the movie started, Ames and I curled up next to Penny so that she was squished between the two of you with blankets all around you getting nice and warm.

When the movie is playing, your mind drifts back to your conversation with Bradley. You knew he didn’t me to say “It sounds like a date,” it might have just slipped out, and he probably might not remember saying that to you when you see him at the bar this weekend. But a part of you wanted to feel like he meant it. For real. You could only imagine what I would be like to date Bradley Bradshaw.

You could only Imagine.

Reblogs are always welcome. Unless you're under 18. I will block you. and comment if you want to be added to the taglist. If I forgot anybody message me and let me know. You will be added.

Taglist: @caitsymichelle13 @shanimallina87 @angelbabyyy99 @callsign-magnolia @nerdgirljen

Once again dividers are by @saradika

#bradley rooster bradshaw #tgm fic #rooster x reader #rooster top gun #tgm oc #top gun maverick #bradley bradshaw x reader #top gun fanfiction

26 notes · View notes

beathedancingbat · 8 days ago

Text

The bell rings, signaling that school was out and students jammed into the halls. Some stragglers stayed behind or took their time bunched up with one another. Or, in Beatrice’s case, made their way to afterschool club. And today, was one of the more exciting days, they got to learn new choreography.

She was overwhelmed with excitement, as soon as the halls were clearer her feet moved on their own. She’s was good—most of the time—at moving around, squeezing past, and avoiding ramming into stopped students. Most of the time.

#The Bats On The Move #tmnt rp #tmnt mm rp #tmnt mm #tmnt oc #open rp

10 notes · View notes

possibilistfanfiction · 2 years ago

Note

prompt: touch

[@unicyclehippo here u go]

touch

you think maybe you have always been meant to come back to the ocean.

this is one you've never been to before, in a place you know mostly from movies. there's a pier in the distance and the rest is just blue: the water, the sky, the hazy horizon line in the middle. a calm late morning, after you'd woken up in a big soft white bed with beatrice curled against you, your arm around her waist and your forehead pressed between her shoulder blades; she was still asleep. the vast, devastating nothingness of the other realm fades away when you feel her breathe beneath you, deeply and at peace. you feel the heat of her, the softness of her skin where her shirt rides up from her sleep shorts. you're greedy for it; greedy for everything: tacos and what it was like to kiss her again without death looming over you like a shadow, grief already sitting rotten in your mouths.

you still don't quite believe in a divine order but you do believe in this: she shifts, eventually, as light pours in through the gossamer curtains and bathes her face in gold. she sighs and turns around toward you and there's a wonder in her eyes — gold, too, and more beautiful than you can even remember — as she looks at you, disbelief and joy and awe. you remember the first morning you woke up after you got the halo, how you had been so scared to fall asleep because what if it was a dream, what if it would end — but you had stared at your hand, moving like you'd thought you'd only get to do after you died, in the sun. she looks at you like that; tears fill her eyes and you hadn't missed it, yesterday, the ink on her wrist — in this life — and the sorrow. she had been afraid to fall asleep.

she brings her hand, shaky, to touch your cheek, to rest there in the light.

'i'm still here,' you say, a benediction. 'i'm right here.'

her eyes fill with tears and you kiss her. eventually you get up; she would be content to stay in bed all day but you have missed the world, its pain and joy, its bad smells and traffic jams and the softness of a dog's fur — you have missed the world. you want the world with her.

you dress in soft clothes she'd bought for you — an admission she'd made with a blush that had made your heart ache in fondness — and let her take your hand and lead you to the sea. it's her ocean, you realize, in the way that nothing is but matters all the same. it's her ocean where she prayed to you, and longed for you, and found moments of solace. the sand hasn't warmed up to the day quite yet, and the water is cooler than you expect, when she steps in with you and it laps at your ankles.

