#hurt!bea agenda

[ritsuuu-0206]

Beatrice is used to being alone, isolating herself whenever she needs time to think, to reflect on the day's events or on her behavior. But after meeting Ava, Beatrice doesn't isolate herself, because even if she did, Ava would always find her and comfort her, taking the weight off her shoulders by making her talk.

Suddenly Beatrice doesn't know how to be alone again. Whenever she's away from Ava for too long, she would start to get anxious. She would be tense and silent until she found her way into Ava's arms, melting into her. There are no secrets kept between them. Every worry, every minor thought is shared and they would be comforted.

Ava would joke about how clingy Beatrice could be, even though they both know Ava's more clingy. Beatrice is still reserved in her actions but with Ava, she decides that there's no point in holding herself back.

When a mission went horribly wrong, the group pinned down by the enemy, Beatrice found herself bleeding and separated from them. It isn't until the sound of battle stops that she forces herself up to her feet to look for Ava. She's tired from blood loss, panting heavily as she weakly calls for Ava.

For some reason, she couldn't find the other sisters or Ava. She squashes down the feeling of panic, trying to tell herself that she'll find them soon. But with each step, pain clouds her mind. Her movements slowed considerably while her calls became desperate.

When she trips over herself, she finds that she has no energy to push herself back up. Lying on the ground as a puddle of blood formed under her, she starts to sob. She doesn't want to be alone. Right now anyone would be fine, she just doesn't want to die alone, without letting Ava know how much she loves her one last time.

[locallysourcedshuggy]

6.

On the day she turned six, Beatrice finally understood why most adults never really celebrated their birthdays.

She knew her parents were trying to accomplish titles in the government. To be honest, she didn't know what those words truly meant at 6, but she had the general idea.

That morning, her parents told her they were leaving for a business trip. Almira, their maid, would look after her for that week. Normally, Beatrice wouldn't bat an eye to the news. Today, however, was different.

Her parents never wished her a happy birthday.

Once they had closed the door behind them, and their driver disappeared down the road towards the airport, Almira let out a sigh. Beatrice couldn't tell what kind of sigh it was. She was able to categorize her parents' sighs now, yet this one was different.

She turned away from the window, noticing Almira was wearing a heavy expression.

“I told them it was your birthday when they woke up,” She admitted.

Almira wanted to say more. So, So much more. It was heartbreaking, to see a child so young lose their magical imagination on their birthday.

Beatrice didn't say anything, and Almira figured so. Beatrice was always a quiet child, and Almira was reminded how different she was from her own children. They were probably up by now, bothering their boulder of a father for some more pancakes.

Cake, right.

“Come, Beatrice,” She beckoned the child, starting her way to the kitchen. “Now that your parents are gone, they can't chastise you for eating cake for breakfast.”

Beatrice, ever the obedient daughter she was, gasped at the concept.

Almira let out a laugh that stemmed from her belly.

“Oh, please, little one. It's your 6th birthday. Surely we have time for cake,” She grabbed it from the fridge, watching as Beatrice looked at the intricate design.

Almira felt something akin to amazement when Beatrice gazed with so much wonder and surprise. She noticed that the girl still hadn't moved from her place on the chair.

“I spent hours last night making this for you, it would be agonizing if you did not take the first bite,” Almira reasoned, grabbing a fork from the utensil drawer.

Beatrice finally understood. Almira had time to bake Beatrice a cake, though she didn't have to. Her parents had known it was her birthday, and were even reminded, yet time was of the essence for them to get to the airport.

People didn't celebrate their birthdays due to the fact that they had no time. Staring at the fork in Almira's hand, she decided to relent. She would make time for her own birthday today, but only for a little while.

12.

It was her 12th birthday. By now, Beatrice was dreadfully aware of the fact that birthdays were no longer fun. It was no one's fault, really (unless you count her parent forgetting at age 6, then making her birthday a PR stunt for their own benefit). She had been going to these galas since her 8th birthday, and she always dreaded it.

Of course, Beatrice would stuff her own anxiety down. She had the conversation once before with her parents. How their family needed to be presentable. This was the first year since they gained their diplomacy, and Beatrice was not going to be the reason they looked unprofessional.

The sad fact was- this birthday gala couldn't even be considered for Beatrice. No one her age came anyway, and so she was left to sit at the table while the adults talked politics.

"Oh well, we can just ban them from adopting," Her father spoke to one of his superiors.

Though this was considered a work gala, the two men appeared to be friendly while talking.

His superior (John or James, Beatrice could never remember), nodded along. "Our opponents are saying that some of those lesbians are able to concieve their own child through so called science. I think it's a load of bullshit if you ask me," Beatrice flinched at lesbians. John-James said it like it was poison in his tongue that he needed to spit out.

"A child concieved through science is not a real human child if you ask me," Her father snorted, and his boss laughed along.

Beatrice tuned out their conversation, directing her gaze to the hallway. She could portentially sneak out and go to her room. Her parents were so engrossed with whatever hatred they were spitting, they wouldn't notice her.

That's exactly what she did. Beatrice was able to slip through the crowd, and enter the long hallway that would lead to her room.

A woman came out of the guest bathroom, nearly running into the birthday girl.

"Oh, I'm terribly sorry!" She exclaimed, leaning down to Beatrice's eye level. "I didn't know they let children in here as well. I could've brought my wife's little sister," She thought.

Beatrice halted her movements. Wife? She decided she would come back to that later.

"Oh, I live here." Beatrice deadpanned, and the stranger widened her gaze.

"Oh. You must be Bernard and Lucille's daughter."

Beatrice nodded.

"What are doing out here then, shouldn't you be with them, weaseling your way into fascist politics?” The woman asked, a hint of malice dripping into her tone at the last words.

Beatrice didn't know what fascism meant. In the commercials, her parents often called themselves 'the right choice'. The girl cradled that word close to her, almost like the woman was trusting her with it.

“I got bored,” Beatrice answered truthfully, looking towards her room once again.

The woman noticed her movement. “Honestly, I can't blame you. I'm not even a friend of your father's,” She shrugged. “Just a receptionist who works for his rivals.”

She started to walk back into the crowd, but turned on her heel. “Happy birthday, Beatrice, was it?”

Beatrice simply nodded. The woman disappeared into the throng of older candidates and... fascists. To Beatrice, the woman reminded her of Almira. She still didn't know why her parents fired the woman, she was so nice.

18

On her 18th birthday, Beatrice forgot about it. She forgot about her birthday, until she returned to her dorm to find it decorated by her roommate. A banner hung from the ceiling, spelling out 'Happy Birthday!' in rainbow colors.

“I apologize for the lack of decoration, you would think it would be easy to find a Swiss Dollar-Tree, but apparently not,” Tracy smiled brightly.

Beatrice was still standing in the doorway.

“Oh, I must've forgotten,” Beatrice said after a few minutes, walking in fully and setting her textbooks on her desk.

Tracy dropped her jaw, her eyes widening in shock. “Oh please tell me you did not forget your own birthday?!”

Beatrice shrugged in response, then decided to defend herself, for whatever reason, “Well, I do leave Friday for the convent, so,”

“Yeah, but your birthday is your birthday! We need to celebrate! You, me, Ginny, even Sandy!”

As Tracy went on and on, Beatrice thought back to her meeting with Mother Superion from the convent in Madrid. She had never met a woman so... bouldering.. before. It's like the older woman could see past Beatrice's wall that she spent 17- no, 18- years building up. This time, though, it wasn't haunting. It was comforting.

“-and then Emma could try to sneak the speaker from Sister Chartine, but we all know that old crow has the nose of a bloodhound-” Beatrice tuned into part of Tracy's explanation, and felt a long exhale of dread escape her.

Friday could not come sooner.

20

She wasn't a rookie anymore. It was her first OCS mission where she could actually participate, and not watch from the sidelines with a med kit on her lap.

“Bea, duck!” Shannon called, already releasing the knife she was throwing.

Beatrice ducked without hesitation. The knife pierced the enemy behind her, his throat now similar to a paint can with a puncture hole. The blood leaked from his jugular like water, and Beatrice couldn't look away. It was hypnotic, watching the life disappear so fast in a person's eyes.

“Beatrice!” Someone yells at her, but she can't tear her eyes away from the body. Sound is muffled now, and it takes her a second too late to register the voice. From the roughness around the of her name, and the thickness in the tone, it sounds like Mary.

Beatrice turns too late, her abdomen now a holder for a dagger. The thrower in question has just now crumpled at her feet. She stares at his head- or, where his head is supposed to be. Beatrice isn't sure now, the brain matter has messed up her perception of human anatomy. Is it supposed to be splattered on the ground like that?

“Beatrice!” Another yell, this one sounding far to similar to her father. She looks up, and his eyes are glinting at her from across the room.

He stands in the open doorway, speechless as the girl under her turns her head.

The man swallows, calls his wife to the room. Beatrice doesn't move. Only when her lab partner wiggles out from her spot below does her mother lock eyes with her daughter.

Beatrice's mouth is dry. Her stomach hurts. She wants to say something. She's going to, but her mother stops her.

Her mother starts praying. Beatrice's vision blurs, and her mother morphs into Camila.

Camila, who is gripping one hand and applying pressure to her stomach with the other.

It was Camila who was praying, not her mother.

Camila notices the wounded soldier shift, and she whips her head down to look at her.

“Beatrice! We lost you for a second. I was so worried,” Almost as if she senses Beatrice's confusion, Camila continues, “We're in the van. Shannon's driving, don't worry, Mary started going insane with her wretched gun.”

Beatrice winces. Oh, that's why her stomach hurts. Not because her parents walked in on her with a girl, but because there is a hole six inches deep where the blade had pierced her.

Camila continues to go on and on about Mary and her godforsaken gun, but Beatrice doesn't care. Camila doesn't understand, she wasn't on the mission. She's the newbie, like Beatrice once was- forced to sit in the van with the medkit. When Camila starts ranting about which suture is best, Beatrice lets herself pass out, if only for the sake of her own sanity.

