#she touches Ava's face as if it's holy

[reversatility1]

Warrior Nun: The tender devotion of her hands ...

[daisychainsandbowties]

thinking about ava coming back through the arc, her & bea sparring a few weeks later when all the bruises have put themselves to bed and beatrice realising that ava’s better than her.

desperately blocking strike after strike. ava in a whirlwind of light with halo energies threaded through her bones and a white shine behind her teeth. drumming blow after blow, slipping free of holds as though her bones are made of water, as though the pain of pushing near the point of breaking is nothing to her.

ava spinning into a backhand she knows bea can block but she’s (un)holy. she’s faster, almost, than light or the disappearance of it.

blunt sound of knuckle striking flesh and bea stumbling back with a split lip dribbling blood down her chin.

the light sucking back inside ava in the blink of an eye, bright shadow-spots in her wake and beatrice stares at her.

ava’s eyes are wide, dark as unlit candles, meeting hers and she’s rushing forward. bea dizzy-drunk in her hands as they take her by the jaw and she feels something pour into her - the split lip sealing shut with a dash of halolight and ava pursuing it with a kiss. with “sorry, i’m sorry”

and how many times has beatrice not known her own strength? how many times has she sent opponents falling back stunned by her hands and then afraid of them, flinching from them? how many times has she hated herself for it; her body an edge too cutting to be held?

but ava touches her and nothing should be this easy. her lips are a bloodsmear and her face is familiar, here, home.

god has turned stranger to beatrice but she thinks god, she’s back. doesn’t thank him because it wasn’t his work.

she kisses ava hard enough to ignite the ghost of a bruise on her mouth again. gives thanks to someone - herself - because ava is a better fighter than her now, and maybe that means she can be the one who falls asleep first tonight.

[closetcasefabray]

i found this in my drafts, & i don’t remember when i started to write this, but ta-da! finally wrote something. this is not a cohesive whole (nor is grief so we can pretend it’s intentional).

also this phone business is awful—almost threw it when tripling the length of this (what was supposed to be) drabble 😒 forgive wonky formatting &/or typos. (laptopless life sucks)

this drabble-ficlet thing is for @snowandwolves bc our friendship is based in wrecking each other emotionally with avatrice au’s & headcanons. also some of this was inspired by sixth to the ninth hour, from which i will never recover. but this isn’t complete despair!

—

summary: beatrice returns to switzerland and tries to live her life. (canon compliant, s3, grief)

—

a thing that carries itself

—

It is when you are asking about something that you realize you yourself have survived it, and so you must carry it, or fashion it into a thing that carries itself.

(nox, anne carson)

—

beatrice knows hans could close the bar down on his own while blindfolded on a night like tonight—not much money to be made mid-week with dwindling tourists and seasonal stays—but beatrice doesn’t suggest it, and hans doesn’t offer. he’s come to recognize when beatrice needs some company, even if it’s just a couple hours and they exchange few words.

—

beatrice returned to switzerland a few days after camila found her asleep at the arc for the fourth time.

(jillian is moving it back to her lab to rebuild, camila offered with a gentle smile—one that expressed she too was hopeful, but not so much she wished to give beatrice too high of expectations.

beatrice knew, even with every scientific expert working on the arc, it would take over a year to repair the arc and source enough power within their earthly limitations for it to open even briefly. beatrice also knew it would likely require a decade of research before someone could go through the arc, let alone explore the alien realm beyond it.

as of a month ago, the arc team is still a few brilliant nuns led by a genius scientist, but when beatrice looks at them, she only sees young women—too young to be willing to die in a holy war—and a mother mourning the loss of her son for a second time.)

before she left, beatrice said goodbye through the arc—if only for the smallest chance a loving god would take pity on her and split open the barrier between realms just briefly enough for her words to reach through to ava:

see you at home. (i love you.)

—

when beatrice first arrived back to town, she became overwhelmed as she took in the remarkably unchanged neighborhoods, all the same buildings standing as they had when she and ava left in the night.

(the ache in her chest turned bitter, so much so she had to refrain from shaking the couples laughing and enjoying each other’s company in the sunshine—ava is gone. do you understand? don’t you feel it too? the absence of her?)

their old flat sat untouched as well; beatrice knew the elderly couple who owned the building weren’t eager to put much work into clearing it out to show it to young university kids who would be far too loud for their liking. (not that ava would ever be considered quiet—she had charmed them like she does everyone.) they warmly welcomed beatrice back and handed her the keys within the hour.

(she found a crumpled tank top of ava’s in the back of the closet and, holding it in her hands, pressed to her chest, she let herself cry for the first time in weeks, sitting on the dusty floor, counting the pieces of furniture in the room that ava once touched.)

the usually absent bar owner also returned the keys and beatrice’s managerial position before she even finished asking if they were hiring.

(what about hans?

he likes being head bartender.

there’s really no one else?

i’ve had two different managers and three different bartenders come and go since you and ava left. i can’t find a replacement half as good as either of you.

beatrice isn’t sure what expression he read on her face, but he didn’t say ava’s name again after that.)

—

throughout the next few weeks, beatrice thought returning to a place so full of memories of ava was possibly some misguided, catholic-guilt-induced self-flagellation—to wake up in their bed alone, to drink tea across from an empty chair, to walk the familiar paths to their favorite places without her—the lack ached in the hollow of beatrice’s core like penance.

maybe i’m meant to feel like this, she thought, and still thinks at times, but then she remembers ava in the gold room—the only thing holy in a temple devoted to a false prophet—telling beatrice to live her life. (gospel, she thinks.)

when ava kissed her, beatrice didn’t think of sin or hell. she thought only of the truth of ava’s lips, her body—capable of flight and phasing through stone—standing before beatrice and choosing love, a tenderness the world had never offered her. it was the opposite of sin—it was sacrament, a baptism that tasted of salt as they kissed, bathed in light.

so beatrice stays and tries each day.

(we are all just trying to be holy.)

—

in the months of staying, of trying to live her life, her friendship with hans has grown into something quieter and gentler than beatrice would have expected from the same bartender who had taught ava german curses and euphemisms. (beatrice would pretend she couldn’t hear as they whispered conspiratorially, knowing ava was familiar with more than half of the swears, but ava was still delighted by every cautiously murmured phrase hans offered her.)

it surprised beatrice at first, to find that hans actually likes her as she is—his overly organized manager-turned-friend who drinks tea out of the same mug every afternoon she comes into work and almost never drinks alcohol but will sip the occasional “virgin cuba libre” when he asks her to hang out with him after work for a shift drink. hans is even familiar enough with beatrice to occasionally tease her in german, her fluency allowing her to respond with a quick-witted retort. she smiles at his amusement, and he is thrilled by each new detail he learns of her.

beatrice is grateful to be closer to someone who doesn’t owe god his life, who remembers ava as ava—not the warrior nun or the halo-bearer.

(instead, hans remembers training ava at the bar, her focus when he taught her classic cocktail specs, and her enthusiasm that breathed life and vibrancy back into the bar job he had begun to find tedious. he remembers making ava laugh so hard her cuba libre came out of her nose, the little snort in her laugh when something amusing surprised her, the pout she’d use before asking for a favor—always far less effective on hans than beatrice. he remembers ava beaming when she mastered a new skill, her eyes finding beatrice to check if she saw—beatrice always saw and always smiled back; how could she not? beatrice was a moon in ava’s orbit, and she had no other option but to glow in her light.)

mostly beatrice is grateful that their friendship doesn’t try to fill the space and silence ava used to occupy; instead they fashion it into a kind of shared insulation for them to keep warm in the cold of grief. so when beatrice daydreams over the books at the bar and something startles her back into this realm without ava, she appreciates that hans doesn’t say anything to draw attention to the way her eyes shine with the sorrow of reality, like they did the first time hans said ava’s name months ago and all at once beatrice felt the air leave her lungs and her eyes burn. hans will stay nearby in those moments, offering an ear if she does wish to talk, but far enough she doesn’t feel obligated to explain it. sometimes it’s just the comfort of someone nearby who misses ava too.

(occasionally beatrice lets her mind project ava across the bar, watching her move from table to table, turning to beatrice and giving her a wink, hips swaying to a german pop song, sometimes accompanied by a little spin as if she wasn’t carrying a precariously balanced tray of glassware. but when the reel in beatrice’s mind starts to fade and flicker, she blinks and the shining sadness of her eyes dims into a melancholy others often mistake for stolidness—when the vision of ava smiling and making drinks beside hans blurs, it’s too ghostly for beatrice because ava is alive.

beatrice doesn’t find much comfort in god these days, but she still has faith.)

—

beatrice steps outside with hans, takes a deep breath, looks up at the unpolluted skies, and finds the constellations ava drew when they would sneak onto the roof of their flat when the nights were clear. beatrice has taken to writing the mythology of each one in her head as she walks home at night. she often considers writing some kind of scripture based less in fear and shame and more in love and forgiveness. maybe if she tells the stories enough, ava will return a new testament.

(but beatrice promised herself that once ava returns, she won’t share ava with the world—no temples, no saviors, no holy wars. beatrice wants to watch the sun set on the ocean, casting ava in golden light that doesn’t feel like a goodbye. she wants ava to press her lips to hers again but as a greeting, as a stay here with me. she wants to watch the sunrise spill across ava’s face like a promise beatrice will keep. she wants ava, and she is learning to forgive herself for this—the selfishness, not her love—beatrice’s love does not apologize.)

“are you off work tomorrow?” hans asks as they start walking the several blocks toward their respective apartments.

“yes, but if you need—”

hans shakes his head vigorously, and beatrice gives him a small half-smile.

“you should go to the library, get a couple books. if you come by, i’ll make you tea but you absolutely cannot work,” he says, pointing his finger at beatrice with an exaggerated sternness.

beatrice smiles a little wider, “i won’t.”

when they reach the cross streets where they part ways, hans wraps his arms around beatrice’s shoulders, and she wraps hers around his waist—a strange arrangement of limbs both of them had grown up unfamiliar with, something that ava taught them to appreciate—touch, closeness, a human intimacy too many would never admit they needed. so they make a point to hug each other for brief moments to carry that part of ava with them.

—

her nighttime routine unfolds as muscle memory so her mind wanders to work, hans, and always ava. she climbs into bed and imagines ava teasing her for keeping her shirt under her pillow, where she rubs the fabric between her fingers.

you always liked being close to me when we slept, ava would say.

i always liked being close to you when we were awake, beatrice would confess.

she savors the moments just before sleep, when those minutes are hers alone without obligations or the weight of the outside world—her mind in a free fall. (when beatrice was a child and her mother was kinder, she would soothe beatrice after a nightmare by telling her to think of all the exciting things tomorrow would bring.) as if directing the trajectory of her plummet, she chooses ava every time.

she closes her eyes and plays the memories against the back if her eyelids, setting her unconscious mind on a path toward a kind of imagined heaven, so maybe—just maybe—beatrice will see ava again in her dreams.

tonight she is walking into work, and ava looks up and smiles at her from behind the bar.

hey, bea.

hi. she feels something joyous swell inside her, and the glassware behind the bar starts to glimmer as she walks toward ava. i missed you.

we had breakfast together this morning, ava says with a laugh, but once beatrice is beside her, ava leans close and whispers, i miss you too, bea. everyday.

when ava pulls back slightly, beatrice sees it—the melancholy half-smile on ava’s lips, her dark, shining eyes. the shimmering light grows, and beatrice feels ava’s hands take hers and pull her closer.

i’ll see you at home soon. ava tucks a strand of bea’s hair behind her ear, and she feels herself lean into her touch.

ava—

it’s okay, bea. just wake up.

when beatrice opens her eyes, she can see the night sky outside her window, but the flickering light of her ocs necklace on her bedside table seems to light the entire room. she cradles it in her hands and decodes it on the first pass, but to be sure, she watches it flash three more times—ava is alive.

