#mystery nun

[florainkingdom]

Continued from X @the-potpourri

"It's all good, always like the company, especially if it's cute company that I get," Mary said as she put out the cigar, she was smoking with the ash tray. "Got a bit of smoke in in so might take a bit to clear up. Hope that ain't a problem." The feline was well aware not everyone cares for smoking, so it was on thing she tried not do around strangers or people she knows hates it, unless it was Poppy.

"So, how'd a cutie like you end up at a restaurant without any buddies?" Mary was honestly taking a guess at that, at least that's the vibe she gave off. "Unless you got stood up, though I highly doubt that. Anyone standing you up a cutie like you is a moron." Seemed the feline didn't beat around the bush or wait long before flirting.

[citizensofeggtonarchived]

ღ From Atreya, to the sweet Nun

Romantic attraction: none | very low | low | medium | high | very high | extreme Sexual attraction: none | very low | low | medium | high | very high | extreme Aesthetic attraction: none | very low | low | medium | high | very high | extreme Sensual attraction: none | very low | low | medium | high | very high | extreme

"Don't gotta try hard with me Captain. Just give me a call and I'm down for whatever." Mary was making it clear she was VERY available and down to hook up with Atreya.

[tyrramint]

I’m sorry, what shows over the past two years have actually been renewed? I legitimately don’t care any more if the show is “good” or if it’s “bad” because they’re all cancelled. I can go on and on with a list just off the top of my head with shows that have been cancelled recently, and maybe one? two? maybe? that have been renewed? Like. what is the point. I’m scared to start any new show because in all likelihood it’s going to be cancelled. And all the more power to campaigns to save shows; I have so much respect for the perseverance and dedication that takes, and I’m not trying to bring them down in the slightest, but I’m more saying to the point of that there shouldn’t. have to be. a new campaign to save x show every two weeks BECAUSE SHOWS SHOULD BE ABLE TO BE RENEWED. Fans should be able to have some *semblance* of hope that their show will be renewed, and the fact that we’re not even able to have that is ridiculous and speaks volumes about the landscape of show production right now. Every time I see that a new show was cancelled, it doesn’t even matter if I was a fan of it or not, I just still hurt for that fandom. It’s so draining, even if it’s not firsthand. There’s not even really a point to this post, I’m just tired of it. I’m so sorry for all of the shows you love that have been cancelled.

[fiddleabout]

(previously on grishava and the druskelle who fell in love with her)

“Ava.”  

Beatrice’s voice sounds behind her, calm amongst the storm of Lilith and Camila and the Solday Sol all fighting to hold off the volcra and the nichevo’ya, calm like the darkling isn’t moments away from killing them all, calm like she has been since the day they found out that she always the firebird, always the third amplifier, always made to die at Ava’s hand, and Ava’s eyes close without her permission.

“No.”  She doesn’t turn, doesn’t open her eyes.  “I’m not--”

“You have to.”  Beatrice is in front of her suddenly, hands on her shoulders, then the side of her neck, her cheeks.  Thumbs stroke over her cheekbones and Ava’s breath tangles in her chest, hands curling around Beatrice’s wrists.  “It’s the only way to stop him.”

“No.”  Ava shakes her head, fingers latching too tight around Beatrice’s wrists, and wrenches her eyes open.  “I won’t--”

“You have to,” Beatrice says softly.  Without her druskelle uniform she could almost be anyone, a Ravkan girl without a destiny who Ava could build a home and a life with, someone with a quiet future and a long life ahead of her instead of a sacrificial end.  Someone who isn’t the firebird, someone who Ava doesn’t have to sacrifice to save the rest of the world.  “You know you have to end this.”

Someone screams, a Soldat Sol or one of the darkling’s oprichniki-- there’s no telling who-- but Ava barely hears it because one of Beatrice’s hands has dropped from her face and produced a blade.  There’s a wolf’s head carved into the hilt, the only piece of Fjerda Beatrice had been unwilling to part with, a token to her old life that she’d fashioned to accompany the grisha steel blade that the fabrikators had made for her in her role as Ava’s protector, her partner, the one who stood at her back time and again throughout this war.