——————

When Beatrice comes to once more, she is unsure where she is. He head is aching, and her stomach feels tight. Her consciousness is barely there, and when her eyes open she swears her mother is waiting at her bedside. Panic surges through her, the heart monitor speeding up.

“Bea,” Someone calls. It sounds like her father. She doesn't want to see him, she is too ashamed.

“Bea, you need to breathe!” A voice breaks through her haze. This time, it's Shannon. She is touching her shoulder. When did she get out of her battle uniform? Beatrice looks down to her own body. Why does she not have her battle gear on? How long has she been out?

“It's alright,” Shannon says to calm her.

A door opens, Beatrice whips her head around to face the newcomer.

“Just me,” Mary says, holding a glass of water.

Shannon stands, leaving the room. When she passes by Mary, she rests her arm on Mary's shoulder. Mary grips Shannon's hand, and offers her a warm smile. Beatrice watches the interaction, her chest constricting on itself. She looks away, feeling like she intruded on their own silent conversation.

“Beatrice,” Mary calls to her, and Bea reluctantly turns her head back. “You scared the hell out of us.”

She doesn't know what to say. She settles for an apology. “I'm sorry.”

Mary stares at her for a long time, her eyes scanning her face. Beatrice hates that. Mary is trying to dissect her, and its working. Beatrice looks away, Mary is too good at what she does.

The older woman sighs, sits down where Shannon was, and places the glass of water on the bedside table.

Beatrice stares at the IV in her arm. She wants it out. She hates feeling useless.

“One hell of a birthday mission, huh?” Mary tries again, and this time Beatrice looks back up in confusion.

“How did you-” Beatrice is cut off mid sentence.

“Mother Superion shared some of your file with Shannon. Which she shared with me.” Mary answers, her eyes softening.

Beatrice is frozen in fear. How much did Mary know? How much did Shannon know? Do they both know she is a deviant who was thrown out from her only home. Does Mother Superion know?

The thoughts make her panic, the heart rate monitor speeding up.

“Bea, hey,” Mary raises her hands to Beatrice's left arm, trying to calm her.

“I will tell you what I know, okay?” Mary doesn't break eye contact, and Beatrice hates how much Mary knows her already.

Once the monitor goes back to normal after a few rounds of Beatrice's box breathing, Mary settles back into her chair.

Mary sighs again, this time she's the first one to look away.

“I know you were sought out,” Mary starts.

“Because of the boarding school in Switzerland. Shannon told me how you were a model student,” Mary smiles, giving Beatrice some mercy.

“I also know,” Mary leans forward, clasping her hands together and finally looking at Beatrice, “that you were kicked out. Shannon told me.”

Beatrice started to panic, but Mary was quick to continue.

“She didn't tell me why,” Mary continued to stare at her, and Beatrice was starting to feel the familiar effects of suffocation. Like when she came back home that day to find a suitcase already packed on her bed, with a note that stated the date she would be starting at her new school.

“But, Beatrice, you have to know that no one told me. I figured it out shortly after,” Mary rubbed her eyes. “What your parents did. Why they did it.”

Beatrice shook her head. She needed to save herself. Tell Mary it wasn't true. Tell her that she is not like that.

“I know, kiddo. And I need you to understand that it doesn't change how worried me and Shannon were for you on that mission.”

Beatrice held her breath.

“When you went down, and Shannon screamed, it felt like I was going down with you. In the van, Shannon kept trembling and I couldn't do anything because I was terrified shitless too- don't tell Shannon I said that,” They both let out a watery chuckle, Beatrice's more like a sigh from not breathing.

Mary continued. “Shannon and I are... close,” She reached out to touch Beatrice's arm. “Like what your parents threw you out for.”

Beatrice let out a small noise, a mix between a gasp and a sob. Mary tightened her grip.

“Mother Superion doesn't know. Only Shannon and I. And kiddo, we both love you so much, don't ever think any differently, okay?” Mary drew closer, and Beatrice surged forward to hug her.

Mary attempted to wrap her arms around the young girl, but Beatrice stiffened due to the still sensitive stitches.

Mary pulled back, her watery eyes matching Beatrice's.

“Okay,” Mary cleared her throat. “I told Shannon to get us each a slice of cake from the market down the road. She'll come back and we'll celebrate in a calm and stress free way with you not pulling any stitches, huh?” Mary suggested.

Beatrice nodded, finally having the strength to talk. “Yes. I... I would like that.”

Mary smiled in response, grabbing her phone from her pocket. As she was about to text Shannon, Beatrice spoke once more.

“Can we invite Camila, too? It's only right, after I almost gave her a heart attack in the van.”

Mary laughed and nodded, adding into the text to Shannon for her to bring Camila.

Beatrice smiles. She thought she had a family. Then, she was forced out for simply loving.

Now though, Beatrice thinks she earned a different family here. A permanent one.

25.

The bar was closed, yet two people remained inside. Despite the 'Geschlossen' sign on the door, a bottle of whisky remained open.

Hans was behind the bar, his hands working on wiping down his counter. His eyes have been watching Beatrice for the past minute. She was on the other side of the bar, sitting on one of the more rickety stools, and staring at the full glass in front of her. She hadn't taken a drink since Hans poured it for her- that was fifteen minutes ago.

Hans wondered in that moment what really happened with Ava. He had seen something on the news, but he had only caught a glimpse of it during an insanely busy happy hour rush. Later in his shift, he had heard a customer talking about the Pope's death. Hans wasn't a religious man by any means, so he had simply ignored it.

Now though, he watched as Beatrice was cracking at the seams. Ever since she came back a year ago, he watched as she slowly broke. Of course, her boss title was stripped from her when she left the first time, so she was reduced to simply bartending. Hans was sure she would rise up the rinks to boss again- their sales weren't exactly booming right now. They could use a better manager once more, Beatrice always knew which drinks to upsell, and how many sales they needed each week.

Beatrice was good like that. She was good because she had Ava. Now, Beatrice hardly talks to the customer, only doing so when asking which drink they want.

Hans frowned as the woman in question kept staring at the glass. He doesn't think she's even had a drop of alcohol since that night Ava convinced her to try lemon drops.

Instead of letting it sit and simmer, Hans slides over to face Beatrice.

He looks at the glass, then grabs the bottle of whisky and the cap to close it. Before he gets the cap on, though, a hand reaches to grab at his forearm.

“Don't.” Beatrice says simply.

“You haven't even taken a sip,” Hans reasons, yet he sets the opened bottle back down.

“I'm working up the courage,” Beatrice shrugs.

A silence falls between them. Hans wants to ask, but frankly he is quite intimidated by Beatrice. He would've asked her if Ava was in the next stool over. Yet, she isn't.

“I'm 25 today.” Beatrice states, and her voice cuts through Hans' thoughts of Ava like a newly sharpened knife.

“Oh? Happy Birthday! Have you celebrated?” Hans smiles, hoping to make small talk.

Beatrice shakes her head. Her gaze has never left the brown tint of the whisky.

Hans decides he needs to just go for it in order to get answers. “Ava would definitely have something planned. She would probably rope me into it too, if she were here.”

Something inexplicable happens then. Beatrice's face twists, and Hans worries that she might be having a stroke.

Then, the girl starts to cry. Tears soon follow her quiet sobs, and Hans is rendered speechless.

“I'm sorry, I really didn't think I would make you-” He he cut off by a whimpering Beatrice.

“You're right! She would've planned something, would've decorated the flat even. She probably would've bought me a cake too!” Hans remains silent as Beatrice continues, thinking it is for the best if she gets it out. “And I haven't had a birthday cake in so long! She would've asked for my favourite flavor, and maybe my favourite colour- she knows that already actually,” Beatrice pauses.

“Knew. She knew my favourite colour.” Beatrice grabs the glass, but she doesn't lift it. “She would probably crash my shift at the bar,” She lets out a watery laugh, and Hans chuckles with her. “She would've made the whole bar get roped into singing happy birthday to me.”

Beatrice lets out a wet sigh, a tear falling when she blinks. “And yet she wont. Because she's not here. But she would be. She would be here, if the world wasn't so set on making her fight for everything.”

Hans starts to feel his own eyes water.

“She would be here, but she can't. And I let her go,” Beatrice grips the glass harder, and finally lifts it to her mouth.

Hans watches in shock as she downs the glass without a flinch. Beatrice reaches for the bottle, and pours herself another.

“And Mary. Mary would sing with Ava. Yasmine would join in purely because she likes the song. Lilith would glare at all three of them, but she would probably end up getting pulled in by Ava. Camila would bring the cake in, and Shannon would cut everyone a slice before getting one herself,” Beatrice gasps.

Hans has no idea who those people are, but they have to be important to her and Ava, wherever she is now.

Beatrice continues, Hans reaches for her hand. Beatrice lets him.

“I miss them so much. Shannon didn't stand a chance, and I was so sad for Mary when it happened. I was even sadder when she went. Sometimes I wished they were my real biological parents because they actually accepted me for my sexuality,” Hans blinks, a tear falls. “And Lilith. She and I were the most alike, and then she went to Hell and came back as someone different. And although she became our enemy and even tried to hurt Ava, she is still my sister. She is still my sister, just like Camila is. Oh, Camila. I miss her so much, and I left her like Ava left me. And Shannon once told me before she went to look after Camila because she was the youngest. And I said I would. I meant it too, I really did. But then she grew up and I thought it was fine so I left but now I know that it's not Camila that needs me, it's me who needs her because Ava left and I don't even know if she is alive at this point.”

Hans chokes back a sob. So it's that kind of leaving. And here he thought he would shout and yell at Ava for leaving someone like Beatrice if she returned to the bar.

Beatrice lets her tears flow freely now, raising her glass and taking her second gulp.