—

fin

—

thanks for reading!

some rambles/notes:

i almost never write from bea’s perspective bc she’s v smart—i’m decidedly not bea-smart (nor am i ava-smart but i am ava-eager-&-a-little-reckless, so that’s what i typically lean toward). so i think i did a rewatch & felt a little heartbroken. also p sure i drank half a bottle of wine during the rewatch so that may have been why this is [gestures vaguely] like this.

but anne carson and richard siken are my roman empires, so i named this after the opening anne carson quote from nox. and i will always think of avatrice when i remember we were in the gold room where everyone finally gets what they want . . . we are all just trying to be holy.

also what i didn’t include & is in my head:

- hans & bea’s talk about what happened with ava. basically “she had to leave, and i don’t know if… i don’t know when she’ll come back” & hans isn’t sure what it means but he never tells beatrice to move on bc he knows he couldn’t understand what happened. mostly he saw them together and he’s never seen beatrice smile the way she did with ava. also i said beatrice rarely drinks but she & hans have this conversation with wine involved. the drunk cry bar staff bond is real.

- the day beatrice realizes she’s been without ava longer than she was with her—she’s marking the date in the inventory book, then she just stops as her brain does the math against her will. hans sees her hands are trembling & he just knows. he takes bea up to the office & gives her some water. he asks, “do you think your home will help or make this harder right now?” so he has beatrice over to his small, neat apartment and he makes some food for her. he asks if it’s about ava & whether or not bea wants to talk about it. she doesn’t want to talk, but she says hans can talk about her. so hans tells bea some of his memories with ava. thus some of the memories included.

anyway, sorry? i guess?

also if you haven’t—read @snowandwolves fics if you want coherent & complete(ly devastating & healing) fics:

sixth to the ninth hour is canon compliant s3 & basically ava walks through hell to get back to bea. 😭 i cried. my heart ached. but also there’s plenty of spice 😏 [ava eyebrow wiggle]. all my favorite things heh…

leave the light on (i'll find my way home) is lighthouse au. our babes are so soft and in love 🥹 i went on a trip to see puffins & lighthouses bc of this. the whole fic is incredible, but there’s this one part in the lighthouse… i think it altered my brain chemistry in the best way.

[jeridandridge]

Can you do a melissa schemmenti x reader really smutty 😏 like kinky, mommy melissa and age gap.. maybe some jealousy

This is my first request like this so I apologize if it’s not great 😂 this one’s kinda long. NSFW/public sex/ jealousy.

It didn’t take much convincing for you to get Melissa out to a New Year’s Eve party. Ava insisted you go out with her crew, and surprisingly she wanted the ‘hot muscle’ otherwise known as your girlfriend there.

“Holy shit.” You let out, trying not to salivate just looking at the woman.

Melissa smirks giving you a wink. “Do I look like a million bucks?”

“All in twenties, hot stuff.” You grin putting your other earring in.

The top of the outfit leaves hardly anything to the imagination, the gold accents popping on her chest. Melissa comes up behind you resting her hands on your hips.

“I think I’ll have to fight people off with a stick tonight, hon.”

You give her a goofy grin pulling down the bottom of your dress a bit more.

“Okay tough guy.” You grin carefully pecking her lips.

Not long later you make it to the club downtown and go right to the bouncer like Ava told you to. Thank god because it’s freezing out.

Inside you lace your fingers with Melissa’s and walk her through the crowd of sweaty drunk people to get to the bar. “Let’s get a drink and dance.” You yell over the noise.

Everyone’s dressed to the nines, black and gold decorations all over the club in celebration of the new year. You can’t help but sway your hips to the best of the bass as you two saddle up to the bar.

“Hon, I see Ava, I’m gonna head that way. So I can say I made my appearance.” She leans into your ear.

“Go on, I’ll be there in a minute.” You smile kissing her cheek.

You watch Melissa make her way over to Ava at one of the table tops and you can’t help but grin like an idiot, only taking a step back when a random guy comes up beside you.

“Hey, how you doing?” The stranger asks you.

You keep your eyes on the bartender not looking at the guy. “I’m great, how are you?”

“A lot better now that I found a pretty girl. You wanna dance?”

“No thanks, I’m here with my friends and girlfriend.” You say loudly.

“Girlfriend huh?” The slime ball smirks. “You two ever have fun with a real man?”

Before you can respond he reaches over flicking your dangling earring.

“Oh dang, Melissa, someones moving in on your girl.” Ava points her in your direction giving her shoulder a little shove.

Melissa’s head whips around and she sees red when the man touches you. She glides through the crowd like a shark, coming up to put herself between you and the man.

“Baby! There you are.” You beam as she wraps her arm around your waist, her hand resting almost on your ass.

“Who’s this chump?” Melissa asks sizing the guy up, unimpressed by bad fake chains and way too much cologne.

“No way,” the guy laughs. “This is your girlfriend? It’s always the hot chicks that end up with old ladies.”

Melissa takes a step forward and you reach out pulling her back against your chest. “Bye, asshole!” You yell over your shoulder as you shuffle away with the woman.

“You were really gonna hit him.” You laugh keeping your arms around her. She reaches back resting her hand on top of yours pulling you to the bathroom.

The dimly lit bathroom is packed, but Melissa doesn’t let up. She pulls you into an empty stall and locks the door.

“Someone’s jealous.” You tease her. When she turns to face you her eyes are dark and hungry, the sight makes you shut up immediately.

In the small space the red head steps forward pushing you more into the wall as her lips attach to yours in a hungry kiss. You groan tangling your fingers in her hair and putting your leg up on the paper dispenser.

Melissa trails her hand down your dress and attacks your neck with nips as kisses as her fingers find your folds.

“Fuck, baby.” You whine burying your face in her hair.

The bass from the music can still be heard and practically makes the stalls vibrate through the chatter of the women in the bathroom. It’s so loud you’re not sure if they can even hear you.

Melissa slips two fingers into you practically growling in your ear while her thumb circles your clit.

“No one can make you wet like I can.”

You let out a choked moan moving your hips forward to meet her fingers.

“Only you.”

As your girlfriend pumps her fingers you move your hips feeling the delightful pressure between your legs almost push you over the edge right away.

“Fuck, you feel so good, Mel. Only you make me feel like this.”

Melissa turns her head meeting your lips again in a sloppy kiss, your teeth coming down on her bottom lip with a grin.

“I love when you get jealous.” You let out against her lips, your release already building.

She doesn’t say anything when she slips a third finger in making you gasp.

You fuck her fingers like your life depends on it, crying and burying your face in her neck as you cum.

The red head slows her fingers and carefully pulls out bringing them to her lips sucking them dry.

“Always a good girl for me.”

You tip your head back and let out a breathless laugh and wobble a bit when you put both feet on the ground, Melissa’s arms coming over to steady you.

She leans in kissing you, this time much softer and sweeter.

““I love you, y/n.”

“I love you,” you laugh breathlessly kissing the tip of her nose.

Melissa smirks pulling them hem of your dress down.

“Come on, let’s get back out there. You owe me a dance.

[unicyclehippo]

Apartment

they lean on one another in a way that kinda doesn’t help at all. beatrice’s leg is fucked and ava is doing exactly nothing to help, she’s pretty certain of that since she can feel her right leg but not her left, and is leaning as hard against beatrice as she is into ava.

‘we’re - two halves,’ ava huffs a laugh into her neck, strains to drag her left foot forward. it doesn’t feel like a real thing, the way most of her body doesn’t on the worst days, and she wants to cry but miguel is with them so she sticks to flirting lightly with beatrice instead. they hobble to a low fence to sit and wait for camila and her van. ‘we’d fucking kill - at a three legged race, by the way.’

beatrice tucks a smile into ava’s cheek. it’s the closest she ever gets to kissing her and ava nearly loses her fight not to cry when she feels it, so gentle and so light, like ava isn’t really supposed to feel it. like beatrice is the only one who should feel it.

ava pretends to slump—not hard when her body feels like a piñata after all the candy’s been whacked out of it—and tilts her head closer with the movement. feels beatrice’s lips—chapped, because ava dropped her chapstick behind the couch the other day and forgot to get it before they left, and now split from a punch from some random possessed chick ava saw from across the church hall—and beatrice knows, she knows that ava is pretending, that ava is pressing closer because she wants to, and though her hands tremble, she lifts one to ava’s shoulder. holds her upright, because she always does, and it makes ava’s heart swell but not nearly so much as when beatrice tilts her head and lets her nose graze the tiniest bit up the side of ava’s face to her temple where she presses another barely-there kiss.

the halo whirs. ava’s leg rejoins the rest of her body and she groans, kicks it out to test the feeling.

‘healed me with a kiss,’ she teases, low enough that only beatrice can hear. it’s a mark to how much beatrice has changed and grown over the last two months that she only blinks and frowns reprovingly, like ava is making a joke of something holy and shouldn’t. ava smiles back, perfectly sincere and wanting beatrice to see it. ‘and hey, thanks for coming to find me. us.’

beatrice sniffs. ‘it’s my job.’ she holds out until ava pouts. adds, ‘and my pleasure.’

‘i’m here too,’ miguel mentions.

ava lifts one and flips him the bird.

‘you have a lot of explaining to do so until you know what to tell us…shut the fuck up.’

he looks amused and maybe a little bemused, glancing between them, and ava glared because beatrice is going stiff and retreating and god, ava just wants to cuddle, is that too much to ask?

she lets beatrice go, of course. she doesn’t go far.

they sit there until a pink van trundles up to them. beatrice reaches for a knife. miguel steps toward the van, hands balled into fists, like he’s going to punch a moving vehicle. ava pulls beatrice onto her feet because if it’s coming at them, she needs to get her out of the way. but then it slows and yasmine throws open the back doors and everyone looks at miguel with barely disguised suspicion.

ava carries beatrice forward, waves miguel forward too. ‘everyone, miguel. he’s from the otherside maybe and ate a wraith demon.’

miguel flinches. ‘i thought that was between us.’

‘not anymore. miguel, this is the OCS. tactical nuns.’

‘you were serious about that,’ he realises. ‘i’m an idiot.’

ava thinks about reassuring him or making the introductions nicer but then beatrice puts weight on her bad leg and it buckles and suddenly she has more important things to do, like carrying beatrice very gently and carefully to the van and setting her down on one of the benches. she goes to her knees, reaches for the boot of her bad leg, but beatrice shakes her head.

‘no, no, i’m fine. thank you, ava,’ she says, all proper and tense, and ava remembers that there’s a whole bunch of nuns around them and maybe touching beatrice’s leg—even to help—crossed a line.

ava smiles. throws herself back onto the opposite bench. ‘what a fucking night.’

‘language, ava,’ comes from three directions, and she has to laugh.

//

miguel directs them to jillian’s mansion, which mother superion is familiar with, and ava would put the pieces together faster except yasmine’s words keep turning over in her head and she turns the crown over in her hands and beatrice is hiding winces every time the van hits a bump, so she’s not really thinking about it.

but then miguel is michael and jillian is his mum and they’re spilling out into the mausoleum of a mansion, all noise and bustle and drawn curtains and a mother in mourning, and this is the first time ava has been witness to a resurrection. jillian cries into michael’s shoulder and then again when she thinks no one is watching and ava is relieved when they’re shown to their rooms, doubly so when beatrice ignores her own and puts their singular bag at the foot of ava’s bed.

‘are you alright?’ she asks, softly, when ava collapses back onto the seriously comfy bed.

‘yeah.’

‘ava.’

‘i miss our apartment. and i don’t know why vincent didn’t kill me, and i hate being paralysed and the halo switching off and i’m scared,’ she continues, saying it half to beatrice and half to the ceiling. ‘and no one was happy when i came back to life and i don’t have a mum.’

beatrice softens, mouth dropping in a little oh. she sits at the edge of the bed. ava reaches out a hand and waits for beatrice to take it, pulls her slowly down to lay beside her.

‘i’m happy you’re alive,’ beatrice says, low and quiet, like it’s a secret, like it’s shameful. she won’t meet ava’s eyes.

ava twists onto her side. their knees knock together but beatrice doesn’t put any space between them. a few strands of hair have escaped her perfect bun. she lifts a hand, smooths them back into place, into line.