Beatrice pries one of Ava’s hands away from her own wrist, never looking away.  There’s a wistful set to her mouth, a stubborn glint in her eyes, as she wraps first one, then the other, of Ava’s hands around the hilt and turns the blade towards her own chest.  Her hands, familiar and calloused and steady, cover Ava’s and lock them in place.

“No,” Ava says again, and again, cracking and desperate, her hands shaking.  Beatrice is steady, like always, holding the blade in place where it’s tilted up, perfectly positioned to slide between her ribs and up behind her sternum, straight into her own heart.  “Beatrice--”

“Jer molle pe oonet,” Beatrice says, Fjerdan rolling off her tongue, and Ava’s entire body rebels.  

“Don’t you dare,” she grinds out, seething, fury overwriting the gaping horror at the fact that Beatrice is right and Ava’s always known it, that without the third amplifier she can’t stop the darkling, can’t tear down the fold, can’t deliver Ravka from the unsea and the volcra and the crippling darkness it’s been mired in for centuries.  Ava knows that it’s Beatrice or the rest of the world, but even knowing it can’t make her push the dagger forward.  “We’ll find another--”

“Jer molle pe oonet,” Beatrice says again, the druskelle oath a promise and an apology, a goodbye Ava isn’t ready to accept yet. A thumb strokes along the tension in Ava’s hands, an uncharacteristic tremble making itself known.   “I have been made to protect you, Sankta Ava.”

Her eyes shine and Ava’s fingers itch to touch, to thumb away the tears starting to leak out over a constellation of freckles Ava has long since memorized, but Beatrice’s grip is too strong.  Light burns in Ava’s hands, under her skin, the power in her bones reacting to the ache in her chest, as if the same power that got them to this point can save her from having to sacrifice Beatrice.  

She smiles, small and stubborn and sad, and Ava’s chest cracks open at the sight of it.  “I wish we’d had more time,” Beatrice says softly.  “But I’m happy to have known you, Ava Silva.”

“Beatrice,” Ava says, wavering and breaking.  If Beatrice had called her saint again, had offered herself to a title instead of a person, Ava might have found a way to stop it, to throw the blade away, to throw it all away, but Beatrice says her name like a benediction offered, a promise she wants to fulfill, and it shatters in Ava’s chest and freezes her in place.  Her eyes burn from the desert sands whipping around them, Lilith’s power shielding them from the fight.

Beatrice nods once and then tightens her hold on Ava’s hands.  She breathes in, visible, audible, holding the breath in her lungs, and closes her eyes, tilts her head towards the glow of Ava’s power as it surrounds them.  Ava gathers light desperately in her chest,in the hands locked around the hilt of the dagger and in Beatrice’s hold, as if this time she can burn bright enough on her own to tear down the fold.

“You can always find me in the dark,” Beatrice says, a promise she can’t possibly keep, eyes glinting in the warmth of Ava’s light.  A broken pathetic noise cracks in Ava’s throat, and Beatrice nods once and then yanks, driving the dagger into her own chest.

Beatrice coughs, once, blood in her teeth, and collapses.  Ava falls with her, drowning in a shrieking screaming noise that surely can’t possibly be coming from her own mouth.  Blood spills out of Beatrice’s chest, warm and terrible, and Ava barely manages to crumple in time with Beatrice’s dying body, to get one bloody hand behind her head and cradle it on the way down, as if Beatrice isn’t dead before she hits the ground.

Heat wells in Ava’s veins, in her bones, pouring into her palms and aching to escape, a cataclysm of pain and loss and fury ready to erupt, because Beatrice is dead and Ava’s the one who killed her.  

Her scream as she crouches over Beatrice’s body distracts Lilith, and the whirlwind around them falters for just a moment, just long enough for a nichevo’ya to dive shrieking towards them; Ava barely notices the way it evaporates with a screech when it gets close.  The light builds and builds and builds, a crescendo with no endpoint in sight, heating until the pain of it under her skin nearly overwhelms the pain at the fact that Beatrice is dead, and then explodes out of her.