“I miss all of them so much. And I miss Ava. I miss her so much that it takes up all the feeling in my body, and I can't move. And then I understand what Ava felt like when she was paralyzed. And then my heart hurts more for her because the world treated her like shit,” Hans feels it would be best not to mention the swear right now, “And yet she trusted me. The world didn't give her any reason to trust me. Hell, I even drugged her the first time I saw her! And yet she looked at me so intensely and unraveled my secrets. I came out to her and she handled me with so much care that I started to like myself again because of it. She handled me with so much love that when I finally knew what I wanted to do, it was too late. It was too late and she got hurt and she had to leave,”

Beatrice pushes the bottle away, signaling to Hans that she was done. Hans didn't want to let go of her hand, so he ignored it for now.

“And then I went back into that dark room of disappointment and disgust from my parents. I went back there and I couldn't get out so I left Camila there. I went back there and I'm still there because Ava is gone and she can't use her light to give me a beacon anymore.”

Once Beatrice was done speaking, Hans tightened his hold on her. It took a few minutes of silence from them both, only breaking it to sniffle. Hans had took these minutes to gather his own words, and he opened his mouth to speak.

“I don't want to overstep your boundaries,” He started, and Beatrice looked up at him with so much feeling in her eyes that Hans had to take a breath before continuing.

“What I can say, though, is that Ava loves you,” Beatrice let out a small whimper, another tear falling at his words. “And even if I don't know where she is or what happened, I do know that her love for you will help her find her way back here.”

(In a couple years from now, Ava will spill her gratitude for Hans for his care of Beatrice. He will shrug and say it was no big deal, but Ava will know because of how hard the first few weeks back with Beatrice were. She will still make him a cake, with the help of Camila, and give it to him during one of his shifts. She will still hug him and express her gratitude in the form of 'I'm glad Beatrice had someone as giving as you. I'm glad she had someone to tell her it wasn't her fault, because it never was.' And what Ava really meant was that she was glad someone was there to pick up Beatrice's pieces. Beatrice will rush in, grabbing Ava's hand and apologizing to Hans for the disruption. Hans will shrug and say it was no big deal, then Beatrice would smile and Ava would smile at Beatrice's smile. And then the two of them would make their way to the bar's exit, Beatrice talking about how they will be late to meeting Camila's boyfriend. Ava will nod and wrap her arm around Beatrice's middle, and Beatrice would raise her own arm to wrap around her partner. And Hans would smile at the two of them, and then tell the newbie to get back to work and stop oogling the two, while he goes over inventory at Halo, his bar that has been non stop bustling since his grand opening last week.)

Beatrice looks at Hans then. She sighs, sitting back and out of Hans' reach to wipe her eyes.

“You,” She starts, looking back at him with red eyes. “Are a good bartender. You should open your own bar someday.”

Hans shrugs, a smile forming on both of their faces.

“Only if you are my manager and Ava the bartender.”

Beatrice's smile grows.

“Say, lets have a little birthday party tomorrow.”

Beatrice shakes her head and opens her mouth to argue, but Hans beats her to it.

“It'll be just us. And though I can't bake, I will gladly buy you a cake and we can share.” He reasons, yet Beatrice still looks unsure.

Hans decides to push her more, “C'mon, you know Ava would want you to celebrate. We can even cut a slice for her.”

That is what gets Beatrice to give a tiny nod, and for Hans to smile victoriously and grab the bottle to get fill his own glass.

[feiquacker]

No grave can hold my body down - I'll crawl back to her on Ao3

Ava tells Bea about what's going to happen in the final battle.

Or. Bea has a hard time and Ava's there to take care of her

(@shy-forceghost best beta ever)

It's not fair. It's not fair of Ava to come at her, to confront her. To search out the one moment she doesn't have her emotions at bay and ask her to run away from this.

Because she can't. She wants to but she can't.

She cannot compromise the mission anymore. Not because of her own feelings. Not because of her sinful lust.

But what is the mission? What is her mission? Because on impulse it's Ava's safety. It's always Ava.

And it's not fair of Ava to come in and throw at her the plan she has.

The plan that involves a double suicide mission. A mission that involves Ava's death. Used as an ignition. An explosion. With divinum. Supposedly ripping Adreal apart.

And taking Ava with it.

She stares blankly at Ava as the words leave her mouth.

continue reading on Ao3

She's not acting like Shannon. She's not isolating or hiding.

But the outcome will be the same and Beatrice doesn't know if she could take it.

Something is different about Ava. It's not her Ava talking. It's not the embodiment of sunshine skipping down the road or the grinning talkmashine that eats icecream for supper.

This Ava is talking about her death as if there is no other way. As if her life is nothing. As if Beatrice would be ok with her dying.

God help her... If there even is a god. A kind god, allknowing.

What kind god would put a human though such agony as Ava? Writing her faith as a doll to be blown up and forgotten.

She watches Ava's lips move. She searches for the sparkle in Ava's eyes. But her ears are ringing and her head is spinning and she asks herself what god would write the death of Mary in such a gruesome and painful way?

What destiny people belive in?

What waking up to a cold bed and empty sheets will feel like?

"This might be one of our last conversations before I-"

Die. Before she dies. Because apparently something has made Ava belive the only way they can win this war is through the Warrior Nun's death.

Because to her the world is more important than her life.

The second it sinks in, Beatrice's brain just blacks out. She just - stares.

Doesn’t know what to say, doesn't know what to do.

Her brain goes black. Just like that. Any ability to form coherent thaughts and sentences vanishes.

She finds no words worthy enough for the answer Ava deserves. No plans that burst and light up in her highly logical and tactical brain, like countless times before. Just... Blanckness.

Darkness. An empty space, a white peace of paper, a dry sponge, a broken quantum computer.

Nothingness. Like a fog so think you can't see in front of you. Like a see so deep you can't feel gravity, like a wind so peaceful you can't hear anything.

Ava's death might be the only way they win. No There has to be a different way. 'AVA!' There *is* a different way.

She just needs to find it.

And suddenly Beatrice hears the sickening crack of Ava hitting the ground from falling 13 stories.

Ava's dead body weighing in her arms

"Why won't you say anything?"

blood soaking Bea's hands as she tries to hold together Ava's scalp.

"Beatrice?"

Ava's brain leaking down her fingers as she sobs over her bleeding body

"I don't - I don't know what to say." she stammers. Beatrice doesn't stammer.

Ava's eyes are empty of the typical glow. They are a lifeless shade of brown. She finds she misses the warmth they radiated a few days ago.

'Please don't leave me'

"I don't... know, what to - do."

"At least you could pretend to care." she huffs

'They can't beat us Bea. Not together'

"Ava-" she tries, eyes snapping to search for Ava who is already standing.

"See you at dinner." her voice sounds cold, it sends a shiver down Beatrice's spine.

"Ava -"

As if to underline her anger she slamms the door. Beatrice stays behind, left to sulk on the soft couch in their shared room. Petrified. Horrified.

Devistated.

She is mad... Ava is mad.

But Ava would never say something like that without a reason. Ava. Kind, understanding, patient Ava could never -

She hurt Ava. She was being vulnerable with her and she ruined it.

There's nothing particularly interesting to focus on, her eyes landing on the wall infront of her.

She can feel Ava's scalp starting to stich itself together under her bloody fingers

There's modern art on it. If they stayed here longer she could bet Ava would hang so many posters you could barely see the actual wall because of it.

'Easy. Easy.'

The air around her is thick and something tells her she needs to apologise but she doesn't know what for not to mention her temporary lack of vocabulary.

Just Ava's blood smeared on her hands. Ava's white brain matter, sticky and coating her fingers.

She doesn't move.

Doesn't dare move. Her thaughts are a mess as she continues blankly staring at the wall.

Her ears are buzzing. If it doesn't stop she thinks she'll go mad.

Not a sound, not a thought. It's only at the squeak of the door kicking open that she snaps her head in that direction.

Sir Mort, Julians favourite butler pokes his head through the little split of the door, looking at her with what seems to be shortlived surprise.

"Miss... Beatrice, Would you be joining dinner?"

She just shakes her head, watching him nod and slowly, nearly soundlessly close the door.

And she's alone again.

Alone and cold.

In their bedroom.

No.

In her bedroom.

----------

Ofcourse Beatrice doesn't care. Ofcourse she doesn't. Clearly its the only option they have. Or well. The one that guarantees the success of the mission.

She sulks around the corridors of this enormous house. Looking at paintings and just, thinking.

There's no other way. It's the best way. No. Its the only way.

She continues thinking that during dinner, where Bea doesn't show up. It doesn't help that everyone is asking her why Bea isn't there and where she is and what and who and how.

Ava doesn't know, she brushes them off. Because Bea isn't at dinner and because Ava was hoping to see her. Just. To enjoy a dinner with her favourite person, one last time. 

She continues thinking about the upcoming mission, during her shower. Maybe this is her last one. Maybe this will be the last time warm water touches her skin. The thaught that this might be her last shower is probably the reason she's actually taking it.

She doesn't really need it. The water running through her hair and down her spine help muffle down the drowning feeling of approaching death.

But the thaughts are still there. 

And despite all her efforts the image of a completely still Beatrice , and the void gaze, in her brown eyes haunts her every breath.

'She is a soldier', Ava thinks, washing the soap off her face 'I am one, too. And she sees me as nothing but that', the thaught twists her stomach, turns it inside out. Because today's events have shown exactly where Beatrice's priorities lie.

She may love Ava, and be too repressed to show it or allow herself to feel it. But despite that love, Ava will never be more important than the mission.

No matter whatever feelings she might have for Ava, they will never be enough, Ava will never be enough.

So when she has to go get her stuff out of their shared room, out of her room, she hesitates.

The door clicks open and she slowly pads into the room. It's exactly how she left it, Bea herself is still on the sofa, knees to her chest and curled up.

"Ava?" it's a little mutter. So small Ava thinks she made it up.

"You didn't show up for dinner", is the only thing Ava manages to say.

Because it's true. She left saying 'See you at dinner.' and Bea didn't do that. Didn't show up.

That's not what Beatrice does. Her Beatrice goes to the store in a storm to buy icecream. Her Beatrice sits suffering the loss of her braincells as she watches cheezy RomComs with Ava like she promised.

Her Beatrice... keeps her promises.

But then she sees it.