‘ava -‘

‘no, it’s okay,’ ava promises. ‘it’s okay.’

the struggle is obvious across beatrice’s face but she stays. surrenders to ava’s gentle touch, the way her fingers slide through beatrice’s hair, picking out grass and little bits of glass and dirt from their crash landing. when she’s done, ava slides her fingers behind beatrice’s ear, lays her hand gently on the side of her neck. wriggles a little closer until they’re nose to nose.

beatrice opens her eyes and looks at her. they haven’t bothered to turn on a light, dusk’s sun sinking behind the hills. beatrice looks and looks at her and ava looks back. she lets out her breath slowly. lifts a hand to ava’s shoulder. her hand glides down, skin to skin without her jacket, without her gauntlets, until she holds ava’s hand there against her neck.

‘i miss it too. the apartment,’ she says, words heavy with the weight of everything else she misses but which neither of them will say.

ava wants to kiss her, then, but she doesn’t. it’s too much and beatrice is hurt and ava is still thinking about coming back to life and how much it hurt. so she relaxes, drags her hand away—the rush, not as common anymore, fills her fingertips, her arm, all of her—and turns to lay on her back again.

‘it’ll be there when we kick his ass,’ ava tells her. ‘we can go back.’

[willowedhepatica]

Ava falling asleep on Beatrice's shoulder

When Beatrice was a kid she used to go down on bruised knees and pray to God. 

She doesn't know if she really believed in him or not, or if it was just a pursuit for her parents validation. She doesn't know if he ever believed in her. But even then, when she stayed down on the scratchy wooden floor she hoped it would bring her something inexplicable. Something holy.

Even that felt like sinning back then.

The fire cracks and Ava holds a beer up towards the starlit sky as she leans her weight on one shoulder. "To Shannon and Mary for arranging this, I've always wanted to go camping!" 

Camila giggles as Ava takes a swig from the can. Beatrice resists the urge to steady her when she seems to tip a little too far to the left. Ava only straightens, a wonky grin forming on her face as she turns to her. "Want some?"

"You know I don't drink."

"Really, not even when a pretty girl offers?" Ava wiggles her eyebrows and Beatrice's cheeks grow warm. 

Lilith scoffs somewhere from the far left but she isn't paying enough attention to her surroundings for that to matter. That was her first mistake. Because Ava is gorgeous. The flames light up her face and dance across her skin, making her eyes glow. She shifts in place. There's just enough space between them on the wooden log for Beatrice to be able to place a hand between them. "I- you're not..."

Before Beatrice can sputter any further Ava bumps her on the shoulder. "I'm just messing with you, Bea. Would be cool seeing a nun drink though." 

She nods meekly. Digs her nails into the palm of her hand. "Yeah." She doesn't want to remember that part of her right now. Not when she's here. Not with Ava.

She is everything Beatrice isn't. Wild, carefree and bubbly as if everything would burst if she held it between her ribcage for too long. Her cargo jacket, ripped and mended together with all kinds of patches in yellow green and red, hung loose from one of her shoulders and revealed a black tank top underneath. Ava didn't seem like she had noticed. Beatrice had. Damn it she had. How could she possibly have not?

The fire cracks. Everyone is laughing about something, probably Mary because Ava has challenged her to a drinking game and Mary is leaning in like she was born for this moment.

Beatrice simply watches. They are used to her being quiet. 

After two shots Ava sways towards her, arm pressing into her own as she whispers. "You alright?" 

The skin where she makes contact burns. Her whole body tingles. Her voice comes out like a single breath. "Yeah." 

"Okay." 

Beatrice's eyes shoot down to her hand. Ava is playing with her fingers, rubbing her thumb over her knuckles. She shudders. The chatting around them feels distant.

"Are you cold?" Ava continues, still close. Still tracing her fingers over her skin.

"I'm fine. The fire is warm." 

Ava laughs. Beatrice blushes again, jaw tightening. 

"Here." Ava says as she starts taking her jacket off, quite clumsily but doing it nonetheless.

"Ava, no, you need to stay warm."

"Yeah yeah, I know. I can catch a cold or whatever." She rolls her eyes, but not mockingly, just knowing. In a way that could only be done between people who had known each other for a while. She'd only known her for a couple months, Beatrice reminds herself. She shouldn't feel like this--

Ava scoots closer, slides her jacket over her shoulder and adjusts it, keeping her arm there. "There, now we can both stay warm." 

Beatrice tenses, looks around to see if anyone is watching. They aren't, surprisingly so. Beatrice believes they are sparring them, at least for now. Ava doesn't seem to care at all. In fact, she is only watching her. "This is okay right?" 

It isn't the first time Ava's done this. Beatrice has learned from the short time she's known her that she's a physical person. Always in need to reach out, feel the world around her. As if though she is afraid it might disappear. Afraid it wouldn't be real. Beatrice has never been fond by touch but Ava-- Ava made it feel sacred. Like the creation of fire sparked from the simplicity of it. 

She allows herself to relax into it. Into Ava's side. "Yes, yeah it's okay."

Ava answers by letting her head fall on her shoulder, buries her face into her neck and hums. "You smell nice."

God she wishes the others weren't here right now. 

"Do I?"

"Yea." Ava mumbles, lips tickling across her skin. "Smells like pine."

"Pine." She mutters uselessly, mouth dry and heart beating out of her chest. 

Ava draws closer, eyes closed. "Mhm, it's like, you're one with the forest. Or something. Like the werewolves." Beatrice can feel her break into a smile.

She turns her head just enough to glance down at her. "Did you just compare me to a werewolf?" 

Beatrice isn't able to hide the amusement from her voice, especially not when Ava starts to giggle, her entire body shaking with her laughter. "You would be a great werewolf." 

Beatrice doesn't know how to answer that but it doesn't really matter. Ava is dozing off, arm slipping from her shoulder to land loosely behind her back. Beatrice adjusts herself slowly, careful not to disturb her. 

If this is sinning she didn't want to be right. If anyone told her this is anything but holy, she wouldn't believe them. How could anything that felt like this be wrong? 

[nohasslecastle]

Watch beatrice allowing herself to be selfish for the first time in a long time.

Ever since she became a nun she convinced herself her desires didn't matter. She had been a mean to her parent's political agenda and then she became a mean to the OCS's ends.

She had fought against it first "how can we be here just to fulfill some God's providence?" but being sent to that boarding school, stripped from everything she loved, being told what she wanted was sinful, made her surrender and think that maybe [maybe], existence was meant that way "things change when you realise not everything is about you".

She stopped asking God for help, even for forgiveness, who was she to merit his mercy? She prayed in a depersonalized way, repeating the words she had been taught, over and over again.

Then it came Ava. The girl who was the living proof that she had been wrong this whole time. Sure, at first Ava's selfishness annoyed her. Who was she to think she was greater than what God had put in her path? "whatever you want is insignificant" she wanted to tell her, the same way she had been told.

The truth was, however, she envied Ava's rebellion. Even though she had agreed to help them, in her daily life Ava did nothing but to please herself (she had been able to witness that in The Alps). She ate not to feed herself but to taste the flavors, she took showers not to keep clean but because she loved feeling water falling on her back, she read books not to learn but because they entertained her, she asked Bea silly questions about herself because, quoting "I really want to know you better".

Ava knew the world didn't revolve around her, Bea had realized that one sleepless night they got to have a deep conversation (for once) while staring at the ceiling. But the thing is... Ava didn't care. She would make the world hers if she could, "what's the point of being here if you can't have a crump of joy?" she had casually told her. "What's the point of being here..." yes, Bea had also asked herself that.

So watching her lying there, full of blood and lifeless... It wasn't fair. "I know the world its hard and unforgiving" she really knew it, she had learnt it from a young age "and I know that warrior nuns die" but it was not ANY warrior nun, it was ava, she wanted to live why couldn't HE give her that? "But please don't leave me" she would be alone again without her "I don't WANT you to die" she really didn't, she desired with every fiber of her body to keep her to herself, to touch her, to feed her, to talk to her, to love her, to make her hers. She WANTED Ava, she had never wanted anything more.

Why couldn't she have her? Why was God taking Ava away from her? Who was God to decide? It was unfair. Maybe she was not the center of the universe, she didn't fucking care, it was still unfair.

If ava hadn't woken up she would've hated God.

"God knows what's best for us" does he really? "For those who love God all things work together for good, for those who are called according to his purpose" then why have you forsaken me? "You ask and do not receive, because you ask wrongly, to spend it on your passions." Wrong, there could be nothing more holy than wanting Ava.

"Give her back. Give her back. Give her back" She repeated to herself as she was holding her in her arms. "I've never asked you anything for myself but give her back to me" just this time, for all the times she didn't ask, for all the desires she put aside, for all that she had been enduring since she was sent to that boarding school.

And then Ava wakes up. "I'd like to avoid thay myself" she says, sure she does. And she hugs her because she can, and she touches her face because she can, she finally holds her because she can, because it is what Ava wants, and because "who is she to deny that to Ava?". Having her in her arms alive, she finally looks up, "thank you for not taking her away from me... don't you dare do it again" she thinks. Except... he does.

[possibilistfanfiction]

wherever you want to go with this but i trust you -- prompt: blood

[uh @unicyclehippo & i are writing joan of arc themed lil fics bc … hello ava 👀 & mine is undoubtedly the more deranged of the two but ... here u go lol]

//

ava comes back gentle; ava comes back covered in blood. 

‘i came back,’ she says, in the middle of the night when neither of you can sleep, after she’d stood in the shower until the water ran cold, scrubbing red from her skin, in the middle of a beautiful valley in france that has crumbling wine caves and a slow river, covered in reeds, currents that remember its history, the rot and death and face-down bodies. 

‘i came back,’ she prays into your skin, her fingers tracing the curve of your ribcage like she’s remembering a church she worshipped at centuries ago, an organ and its pipes; your heart and ventricles and your own blood, faithful. ava touches you like she’s lived a thousand years; maybe she has. her eyes are the same brown as they were when you met, when she’d only been resurrected once, when she had cried at the marvel of the ocean and her own hands, and sometimes you wonder if you’re worthy of a strength like this — worthy of sacredness and consecration and your mother’s voice — i’d rather you take your own life than be gay — and maybe for so long you had taken your own life and shoved it down into the hollow of your throat, into the spaces between the bones of your wrists; you had discarded your want and offered up your slow-beating heart in its place.

ava kneels before you and scrapes her teeth along the inside of your thigh, the skin there pale and soft. it’s dark until she brings her mouth to your center and moans, and then the room glows: gold and blue — ava, ava, ava: life; some kind of god, some kind of — i am begging you to touch me; oh, i’m on fire, oh, i’m on fire; history and elegy are akin; you are my sweetest downfall, i loved you first. the holiness in ava is not of this earth — the metal, the burn — but she is, dirt under her fingernails when she came through the portal, blood coming out of her ears, covering her face. ava’s tongue is soft and she holds your body in the palms of her hands and the room is blue and gold, a room where you get what you want: crosses held before you while you die and eternal salvation and her name like a goddamn hymn and fuck, fuck, baby and your hips grinding down on her mouth and your hands tangled in her hair — hair that you had cut when you had wished for a home amidst the mountains and the tender press of her spine in the morning blue and hair that you had cut again a few days ago, trembling hands both times because she was beautiful, a blade at her neck and curls floating to the floor. she had asked you to, and now she asks you to do something for her again — to come, to come, to come. you hold your breath when you do, consecration.

the holy and the horror — the light comes in the name of the voice — and ava comes back ready to dance with you and laugh and ava comes back with enough power to detonate bombs with her hands. you kiss her and she tucks a flower behind your ear, waiting for your next battle at a convent in the countryside. ava eats without apology, whatever she wants, and drinks wine that stains her lips red, and kisses you in front of everyone; she is hot when you touch her, when her walls flutter and curl around your fingers and you touch her. sometimes you don’t know what to say so you just tell her what you know: primeval forests are so remote that humans don’t belong there, that people die when they go there, that there are wolves and moss and weather so cold humans can’t feel their hands. ‘what do you think our past lives were like?’ she asks, one day as you spar, divine powers aside, and you wonder: were you always her protector? have you always been by her side? have you watched her die, every time? ‘one,’ you say, like you remember it in your hands, ‘we were happy; we lived on a farm and we were poor, but we had milk and eggs and bread you knew how to make. i’d go out in the morning with the dog and you spun wool and it was quiet, and green.’ she sits against you, the halo and the divinium in her back against your front, enough to kill you, and her, many times over. ‘verde, que te quiero verde,’ she says, ‘we grew old. who died first?’