[incorrectplanet]

jung mingyu: *screams*

kum junhyeon: *screams louder to assert dominance*

lee jeonghyeon: should we… stop them?

kim taerae: no, i want to see who wins

[emylilas]

[90s-html-lesbians]

given how she hates being powerless, ava would be the exact type of person who would enter in as a knight in a contest for her own hand so she can maintain her independence

so, knight!ava-who’s-secretly-the-princess in a contest for the princess’ hand with one of her main rivals being one Sir Beatrice Young, and as the contest drags on Ava quickly discovers that while she would rather die than loose regardless, if she has to loose to anyone she’d rather it be Beatrice

meanwhile Sir Beatrice, who was never all that interested in winning the princess’ hand to begin with, and only entered the contest at the behest of her father, finds that the urge to say to hell with it all and run away with the mysterious, constantly punning, rival knight who fights almost like their life depends on it grows stronger by the day

[foibles-fables]

Okay Simon do your worst. August 15th, 9 PM EST

[hypertic]

chief detective Beatrice x mastermind robber Ava

at first it’s just a couple of small bank robberies and home break ins to a couple of rich families, the only catch being that the robbers leave no trace behind. nothing. no prints, no camera footage, and no trace of the valuables stolen.

enter Beatrice, the institutions best and youngest chief detective, with one of the best track records when it comes to seemingly unsolvable crimes.

Beatrice being the one trying to catch them does not deter Ava in the slightest. In fact, it only seems to fuel her with newfound purpose: annoying Beatrice as much as humanly possible.

“I too am the best and youngest of my kind, detective.” Is all Beatrice can find at the crime scene of the latest robbery. She treats it as a lead, nothing more. Beatrice’s cheeks don’t flush with anger, she doesn’t crumple it up by accident, and she doesn’t think about it on her way home.

“You’re getting bolder.” Beatrice speaks months later into the phone of a hostage at the bank. She had been requested specifically to do the negotiation.

“You’re getting prettier.” Beatrice is not quite sure what shocked her the most: the fact that the voice on the other side was that of a young woman, or the fact that she was flirting with her.

“What are your demands?” Her voice doesn’t waver, though it took her a couple of seconds to feel confident enough to speak.

“My demands?” The woman snorts, mocking her accent. “I have no demands.” Beatrice can almost hear the smug smile, the careless shrug. Because it seems the woman is careless in every aspect other than crime. “No rational ones anyway.”

“Then what is the point?” Beatrice asks, a hint of exasperation slipping through.

“Nothing, I just wanted to say hi.” Beatrice’s mouth forms a perfect O, as the bank doors open and half a dozen civilians run out. “See ya later, Xin.”

She sees her the night of Halloween.

Beatrice expected it. She knew a childish, erratic yet methodical criminal would relish on the idea of the entire city in disguise.

She expected it, and she prepared, and she managed to successfully stop another bank heist, she thought. Except there was no heist this time. The robber wanted to be caught, she wanted Beatrice, and just beatrice, to go there, and she did.

Everything played out exactly as the criminal wanted, and it frustrated Beatrice more than anything had in her life. Not only was she unable to catch the most wanted criminal, but she was being toyed with.

And the worst part is, Beatrice knew that.

“You know me too well to be here alone.” And it seems the criminal knew that too.

“Don’t move.” Beatrice stated calmly, pointing her gun at the shadow figure in front of her.

“Relax.” The robber put her hands up lazily. “I’m not here to do anything illegal.” Beatrice scoffed, tensing up as the criminal took a step closer. “Come on! Aren’t you the tiniest bit curious about what I look like?”

“I don’t care what you look like.” It was an obvious lie. “I only care about you because it is my job to see you behind bars.”

“Is that so?” Hurt bleed into her words, and Beatrice felt her heart crack a little. “Then why am I here? Why are you here?” She took a tentative step forward, a small streak of light shining onto her face.

She was wearing a mask, of course, but it only covered the top half of her face. Beatrice didn’t miss the irony in her costume: an angel.

“What do you mean?”

“Beatrice,” her voice was serious, her deep brown eyes hard with what almost seemed like disapproval. “You’re smarter than this, come on. Following a lead on your own? Not calling for back up?”