The way Bea ignores her gaze, her eyelashes so low it seems her eyes are closed. The nervous fidgeting with the pillow and the hem of her sweater; the red marks around her fingernails, long lines down her neck, the way a loose strand of hair is blocking her vision and she doesn't even try to put it away.

In that very second, Ava wants to slam herself against a wall so hard her brain will crack.

Because she had noticed back then, in the Alps, that this was how Bea zoned out during arguments.

And she wants to kick herself.

To Bea this is an argument. To Bea, Ava leaving her alone is a rejection. A dismissal of her emotions, of her feelings.

To Bea, Ava leaving was the equivalent of abandonment.

Hesitantly she takes a step forward, then another, then another, untill she's slowly taking the free space next to Bea.

She needs to touch her, to feel her, but she can't, because she learned back in Switzerland that's the wrong move.

Oh how much she would give to be back there now.

Careful to not touch Bea she mutters her name.

"Beatrice?" but Bea just shakes her head, pressing further into the couch.

"No Beatrice?" Bea shakes her head again.

Ava remembers the night they had their first little fight. Or well. The aftermath. Bea admitting to why she felt so attacked when being referred to with her whole name.

In Bea's eyes, her full name has only been used for scolding. Bad memories. Painful ones.

"Bea." she mutters again. Taking the spot on the floor just infront of Beatrice. She tries again, in the softest voice she can manage

"Bea, look at me."

But Bea shakes her head and more of her hair falls before her eyes. Hair that Ava wants to gently swipe back and tuck behind her ear. Hair that is further blocking her view of those deep browns.

"Can I touch your cheek?" and Bea gives a tiny nod, before Ava's palm is cupping the warmth of Bea's cheek.

Fingers automatically stroking the shy freckles.

Ava slowly lifts Bea's cheek up, enough for Bea's big brown eyes to show. Pupils blown and redrimmed.

"There you are." she gives her a little smile. Beatrice leans into the warm touch, eyes closing as she nuzzles the partialy wet skin against Ava's palm.

"Talk to me Bea." she whispers. Watching Bea's eyes slightly widen, taking in two rigid, rapid breaths before shaking her head and opening her mouth just a tad.

"Bea..."

"I can't - I." the muscles in her jaw thence and Ava hears the characteristic sound of teeth chattering together when Bea's frustrated.

-----------

I can't lose you

I can't tell you

I can't form sentences

I can't lose you

I can't think

I can't let you die

I can't stop thinking

I can't make it stop

I can't let you do it

I care.

"I... I ca-" she tries again. Nose twitching "Can't" her eyebrows furrow as she breaths though greeted teeth "Ava, I-"

"It's ok. It's ok if you can't tell me right now." no it's not ok. She needs to tell her. She needs to show her she cares.

"Do you want a glass of water?"

"No. No I-" she brings up her hand as if to demonstrate. Just say it but she can't and she wants to but her brain won't cooperate and she needs Ava to know she cares.

"Bea it's ok." There's a second palm on her face and it's so soft she can now notice the tears that are starting to form because she's frustrated. She's _angry_ - with herself. And it's too much, and she wants to scream into a void, lock herself in the room and never come out.

"Do you want me to stay?"

Yes. Please. Don't go. Don't see me like this but also don't go.

I don't want to be alone again. I don't want to think. I don't-

"Bea?" she nods. She nods. Any other day Ava would have asked for a verbal confirmation. But now she just smiles.

So Beatrice tries again. Stammering out an "I." before her voice cracks and her vision blurs "I care."

The tremors in her hands still. She had tremors? As she watches Ava leaning up to plant a kiss between her eyebrows before she stands.

Beatrice whimpers at the loss of warmth on her face. Slowly uncurling herself from the position she was in.

"I know you care Bea. It wasn't right of me to say that. It wasn't right of me to leave you alone." Ava sais. Carefully wiping the tear that slips down Beatrice's cheek.

"I'm sorry." why does this genuen apology hurt so much? Cutting straight through her stomach?

"Bea?" her voice is sweet. Intoxicating.

She doesn't know what's gotten into her when she grabs onto Ava's pullover, when she pulls and presses her cheek into Ava's stomach, wrapping her arms around Ava's waist.

"I don't want you to die." she hiccups "I don't want you to die. I don't want you to die."

It's the one phrase her brain can latch on. So she repeats it. Over and over again. As a place holder for the obvious 'I am so overwhelmed I don't know how to process it'

--------------

The action takes her by surprise, Bea's strong arms wrapping around her in a desperate attempt to keep her close, to hold onto her.

But the little chant she sais

shocks her even more.

This is the first time Bea has ever used a sentence that has both the words "I" and "want" in them. As a matter of fact this might be the first time Bea has ever expressed "want" in her entire life.

So she lays her hands on her. The crown of her head moving down to her shoulder, the back of her head, gently playing with the little baby hairs on Bea's neck.

"Bea..." Only noticing that Bea is silently crying when the tears soak through her pullover. "Let it all out, Bea." she whispers. Wishing she could just lean down and kiss her.

"I don't want u to die." Bea mumbles over and over. Only interrupted when a snivel makes itself known.

She doesn't know what to answer.

Clearly she doesn't want to die either. But it's there another way? That will 200% succeed?

"I don't want you to die." Bea's voice is thick, and raw.

"I don't want to die either." Ava mumbles, coaxing Bea's hands away to kneel infront of her again.

"I don't want to loose you Bea. I don't want to die." she moves her hands from holding Bea together by her arms to cupping her face with both palms.

She watches Bea take a breath, drown a sob, look away. She waits and watches and Bea is breathing in deep and Ava's heart is starting to beat against her ribcage with anticipation untill...

"You are.. You are everything I have" Bea's shaky hands come up to loosely wrap around Ava's wrists as the next words stammer out of her system "Please don't leave me - please don't die."

Ava just stares at her beautiful frekles, deep brown eyes oozing silent tears, making her own eyes water "I will try my best Bea." she leans forward to press a  gentle kiss against Beatrice's nose. Red and freckled and warm.

"I don't want you to die." Bea breathes out. Shaky, and slowly, tightening her grip on Ava's wrists only a tad.

"Would you like to join me in bed?" the old trick she has used since the first night in Switzerland, using her thumbs to gently wipe the tears from bea's puffy cheeks.

The girl just nods, letting out a tiny whine when Ava's hands leave her steaming skin.

------------

She watches as Ava stands and she watches Ava as she makes the bed and she watches Ava as she takes out two pairs of Beatrice’s softest pyjamas.

"Can I help you change?" her voice is so soft, and so gentle. And Beatrice hates the way it makes her feel. Hates the fact that this might be the last time she sees Ava.

Slowly she shakes her head, because apparently words won't come to her.

And she watches as Ava's eyes soften, if that's even possible, as she drops the set of pyjamas next to Beatrice.

"Ok. Please tell me if you need help. I'll change in the bathroom and come out when you are ready. Okay?"

Beatrice, in true Beatrice fashion, nods. Because her brain can't form words and because it's all just a string of jumbled thaughts.

When Ava disappears she takes her time to look at the soft texture next to her. Touching the pullover with her palm first to see if it makes her feel like she wants to rip her spine out and burn off her skin.

It doesn't.

It's feather soft under her touch, like it always has been.

She takes off the shirt she is wearing, and the undershirt, and the sports bra. Pulling the soft fabric over her head. It smells familiar. It smells like Shannon. Which is ironic, because it was originally Mary's.

The pants take longer. And she even considers not putting them on. Which is stupid ofcourse.

The feeling of her bare legs touching just - the raw thaught of it shakes her core.

So she weirdly pulls the wool pants on, without standing, because she nearly toppled over when she tried.

Her clothing sits undone, unfolded, in a heap of mess next to her.

She looks at it.

What would mother say?

She should fold it.

So she takes the shirt, hold it between her fingers. And just. Holds it.

Just fold it once, fold it a second time and lay it down. Come on Xin-Young it's not that hard.

Why can she imagine it but not pull through? Why can't she just fold a simple shirt?

Why is it too much? It's too complex, she can't muster the energy to fold it, she just... Looks at it. And imagines folding it.

It doesn't help.

So she tries the pants. And they are no better. Maybe a tiny part of her was hoping for the small success. But now another bigger part of her is upset over the litheral failure to fold her own clothing.

This should be easy. She does it every day, despite the enormous effort it takes her...

Why can't she just gather the energy to fold this stupid peace of clothing???

She sits on the bed. Holding a pair of black pants. Her knuckles are going white from the crushing force. It hurts.

She's sitting in the van. Holding Ava's bloodied jacket. Her crimson painted knuckles go white. She's holding onto this peace of clothing for dear life.

Ava's cracked open skull filters through her brain again.

Her knuckles are red and scrapped. Mother Superion reaches to touch them. It hurts.

"Ava" it's a whisper. She can barely hear herself. But her voice is so weak and shaky.

Ava is spread out on the floor. Left to rest and recharge after her brain got cracked open

Ava is gone.

No.

Ava is gone.

No!

"Ava!" it's louder. Not much louder. But she feels out of breath.

Ava doesn't answer. Her eyes are shut and her breathing is even but she doesn't answer and Beatrice feels like throwing up.

"Bea!" it's followed by the frantic clicking of the door and fast footstep that cross the room in no time.

She slowly kneels next to the sleeping girl. Eyes wide as she gently wipes a track of blood from Ava's temple.

"Ava?" it comes out choked, it's exactly how she feels "Ava I can't -"

The touch is gentle. So so featherlight. Beatrice carefully pulls the sleeping girl into her hands. Ava murmurs. Ava is alive. Ava is fine. Beatrice checks her pulse.

"Hey it's ok. You're ok, I'm here Bea."

'Stay' it's slurred and lazy and Beatrice wraps herself around Ava as if she's made of glass. She hold her close against her chest, shoulder digging uncomfortably into the hard ground of the van.

"Bea I'm here. You're safe."

warmth engulps her, Ava's warmth. And she frantically scrapes up towards it, clawing her fingers into Ava's back the best she can.

Fingernails digging into the soft fabric of Ava's pyjama. No. Beatrice's.