'i thought california was supposed to be hot,' you say, but you think you're choked up, crying: you feel it all: her warm palm and the bright winter sun and the pacific, small, harmless shells underfoot — coquina clams, she explains later — and then she laughs. you feel it more than anything, right in your chest. you've witnessed miracles before, have been one yourself, but that — that — is a fucking miracle.

'i love you,' she says, and kisses you while the tide goes out, and you feel that too.

sight

you allow yourself to look in the mirror later, an elegant full-length one with a gold rim in beatrice's big closet. yours, now, too, you suppose. you let yourself look in the mirror and take a deep breath: beatrice has seen you for days, now, has looked gently and greedily, wide-eyed when you'd straddled her. you have saved the world, you remind yourself — you have saved the earth, and heaven, and realms between with no name.

but still, gnosis, you have found, can't fix everything: your back hurts when the sun sinks below the horizon, and your ribs and hips press against your skin more than they had before you had gone through the portal. you had trimmed the hair between your legs and shaved under your arms and along the skin of your calves, your shins, the tender inside of your thighs. you had showered and allowed yourself to look at your body, its failings and imperfections and resilience. you washed yourself gently: the birthmark near your seventh rib, the dip in your collarbones, the softness of your breasts. you have let yourself look, but not like this.

you have scars all over from the divinium. they're angry and red and you had thought, maybe, while you were lying in nothingness and pain, in and out of consciousness, for an amount of time that you will never know how to translate into years on earth, the simple blessing of a planet spinning around the sun — day and night. god saw it was good, you guess. you try not to care: the halo imbedded in your back, a perfect circle; the shrapnel scars on your thighs, into your side, a small one along your collarbone. you have lived eternities; you have looked gods in their eyes — but you're still a person. you're twenty-one here, a birthday having passed while you were gone. you like the way your boobs like in this one red bra beatrice definitely brought for you, and she had taken you to a fancy salon yesterday so you could get a haircut like you'd wanted; you'd gone shopping for makeup and shoes and new underwear. you're just a person and you want to look beautiful. you want to look pretty.

but your scars aren't, you think. you know, they're not.

but then beatrice walks in, her airpods in, her eyes on her phone, her hakama high over her hips, her abs dripping with sweat, her hair up in a bun. you had told her that you want to have a life with her, which means she needs to do the things that had brought her comfort and joy; it made you smile when she took you to watch her surf, and when she showed you her dojo.

it takes her a few moments to even notice you standing there — another time, you would tease her for losing her edge — but there's definitely not enough time to pretend that you were doing anything other than staring at yourself naked in the mirror. she stills, and then takes her airpods out and tucks both them and her phone into her pocket. you don't have to say anything: you fought a war together. you died for her. she made herself a life that immediately had a place for you in it, in this house by the sea, bright fruit in a bowl and lavender lotion and a tv that sits above a fireplace. she walks toward you efficiently, measured, and then tucks her body around yours, like she's shielding you from a blast, or loving you in the sweep of the afternoon breeze. her skin is warm and her hand runs along your spine until it stills between your shoulder blades.

the halo hums and aches toward her palm.

eventually she turns your body gently and tucks her chin over your shoulder so you can look in the mirror again. she meets your eyes and then closes hers, leans down and kisses beneath your ear. you had seen the red lines left on her shoulders from her chest binder yesterday, had kissed them and massaged her tight, sore muscles. you had seen her; she had let you see. her fingertips touch the worst of the divinium scars, just once, and she has seen you too.