Her cheeks were burning, but she kept her eyes, and her gun, focused on the criminal.

“You know enough to figure it out. I’m starting to think you don’t want to.” The woman purred with a smirk.

“That’s not-“

“You’d make quite the sidekick.”

“Sidekick?”

“Partner in crime, if you prefer.”

“You’re absurd.”

“And you’re quite when you’re angry.”

As soon as she was done talking the alarms went off, distracting the detective long enough for Ava to throw a fucking smoke bomb and disappearing through the ceiling.

(Maybe she was an angel)

[ancientorigins]

You don’t want to mess with the nuns of the Buddhist Drukpa Order. These formidable women devote their lives to perfecting the Kung Fu arts and fighting for female empowerment.

[citizensofeggtonarchived]

"Aw, why would anyone want to hurt me? I don't even got any good magic." Clearly Mary was just screwing with people.

"Though give it you're best shot if you want." Now Mary was straight up provoking people.

[lunalemony]

Sister Agnes of the Immaculate Heart

(Just a comic for school)

[horrorcrypt12]

Now Watching:

The Nun II (2023)

"1956 - France. A priest is murdered. An evil is spreading. The sequel to the worldwide smash hit follows Sister Irene as she once again comes face-to-face with Valak, the demon nun"

Days Until October: 24

Spooky Season!

[dumpsterfireofsubtext]

I know now what no angel knows epilogue snippet

Beatrice awoke to her alarm blasting inches from her head. Groaning, she checked the time. The alarm was her fourth backup. Mary had set it up for her and so had free reign over their labels. The current alarm, with its sweet dulcet melody of blaring klaxons, was aptly labelled: 'Now you’re really in the shitter.’’ 

In so many words, Beatrice was late for work. 

Whatever happened in the twenty minutes it took Beatrice to get up out of bed and to the library was between Beatrice and God. Needless to say, she spent the first ten minutes of her work day doubled up against her desk, mopping her brow and wheezing.

All through her shift Beatrice barely thought about her dream or the night before. Her mind was occupied solely with the blinding mundanity of searching up book requests and logging new arrivals and carting returns up and down the library and directing people to the nearest toilet. 

“Jesus Christ, Bea –”

Beatrice’s spine, with no urging from her conscious thoughts, snapped up all on its own. 

“– you look like shit.”

A dark hand laid itself lazily flat against the reception desk from behind her. Beatrice exhaled hard through her mouth and let her body go slack against her chair. For one moment, one single, awful, catastrophic moment, she really thought… she thought…

But it was just Lucia. She was leaning up against the desk with a mug of tea in her hand and biscuits tucked under her arm and was smiling down at Beatrice with her eyebrows raised.

“I’m guessing you and Lily had a pretty wild night.” Lucia dragged out the word ‘pretty’ while at the same time dragging her eyebrows up and almost off of her face. “You should’ve seen yourself though. For a second I thought you were about to blast up out of your little rolly chair and through the ceiling, yelling like goofy all the way.” Lucia placed the tea next to Beatrice’s mouse and began tearing open the packet of biscuits.

Beatrice looked up at her, scowling, then turned back to her computer and said, “You know I don’t know who goofy is. I thought that was just an adjective.”

Lucia didn’t reply. Beatrice heard her shift and felt the pressure of her body against the desk as she leaned further down upon it. Beatrice added another entry to her spreadsheet and let Lucia indulge in sighing wistfully at her for a few more seconds. Only when she felt Lucia gearing up for a really heavy sigh did she turn and say, “What?”

Lucia had her hands folded in her lap and had stretched her legs out so they tapped against one of the wheels of Beatrice’s chair. “I didn’t mean to startle you,” she said. “But you do look like shit.”

“Thanks. I slept through my alarm,” Beatrice croaked. 

Lucia laughed at that, saying, “Fucking hell, you sound like shit too.” She nudged the mug of tea closer to Beatrice with her knuckles and put the open stack of biscuits close to her keyboard. “Hard night of slamming shots and… knitting socks, or whatever it is you two do in your free time?”