‘does it matter?’

‘no.’ she’s quiet; a ship slowly goes by. ‘we’d wake early, for breakfast and you rested your head in my lap when you were tired.’ 

‘i have loved you a long time.’

she traces a pattern along the lines of your hand, a scar straight across the passes right through them. 

the days move on and ava heals and ava bandages your cuts and bruises and a broken wrist when you don’t, when you are human and frail and strong; ava falls asleep, too wild and small and lonely and beautiful, her spine curled against your chest. she wakes you with coffee and once, after a particularly bad battle, where you can’t move the next morning, a blow to your head too hard, she stays with you all day in bed, reading and running her fingers through your hair. she wears a soft sweater and socks with little dogs on them and says you’re a miracle, you’re such a miracle, i would destroy the world before i lose you and it’s true; it’s scripture it’s sacred it’s heresy it’s a blessing. a promise from a god, while you feel woozy and nauseous and your neck aches — a promise from a god, weighty and beautiful and sighed into your skin in the afternoon rain.

ava comes back in love with you; ava comes back —

there’s an explosion inside the sepulchre and everything is on fire; you have not been scared for so long — forgive us, we lived happily during the war; but on the wild nights who can you call home? only the one who knows your name — and you wonder if ava died staring at a cross; you wonder if you will grieve in this life, as you had before. you wonder if ava knew, if ava has always known, if ava was tired. 

but then ava comes back — again, again — sooty and with torn armor and a gash across her face that hasn’t healed, blood streaming down. she walks through fire, unburnt, a smirk, even, on her face. ava comes back and kisses you and you taste blood and ash and dust to dust and the strawberry chapstick she had put on in the van before the battle, tucked in into her pocket with a wink. you have seen many miracles but this is one of an order you will never understand, one that will stop people from killing each other, one that is catastrophe and heaven.

‘let’s go home, bea,’ ava says, and you search her mouth for a sacrament and find it in the press of her tongue on the backs of your teeth. ‘let’s go home.’

and you do — the ocean, and in bed weeks later, the cut across her face red and shiny and healed, the edges pulled together taught, the burn on the palm of your hand a webbed scar right in the middle —

‘did you know,’ she says, in the moon and the quiet, ‘that joan of arc was put to death for wearing men’s clothing? she was so theologically clever that they could only order an execution if she relapsed into heresy; the guards at the prison she was at only gave her men’s clothes, which they eventually used to convict her.’

you kiss ava’s temple; her skin smells like lavender. she presses her lips to your pulse point. 

‘being a girl,’ she says, her brow furrowed, your bodies stretched and tangled under the sheets. ‘she burned at the stake for being a girl.’

‘do you — do you remember?’

she turns toward you, different than you remember but still the same, still exuberant about the sea and ice cream and books she loves, texting and movie theaters and petting every dog you pass on the street; ‘sometimes.’

‘okay.’

’there are days —‘ she laces your fingers together — ‘that i feel a call backward, in my palms, in my knees, in the back of my skull. to understand, to see. there are days when all i know of this life is to love you.’ she presses a kiss to the divinium tattoo on your forearm that glows blue in the dark when she’s near. ‘this is how i know you. you are what i know.’

‘i will never watch you die again.’

‘i’m not sure i can.’

‘well then i’ll join you, wherever we go next.’

‘yeah,’ she says, so sure, prophetic, ‘you will.’

ava comes back for you —

what did the voice tell you when you returned to your room? it told me that i should answer you bravely.

[jpitha]

Just a Little Further 28

Part 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27

Loud, hearty laughter from the Venusians assembled to eat fills the hall.

"Oh Melody Mullen, playing at being Empress over on her toy starbase." Raaden smiles and stands, her face smug. "You have no idea what you are doing, and have no concept of real power."

"Allow me to demonstrate to you what real power is." She touches her ear and after a moment she makes a face. She touches it again and...

She glares at me.

Good work Ava, looks like the radio suppression field is working.

Thank Omar, he found it inside Royal Dawn weeks ago. Looks like we were right, this place was for royals before it became a hotel.

Raaden snarls and reaches down and tries to grabs her pistol. Her hands grasp it and she brings it to bear on my face. With wicked glee she squeezes the trigger.

But she' can't.

Her glee turns to confusion, turns to rage. "Melody! What did you do! What is going on here! Release us this instant!" The mask has completely fallen off. I push the pistol out of my face.

"You will refer to me as É̷̱͑͗̐̅͌͗̂̀m̶̡̡̡̜̗̭̥̯̬͍̉̇͐̒̒̓̌̀̈́͆̓̓̀͘͝͠p̸̡̨̧̡̞̦̙̪͌͐̀̇̈́̂̍͗͘ṟ̸͓͜͠e̶̲̮̞̬̱̝̗͓̭̺͑̈͗̂̈́́͘͜͝s̶̡͍̬̫͙̘̦̬̘͛̐̍͂̇̉͛̌͐̚ͅs̵̡̐͋̈́̾̒̓̆̂͋̈͘͘͠͝.̵̲̩̣̅̓͊͗͋̈́̌̈́̈́̊͒̔̚̕ͅ"

Raaden keeps trying to get her pistol to bear on me while she's talking. "I will do no such thing, Empress. You are not an Empress, you are -grunt- just a girl who just found -ugh- some old junk and declared herself Empress! Ugh, why can't I call you Empress, and I keep calling you Empress instead."

It's my turn to be smug. "I told you earlier, you're mine now. You cannot refer to me as anything but Empress, I so order it. The Empress of the Holy Imperial Systems can not be disobeyed. The K'laxi knew it; I was called Tep'ra'fel in their ancient language. The Undeniable. You think earplugs are enough to stop me? The moment you stepped aboard you and your entire crew became mine." I look out at the assembled crowd. It seems thinner than we expected. "In fact, call the remaining crew members here, we appear to be a few short."

"You're blocking the radio." Raaden says through gritted teeth.

"Oh, My apologies. Allow me." I connect to the Reach and find the radio signal for the Vengeance of Lavinia. On board, they hear the radio click and then my voice saying, "Go ahead Helen. Tell them to come out and come to dinner. I will have a runner show them the way. You can just speak, they will hear."

Raaden glares at me, saying nothing.

Ď̴̦ö̷̫́ ̸̰̆a̶̲̍s̴̘͝ ̸̥͋y̸͚̐o̸̲͋ǘ̵͙ ̴̳̇a̴̭̎r̶̮̅e̷̬̓ ̸̺̐ȯ̶̞r̶̞̉ḑ̶̈́è̷̦r̷̮̍e̶̘͋ḑ̴̽.

Her body flinches as if I had slapped her. "This is Archduke Helen Raaden. Please... leave Vengeance of Lavinia and a runner from the Reach will... lead you to dinner." Her eyes go wide at the realization that she said it because I ordered it.

"Lovely. Thank you Helen." Only then, did I cut the radio connection to the ship.

Everyone seated at the tables looks awkward as we waited. Some people toy with the utensils, or take sips of water. Raaden stares straight ahead and her hands turning almost purple from the fist she was making. I look at her hands, then up at her.

"Helen, you are going to injure yourself. You should relax."

She turns her glare on me and then turns straight ahead again.

"I'm sorry Helen, I phrased that poorly. r̴͔̕ĕ̵̱l̸͎̈́a̸̩̓x̸̨̐ ̷͈̎y̴͇̓o̵̰͘u̶̲͊r̵̤͒ ̴͉̑h̸̢͌a̴̟͘ń̵͓d̵͔͘s̵̨̾.̵̳͊."

Instantly her grip eased and she began to massage feeling back into her hands.

Omar leans over and looks at Raaden and then me. "Empress..."

I look back at him. "Yes, Omar? You lived on Starbase Picaresque when Raaden and the Venusians came to visit, didn't you?" Raaden's head snaps up at that and she stares at Omar. Omar doesn't meet her eyes.

"Yes Empress, I was there. I remember when Venus shackled our AI, and then attempted to set up a puppet government out of the Administrators. I also remember how the residents blew up at least one whole platoon of troopers and then the administrators blamed it on Venusian carelessness and Raaden and the Grand Admiral bought it, because her troopers were of such poor quality."

At that Raaden turns her head slowly to Omar, her eyes wide. "I knew it. I knew it was you bastards on that cursed Starbase. Wellfleet was a fool from day one and I am glad I shot him and took over. I should have obliterated that Starbase the moment we linked in-system. I should have obliterated you the moment we went though that stupid Gate."

He nods, unsurprised at her reply. "Why are we doing this Empress? We should just destroy them and take their ship for our own. Order them to kill themselves." Raaden is shaking with fury that is only controlled because I order it.

"That is true Omar. It would be easy to make this problem... go away and then have a nice large dreadnought to play with and copy. But doing it this way?" I look at Raaden and meet her eyes.

"It sends a message."

I look out at the Venusians waiting for their colleagues to join us and I can see the fear, the worry. They thought that Raaden was going to show us what it truly meant when Venus comes to visit. They were right, just not in the way they expected.

I turn to look at Raaden. "Helen. Look at me. Don't make me use the voice again." She turns and looks at me. Her eyes are red rimmed and her pretty face exudes pure hate.

"I. Am. Empress. You live, because I desire it."

She whips her head away from my gaze as the stragglers from their ship arrive, confused. Ava was right, they look like they were mostly guards. They are muscular with darting eyes. With them though is a youngish man, tall and willowy who looks nervous. One might even say that he looks... noble. Interesting. Places are set for them and they are led to seats. Once everyone is here I clink my glass for silence. Everyone turns to look at me

"Ah, now everyone is here. This is so nice, thank you for coming out. I for one, am starving. We shall E̷̮̒a̸̤̋t̷̨��.̴̫̀"

At my command the servers from the Royal Dawn bring out steaming plates of food. Just like I so ordered, everyone begins eating as the food is brought out. Everyone went all out, I can smell the food as it's served. I think we're going to be served a meal to remember. I don't want to waste everyone's hard work.

The Venusians are trying to look at Raaden for guidance while also obeying my voice. More than a few of them are struggling, their utensils shaking as they eat. One or two has tears running down their face freely.

Good.

Raaden is robotically eating, her fork tinkling a little staccato against the plate with every bite. She is clearly trying to struggle against the orders the whole time. "Helen, you will have an easier time if you just accept the order and eat." I say after taking a sip of - local - tea.

"There has to be a way around this-" she struggles mightily before giving up "-Empress."

"We haven't found one yet, Helen."

Omar looks over at me and inclines his head and raises his eyebrows questioning. He wants me to ask her. Fine, fine.

"Helen, how did you learn about us? Who told you?"

"Fuck you, Empress."

Á̶̙͆ṉ̴̨͛͗s̶͙̒̈́w̵̯͉͆e̷̼̍r̵̢̙̊͑ ̷͇̿̊m̸̭͙͑͝ę̵́,̸̥̞̋̏ ̶̨̝̎H̴̖̄̿ͅé̷̹l̶̫̻̆̎ě̵̡̖͠n̴͈̿.̶̦̌͐

"...Someone from FarReach got drunk and unloaded on a sympathetic ear in a bar...and a bedroom. The sympathetic ear linked a reconnaissance beacon back to us. The Emperor thought that I should go out and... get you to be our ally... one way or another. He wanted me to try and win you over with kindness and... by sleeping with you. The spy mentioned that they thought you liked women. I for one wanted to come in guns blazing and just either capture or destroy you." She gasps in surprise and glares at me.

I gesture with my fork before going for another bite. "I have to say Helen, your option probably would have worked better."

"I see that now... Empress, but I was under orders to dry diplomacy first."

"As well as seducing me? Do you find me attractive?"

She shrugged, still clearly upset that she's answering questions. "You're pretty enough, just not my type. I wouldn't have minded it."

Melody.

Right, right.

We eat in silence. It really is an excellent meal.

I finish my meal and delicately wipe my mouth with my napkin. I hope everyone enjoyed it. I take a sip of the last of my tea and look at Helen. She's not saying anything, but her eyes could melt starship hulls. "Helen. What are we going to do with you?"