'you're so gorgeous,' she says, low and sincere. she looks at you and she means it.

finally, it feels like you can breathe.

proprioception

'okay,' beatrice says, patient and happy, even though you are failing spectacularly, 'so you hold the second chopstick right here.' she places it between your thumb and forefinger, like she already has a few times before.

you try valiantly, as hard as you tried to learn to walk on water, or block a punch, to pick up the very expensive, incredible piece of sushi. beatrice has taught you how to swim, how to hold a pencil properly, how to cut meat with a knife. she's eaten with chopsticks her entire life, she'd told you one day when she'd ordered chinese food for dinner and tried to teach you then, enviably and quickly scooping fried rice into her mouth without spilling any. you haven't felt embarrassed at all, because, like, how the fuck were you supposed to know these things; you were paralyzed and abused and then very, very busy, so it's always been something you'd felt peace with. plus, beatrice has never faulted you for it, or looked down on you. she compliments you easily, genuinely, all the time.

you drop the entire piece of sushi into the small dish filled with soy sauce and you sigh. beatrice just plucks it out and eats it herself with a smile, although you're sure she's screaming inside that the flavor profile is now off because the fish — the star of the show — has been overpowered.

'there's gonna be none left for me,' you pout, and she shrugs.

'we can order more on the pope's dime. we can order as much as we want.'

she shows you how to hold the chopsticks again, and then it's like something clicks, and you clumsily manage to grasp the sushi and then hold onto it enough to dip it in the soy sauce and then bring it to your mouth. it's so, so good — made even better by the fact that you did something that had been hard. the stakes are lower than learning how to phase through twenty feet of concrete or heal from a thirteen story fall that had exploded every organ in your body, but that's not a life. that's staving off death, a losing battle, a war that's bigger than you ever were.

but you sit across from the handsome woman you love on a patio in a city named after angels, a heater nearby warming your shoulders, flavor bursting on your tongue. your fingers are clumsy, like you sometimes feel with your love. but beatrice feeds you a piece eventually, grinning, and you eat edamame with your hands, and the sake makes your head feel light. this is life.

smell

the desert at night smells unlike anything you could've ever imagined. beatrice takes a hit from the joint she'd picked up from her favorite dispensary before the drive here. the joshua trees are spiky and bizarre and stunning; you've been to realms beyond comprehension but this is like another planet, rich and alive. there's rain in the distance and beatrice passes the joint with a low laugh at nothing.

you lie with her in a hammock and look up at the stars, clouds the color of a bottle of red wine on the horizon, rolling lazily over the mountains. you'd driven past the wind turbines and through the hills tinged red, orange poppies bursting on the green of the hillside and the sky so blue your eyes can't quite see it, specks of color floating through your vision when you look up.

there's agave and yucca and desert lily; sprouts of plants you had been both pleased and surprised to find were onions. you'd seen quail and small lizards with blue tails; rabbits so fast they're skittering away in the blink of an eye. there's the smell of the weed, heady and lush. there's your shared laundry detergent when you press your nose into beatrice's chest; there's her crisp cologne, all spice and musk; there's her skin, warm and heaven.

the sumac grows thick, stems and leaves offering themselves up even in the dark of night. you think everything here longs for the sun.

beatrice's hair, long and loose, just the two of you, smells like lavender and mint. the stars outnumber the wonders you've seen everywhere else other than the freckles you map on her skin. this world is astounding in its vastness, in its texture and overwhelm. but then there's her, and the small of her body: her elbows and the scar on her thigh that you kiss in the morning light sometimes, the way she folds your underwear unnecessarily when she does the laundry and the candles she lights when you watch silly tv before bed. creosote and sage. the smoke from blown-out birthday candles. the shed snake-skin and rattle somewhere that poses no danger. wishes and prayers and consecrate.

the rain grows closer. you stay warm in her arms.

sound

the bass is overwhelming in the best way. you feel it in your lungs, like every time you breathe the beat fills you up. beatrice had steadfastly driven to the greek, calmly following directions but her knuckles were white around the steering wheel when she'd had to merge onto three separate freeways. there's kinds of love you're always going to be learning: beatrice's safe driving, even in los angeles; the way she presses her body against yours from behind, her hands eager along your hips, your ribs, once, even, the inside of your thigh; her bright laugh when you turn around and tug her face to face because a song you'd wanted to see live since the moment you'd first heard it is next on the set list. there's whiskey on her lips from the shots you'd done earlier; you sneak a hand under her t-shirt and rest it along the waistband against her spine.