“No,” Beatrice said sharply. She wasn’t in the mood for banter, but the tea, along with Lucia’s wounded expression, softened her significantly. She sighed and rubbed her eyes from under her glasses. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I do feel like shit. I’m just tired.”

Lucia nodded. She looked down at the desk and pulled out a biscuit with a fore and ring finger. She crossed her arm over her chest, resting her elbow against it, and tapped the biscuit on her lips. She squinted at Beatrice critically. “Is it because of the girl and the postcard stuff?”

For a moment Beatrice had genuinely no idea what she was referring to. Then, as she was always bound to, she remembered. She remembered weeping pathetically in an almost empty theatre and getting rained on and falling asleep and – Ava. She remembered Ava invading her dream, because it couldn't have been anyone else in those robes.

Beatrice dropped her head into her arms, almost knocking over her tea and flattening the biscuits, and she moaned miserably. “Yes.” 

“Pardon?” Lucia asked, amused. “I can’t make out a word you’re saying with your head buried in your armpit.”

Beatrice raised her head to issue her reply. She was aiming for something along the lines of, ‘Yes it bloody well was about the girl and the postcard’, but it came out as, “Yes it – oh my bloody – fuck.”

Before Lucia had time to react, to even so much as drop her biscuit in surprise, Beatrice was already on the ground and rolling herself underneath the desk to crouch by Lucia’s feet. 

“Bea —”

“ —Shushushhhhhh,” Beatrice hissed, pressing her finger to her lips. “Pretend to be me,” she whispered. 

"What?" Lucia choked and spluttered biscuit crumbs onto the floor. She looked around the library, jerking her head left and right, looking for whatever had startled Beatrice into stopping, dropping and rolling so dramatically. A few people were sitting at tables with their heads down, an elderly man just making his way through the front door, and a young woman wandering towards the front desk looking lost – nothing out of the ordinary.

“Pretend to do my job. Don’t – don’t look at me! Just do it.”

Lucia ignored Beatrice’s incoherent demands (as she should) and crouched down beside her. She reached out to press the back of her hand against Beatrice’s forehead and asked, warily, “Are you feeling alright, Beatrice? You look pale and you’re, like, suddenly really sweaty. ”

Beatrice batted her hand away. “Yes, just get up for Pete's sake."

“Hello?” A voice from the other side of the desk called out. 

The front desk was, blissfully, one of those colossal monsters whose tops reach up to chest height, with a little nook for computers behind it and a wide, wide berth underneath for foot space and cables – and now, it seemed, for Beatrice. 

Beatrice paled. A spasm of fear and shock rocketed across her face. “I am begging you,” she said. “Just do it.”

The mortal terror sweating out of every one of Beatrice's pores was what probably got Lucia off of her in the end. She gave Beatrice one last concerned look then shuffled awkwardly backwards out from under the desk. Brushing her shirt free of crumbs, she stood up. "Ah," she said, smiling widely, "there it is." From Beatrice's position on the floor, she could see Lucia pretending to dust off her half-eaten biscuit. "I'm so clumsy," she said, shrugging and putting on her best companionable air.

"That's okay," the voice said with an uncertain laugh to their voice. "Three-second rule, or whatever."

“Yeah, right,” Lucia agreed, also laughing a little unsteadily. Beatrice nudged her foot. Lucia didn’t look down at her, but got the message and made a show of looking busy; tapping randomly at the computer in front of her, humming and scratching her chin, and probably mangling Beatrice’s spreadsheet. Beatrice gritted her teeth and pinched Lucia's leg. At the pinch, Lucia jumped and blurted out, far too formally, “May I help you with anything?”

“Yeah, actually. I’m wondering if a particular member of staff is in today?” said the voice.

Beatrice's heart dropped into her bowels. She was going to be sick. She was going to vomit all over Lucia’s shoes and pass out under her desk. She reached out and held onto Lucia’s leg like a lifeline.

“Oh, yes? And who might that be?” Lucia asked with an affected accent, covertly trying to shake Beatrice off.

Beatrice put a hand over her eyes, partly to steady herself, partly to stop herself from throttling Lucia. She had never heard her speaking so ridiculously in her life. Was she taking what Beatrice said literally and actually pretending to be her? God, Beatrice thought, is that what she thinks I sound like?