"How about you let me go, and we pick up and leave."

"Tempting. I have a different idea though."" I turn and face the gathered Venusians finishing their meals. I point at the nervous young man. "Who are you? A̷̡̨̛̖̟̣̗̻̠͓̘͙̩̗̦̓̓̿̀͒̒̎̆͜n̴̡̨̺̝̩̩̣̯̣̜̗͓͙̙͌̍̏̊̈́͆̉̽͛͋͆͑̆͠ͅş̸̬̟͖̞̞͔̪̮̝̖̤͎̜̪͇̇͐̑̂͂́̄͊͗̋̍̓̈͗̇͜͝w̸̢̨͓̩͎͓̹̘̜͎̜̜̔̂̀͜͝e̵̢͓͕̤̼͍͍̯̰̳͐͑̎̍̾́̈ȓ̴̨̳̦͗̐̊͆͛͘.

"I am Crown Prince Emery, the Emperor's son." As soon as he says it his eyes go wide. I have a feeling he wasn't supposed to tell many people. I glance over at Helen. She knew.

"Nice to meet you Prince Emery. Thank you for coming." I face the rest of the crowd. "Who here was going to volunteer to stay behind and work with us?"

About half the hands go up."

"T̶̞̥͙̱̦̣͔̬̪̣͙͇̽̔̔̈́̃̆̄͘ę̶̻̺̰͙͕͓̫̰̙̺̩̬̺̫̔ͅl̶̨̠̠̬͉̹̮̩̟̤̜̤̜̖̻͔̒̀̅͑̎̍͐̋̓̏̈́́͂̇͗͌̕l̴̛̖̮̙̬͇͉̃͐́͐̂̀̎͘͠ͅ ̸̟̹͙͉͎̤̤͖̲͙͉͕̘̱̻̈́̎͐̅̈̾̌̀̕ͅm̶̢̗͖̼͓̲͓͚͉̱͐̏̋̐͊͆̇̅̄̋̀͘ͅe̶̙̠̟͛͐̆͌̕͠,̴̢̭̥͎̓̆̏͒̎ who was going to spy and report back to Venus?"

No hands go down.

"Is anyone here not in the Venusian Navy?"

One hand comes up.

"Oh? Who are you?"

"My name is Will, I work in the Venusian Spy Corps." His eyes go wide and Will slaps his hand over his mouth as the people sitting next to him look at him surprised. Looks like they didn't know they had their own spy either. I expected to hear someone from a starbase or colony world. Looks like Raaden was lying about that too.

I stand "Thank you for taking this meal with me. I for one enjoyed it quite a bit. Venusian guests, please c̴͔͝ó̸̞m̷̢͗e̴̦̎ ̵̦̔w̵͇̾i̶̙̓t̶͎̚h̷̺͝ ̷̹̆m̵̲͊e̷̬̎. I have something to show you."

There's a simultaneous scrape of chairs as everyone stands up at once. I reach out my hand to Helen, and she just glares harder. I glance over at Omar and Um'reli and Omar rolls his eyes, wishing I'd lay it on less thick, but Um'reli is reveling in it. I imagine Ava enjoys it quite a lot from her Builder chair as well. Raaden doesn't take my hand, and I don't force the issue.

I lead them out of the Royal Dawn and incline my head to Wind as we leave. "It was an exceptional meal Wind, with exceptional service. Please make sure everyone has a 20% bonus applied to their pay tonight."

Wind Rustled Leaves bows low "It was our pleasure Empress."

I exit the hotel and there's a temporary platform here that wasn't here before dinner. I carefully walk up the stairs and go to the front, where there is another, smaller platform. I step up onto the higher, smaller platform as the Venusians climb and look out. As they climb, they hear the roar of a crowd. Louder and louder as I climb higher on my platform until I'm two meters over the Venusians and three meters off the ground. The Venusians turn and see...

They see people.

Thousands of people.

Ava had called runners and used the Reach's address systems to ask everyone who was able - within this and the further two levels - to come down and witness a presentation from the Empress.

This is perfect, thank you Ava.

Putting the Venusians in their place is my pleasure, Melody. I am enjoying this.

I raise my hands for silence. "People of the Reach!"

Everyone becomes silent. They stare ahead at us in that unnerving way a silent crowd can.

"These-" I gesture "-are humans from my side of the Galaxy. They are not Builders. They have not taken the rites, they do not know the ways. They thought us weak. They thought your Empress a fool. They thought that they could come in and take over with gifts and words and trickery."

The crowd shouts and jeers at the very nervous Venusians. Only Raaden still looks defiant, chin up as the crowd heckles them.

"We have shown them hospitality. We have taken them in, we have fed them, we have shown them our home. What do they do in exchange? They threaten us. They threaten me. They lie about volunteers who wish to stay with us."

The jeers and shouts get louder. If I'm not careful the crowd is going to tear them apart. I hold up my hands for silence again.

"So, I ask you, my people; the residents of Reach of the Might of Vzzx. What shall we do with these people? These spies. These interlopers."

Over the screams and jeers, the Venusians can hear shouts for them to be killed. At least I assume they can. Based on the fear they show, they can understand the gist of it, if not the nuance. They didn't ask for an update to their translators, so I assume they got a copy of the one that Fer'resi was working on.

I raise my hands for silence again. It comes, but slower. The crowd is bloodthirsty. I can't rile them up any more. "You demand their deaths, and you are correct in doing so. But! I am merciful. I do not call for their deaths. I will educate them in who is their empress and send them on their way."

At that, Omar, Um'reli, and the Venusians pivot and stare at me wide eyed.

What.

Keep listening Ava, you'll see.

"I will send them on their way, without their crown prince and without their archduke. They will remain behind as our... honored guests. They will not be able to send a warship after us in retaliation as we have their second and third in line for their own throne. They will learn both that we are merciful and that we are not to be underestimated."

This time, Raaden and Emery stare at me. Raaden is beyond furious, Emery just looks tired.

"But first, before they go, we shall strip their ship. We will leave them enough thruster to traverse Gates home and enough environmental systems such that they will survive the trip. It will not be in luxury. We shall use their parts to retrofit our ships and make our ships formidable again!"

Cheers and shouts from the crowd. Everyone loves to hear how we are going to have starships again, powerful ones.

"I need volunteers! Come and see my Builder, Omar and he shall put you to work. I want their ship stripped in 5 days time. Thank you for coming out and showing these people what it means to be from Reach of the Might of Vzzx!"

More cheering for me; the crowd is chanting my name. After everyone realizes the presentation is over, the crowd starts to dissipate. A large group of people stay and Omar walks over to them.

That was amazing Melody, but are you sure about sending them back?

Yes. The only other option is to kill them, and I don't want to do that. Without Raaden and Emery, their Emperor won't send a dreadnought to just blow us up, they'll want to deal. They will be our hostages and will protect us.

Plus, this way we get a leg up on ship refitting.

Empress, you are playing a dangerous game. Given how Raaden reacted, if there are more like her in this Venusian empire, we now have some new enemies.

Venus was always going to be an enemy. They do not want equals, they want subordinates. We are not subordinate.

Empress.

Part 29

[foulbearobservation]

oh do you ever think of cam & lilith & bea lifting ava down off the cross. her hair drenched in blood, pushed up off her face by bea and the little rivulets of sweat-thinned blood running down her cheeks, her neck. beatrice kissing her as she does it while lilith prises the nails from her hands. cam running her fingers over the exact points where lilith’s wings anchor to her bones when they’re out.

ava leaving bloody palmprints on all their faces as she falls against bea. first taking her by the jaw - strong, even now, with the halo shining like a coin underwater in her wood-bruised back. licking into bea’s mouth and thumbing a line of blood along her jaw. the scatter of warm droplets from ava’s hair onto bea’s face, overtop the freckles. she’s shivering lightly against bea, pressing up against her like she wants to disappear inside this body she craved so much and for so long.

bea muttering into her mouth, “that’s the bloodloss making you cold” and ava defly biting into her bottom lip, sucking it into her mouth. humming as the warmth touches the back of her teeth, “nerd.”

breaking away red-mouthed, red-handed and grinning lazily, thinking of bea rutting up into her as she curled her fingers around the points of the nails anchoring her to the cross. bea lifting her hips, her hands roaming, her mouth on ava’s breasts as she rocked her head back, up, only to find lilith’s mouth waiting. how she could identify them all by taste, by touch when the blood ran over her eyelids and she had to keep them shut until cam smoothed the gore away with her thumbs.

lilith’s mouth on her clit as cam kissed her wrist, tracing the rivers of blood falling down to her elbows and further to pick out each hard line of muscle. her soft voice in ava’s ear, “you’re so beautiful.” as lilith pressed into her with the tip of her tongue, as bea nibbled at the edge of one nipple.

looking down as bea pressed lilith up against her, feeling lilith’s head fall back into her lower ribs as bea fucked her. each shiver that ran through lilith, each sigh reverberating through ava’s hips. lilith turning her head to press mindless kisses into ava’s floating ribs. cam kissing the crown of lilith’s head and then looking up at ava, blood splashed on her lower jaw from taking ava’s fingers in her mouth.

and how they take her down so carefully. passed first to bea and then feeling lilith press against them both, drawing cam in beaide her. the three of them - mostly lilith - carrying her to their enormous shower. the run of warm water and the smell of lilith’s soap, her fingers coaxing suds through ava’s hair. “close your eyes,” and then lilith’s mouth kissing each eyelid, an echo of cam’s gentle thumbing motion.

“you can stop bleeding now.” cam, right in her ear and ava grinning, turing to capture the mouth that holds them all in concert. bea with her hands on ava’s waist and the bloom of holy light catching on all their faces. lilith with ava’s bloody palmprint still pressed to her neck and her cheek. the wounds all closing, hands open so the blood spills down her fingers, chased away by water.

clinging to bea as they step out and cam draping a huge fluffy towel around them both, turning to laugh at lilith who’s still all over in blood, pushing her back into the shower. bea stumbling into the bedroom, strong and glistening as ava presses her head into her shoulder.

tipping onto the bed in a mess of limbs and beatrice touching her face like she might be made of marble (she’s not, she’s real) and then kissing her again. this time she only tastes of ava, and in all her languages bea has no word to describe this.

“are you alright? that was…” she trails off, watching ava with her careful eyes.

ava smiling - and bea wasn’t there but it’s the smile she gave herself in that store window the night she came back to life. it’s a breathless thing, and it’s ava looking at what she loves as much as her own life.