"Please don't go." she stammers "Please don't leave me." and she chokes on air again. Breathing in as much of Ava's scent as she can. "I can't -"

Ava's heartbeat is steady. She can feel the halo slowly humm to life. It's warm against her front as she holds the halo bearer. Still she keeps a hand on Ava's neck. Searching the pulse and holding it. Ava is breathing. Ava is fine.

Beatrice isn't

"Shhh-" Ava's fingers scratch against her scalp as she holds onto Beatrice "I'm not going anywhere Bea. I'm here." and Beatrice can feel the warm pulsing of the halo against her palms, leaking though Ava's pyjama and seeping under Beatrice’s skin.

"Can I help you into bed?" she whispers, Beatrice nods.

Letting herself half dangle off of Ava's shoulder help, neither comments on how Ava is holding up 70% of Beatrice’s weight. Not that any of them cares.

Slowly Ava helps her sit and she flops backwards onto their shared bed, rubbing at her itchy, glossy eyes as Ava climbs over her and pulls the blanket up.

"Ava -" she whines. Ava reaches forward.

"You remember Switzerland? When I woke up from bad dreams?" Beatrice nods, carefully breathing through her nose. Ungracefully snorting back the snot in her nose.

"The way you would hold me and tell me everything is ok?" Beatrice nods.

'It's ok Ava. You're ok. You're safe now.' she holds onto the halo bearer as the latter shakes. Let's Ava hide her heald nose into the crook of her neck as she combs her fingers through bloodied hair.

"I felt safe. Like. There's nothing that could hurt me. Like time is still and all evil is quiet."

Beatrice just watches her. Because in a month she might be here alone. And she can't handle that. The pure thaught makes her vision go blurry. Again.

The next few words are hesitant, nearly a whisper "Would you like to try it? It helped me, maybe it can help you too."

And Bea nods, because she wants to hold Ava and because she wants to be held by Ava and because she wants to stay here forever in their safe little bubble, protected from all the bad and judgment and pain.

She turns to her side, away from Ava, clutching the blanket and bracing herself for the incoming contact.

It's slow and the first touch makes her shiver, Ava's hand pulling away imidiately.

"Bea?" she whispers. Beatrice just shakes her head. Why can't she just let this happen?

Why is it so much easier to hold someone but not to let yourself be held?

She reaches over, silently searching for Ava's hand. When it's finally within her grasp she slowly drags it over her waist, feeling Ava move closer and curling around Beatrice. Front pressing against Beatrice's back.

"Is this ok?" Ava's warm lips peck a little kiss on her neck. Yes it's ok. It's not enough. It's fine. She needs Ava's arms to wrap around her. That's selfish and asking for too much. Ava said this will feel safe. Why doesn't it feel safe??

"Bea?" Ava's voice is soft. But Beatrice's heart is starting to pound against her chest. "Baby you're shaking." Ava whispers, moving closer

"I don't -" it shaky, and it's embarrassing, and she wants it to stop "Don't know what's happening." she stammers. Stammers. Like she's not supposed to.

"Why can't -" it's cut off sharply and she doesn't know why but it's frustrating and embarrassing and she's turning around, pulling away from Ava, "I c-"

Ava's eyes are soft. So soft. And brown. And there's a little fleck on her cheek that Beatrice wants to run her thumb over. "Why -"

And Ava is moving closer, which is scary for only a second. She's moving closer and she's alive and she's brushing her thumb over Beatrice’s skin.

She reaches over and she tucks a strain of hair behind Beatrice's ear. And she lingers for longer than she normally does.

"It's ok." she whispers and Beatrice takes a deeper breath.

"Do you have understand me Bea?" Beatrice just watches her, eyes glued to the curve of Ava's nose, to the shape of her eyes "We can talk about it tomorrow." and she's slowly coaxing Beatrice’s limbs to wrap around her.

"I don't want you to die." she mumbles into Ava's collerbone, as she presses into the soft warmth.

"Yeah-" Ava sighs.

Slowly she feels arms around her, warm and gentle and there.

She tightens her grip around Ava's waist and it's followed by a stronger hug. More powerful. More firm. More safe.

She tangles their legs and grips onto Ava for dear life, breathing in Ava's watermelon shampoo.

She finds the steady rhythm of Ava's heart pumping in her chest. And presses into it, clawing herself closer. It's like Ava catches the memo, letting her arms wrap around Beatrice as best they can.

"Is this OK?" Ava asks. And all Beatrice can do is give her a content hum, feeling a hand staring to scratch the base of her neck. Gentle nails scraping along her scalp.

It's still and quiet and you could hear a needle drop on the ground

It's so peaceful for a moment Beatrice can't hear anything but Ava's heartbeat.

For a moment Beatrice forget the destiny she's trying to rewrite and just absorbs the warmth Ava's body radiates.

"You are my favourite person Bea. I'm not going to leave you."

https://archiveofourown.org/works/49566106

[cursedextrovert]

TW: torture 

A little writing based on @shy-forceghost’s prompt: Tortured!Bea dreams of Ava whenever she passes out.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

People fantasise about the past when life gets heavy. Life is perceived as more straightforward in nostalgia because you did not remember the precision of what has happened. Beatrice does too, in her days of being captive. She fantasises about her childhood when life was watching sunset on the balcony while her father was having his afternoon tea. When she was still Bethany the prodigy child, having her life drawn out for her. 

However, darkness is a tricky thing and good memories can only work so far when water is pumping through your nose to replace the oxygen you so desperately needed and your captor’s voice booming:

“Foolish little girl. You’re sacrificing yourself to a faceless god represented by a shadow organisation that only cares about power and reputation. You must be more naive than I thought If you truly believe that If you died here today, or worse, getting permanently disabled, that they would even remember your name. You are worth nothing to them outside the information you could have given to us.” 

Darkness is the absence of light. And in the cell where they tore her fingers apart, there’s no light. 

The nostalgic narrative switches with every wheezing breath she is trying to catch, to the day her parents found out she is no longer the child they wanted, that she has dared to imagine a future holding a gentle woman's hand, meeting a woman’s lips with her own. They have called her names, everything but her own given name, repeated with precision by her captors. 

“An abomination” 

“A plague”

The emotional pain takes over, and her torture seems almost deserving. 

A blowing pain on the cheekbone knocks her out and the area where the pipe is in contact with her skin, as she seeps into unconsciousness, transitions to Ava’s warm hand chasing her constellations. 

Warm brown eyes captivated her senses.

“Beatrice. What you are is beautiful” 

“Ava Silva” 

Cold water brings her back to a colder world. 

“Who is Ava Silva?” 

Beatrice has said Ava’s name out loud. She has betrayed Ava. The physical pain feels good. 

“Look up everything about Ava Silva.” 

“There is one person name Ava Silva. 19. She died at St. Michael’s orphanage, there is a Church near there that used to be under the direct order of Pope Duretti.” 

No! That’s her Ava! She’s only 19. She has too much to live for. Now she’s going to die because of her.

The captor whispers in her ears, his breath hot like her inevitable damnation - “Thank you for the information, dearest Beatrice. I think the Church will definitely rescue a traitor like you maybe sometime soon. Oh, If only you have worshipped the right God.” 

She is, Beatrice thinks as her nerves become apathetic and mercury guilt seeps into her vein. 

Her God’s punishment is always fair.  

[aggressivelyaverage21]

Part 1 of The Problem of Pain Series

On a mission to help end the Holy War, Beatrice sustains life-threatening injuries and has to fight to survive, while Lilith, Camila, and Ava attempt to secure crucial artifacts for the fight to come. Mother Superion makes her way to them, but will it be enough?

[hypertic]

AKA the 5 times Ava has to convince Beatrice to let her care for her wounds, and the 1 time Beatrice has to convince Ava.

THIS FIC RIGHT HERE.  hurt, touch starved beatrice my favorite trope for her actually I’m so sorry 

AND AVA IS SO PROTECTIVE IM GONNA THROW UP 

[clueless-rads]

NEW FIC

I wrote another one!!!

[possumnotrat]

Agoraphobic Beatrice anyone?

Ch. 4 of my hurt!bea oneshot collection is (finally) finished!!

[ritsuuu-0206]

More on the school au but focusing on hurt!Bea :D

Sometimes Ava spots hidden bruises on Bea whenever she stretches, her long sleeves pulling back slightly. She notices how Bea would flinch occasionally at loud noises, a brief look of fear on her face before she quickly schools it back to normal.

Ava notices how Bea would freeze up whenever they get their class tests back, slightly trembling when she noticed the score is just 1 off from full marks.

Maybe when Ava asks if she could go over to Bea's place, she tenses, looking at Ava as if she grew two heads. "Why would you want to come over?" She would ask, her voice soft and timid. But because Ava is sparkling so brightly, Bea couldn't find herself to reject her, so she asks for permission. Her parents raise an eyebrow at the request but agreed once knowing that Ava is the top student. They are curious to see the person that is preventing Beatrice from taking the top spot.

So when Ava goes over, led by Beatrice, she notices that Bea behaves very differently. She makes herself small in the presence of her parents, doesn't speak unless questions are directed at her and her answers are robotic, merely stating facts. It doesn't matter if the topic makes both of them uncomfortable, Beatrice would answer them dutifully.

And when Bea's parents start the topic of the future, Ava notices how Beatrice has completely shut herself off. It's then she knew that Beatrice wouldn't have her own future. It would be dictated by her parents. She knows that Beatrice loves (insert), how she would become passionate whenever she talks about it and that she'll never get to do it because she has to fulfil her parents' expectations of her. Because they are diplomats, she is expected to be one as well.

Once the day is over and Ava is preparing to leave, she glances over at Beatrice, who's sitting on the bed, her mind far away. Ava is sad and angry for her, such a brilliant person being confined in rules and expectations, like a bird in a cage.

The next day Bea acts as though the visit never happened, unwilling to talk about it even though Ava wants to ask if she's okay.

Maybe there's a period of time when Bea didn't show up for school. So Ava decides to sneak into Bea's place, horrified when she catches a glimpse of Bea, covered in bruises.