'let's ride!' you scream along with the crowd, overwhelmed by it all: the pulse and the sweat and the worship of it all. you turn to bea and even she's swept up in it, grinning, bouncing up and down. you tug the elastic out of her hair and kiss her and then sing along. it's so, so loud, this close to the stage, filling your entire body. and there's a reverence in it that you haven't ever felt before: fun. you fell in love with music like this because of its excess, because of its truth, because of its joy.

'i think my ears are still ringing,' beatrice says, a little loud, after you get back to your car, exhausted and sated and so beautiful.

you grin. 'that was heaven.'

she looks at you with a smile. 'you had a good time?'

you take her hand, ignore the honk from the car behind you, just for a moment, and kiss her. i've never felt so real, so alive, you want to say, but that seems to sentimental, too dramatic, for a night where you had gotten to sing all my life, i've been waiting for a good time, a good time — 'can we go to another show soon?'

she shifts the car into drive and then squeezes your knee before she puts her hands faithfully at ten and two. 'we can go to any shows you want, although i might need to invest in some earplugs.'

you laugh. 'i can live with that.'

taste

you've done this a few times before, but never quite like this. you press beatrice against the wall in your bedroom, shared now: the side of her bed, nearest the door, with two books on it placed neatly, an elegant charging dock for her phone, airpods, and watch, and a minimalist lamp on her nightstand; yours with a stack of six books that you're reading concurrently, haphazard, and three charging cables, one for your favorite vibrator included.

she moans into your mouth, your fingers tangled in her hair, tugging like she likes. you tug her shirt over her head and, delightfully, she isn't wearing a binder or a bra. still, 'do you feel comfortable with this?' you ask, because you love her more than anything, and when she nods, a little frantic, and then says a clear yes, god yes, you bring your mouth to one of her dark nipples, pinch the other between your fingers. her skin is soft and tastes just faintly of her lotion and the ocean — flowers and salt.

and then, like everything you've ever done has led you here, you kneel before her. you've met gods; you've known heaven and hell; you've died, a few times over. you kneel before her and you pray in a language only the two of you know. you'd read yesterday that if you took a human's dna and stretched it, stacked it end on end, it would stretch all the way to jupiter and back ten times over. there are the stars and the sea and the desert and this city of angels, with its haze and its gods. and there's this house, with its whitewashed walls and soft blankets. you're young, your bodies full of scars, your bodies filled with afternoon light. you take her clit into your mouth and her knees buckle and she tastes perfect, sun and salt and an endlessness that is so full, that is so much the opposite of nothingness you remember less and less every day. the black hair between her legs is soft against your chin and you drag a tongue through her folds. her hands, reserved, steady, usually, find their way into your hair and pull, desperate. you have died so many times to no funerals, no pyres: you bury yourself now, time and again, in the holiest place you know. the only communion you have ever cared for — you take her body into yours.

she tastes like heaven. she tastes like the ocean. she tastes like home. you tally the miracles again, another infinity as she arches into your mouth.

#wn #avatrice #avatrice fic #wn fic #prompts #anyway ollie & i have gone so feral over ava like... coming back & getting to have sensation again #wild #there's so much more to this but a lil smth on this los angeles snowday for me lol #girls against god #i guess?#also butch bea i guess but she hasn't BLOSSOMED quite yet but like #butch bea 🥺🫡#its a way of life

244 notes · View notes

mangomagicagirl · 4 months ago

Text

fruity wine auntie and burnt castle 🔥🔥

#proshippers dni #tag jamming #self indulgent stuff #beatrice umineko #umineko no naku koro ni #umineko when they cry #umineko #beginner artist #art #artists on tumblr #bernkastel

2 notes · View notes

daisychainsandbowties · 1 year ago

Text

thinking a normal amount about a treasure planet au. Beatrice on her solar kiteboard, doing the daredevil flip sequence framed against the setting sun and then getting hauled kicking and screaming back to her parents’ house in manacles with a defiant expression on her perpetually dirt-smudged face.

climbing out the window at the first opportunity to go down to the dockside inn, making nebulous plans to steal her kiteboard back but ending up down at the edge of the dock staring past her boots and into the mists. gripping tight to the wood beneath her as she looks up at the sky and dreams of anywhere but here, of stealing a skiff to get off this planet. a reluctant twinge at the thought of going alone.