“yeah bea,” she whispers. “i’m alright.”

she thinks of them all, tangled in this life together, and relaxes into bea’s warmth. she sighs when lilith joins them, tucking in behind ava as she faces bea, even as cam settles against bea, kissing her shoulder and winking at ava.

they fall asleep like that, lilith’s wings out and draping over the side of the bed, her hair leaving a stripe of wet on the duvet. cam wrapped in their blue blanket, forehead on bea’s back. and ava held between them all, staying awake the longest despite her exhaustion to stare in silent awe at the three of them.

waiting until they’re all asleep to whisper, “i love you.”

because they already know.

oh we're back to this, I love it here!!!

also referring to cami as the one who keeps them all in concert 🥺🥺 yeah that's my girl that's my beloved 🥺🥺🥺🥺

[daisychainsandbowties]

what is it about that season one shoulder pat you love so much??

i have a bit of a fascination with what i call character thesis moments. they’re… these sort of pivotal, revealing scenes or even just (as in this case) a gesture that makes me fall head-over-heels for a character. and also understand them.

with ava, it was the beach run scene. for lilith, the grey hoodie scene where she asks ava “can you forgive me?” for mary it was the first scene, cradling shannon’s head and shutting her eyes and the love in every inch of every gesture. (that’s the first sign i think that warrior nun is a story about love, and survival, and in not surviving but loving anyway).

now, i’ll admit that i adored beatrice from “i thought she’d be a handful” and “faith is my business” but frankly… neither of those scenes show us who she is. i think the closest we get to HER is at the bus stop, where you watch her choose her friends over her duty, choose love over sacrifice (for the first, but not the last time).

and then… god, that shoulder slap. i can’t explain how it made me feel.

up until that point, beatrice is such a whirlwind of a character. she’s lethal, she faces down a gun with frightening disregard for her own life. she drops a tear onto shannon’s cheek as she gasps out a very rehearsed goodbye. she catches ava when she slips out of that wall, she cries over an old journal and in all that time she’s fighting so hard to remain unseen.

and then, in one gesture, she reveals who she is. if you look closely, you see how fiercely beatrice fights to hold herself, but especially her hands, in check. they are either weapons or they’re things she lets out with the greatest care. they are caring but also tentative, like moths desperately trying not to touch the flame.

if you look carefully you also see that beatrice can’t help but touch ava. she tries and tries, but then they’re in the vatican and she’s suddenly this young, smiling creature trading puns, rushing through a cloud of dust to pry ava from the wreckage of her faith, from the arms of an angel. i just think, when i saw that shoulder slap i realised how much there was to beatrice.

she’s this… ball of contradictions. she’s a nun, she came up with Cruella de Jesus. she’s faithful, she’s queer, she’s resigned to the death of everyone she loves. she’s a weapon, and yet… you look at her doing that slightly goofy shoulder slap and it betrays a sense of ‘i want to touch you and i don’t know what to do about it.’ and in that you realise that she’s everything you thought and she’s also… mischievous? slightly boyish? a fool who is already more than half in love.

i remember feeling so fond of her, so suddenly, because out of the clear blue you realise that she’s drawn to this, to this girl who told her not to hate what she is, not to hate what she craves which is touch… a certain something she doesn’t dare to name, but still she reaches out and THAT is beatrice to me.

she’s a pair of empty hands, a bottle of lightning, and for all her confidence, for all that she is undeniably so cool and calm under pressure, so absolutely lethal; she’s also young, and she doesn’t know what to do about what she feels. it terrifies her, fascinates her, makes her hands move almost of their own accord.

there is ava, who is the point around which she is supposed to rally. halobearer, holy, doomed. that little pat in the shoulder… when i take it from ava’s perspective i’m in awe, because they don’t quite understand each other yet. it’s a candleflame to the incandescence of their kiss but it’s the first time bea reaches out not to catch her, or capture her, or carry her, but simply to touch.

it’s a very blunt and beautiful reassurance and that’s what they are to each other; they’re comfort, safety, acceptance. and that throwaway moment to me is the thesis of bea’s character arc. it’s the choosing to touch, to reach out, to hold onto what she loves.

and for ava it’s sacred too. how many times in her life do you imagine she’s been touched the way beatrice touches her? the way she balances ava’s jaw in her hands when she falls from the wall, smiling at her like she’s a miracle. beatrice who is the voice in the dark and the cold, who tears down a wall to reach her because she promised and she kept it. touch is everything to ava, and i think there’s just something so special about that moment; beatrice just saying, wordlessly, ‘you’re good, you’re here, i’ve got your back.’ it’s not condescending it’s a gesture that i think demonstrates to ava that she’s not alone anymore, and it kindles the hope that she never will be again.

[kittiofdoom]

"Soft hand touches with a light comforting squeeze that instantly assures you they're there." for Avery and Joseph?

Soft Touches

Words: 804 Tags: overstimulation but not in a sexy way it's the other way, slightly possessive Joseph Thank you so much for the prompt!! I blame listening to the choir versions of the songs for this. Why does the music have to go so hard? Also I put a face touch in here too because I can't help myself.

The world was a fraction off kilter. Some small part of her recognized it was in her head, but that thought was buried under too bright lights and a cacophony of garbled noise that Ava couldn't even begin to process. Some days Ava just woke up and the world was wrong and no matter what it didn't right itself. She just had to suffer through it—that was how it had always been.

John's sunglasses sat on her nose, baseball cap pulled down to cast a dark shadow across her scowling features. She was currently curled into the smallest possible ball she could make herself on one of the church pews, head resting on her knees as Joseph conducted his sermon. The people beside her knew to give her space, even when the church was packed full they made sure to give Ava a comfortable distance not to make her uncomfortable. She was glad for it, but didn't quite know how to express that so she just kept the sentiment to herself.

Joseph was talking, but Ava couldn't hear, words lost to her in the ringing of her ears but she stared at him like he was the sun. Beautiful—radiant—bathing all those in his holy light with warmth and comfort.

He noticed her halfway through his sermon, the smallest raise of his brow in silent question—are you okay?—as he continued to speak. His gaze drifted away over the familiar faces of his flock, returning after a few words for his answer.

Ava's stillness was all the answer Joseph needed.

It was a small movement at first, descending down from the podium step by step. If he moved too quickly Ava might bolt, she was timid like that. A wounded animal that needed to be gently approached. She shuffled back in her seat but relaxed as soon as Joseph walked to someone else and ran his hands over their shoulder, then another person with their arm and a third cradling the back of their head.

He stayed like this, walking amongst his people, giving comfort with his words and touch until he'd done enough loops to get close enough to Avery. She scowled at him from underneath the brim of her hat, knowing that he'd end up here but not wanting to be singled out.

Joseph smiled and offered his hand first, waiting for Ava to come to him. It took a minute but eventually her scarred fingers and palm slid against his own.

The world shifted back into focus, just a fraction, Joseph's voice piercing through the noise.

“-we must remember to love each other, deeply, unashamed. We must support each other and carry the burden. Let love triumph over a multitude of sins,” Joseph said, squeezing Ava's hand as he spoke. “We are not made to be islands, lost at sea with nothing on the horizon but storm clouds.”

Ava relaxed, her legs sliding along the pew and tucking beside her rather than being built like a wall between them. Joseph always had this way through to her. Ava couldn't explain it, but it didn't matter how far gone she was. Joseph could always bring her back.

“If you see your neighbour struggling, reach out to them. Let His love—my love—act through you and guide the lost and the weary,” Joseph continued. His other hand reached out, the back of his fingers brushing against Ava's cheek until the bumped against John's sunglasses. The corners of his lips pulled into a thin line briefly when he looked back over to John behind him as if to confirm they did in fact belong to his brother.

“You are not alone, you are loved and protected,” Joseph didn't miss a beat in his words despite his movements. Gently, carefully, he plucked the glasses from Ava's nose, gesturing behind him with them for John to come and claim them. When he had Joseph pulled his hand away from Ava for just a moment, despite the small noise of protest she made. Her hand hovered in the space between them, lost.

Joseph reached up and removed his own sunglasses, offering Ava a smile as he slid them on her face. That was better. He then took her hand and found her once more, tracing the rough lines of scarring with his thumb. He draw them one by one in a well practiced motion, knowing the way they cut across her skin without needing to look.

Ava stared up at him, finally calm and he could see the adoration and love writ across her features, bright—radiant—beautiful. She was the moon, reflecting his light back him. Sometimes she might hide herself away in shadows, but she could never truly be hidden.

His light would always find her.

“The storm will break. I am here.”

[aggressivelyaverage21]

Holy War - Chapter 4: Isaiah 38:13

Beatrice was Lilith’s oldest friend. They had been closer after one particularly difficult mission. She was a little bit older than Beatrice, a year ahead in the OCS. They hadn’t talked about stuff but they had a shared understanding. Nights Lilith found particularly difficult she would go find Beatrice, instead of suffering it alone like she always had. Beatrice would sit there. Next to her.

The first few times they wouldn’t touch but they’d been close enough the air between them felt warmer. Then they would knock their knees together. Eventually scooting closer with each sought out comfort that they’d be pressed to each other's sides.

Beatrice was still a little jumpy when it came to touching. Never once would she initiate but she would let it happen if she thought it was what her sister needed. Until one night Lilith had a terrible pit in her stomach so she went to find Beatrice, again. But this time she entered the young sister’s room, instead of a quiet shuffle of blankets as she entered where Beatrice had moved aside in her bed for Lilith to sit with her. Lilith would sit against the headboard, and Beatrice would sit for a while before curling up at her side, back still against Lilith’s legs.

This time though, it was Beatrice who had her knees curled up in front of her as she sat against the headboard. This instead of the swish of sheets it was quiet sniffles and shuddering breaths. So Lilith took her spot next to her, and had no idea what she was doing. Mary had told her once she was allergic to emotion and affection. But Beatrice looked so small and truly fragile Lilith pulled her into her lap and held her.  

Seeing her like this… laying on her back bleeding in a pile of rubble. It reminded her of that night. Beatrice looking so small, so young. Broken in a completely different way. It jars something in Lilith that not even seeing Shannon die in Mary’s arms did.

As she materializes in the van, she starts looking for the kit, thinking how nice it is to be able to help her friends like this, after everything. With how exhausting it was to jump from place to place… It didn’t matter as she continued moving past the burning in her muscles, the stiffness in her back the other part of her hadn’t taken care of yet. The only thing that mattered was getting this medkit. For Beatrice.

While Lilith is gone, Ava calls the Dutchie to her with a whistle “Here, Ki.” Her eyes not straying from Camila, as she starts to look more thoroughly at Beatrice to see what they’re dealing with, until she sees Kiva move in front of her at the edges of her vision. “Auf .” Ava points at the ground in front of her to get him to lay down, and sort of circles her arm wide to the right to get him to roll on his back.

Ava crouches down and goes over him bit by bit. Her flashlight held between her lips so she can actually see as she moves his fur to better look at his ribs. She takes each paw into her hand, so carefully, especially the one he has been limping on, and she’s relieved when she doesn’t see any cuts. “Good boy.”

Ava tries to remember what the signal is to stand, but she can’t for the life of her remember what Beatrice told her it was, nor can she remember the word. So she just hopes Kiva will pick up on what she wants him to do. As she checks near his left shoulder and neck, he lets out a small whimper, and when she pulls her hand away, it comes away red, his fur slicked down with blood. She really isn’t sure how she’d missed that first look she'd given him.  “Stand up, buddy. Let me look, ok?”

As he rolls over quickly and gets to his feet, facing Ava head on as she kneels down to get a better look, she’s mildly aware of the weird static shift that means Lilith is back. She unclips the vest as gently as she can and slides it off over his head before putting it in the dirt just above Beatrice's head. There’s a deep gash in his shoulder, presumably where he’s been struck by a falling piece of marble. “Ki, that doesn't look great my friend, I’m not gonna lie. Lilith can you toss me some water or something?”

She looks up just in time to snatch a water bottle from the air, luckily it doesn’t feel too cold against her hands just yet. She wants to spare him as much as she can, just as much for her sake as it is for his. “This might hurt, buddy,” Ava warns as she runs a hand along the side of his face before scratching behind his ear on the other side to hold at the scruff of his neck as she puts the flashlight back in her mouth.. The second the water touches the poor dog, Kiva flinches away and lets out another whimper.

“Shh, I know, Ki. I’m sorry. Be still for me, buddy.” Not that seeing humans in pain isn’t hard, but to Ava, there’s something exceptionally more rattling when it’s an animal. The reddened water washes down his fur to expose the cut a little more, with some of the older blood washed away; it doesn't look as bad as Ava had originally thought it was, much to her relief. As Ava looks up to ask for some gauze and Coban, Lilith is already there with it in hand. “Thanks.” Ava is too focused on wrapping the Coban around their furry friend to catch Lilith’s nod of ‘of course’ , the weird noise of the elastic pulling apart calming her. One step at a time. She leans forward to loop it under Kiva’s chest and around his shoulders, a few passes to either side of his leg to hold the gauze at his shoulder in place. It would have to do for now, “Alright Ki, how's that?”

With no immediate protest from the dog, Ava finally allows herself to turn to her love lying in the dirt between her two friends. Apparently, she hasn’t been focused on the dog for more than a couple of minutes as she catches the tail end of Camila wiping at the blood on Lilith’s exposed shoulder, only to have her hand swatted away. “I’m fine, Camila. It will heal. Beatrice won’t.”

Ava swallows hard at that, leave it to Beaver… “Jesus, Lilith.” What the fuck? She hadn’t appreciated that comment at all. Lilith, to her credit, looks apologetic as she hands Camila her bag as requested. Their little medic wastes no time pulling the C-Spine collar free from its easy access spot on the side of the bag.