Maybe there's one time when Ava manages to stop Bea from throwing herself off a building, holding onto her tightly as she cries herself to exhaustion.

[locallysourcedshuggy]

supes close to finishing hurt!bea ficlet thing. my goal is to make artists cry so they do their art magic for the fic

bc like some of these scenes im writing make me 🥹and😭 simultaneously.

i love being a queer writer. happy pride month ‼️

[feiquacker]

Counting Freckles (on ao3)

Summery: Ava counting Bea's frekles with a tiny hint of hurt

"What are you doing?" Bea whispers when she notices Ava's lips move. Not that she has a reason to be staring at them in the first place.

"Counting your freckles" Ava breathes out - reaching over to grab Bea's chin and steady her face "Stop moving you'll make me lose count." she mutters eyes not leaving her cheeks. 

"That's ridiculous." Bea smiles shaking her head - a beat - she bites her lip only to fail and ask "What number are you on?" eyes searching for Ava's while trying so hard not to get lost in them. 

"Thirty seven... Thirty-eight, thirty-nine, forty.... Forty-two." she stops - letting her thumb linger a little too long over Bea's chin before she reaches out and gently touches a spot on Bea's left cheek, "This one is my favorite." she whispers. 

"Why?" Bea finds herself asking - she never thought about what her favorite freckle was - hell she hates the fact she had freckles. Her mother would always say they looked like disgusting moles grown all across her face adding to the ugliness. 

"It looks like a little heart." Ava answers - sending yet another shiver down Bea's spine because how can a human being be so cute?? 

"Oke" she manages to squeak out - hoping that Ava can't tell how hot Beatrice's face flushes and how nothing can make her look away from Ava’s eyes.

"What's your favorite?" Ava asks - MOVING CLOSER. Sorry ma'am but have you ever heard of peRSoNaL sPaCe??

"Uh." she finds herself stumbling over her words - searching for anything to light up in her stupid useless brain "I don't have one." she mutters. Breaking the eye contact. 

Damn this is embarrassing. Why is Ava’s pure existence making her _shy_??

"Why not?" and Bea's chin lifts. A gentle thumb hesitantly brushing across her cheek. And for a short moment Beatrice could swear to the gods above that Ava bit down on her lip and made her voice lower.

Is god really pulling all his strings to test her - going lengths even Lucifer wouldn't?? 

Maybe being god's toughest soldier came with greater consequences than she thought she would have to face.

"I never really liked them." she rasps out. Oh, yes Beatrice. Make it weird now. That's what you tell your best friend who is also the most beautiful person in the world and also the person that is single-handedly changing your entire life.

"But they are beautiful Bea." AND AVA SHIFT EVEN CLOSER. OH MY GOD. WHY HAVE YOU FORSAKEN ME? WHY HAVE YOU MADE ME THIS WAY? 

If Beatrice manages to get into heaven despite all the sinning she has down and is quite literally doing right now she will kick that fucker so hard off the face of the earth - for making her suffer and suffer with every given day.

Who gave him the right to just spawn this angelic being and call it a day as if he didn't just create Beatrice's downfall in form of a beautiful, breathtaking brilliant human-being? 

"You are beautiful. Why can't you see that?" Ava asks, grabbing Bea's hand and drawing little circles around her knuckles.

"I-" she really didn't want to make this about herself. She wasn't ready to say all of those things running on repeat in her head out loud. Not to Ava. Not to the sweetest, most beautiful and quite frankly the strongest person alive. Or - resurrected. Same thing.

"How can I - when being blessed with your existence?" she asks and Ava looks up from their intertwined hands, eyes a little wide - continuing to play around with Bea's fingers.

There's silence and for a short second, she thinks she fucked up. She thinks she jinxed it and failed. She can already feel the regret crawl up her throat and the guilt and shame that will follow before she falls asleep. There is no running for the truth. She can try to deny it, but it never helps in the long run. Only makes things worse. 

"Then you probably haven't seen yourself." Ava smiles and Bea can breathe again - filling her lungs with fresh air because maybe she didn't destroy their relationship entirely 

"I know for a fact that angles exist but if I didn't - then you might be the closest thing to an angel someone could imagine. Including your cute as fuck freckles." she murmurs looking down at their intertwined hands again.

And there's silence. Beatrice doesn't really know what to do or say. "Language." is everything that comes out. But there's a smile on her face and she doesn't really mean it

Is she supposed to say thank you? Ava clearly doesn't know what she was talking about. If she knew Bea deep down, she would probably leave and not even turn back. But would she? It's Ava. The equivalent of a golden retriever. 

Ava doesn't seem like she has something to say either - focused on their hands and fiddling around with them - tracing over the scars on Bea's fingers and counting the freckles on them.

"I can feel you thinking you know." she says after some time - jolting Bea out of her thoughts.

"Hm?"

"Stop thinking." Ava repeats and Beatrice doesn't know what to answer so she turns to lay on her back staring at the ceiling - letting her hand stay in Ava’s. It is soothing - she likes that.

"I know you don't believe me." Ava starts "And I know you can't just throw away years of emotional repression. And I know I can't take the voices in your head and make them stop." she says and sHuFFles cLosEr until her head in laying on Beatrice's shOuLdeR "But I will repeat it every single day until you believe me."

Beatrice stays quiet - thankful that the tear that drops is on the other side of her face.

"You are beautiful Beatrice. And you are strong and elegant and perfect just the way you are. I know you deprive yourself of any kind of affection or love but you are worthy of love and affection without having a reason. I know that. You showed me." and she reaches over to turn Bea's face - to make her look at her "Let me love you when you can't love yourself." gentle fingers brush over cheek, and then cradle her head, curling around her neck as their foreheads press together. 

And. 

She wants to believe her - so so hard - she would do anything to make herself believe what Ava just said. But crying in front of the halo bearer isn't another burden she wants to throw at Ava. 

Shuffling to get out of Ava's grasp she finds herself getting pulled further into her best friend's embrace. 

A silent plea hangs unsaid in the air when Ava wraps her hand around Bea's wrist and waits a second for a response. 

There is none except Beatrice's tears building up - watering her view - the familiar feeling of eyes burning and a snivel making its way to her throat. 

"Bea..." is all Ava says before she gently coaches Bea's head to her chest - pulling her into an embrace - enveloping herself around Beatrice. 

For some reason it feels nothing like the books taught her it would feel like. 

Their limbs fall into place like fitting puzzle pieces and Bea hides her head right under Ava’s chin, just in time for the halo-bearer to not see the tears slide down her cheeks. 

Her cheeks burn and for a few moments she just wants the earth to open up and swallow her alive. 

It's too much. And she needs air - and she needs something cold to hold onto, like a sink or a table. 

But for the first time in her life she feels safe. And she doesn't want to let go - gripping onto the pullover Ava is wearing. Breathing in the all too familiar vanilla perfume Ava practically bathes in. It grounds her - the hand in her hair calming her even more. 

"I am so sorry." she hears Ava whisper, and a cold hand rests on the small of her back, giving her a much-needed point to focus on. 

She is the one who should apologise, for smearing snot all over Ava's pullover, and for overreacting, and for crying on her and for so many other reasons that Ava will deny the need of an apology before it has even exited her mouth. 

"For your pain." she whispers, but Beatrice can only mutter a wet "Hhm." 

The hand that was playing with her hair now sliding down to bury itself in Bea's scalp and gently scratch. 

...And it feels safe. She feels safe. Doesn't resist the little kiss on her hair, doesn't try to leave again. There are hands touching her and she doesn't flinch away. 

It's overwhelming, too many hands, too soft, too much warmth. But it also feels like what she imagines being embraced by an angel would feel like. 

"You are holding me like a baby right now." she mumbles around the snot in her nose. Tucking her head further under Ava's chin because a little Ava-hair tickles her neck. 

"You deserve to be held like a baby." Ava whispers, drawing a little star on the small of Beatrice's back.  

There is silence again. Beatrice nearly thinks Ava is asleep. And she wants to get up and clean up, dry the scratchy tears off her face and maybe also off Ava's neck. But she fears Ava won't want to hold her again and somehow it seems like the worst thing that could ever happen. 

As selfish as it is, Beatrice can deal with the guilt some other day. 

"Ava," her best friend just hums "Thank you." she murmurs. 

A beat.

"Bea-" there is something in her voice that makes Bea's stomach twist. In a good way of course, not a medically concerning one "Anytime." 

And she doesn't know what to say. Settles on following Ava's calming breaths. 

"I didn't get to count all your freckles." Ava huffs softly, Beatrice can only chuckle wetly against the warm skin her cheek is pressed into, "You can count them tomorrow, Darling." it slips. Before she can panic, Ava makes a little happy noise that is so goddamn cUtE Beatrice could melt through the floor and it still wouldn't be enough. 

"Comfy?" 

Beatrice just nods, "Good night BooBoo." 

The tears are slowly drying, still there but barely. She snivels. God this shouldn't feel so good should it? 

"Good night Ava." 

There's a little grumble, "Call me Darling." 

And Beatrice sighs, a little smile forming on her face as she whispers "Good night Darling."

As if Ava's little content squeak isn't enough to end her, she also drops a little kiss on Beatrice's head and Beatrice hopes so hard that God isn't watching right now. Or that it's so dark He misses the blush creep up her neck.

Fingers curling around the side of her neck and the palm flattening on the small of her back she grips onto the silky pullover Ava is wearing. Soft snores and vanilla perfume lulling her to sleep.

-------------------------------------------------------

Everyone else: hope u had fun reading! :D

Beta read by @shy-forceghost and @oneandonlyollie . I love u very much thank you. Have this as a present :D

[booksandabeer]

I’ve read like almost all the angsty stucky fics (i’ve been doing this for years), so I just want to know if there’s anything new? Thank you so much.

Hello there!

(1) You've read almost ALL the angsty Stucky fics out there? HOW? I've been diligently working on that goal for years and I'm nowhere near close to achieving it (also it's kind of a moving target, so you know...). Do you ever sleep? Eat? 😜 (2) How new is 'new'? Any particular preferences? What level of angst are we talking here? Give me all the information, please, so I can find you the perfect fic!