Bea with all her star maps and her intricate knowledge of spaceships and their solar sails and how to navigate out there where the artigrav net is all that stands between you and floating through nothing, forever.

startling when she hears the familiar sound of someone booking it down the pier on wooden crutches. night has already started to speckle the sky above, and as she listens to the thunk of the crutches on the pier, Bea thinks of the complicated metallic lattice she has on her desk at home, partly disassembled because she’s still trying to work out parts of the engineering. Ava’s birthday is in a month.

she has to stay that long, and then she’ll leave. she will.

turning to watch as Ava races towards her with soup stains on her shirt and messy hair jammed flat beneath a ‘pirate’ hat she bought off of a traveling salesman last year. the tricorn wobbles precariously on her head as she moves. Beatrice just waits, a slight smile on her face.

there are bruises high on each of her arms, from the pincer-like grip of the police bots, manhandling her away from her kiteboard to snap manacles around each wrist.

she rubs at the skin there, but ignores the bruises.

when Ava arrives, a little out of breath, Beatrice holds up a hand so she can help herself down onto the pier. there’s no water beneath them, only a few hundred meters of empty air and curling mist.

Ava keeps one hand on Bea’s and the other on her shoulder, letting the crutches clatter down between them as she sits.

“Mom says you got arrested again,” Ava says cheerfully. “She says they’re threatening to send you to prison.”

Beatrice shrugs, “I wouldn’t mind it, so long as my parents did not visit.”

Ava’s fingers are covered in bright red band-aids, from chopping vegetables all day with her poor hand dexterity. Beatrice watches the colours blur as Ava punches her in the arm, right on the bruises. “Liar, I know you’d miss me.”

her arm throbs painfully, but Beatrice’s expression is carefully neutral as she responds.

“I might.”

she stays with Ava that night, both of them reading her old book with its floating images of ships and canons and pirates leaping from vessel to vessel. Captain Flint, materialising out of empty space to steal away gems and gold, “the loot of a thousand worlds.” Ava traces the projected lines of the solar sails with her fingers as they flicker into being.

Beatrice has repaired the book over and over, making the colours brighter and sharper. the tiny shapes of pirates all made up of light. Ava has the book open on Bea’s chest as she lies next to her, legs all entangled in the sheets they’ve kicked off because the night is so warm.

she seems oblivious to how Beatrice’s breath hitches at almost every touch.

they’re almost asleep when they hear the explosion, a ship crashing into the cliff-side, tumbling over and over before they hear the pop and hiss of heated metal. a bloom of smoke outside the window.

Beatrice gives Ava a piggyback ride down the stairs just before Ava’s ‘mom’, Suzanne, emerges with her pulse-rifle primed, hair loose around her shoulders.

they stumble into the yard and discover a pirate, a robot, still bleeding from a wound in his abdomen, crawling from the wreck of his ship. Beatrice heaves a shard of twisted metal away from him and finds the surface slippery with blood.

behind her, Ava sways a little, shivers in the cold air, but she’s still standing when Beatrice turns back to her.

the dying pirate tells them almost nothing useful. he’s half-mad, cluching at Beatrice’s shirt until the seams tear at the collar, then turning to Ava. he fetches out a lockbox from his ship, blood spilling onto the ground at the movement. unlocks it and takes odd sphere from inside.

it drops into Ava’s palm as he rasps, “Whatever you do, don’t let them find it.”

then he wheezes, shudders, stills.

they stare at him, Ava’s free hand finding Bea’s, holding tight.