Ava has to look away as Camila takes Beatrice’s head in her hands and instructs Lilith on how to do it - “Careful. Good. Ok. I have it from here.” She’s going to be sick. Memories long forgotten come slamming back to the front of her brain. Somehow they feel more violent the second time around. Ironically, Ava had tried so hard to remember the immediate stuff that happened after the accident when she was growing up, but nothing ever came. She just assumed she’d been unconscious until she woke up in the hospital. Well you know what they say about assumptions Ava. Something about asses and whatnot.

There’s headlights and a burning smell, and sirens, so many things. All right there. There’s the endless dark sky above her as someone looks at her upside down. Speaking to her in a language she doesn’t understand. The - the feeling of hands under her head as something closes around her neck and - “Ava!”

She shakes her head as if it would help get the memory out. It helps a little. “Huh?”

“Ava I know this is hard. But I need you. Beatrice needs you right now. So please get over here.” Ava nods as she takes a few steadying breaths to calm herself down from a panic she wasn’t even all that aware of entering. “Good. Ok. Come here.” Camila motions to her with a flick of her head. And honestly, thank God for Camila. Her composure in situations like this, and there have been many - well maybe not like this - is something that never fails to impress the hell out of Ava. “I need you to hold her head still. Can you do that?” Ava just looks at her hands that have just replaced Camila’s, though the younger sister’s are still resting on the backs of Ava’s. “Ava. Can you do that?”

“Yes.” She feels out of body, looking at the large stone covering the majority of Beatrice’s right side. Some part of her is honestly surprised she hasn’t thrown up yet. “Sorry. Yes, I can do that.”

“Ok.” Finally satisfied with the Warrior Nun’s attention to the task at hand, Camila moves on, tasking Lilith to dig through the bag while she wipes over the inside of Beatrice’s exposed left elbow with an alcohol pad. “Hand me the 14 gauge, please - No.The-the-the,” she shakes her head at the one Lilith holds up but snaps her fingers as she tries to get the words from her brain to the air and points at the one she’s just seen, her other hand holding the bungie still across Beatrice’s lower bicep. Lilith lifts up the orange one. “The dark green one. Thank you.”

Ava wants to protest as Camila presses at the smooth skin on the inside of Beatrice’s elbow looking for a vein. You know how to do that? Since when? Can’t you, like, get an air bubble trapped or something and- “Ava. I need you to trust me and let me work.”

Aaaand that was out loud. Feeling properly chastised, her face lights up this time from an entirely different kind of callout from Camila. Ava prefers the other kind. Camila does too. “Sorry.”

Camila doesn’t so much as blink at her before she turns her attention back to sliding the needle into the vein while talking Lilith through setting up the bag. “A bag of saline. Doesn’t matter what one.” She glances up to nod before looking back down to release the elastic tourniquet. “Stick that tube - Yep. Now open the- perfect.” Now that the needle is finally in, Camila gives the bag a once over before connecting it and turning to Ava once she’s satisfied with her work. “It’s ok, Ava. I understand.”

Camila clicks on her flashlight before she eases herself down to the cracked marble below them to get a better look - well, she's trying to get a better look at least . From what she can see, the skin puckered below the weight of the slab where the rebar sticks through is about all she can see. Blood pulses out around the rebar, slowly. Slowly enough that she doesn’t think anything important was clipped, but there’s still a lot of blood. Maybe too much.

“Lilith, iodine, please.” She reaches up for the bottle to be placed in her hand. She tries her best to squirt it on the wound and the exposed rebar the best she could. She doesn’t want to think about the infection that could cause. This building was old and this rebar… it looks like it could be croding from what she can see of it, which is only maybe a handful of centimeters. “Ready on my end. I’ll help you guys guide it as best I can and get pressure on it. Get it off her quickly and smoothly. You’re going to have to lift it as straight up as possible. From what I can tell the rebar is mostly vertical.”

“That’s what it looked like to me as well.” Lilith confirms. One of them would have to stand over Beatrice’s legs and the other her head. Lilith can’t help but think it speaks to the dire nature of the situation that Ava doesn’t make a lewd joke about it. Lilith isn’t really all that mad she was given that small mercy though.

At least Lilith thought she had escaped it. “So. Are you straddling my girlfriend's face or am I?" Ava is insufferable when she gets like this. A quirk Lilith has quickly come to the realization that becomes especially bad when Ava is nervous or upset. Her coping mechanism is anger. Beatrice’s is diving head first into things so she doesn’t have to think, it’s her armor for everything being what’s expected of her. Camila’s is honestly the healthiest of all of them. It’s something Lilith has always deeply admired. And Ava’s is questionable humor.

“Ava. Take her head. Once you do, Ava I want you to hold her head still, in case she wakes up. Lilith. I’ll probably need your hands.” Camila directs the two women she would have been terrified to take charge of a year ago. She knows Lilith is capable of holding Beatrice’s head, just like she knows Ava is capable of helping her. She often has, on other missions. But this is different. This is Beatrice.

They all love her. Camila looks up to her so much that it’s hard to describe. She has admired her from the moment they met. Lots of the sister warriors had been kind to her but Beatrice took the time to see her, and teach her, and let her be Camila outside of being a nun. But Ava, she loves Beatrice.

Camila does not have the slightest clue to what they’ll find as they lift the slab off of their injured friend and she doesn’t have it in her to make Ava be the one to help her if she can help it. That, and part of her is telling herself that if Beatrice wakes up, Ava is their best chance at keeping her the calmest.

“Ok. Go slow. And listen to me.” Both her sisters respond with grim nods, so similar to each other in spite of their glaring differences at first glance, as they get in position. They each squat down and hook their hands under the edge, not even lifting yet but Camila could already see the strain on their faces. “Three. Two. One. Lift.”

Both women groan with effort, heads tilted back as they pull. True to their character, Ava’s is more of a yell while Lilith fights through clenched teeth. Camila heard them, when they said this slab was heavy enough to be an issue, but she has seen them lift heavy things together before. Heavy things that were on fire. “Slower.” Camila keeps spraying the rebar with iodine as it’s pulled further from their friend’s skin. “Almost there you guys. You’re doing great.”

Good. Ava thinks. Her quads are burning. Her back is stiff as she lifts, she can feel it pull almost sharp. Sometimes, in times like these, it’s hard for her to imagine what her life was before. She knows it’s cliché to say that it felt like a lifetime ago. But it was. She’d died after all but sometimes she has a hard time reconciling the two realities she’s lived. Well, three now, but who’s counting. So here she is, lifting a metric shit ton of concrete off of the love of her life. It hurts. Honest to God, it hurts and her hands are starting to slip against the rough parts of concrete she thought might help her grip. She lets herself glance across the slab to Lilith, and if the effort clear on Lilith’s face is anything to go by, she probably feels about the same. “Fuuuuck.”

That’s when Beatrice’s eyes snap open and she wakes with a short, sharp yell. She jerks upward at the waist, an unconscious attempt to follow the metal being pulled from her. It hurts . Everything from there happens so quickly. Ava thinks she might have unlocked a new power. The ability to freeze time or do whatever it is that The Flash does where you go so fast time is slow? It’s like minutes are ticking by but at the same time, it seems like only seconds. It probably is. Seconds, that is.  

“Beatrice?!” Camila scrambs on her hands and knees to move up to put her hands on the parts of Beatrice’s chest that aren’t under the rock. She hates this. She hates that she has to hold her best friend down while she is in pain and probably so scared and confused. “Beatrice. You have to be still.”  

Kiva jumps to his feet next to Ava, inching closer to Beatrice. His person is in pain, he needs to be by her. She needed him. “Nee. Auf .” Ava snaps. Not wanting him in the way to either get hurt by this rock or be somewhere that made it harder for Camila to work. She doesn’t even spare a second look in his direction, she doesn't have time. She meets Lilith’s eyes over the debris and they come to a very quick understanding. Pulling it the rest of the way off. “Camilla. Move.” She strains through gritted teeth. Both her and Lilith were about at their limits with holding the weight. Her hands were slipping and she didn’t dare try to readjust lest she drop it. “We can’t put this down with you right there.”

Camila scrambles back momentarily leaving Beatrice. The second she’s clear they half toss the slab to the side, half drop it the moment it’s past any part of Beatrice. They weren't going to have a lot of room to work surrounded by the ruble. But it’ll have to do for now.

Lilith immediately steps over Beatrice to the uninjured side, her hands finding her old Friend’s shoulders as she gets to her knees beside her. She didn’t want to think about how similar this felt to when Shanon lay bleeding on their last mission together. So she didn’t, she focused on her oldest friend, her little sister and what she could do for her in this moment. Ava didn’t miss the way Lilith let her thumbs brush over Beatrice’s shirt, a move only meant to sooth, as she held her still. “Easy. Beatrice, be still. Listen to me. You have to be still. Try to Breathe.” Lilith talks her old friend through it with a harshness and severity the situation calls for as Ava corrected Kiva and snapped at their friend and medic.

The first deep breath she takes is halted by pain shooting through her ribs. “Hurts.” She rasps. “I- I think my ribs might be broken.” She meant it to be comforting. Maybe a little bit funny. Because, clearly she was hurt. Beatrice with a twinge of a smile, looks wide eyed up at the night sky. It’s so big. Why aren’t there any stars tonight, she wonders.  

Ava let out the strangest noise Beatrice had ever heard a sob somewhere caught inside a bark of loud laughter. She wasn’t sure which one it was meant to be, though knowing Ava likely laughed. She was glad the halo barer thought she was funny. The noise call’s her attention to Ava filling her field of view but it’s confusing. Why is she upside down? She watches the huff of breath leave Ava's mouth as she finally meets Beatrice's eyes. “Babe, I think you broke a little more than just your ribs.” The injured sister warrior is still not able to piece together why everything hurts so bad. Or why she couldn’t seem to breathe right. Or why everything is so dark. None of it made sense.

Camilla talks through something but Beatrice can’t process it yet. She’s trying her hardest to clear the fog settling around her mind. What she is aware of, is that her ribs hurt. She’s already established that. Breathing hurts. It feels like there is, or at least was, a weight sitting on her chest. Her back hurts. She’s cold enough she’s thankful for the three bodies around her providing some warmth where they touch her.

“Beatrice- '' She vaguely registered her name being called but not anywhere close enough to process that she might need to answer. She was too busy cataloging what felt like her immediate periphery. What she wasn’t aware of, however, was that as Camila put pressure on the hole through her side with one hand, she was scraping the tip of something hard against the exposed part of Beatrice’s calf, the clothes torn sometime in this very long evening. “Beatrice, can you feel that?”

Unfortunately for Beatrice’s heart rate, that is the first thing she truly processes, her brain kicking back in after its brief reboot. And no. She can’t. What is Camila talking about? Something’s not right. Her mind screams at her. “No.” She coughs out confused, wincing at the jar to her ribs. “Feel what?” Against all the instructions she’d received upon waking up, and against what commonsense would tell her, that Ava’s hands at her temples down the sides of her head should tell her, Beatrice tries to bend her neck to look down at what is happening.

“No. Bea. Don’t move your head.” Ava pleads at almost a whisper but to everyone around it’s so loud through her tears. She adds only a little more pressure to her hold on the sides of heatrice’s head. Her usually downy soft hair caked with blood and dirt against her palms. “Please.”

“Ava, feel what?”

“Nothing. You’re doing great, Beatrice. Stay nice and still for me while I disinfect this wound..” The only thing other than the increasing pain ripping through her nerves at the edges of Beatrice’s current understanding of the environment was the ripping of clothes and a little bit of cool air brushing against her skin at her right side. Something felt wet though as the chill hit her harder in some places than others. Camila is coaching her through what’s about to happen while she lets her eyes close. Just for a little while.

While Beatrice has her eyes closed trying to listen to Camila, only responding about as half often as is appropriate, Lilih looks over at Ava from where she had been watching the blood ooze out of Beatrice between Camila’s fingers. “Ava,” she whispers sharply to get the frankly terrified girl’s attention without letting Beatrice in on it. Those large brown eyes fall on her and Lilith feels herself softening from the original chastisement she was about to send the Warrior Nun’s direction. “Ava, collect yourself. She needs you to be calm.”