Anyway, as always, I tried my best. Here we go:

All of these are fics that were either completed in 2022 or are so fresh out of the oven, they are currently being posted.

Prisoner One by ancientreader | E, 134K

Author's summary: Captain Steve Rogers is assigned to evaluate the security arrangements for an unusually dangerous prisoner. Of course, nothing is what it seems.

A truly original AU in which almost everything is the same: Steve is Captain America, Bucky is the Winter Soldier, they were both born in the 1910s & grew up in Brooklyn. Everything is the same, well, except for the fact that they never knew each other before the war. What happens when they both meet for the first time in the 21st Century, where everyone has an agenda and seemingly no one can be trusted? This is one of those fics that, even while your heart is hurting for the characters, makes you squeal with delight because it is so full of smart ideas, little details, and bits of characterization that subvert both canon and fanon interpretations.

You are here by dharmashark | M, 22K

Author's summary: Did he mean to—did Steve know, during that long march back from Azzano, that he slept the whole night with a hand through the open neckline of Bucky’s shirt? Each time Bucky woke, heart racing, he felt that heavy, certain weight against his chest and remembered who he was, and where he was supposed to be.

Bucky wanders between DC and Bucharest trying to understand himself, outrun his ghosts, and hide Steve from both. Steve won’t let him. And certain ghosts won’t let up.

A "classic" post-TWS Recovery/Up All Night to Get Bucky fic--and I mean that in the BEST way possible. Gorgeous writing, intense emotions, and a great understanding of the characters and their dynamic. The first part in particular floored me in a way that I didn't think could still happen to me after reading millions of words of Stucky fanfic. This story looked me in the eye and said "oh, so you think you've seen everything? You think you've become immune? Well, watch me as I tear your heart right out of your chest." To be fair, it then proceeded to slowly, gently put it back in again.

then a small thing happened by BeaArthurPendragon | E, 41K

Author's summary: After a Russian bomb in Ukraine ends combat photographer Bucky Barnes’ career several decades ahead of schedule, he returns to the lake house he hasn’t visited since his parents died to put the pieces back together over the long, lonely winter. He’s got no idea what his life is supposed to look like now that he’s not constantly on the move and facing danger every day, but an unexpected friendship with his elderly neighbor—and then her astronaut son��leads to the kind of connection he never thought he’d get to have.

Bea is one of my top 3 all-time favorite writers for this ship and a self-described "peddler of smut and hard-won joy", and that's exactly it. Like all of her works, this is a smart, mature and empathicly written story about people who've endured horrific things, but who've persisted and kept a tight grip on their own humanity even in the face of unspeakable atrocities. It's also funny, and tender, and hot. An incredibly satisfying read that reminds you to never lose your sense of wonder in the world.

Nothing Said by theemdash | M, 8K

Author's summary: There’s always been another war, another reason for Steve to keep his feelings to himself and keep moving on. For all his wishes to do things differently, he never figured out how. Which is why following Fury to the moon, passing on the shield, and leaving Bucky to discover himself seemed like the right answer. When Steve gets caught in a force field surrounding a crumbling civilization, he starts to realize everything he thought was wrong.

A beautiful, introspective story about Steve's state of mind post-Endgame. So quiet and yet so intense, with a lovely, soft ending. Featuring a Steve who has to figure out himself and how to be brave enough to truly live, and a Bucky who knows him, has always known him, and ultimately helps Steve to save himself and find happiness.

WIPs

better to speak or die by emilywithoutY | M, currently 14K (Chapter 2/13 Ch), updates every Thursday & Sunday

Do you think Jonathan understood what happened that day David first stepped into his father’s court?

All James wants is to play his part well enough that his mother stops looking at him with that twist of regret in her smile.

Summers in C. are as endless and hazy as when they were kids. The only thing to break the sun-soaked monotony is the arrival of the new summer intern. While the rest of the household—and half the village—fawn over Steve Rogers’ movie star looks and understated charm, James finds him aloof and his polite interest near unbearable. But as they collide in vulnerable moments, the sparks of frustration ignite something neither has the power to stop.

Does this sound like a beautiful, passionate, sun-drenched summer romance in Italy, with great 80s period details, exquisite writing, and the bittersweet sting of childhood nostalgia? Why yes it does--and it is all that! Until it pulls out the rug from under you. A spectacularly good No-Powers AU, loosely based on Call Me By Your Name.*

*(full disclosure I beta-read this so I might be biased, but it also means that I can say with full confidence that this insanely good all the way through.)

Still Running by TessaBennet | Part 4 in  What I'm Looking For series | M, currently 16K (Chapter 5/30), updates every Friday

Author's summary: Steve Rogers is, against his wishes and intentions, still alive in the 21st century. There's aliens in New York, there's an intelligence agency in his name, there's more new faces than old ones. And Steve? He's reluctant about it, but he's going to have to try to get by. Finding his footing isn't a job he wants to tackle; but then, when's the last time he got what he wanted?

Do you want to go on a canon-compliant (currently) 290K journey of Suffering, Pining, and Pain? Here you go! This is the 4th part in the author's ongoing and awe-inspiring project of 'Let's Try to Make Sense of the MCU & Ultimately Fix It'. It's full of beautiful character insights, historical details, and original ideas to fill out the parts we didn't get to see on screen. The installments can be read as standalones, but I really recommend that you start from the beginning if you have the time & willingness to cry A WHOLE LOT.

Angst Angst Baby Part 1 - Even More Stucky Fic Recs

[aggressivelyaverage21]

Training eases up a bit. Beatrice starts doing more nun-type things and has time to reflect on her relationship with God. The team returns. Shannon is stubborn. Mary is stubborn-er. Lilith gets introduced to someone she already knows... and Beatrice takes a trip back to her childhood for a bit.

Beatrice had just turned six; her birthday presents? A dress and an ‘invitation’ to play the piece she’d been working on with her Violin teacher at the party her parents were hosting. Never mind that Beatrice was disappointed not to receive that teddy bear she asked for, her little body filled with dread at having to go. Much less at having to perform a piece that she had yet to play in its entirety without a mistake. 

As much as she appreciated spending time with her parents, Beatrice hated those parties. She would much rather her parents leave her with her brother and the nanny. She didn’t even like this nanny. 

Yet, on the eve of the party, her mother helped her into the uncomfortable dress. The sleeves were see-through and itchy on her arms. It was that material, like the tutus, she hated so much. Her mother, while she didn’t have much patience, did try to coax Beatrice into it somewhat sweetly. Stating that she would look so beautiful and that their dresses were similar. 

They were. Beatrice thought her mother looked beautiful as ever when she’d disappeared while she was left to sit on her Mother’s bed while she got ready. She’d even told her as much. It was one of the times Beatrice could remember getting a genuine smile after her parent’s political career had taken off earlier that year. “Thank you, sweetie.” 

She missed this mom. She missed her so much. 

Beatrice relaxed as she stood by her mother’s side, getting to tell her about her day. Seeing her smile, not because Beatrice was doing something, but because she was just there. Just spending time with her. Maybe this party wouldn’t be so bad. 

The sense of comfort let Beatrice be hopeful enough to whisper, “Do I have to play?” looking up at her mother, asking her to see how badly Beatrice didn’t want to do this. How the idea of doing this made her hands sweat so badly she didn’t know if she could hold onto the violin. 

And just like that, the glimpse of her mom was gone again. “This is important, Beatrice. Don’t you want to show them how amazing our family is?” Beatrice only swallowed as she nodded. She wasn’t old, but she was smart enough to know that she would be made to do this whether she liked it or not. And if her mother’s tone had anything to say about it, she better not mess it up. 

So Beatrice went and got her case to put it in the place she was told. Guests would arrive soon, and she needed to practice. Never mind that her hair wasn’t done yet. She couldn’t find the stupid clasps as her vision blurred with tears. She didn’t want to fall. Because she wasn’t old, but she’d already been told that crying was unacceptable. A reaction meant for babies, and Beatrice was no longer a baby. 

Her mother hadn’t noticed, as she’d already walked away, but Mei had. Mei always did. If it wasn’t for her security detail, Beatrice wondered if she would have survived. “Bumble,” she knelt next to her charge as the little one’s hands shook as she tried to unclasp the case. Those big brown eyes looked up at her so wet. She sighed and swiped her thumb under Beatrice’s eye, catching one of those tears. “You’re going to do great.” 

“There are so many people. What if I mess up?” 

“Want to know a secret?” Beatrice looked up at her, eyes still so wide but nodding so quickly that Mei almost laughed. This little girl was precious, and even if it wasn’t her job, she would protect her with everything she had. “If you mess up and keep playing, no one is going to know.” 

“But, I will. Mother and Ms. Kawazava will.” Beatrice reached behind her to scratch at the increasingly uncomfortable place the tag was rubbing against her neck. She hated this dress, but she hated the tag even more. Each second she was in it, she was getting closer to wanting to scream. 

But that wasn’t allowed. 

“They might. I won’t.” She smiled because she knew Beatrice looked up to her, and maybe if Beatrice wasn’t worried about her, then maybe that would be enough. “And I’ll be proud of you regardless. Is the tag itchy?” Mei tilted her head as she smiled, watching as Beatrice nodded, slower this time. Apprehensive. “Want me to fix it?” 

“Mother-” 

“It’ll be our little secret.” Mei pulled the knife from her pocket as she winked at Beatrice. She was going to start keeping a journal to keep track of all these ‘little secrets’ between them. Though the way Beatrice would relax and look so much more like a kid each time she did made it worth it every time. 

“Okay.” Beatrice spun and allowed the bodyguard to cut the tag from her dress. It didn’t fix everything. Not even close, but it made it bearable. “Why can’t I just wear a suit like you?” She asked as she faced Mei again. Those gentle eyes made her feel safe to ask for anything.

“You’re already upstaging all the little boys, can’t have you outdress them too,” She teased like it was the simplest answer in the world. The wink, this time, had the little tips of Beatrice’s ears glowing red.   