“Is he… dead?” Ava’s voice in the silence and the dark.

“I think so.”

then, in a burst of light and sound, in a shockwave of displaced air, a ship plummets down out of the clouds, pulling up an instant from the ground.

this second ship looms down out of the sky, pirates dropping from it and suddenly Suzanne is screaming at them to “GET INSIDE” from an upstairs window as she takes potshots at the misshapen shapes swarming down lines of hempen rope.

the air lights up with orange and yellow as explosions ripple down towards the crashed ship, towards the inn. Bea flings one of Ava’s arms around her neck and sprints for the door, Ava holding the sphere (or map?) tightly against her chest.

she sets Ava down gently onto one of the bar stools, runs back to barricade the door. her face is flushed, streaked somehow with engine grease and robot blood, which is black and slightly acidic.

they exchange a wide-eyed look, too much meaning in it to parse as explosions rock the floor. Ava has both hands clutched around the sphere.

they both almost scream as Suzanne runs down the stairs in a blur of dressing gown and gun. she has Ava’s crutches in one hand and her rifle in the other. she kisses Ava quickly on the forehead, “Thank the tides you’re safe.” leaves her with the crutches and then goes to fetch an ancient-looking blaster pistol out from behind the bar, presses it into Beatrice’s hands. “You know how to use this?”

“No!”

“Aim it away from your own face.”

and then there are pirates all around the house, glass breaking and fire crackling. Beatrice takes up the rear, pistol pointed at the front door as it bulges under the pressure of pirates flinging their bulk into it again and again.

they climb out of a window, Suzanne producing a kitchen knife and jamming it into the neck of a pirate loitering uncertainly outside the bolted shutters. there, covered by a tarp, is Suzanne’s old motorcycle with a sidecar attached. lantern-bugs scatter out from under it as Suzanne throws the old tarp away, gestures for Beatrice and Ava to climb in as she covers them with her rifle.

there’s a roar from somewhere in the dark and Suzanne fires a shot, hops onto the motorcycle and revs the engine. then they’re moving, pirates parting before them like the ocean neither of them have ever seen, the vast bodies of water that don’t even exist on this planet.

they seek refuge with Jillian, an archaeologist who frequents the old inn, claiming that she can’t make her coffee taste of anything but soap. she examines the orb, reluctantly passed into her hands by Ava, her and Bea wrapped in an old blanket, sitting by the fire in Jillian’s immense study.

Jillian fiddles with it for an age before sighing, looking almost angry with herself.

“I can’t… seem to make this work.”

Ava holds out her hand, silent. “let me try,” and Beatrice makes a face at Jillian when she hesitates.

the pirate gave the sphere to Ava; it’s hers.

it seems much larger in Ava’s small grip. she looks down at it for a while before her fingers start to move, slow but gathering momentum as she presses the little grooves and switches and indents on the sphere.

until it lights up, showing a map of the known universe, and parts of it that are unknown.

“Is that-” Beatrice feels her words drop away, like the ground beneath the pier where she has passed so many hours sitting with Ava’s hand in hers.

Ava turns to Beatrice, eyes bright as a pair of stars, “It’s treasure planet.”

#treasure planet au #warrior nun #avatrice #and yeah what about cyborg shannon & mary her first mate and their (pirate) spaceship/ literally just an 18th century frigate #thinking of shannon growing increasingly fond of beatrice who helps her with her star charts and the calculations for navigating space #both of them of course planning their betrayal but looking at these two girls slowly realising they're in love #furious conversations in the captain's cabin and lilith up in the crows nest half the time. cam pestering her with tea #🥹🥹 ava with morph the little pink blob who sure yeah belongs to shannon but hangs out 'spying' on mary in the kitchen #i just think ava and bea should run away and accidentally join a pirate crew together #it'll be fun (i say remembering the Black Hole Incident)#anyway maybe i will write this idk

86 notes · View notes