The voice hesitated, then said, "I'm looking for Beatrice. She mentioned she worked here. I wanted to see her. She does work here, right?"

Beatrice carefully took her hand from her eyes and waited. Lucia waited too, perhaps for Beatrice to pinch her again, or to be struck by inspiration. In any case, she waited far too long to be natural. At last, Beatrice tugged savagely at Lucia’s trouser leg, almost bringing her down to her knees.

“Hold on… uh – just a second,” Lucia said to whoever was standing in front of the desk. 

“Say yes,” Beatrice hissed when Lucia bent down to the floor.

Lucia gave her a dirty look and pulled her leg free, then straightened again. Her wide smile was back in place. She beamed and raised her eyebrows. “Yes,” she said, as though she were a charismatic TV presenter telling the person in front of her they had just won the lottery. She might as well blow on a horn and do jazz hands while she's at it, Beatrice thought, miserably.

“Oh.” The person at the desk’s voice rose. They sounded relieved. “Is she here?”

Beatrice reached for Lucia’s leg again, but Lucia beat her to the punch. She jabbed Beatrice with her foot, almost crushing her fingers under her boot heel. Not losing her smile for even a moment, Lucia said, “I’m afraid not. She’s out for the day.” Out of spite, Beatrice guessed, she added, “Maybe try again tomorrow?”

Beatrice almost leapt out from under the table and bit Lucia’s ankle like a feral dog. Lucia, as though anticipating just that reaction, stepped nimbly out of Beatrice’s reach.

“Alright,” the voice said with a sigh. “But hey,” – there came two quick thumps on the desktop as a hand slapped down upon it – “thanks anyway.”

Lucia gave a high, choked “Mhmm” in response. 

When the person left and their footsteps receded, Lucia turned on Beatrice and, in tones as dark and forbidding as the library permitted, said, “And what in the hell was that?”

Beatrice was just crawling out from under the desk, peering up over the top of it as though facing a firing squad. “That was the –” she began, but Lucia cut her off.

“I guessed who that was,” Lucia said peevishly, “but why drag me into it? Why launch yourself under the desk and make me improvise doing your job?”

Beatrice flopped down onto her chair and gave Lucia a rueful, pathetically hang-dog look. Lucia folded her arms and glanced away. “Whatever,” she said. “The things I do for you, and this is the thanks I get?”

Beatrice rested her chin in her hands and stared out at the entrance to the library. She took a few steading breaths through her nose, saying nothing.

“I should lock you in the archives for a day, see how you like it.” Lucia was grumbling on, pacing the space behind the desk and gnawing angrily on her biscuit. Only when she caught Beatrice’s expression did she stop mid-tirade. Reassuming her position beside the biscuits and the tea, she leaned down and said, “She was pretty.”

“Yeah?” Beatrice asked dreamily. 

Lucia barked a laugh and slapped Beatrice on the back, knocking her out of her reverie. “Uh, yeah,” she said. “I think I’m starting to get it now.”

“Get what?” Beatrice asked, but Lucia was already backing away. “Get what? Lucia, get what?”

Lucia shrugged and ambled away from the desk, almost swaggering. “Lucia, your radar is impeccable,” she said to herself, then pushed open a set of doors to her left and disappeared. 

“Radar?” Beatrice mumbled under her breath. “What radar?”

Beatrice spent the rest of her work day behind her desk trying desperately to untangle the events of the past few hours. She ran through her dream first, but she had learnt not to place too much importance in them and so quickly disregarded it. Then she thought about her conversation with Lucia, which had crossed a boundary neither of them could uncross for various reasons that involved pinching and hissing and kicking – Not good. 

Absolutely none of it made any sense to her, except, of course, the unmistakable fact that Ava was back in the city and that she was looking for her.

[ladyfeliciamontague]

sister Boniface really said PRETEND YOU’RE MARRIED

[ipsl0re]

It’s funny how I am like I act on here- I don’t behave differently, but I am less… muted?

The version that reblogs on here is just the dilute edition of the weirdo concentrate that only a few people are capable of handling neat.