“Beatrice, your hair!” The nanny scurries over hurriedly, brush in hand. Beatrice tucked in closer to Mei’s side, asking for protection from this, too. Her hands were big and rough, and Beatrice hated when she did her hair. Sometimes she thought she made it hurt on purpose. 

“I can do it.” Mei stood, placing herself in between Beatrice and the new nanny. “That ok with you, Beatrice?” Beatrice nodded, peeking out just a little from behind Mei’s leg. “See. Problem solved. I’m sure Benedict could use some wrangling.” 

With a huff, the woman passed the brush to Mei and was off in search of the little monster. Beatrice emerged from behind her hiding place only when she was out of sight. Mei tucked her hands beneath Beatrice’s arms and lifted her high above her head with a playful growl before setting her in the chair next to the violin. Those giggles were the best sound in the world. 

“I’m scared.” Beatrice mumbled as Mei brushed as gently as she could through the soft brown hair. Her hands folded in her lap, playing with one of the layers of the skirt as she kicked her legs. 

“Do you know what braids were used for in many cultures?” Mei started separating the hair into strands as she wove it intricately around Beatrice’s face. “Warriors would use them when going into battle. To make them brave.” And whether or not it was exactly true or not didn’t matter. Beatrice was six, and sometimes little things like this were all a kid needed. 

“Is that why you braid yours? To make you brave?” Beatrice turned her head sharply to look at Mei as she spoke, completely floored at the idea of Mei needing to be brave for anything. 

The older woman chuckled as she caught Beatrice’s head with a hand, turning it gently back around as she continued working. “Busted.” She teased, poking at Beatrice’s cheek with her free hand, earning another precious giggle. 

When she finished, she crouched in front of Beatrice again, smiling as she traced the braid back as it curled behind Beatrice’s ear into the bun. It wasn’t the most extravagant thing in the world, but Beatrice looked elegant enough, as if any six-year-old needed to look elegant. “Are the Brave Braids working?” She whispered like it was another secret just for them. 

Beatrice nodded this time, shooting forward into Mei’s arms. The bodyguard would have dropped her due to the surprise if Beatrice hadn’t wrapped those little arms around her neck. “Thank you.” 

Eventually, the guests did arrive, and Beatrice stepped out onto the landing of the stairs, the little makeshift stage, after her father addressed the guests. She only looked back at Mei once, needing a little nudge and a thumbs up as she went. 

She took a breath, focusing for a moment on her hair, how it felt to be pulled like that against her scalp. Not how the dress felt, still itchy on her arms. Not how the eyes watching made her want to run in the opposite direction. Not how heavy the violin felt as she raised it to her shoulder or how the bow felt slippery against her palm. Just what Mei had said. 

Brave. 

Beatrice could be brave. 

So she took a big breath into those little lungs and began to play. Each note. Each finger movement. It carried on to the next. When she practiced, her fingers stung against the strings. Her neck ached from bending sideways, helping her to hold the instrument against her tiny frame. She didn’t feel any of that. Not even as she stopped, lowering the violin and bow to curtsy. Not as the room was filled with applause. 

She smiled. She smiled and looked for Mei, still standing dutifully in her corner as she watched. When Beatrice was dismissed, and out of sight of the guests, she ran into Mei’s arms. Carefully placing the Violin and bo on the ground and tucking her face into Mei’s neck. “I was brave.” 

“You were.” She braced the back of Beatrice’s neck under the bun she’d made for her. Holding her close. “I’m so proud of you. You did so well, Bumble.” 

READ MORE

[firstprince-ao3feed]

bleeding on the ground hoping you'd notice (ma am i not worth it?)

by Thefanfictionwriter_ZoeGrace "There are a few facts that Philip has accepted: He is a tough kid His family is falling apart and he can’t fix it Nobody calls him Pip anymore Princess Catherine is not there. [...] She’s here now. But why can he look at her and only remember the times that she wasn’t? " OR: Catherine is not a mother. She hasn't been around enough to be one. Philip's grown used to this. So why does it still hurt when she's not there? Words: 2076, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English Series: Part 2 of scattered 'cross my family line Fandoms: Red White & Royal Blue - Casey McQuiston, Red White & Royal Blue (2023) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Categories: F/M, M/M Characters: Philip Fox-Mountchristen-Windsor, Henry Fox-Mountchristen-Windsor, Alex Claremont-Diaz, Beatrice Fox-Mountchristen-Windsor, Catherine Fox-Mountchristen-Windsor, Martha Fox-Mountchristen-Windsor, Queen Mary (Red White & Royal Blue) Relationships: Alex Claremont-Diaz/Henry Fox-Mountchristen-Windsor, Martha Fox-Mountchristen-Windsor/Philip Fox-Mountchristen-Windsor, Arthur Fox/Catherine Fox-Mountchristen-Windsor, Catherine Fox-Mountchristen-Windsor & Philip Fox-Mountchristen-Windsor, Beatrice Fox-Mountchristen-Windsor & Catherine Fox-Mountchristen-Windsor, Catherine Fox-Mountchristen-Windsor & Henry Fox-Mountchristen-Windsor Additional Tags: pushing my 'philip is aroace agenda' one fic at a time, Child Neglect, catherine isn't a good mother, Minor Character Death, It's arthur tho, Queen Mary Being an Asshole (Red White & Royal Blue), Internalized Homophobia, Homophobia, Good Sibling Beatrice Fox-Mountchristen-Windsor, Good Sibling Philip Fox-Mountchristen-Windsor, Well - Freeform, he's trying, okay, Dysfunctional Family, Introspection, no beta we die like arthur, Can't think of anymore tags, Author Is Sleep Deprived, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, author lives in britain but doesn't know shit about the royal family and it shows, Angst, Angst without a happy ending, Canon Divergence - Bea Relapses, It's brief but there via https://ift.tt/8SvkpVH

[youanilovefandoms]

Rejoining Tumblr to share my thoughts on the Red White and Royal Blue movie

- I miss June

- Miguel who tf do you think you are you will never be Liam

- HE WILL NEVER BE LUNA

- Why are they still married???? Like it’s okay but a minor detail they could have left in

- The turkey scene confused my dog( it doesn’t hit the same but I also kinda like how they did it)

- RELEASE THE DIRECTORS CUT HE SAOD THERE ARE HOURS OF CONTENT THEY HAD TO CUT

- PEZ very happy he made the film

- Henry is me in social settings

- Miss Alexs original sexuality crisis cuz it was a true bisexual disaster moment

- Alex ready with music playing what a man

- Henry looked too composed post the first time they did sexy things

- Also where was “fucking eyelashes”

- Alex saying I’m bisexual for the first time is me

- “We just have to keep it very causal” and “I just can’t afford for you to fall in love with me” LIKE YOU DONT LOVE HIM ALREADY

- “I don’t know how to play polo” this is the moment Henry realised Alex is a Himbo

- I miss the polo dialogue, like that was iconic to me

- “HE IS” that’s it

- I too want to know the other famous lads he has shagged

- My mum wants to add that they are not subtle

- Give my guy Henry therapy like a fuck ton of it

- Also like let him hide on a private island and live the gay fantasy he deserves

- What happened to Wimbledon

- The Paris scene (before the do) was so sweet and cute and just everything like it was casual, fun and just everything I personally would have wanted when first having this experience (not that I did :()

- They’re in love your honour it is not casual

- Give both these men therapy please

- I am a miguel hater

- Alex loves politics but more importantly he loves his mum

- HENRYS EMAIL MADE THE CUT (not all of it but it made the cut)

- The letter quotes were pivotal for me in the books and the film without them is weird. Like I’m still really enjoying it but just miss it

- I HATE MIGUEL

- I wish Bea had more screen time she’s an icon

- “No” HE WAS SO QUICK AND CERTAIN. THAT MAN IS IN LOVE

- WHERES THE POWERPOINT

- “The B is not silent” please I needed that said on a big screen

- Stop calling my guy Pez Percy, it feels so wrong

- I’m happy the karaoke scene partially made it, wasn’t the same vibe but I’m happy it made it nonetheless

- My mums words “oh my god he’s catching feelings”

- Henry looks so scared whilst Alex pours his heart out :(

- Henry under the water and swimming away :( I would like to write an essay on those 30 seconds

- HENRY I WISH YOU WERE ALLOWED TO BE HAPPY AND IN LOVE THE WHOLE TOME

- Where was Alexs screams outside the palace gates! It needed to be more dramatic

- “Tell me to leave” “don’t make me” sobbing

- Henry is a history nerd and if that isn’t the gay agenda idk what is

- “And we’d dance” Alex said quick let me whip out my phone

- HISTORY HUH

- My mum “He gave him his ring! HE GAVE HIM HIS KEY!”

- Henry’s face after being outed and not being allowed to contact Alex was so painful

- My guy was traumatised and had no real support and both him and Alex were left to face the trauma without each other

- WE HATE MIGUEL I STUDIED JOURNALISM TOO MIGUEL AND YOURE A TWAT

- Also hate Phillip ( wasn’t in the film much but the message stands)

- Trying to explain outing to my mum when my sister lowkey outed me is painful and hurtful

- The phone call 😭😭😭meeting halfway on the stairs 😭😭😭

- STEPHAN FRY he came, he served what he needed to serve and he would have hated this homophobe

- My mum “why did the give Phillip an Evil haircut” me “Phillip is homophobic he deserved to bald”

- The parallel between their first tv interview and them talking with the king

- Is there a chance the king is gay and he had to hide it???? Or is he just like that

- THE PUBLIC SUPPORT

- My mum during the publics pride parade “get out on that balcony, get rid of your title and be happy”

- Mum was very happy he got on the balcony

- Mum was also very concerned where the secret service was everytime they snuck around

- Is it a perfect movie? No Is it everything I wanted? No but almost Do I love it? 100000%

[hypertic]

one think I love abt tumblr is that i can post random ficlets and people will appreciate them regardless of the lack of context like the entire backstory and trauma is in my head but I just post pieces of my hurt!bea agenda and everyone’s ok with it