Before Ava can respond with more than a hard swallow and small nod, Beatrice jerks as she’s met with the sting of the disinfectant. The movement immediately seals her attention back as she looks down at Beatrice. For the first time seeing a little more awareness in those eyes that weren’t quite focused before. If it weren’t for Beatrice trying to look down her body at the gruesome hole in her side Ava would have welcomed her back.

Instead she has to find a way to get her words, all of their words to sink in. “Beatrice.” Ava says with more urgency this time as she gets Beatrice’s eyes to lock on hers. “Do not move.” She says firmly. Not like she’s talking to Beatrice, her Beatrice , but like she’s talking to another sister warrior as their Warrior Nun. “You cannot move.” She has to take a step back to be what she needs to be right now. For Beatrice. She could do that. Anything for Beatrice. “I need you to stay still for me, okay. Just stay still.” She hears more conviction in her own voice this time. A command. Though she watches those brown eyes dart down to try to get another look as the wave stinging continues as Camila blows on the wound trying to do what she could to help.

Camila warns her again and apologizes before she douses the wound with more iodine. The sting of the disinfectant pulls the first sound Beatrice makes since coming to, a strangled cry ripped from her throat. Beatrice is only now processing the warning. Still trying to look down at her body she bites back the urge to let out a cry.

“I know. I’m sorry.” Camila offers sounds like she has something in her mouth, quickly followed by a rustle of paper and the sound of it tearing. The sounds disappear almost as quickly as they appear and Beatrice is squeezing her eyes closed  so hard she’s seeing white as another sting hits her as Camila pours Quick Clot over the wound. Then she’s met with HARD pressure on her side aggravating her ribs but also something lower, as Camila presses the first of what will end up being a lot of gauze to the wound. Not for the first time, Beatrice wonder’s who’s groaning it is echoing off the rubble around them. “Shhh, Bea. Easy. Doing great.”

Somewhere in there she’s vaguely aware of Camila talking on coms to mother superion for medevac.“The Santa Maria sopra Minerva collapsed. Beatrice got caught in it. We got the stuff off her but some rebar pierced her side. She’s bleeding heavily. - She’s conscious. - Yes For now. - We can’t move her. - Suspected spinal injury. No response to the field pain test on her legs. - We need immediate extract. Bring a backboard with you. And some blood. She’s A-pos. - Hours? She might not have that long. - Understood.”

Tears spilling out the sides of Beatrice's eyes making tracks through the dirt at her temples. “Ava-” her voice breaks over the last syllable. I’m scared.

“I know.” Her voice thick with emotion as she acknowledges the fear she finds in her favorite brown eyes. The immediate threat past she sees Beatrice again as she hears the fear in her voice. “I know, Bea.” She says softer, bending forward to kiss Beatrice's forehead, not caring about the blood and dust coating it. She wipes the tears from the corner of Beatrice’s eyes.  Ava can’t help but think that Beatrice being able to feel what Camila was doing was a good sign though.

But the story in the former nun’s brain is a little different. Beatrice knows Ava doesn't remember the immediate aftermath of the accident as she was comatose for weeks before she woke up paralyzed but the sentiment is there and it makes her heart sink. She comes into herself to take inventory of what she’s actually feeling. Her side might as well be on fire. The pressure is not helping how hard it is to breathe. Her arm is pulsating enough to turn her vision white with each beat of her heart. Her legs. Camilla asked if she could feel something. She can’t feel her legs. Her head is being held still. Something’s around her neck. Suddenly it clicks home.

No.  

Keep Reading 

[stars-in-our-oceans]

In this catatosphere + vamp!bea 👁️

In this catastrophe

—

Ava

As she came to, Ava was jarringly met with the realization of where she was and what happened to get her there in the first place. Of course she could play it off as it being just any other day, but she couldn’t, not after witnessing just how abnormal this day truly was.

No one told them this was going to happen anyways no news station or emergency broadcast could’ve prepared them for the shitshow that was the earthquake that ravaged the subway system she, and many other people, were in when it happened.

As she saw it now, Ava knew there was no way out being encased in the carnage that lay bare all around her. It probably weighed a ton, all of the rubble leftover, to make everything worse.

However, that is not what struck Ava the most, no it was the girl laying not even a few meager inches from her unresponsive. She was bleeding from the fucking head too. Ava tried not to panic, but if the girl beside her had a head injury then Ava needed her lucid immediately. So, reaching over, making sure her touch was gentle, she shook the girl by her shoulder.

“Hey.” Ava allowed her voice to increase in volume, if only by a bit. “You really gotta wake up dude, your head isn’t looking good…” Ava darted her eyes around. “…and I’d rather have some company down here.

The girl stirred imperceptibly, and then immediately bolted upwards howling in pain as she grabbed her head writhing in barely suppressed agony.

“Hey!” Ava yelled with a start. You don’t need to be sitting up you hurt your head, please lay the fuck back down before your brains shoot outta your nose or something, holy fuck!”

The girl could only whip her head around at the sound of Ava’s voice reverberating off of the walls. It was then that Ava saw her face, she was breathtaking, but that was all clouded over by the unabashed fear lining her features like lead. The girl's face scrunched up frowning as she saw the state of Ava, not even bothered to hide her expressions. She however stayed silent, opting to set her heavy gaze on Ava while pointing at Ava’s right arm. The girl then frowned even deeper as Ava looked at her confused.

“Wha- my arm?” Ava looked at the girl a little incredulous to say the least.

However, that look soon turned to abject horror when Ava looked over to see the gnarled base of the beginnings of her forearm and the giant chunks of rubble crushing it. She could see her hand, but it was a mixture of scarlet red blood oozing from her wrist along with violet tendrils running throughout her hand showing the lack of circulation. Though, most gut wrenching of all, she couldn’t move her fingers.

Ava was flooded by emotions, none good at the state of her arm. She took a shuddering breath in, then one, then two but they were coming too fast, off tempo, burrowing flowing oxygen in her chest like an icy grip wrapping around her heart and squeezing until Ava had no choice but to wheeze a sob out she wasn’t aware she was holding. Girl beside her completely forgot as she tried to reason with not being able to move a limb again, she thought that part of her life was over. That it passed her by when she learned how to walk again. She was so fucking wrong.

Trapped in the icy vortex of her memories, Ava was now hyperventilating, and the girl beside her immediately took notice and began guiding Ava’s gaze back to her. Ava found herself frozen in the soft grasp and equally soft gaze the girl had on Ava, but it didn’t do much to dampen the sheer panic taking her entire body over.

Until the girl finally spoke. “I need you to tell me your name?” She spoke with a soft British accent that caressed Ava’s ears like a well kept secret just for her.

“W-what?” Ava Stuttered trying to ignore the pain in her arm, and choking on her saliva.

“Your name?” The girl patiently asked again, her gaze still as soft as her voice.

“M- Ava, Ava’s my name.” Ava could only sob harder as her teeth began to chatter.

It’d be kinda funny that this girl was in way worse shape than her, yet still trying her damnedest to help Ava feel better. But laughing now would be impossible.

“My Name is Beatrice, but you can call me Bea. Can I grab your hand Ava?”

“Y-yes.”

So Beatrice did just that, and gripped it. It did wonders to calm Ava, if only just a bit. As she held Ava’s working hand she brought it to the ground and rubbed it against the surface they were sitting on.

“Feel that? That’s the platform of the subway station. See how it gets your fingers dusty with residue when you touch it?” Beatrice said, bringing Ava’s hand back up to face her as soon as she finished her statement. “See that?”

Ava could only weakly nod in response. Tears still gushing from her eyes and rough sniffles accompanying them.

Beatrice then entangled their fingers, continuing the grounding technique she was using for Ava.

“Now, do you feel the callousess on my fingers? I played violin when I was a child, and those are proof of it. They may be a huge contrast to the feeling of the rest of my hands though.” Beatrice now had a bit of a thoughtful expression on her face, but quickly shook her head looking back at Ava with a gaze that would’ve had Ava weak in the knees if the situation were different.

Ava tried taking a few steadying breaths as allowed herself to gaze upon bea’s face, squeezing the girl's hand not once, not twice, but three times signaling to the girl that she understood. Ava was able to calm her breathing down to an only mildly panicked pace during her time being comforted by Beatrice.

As Beatrice tried to continue her speech began to falter, stopping fully as she clamped her eyes shut and grit her teeth in concentration. When Bea opened her eyes again she was visibly sweating looking like she’d either throw up or pass out any minute. Ava could see the amount of exertion Bea was putting into ignoring her own injuries in favor of Ava’s. So Ava, feeling the fear of being a burden, started working even harder on steadying her breathing so she could tell Bea to lay her head down in her lap, and allow herself to rest.

When Ava got her panic attack to a more manageable pace, she released her grip from Bea’s feeling the loss immediately, then pulled up the collar of her shirt to wipe her face. When she got done she looked over to see bea’s eyes trying to close slowly.

Fearing her falling asleep with a head injury, Ava frantically snapped in Beatrice’s face trying desperately to wake the girl up. Bea’s eyes snapped back into focus, leveling Ava’s own eyes as she did so. And like the flicker of a lightbulb Beatrice’s expression immediately changed. She was awake, yes, but entirely different. Almost like she was in a trance

“Who are you?” She snapped, Ava habitually shrunk back at the bass in her tone. “Mother said no one is allowed here, and that I am only allowed to study till curfew.”

“I-I’m Ava, we just met in the subway. You’re hurt Bea and need to lay down.”

“Did you not hear me?” Beatrice was still speaking in a trance-like state. “Mother Said I need to study, and you are disturbing me. Mother won’t be happy, please leave.” Her eyes welled with tears as she pleaded with Ava to go somewhere else.

“Oh, Bea, Ava’s eyes began to glisten as she regarded a version of Beatrice who seemed to be reverting back to a childlike state due to her head injury, and maybe even trauma. “I promise your mom won’t be mad if you lay down in my lap Bea, you’re only going to relax so your head will feel better, okay?”

Ava, seeing tears streaming down her face, brought her hand up to wipe them away as Bea swayed in and out of consciousness. She then grabbed her hand as Beatrice came out of the trance she was in.

“Ava? I’m scared.” Beatrice expressed before she looked upon Ava with raw sadness in her eyes.

“I know. I am too, but you’re not alone in this. We’ll get through it together.” She then guided Beatrice into her lap, adjusting her head, and still holding her hand as Beatrice cried herself back into an unconscious slumber.

If Ava couldn’t stop Bea from falling asleep, the least she could do is allow her comfort and hope for her to wake up again.

~~

Vamp!bea

—

As soon as Beatrice turned her head, she caught a glimpse of it…

And then before she knew it Beatrice’s back was hitting the ground, hard.

As she sputtered and wheezed for breath Beatrice came face to face with something straight out of the nightmares she’d have a kid.

Beatrice couldn’t help but scream as the thing began straddling her hips, hands laying on either side of her shoulders with the intention of holding her down.

Despite her terror, Beatrice was immediately drawn to the creatures glowing irises of gold that starred in awe at Beatrice’s brown ones.

“Stop screaming, I’m not going to kill you, just change you! You’d make such a pretty addition to my collection.” The voice of the creature was soft and velvety, and Beatrice immediately began to get lost in it.

So without much of a fight, she gave into the creature's demand.

“W-what do you mean… change me?” Beatrice finally spoke while trying her damndest to keep her voice steady.

Then she all but failed when the creature’s claws? dug deeply into her shoulders causing her to whimper in turn.

“Oh my sweet, sweet precious girl. I only seek to make you better, but please no more talking. It ruins the fun when you ask questions, love.”

Beatrice began to tremble when her voice left her. Tears immediately began to fall not soon after.

Beatrice had never felt so violated in her entire life.

But it intrigued her nonetheless.

“Oh dear.” The creature said with a crestfallen look accompanying her features.

She then pulled a clawed hand from Beatrice’s shoulder- - causing the girl to rather abruptly wince- - wiping the tears from Beatrice's face.

This caused Beatrice’s blood from the creature's claws to drip upon her face, mixing with her tears.

“Oh, my, that won’t do. Sorry my love, let me clean you up.” The creature smiled, fangs on display as she leaned down and began to lick Beatrice’s face in order to clean the blood off of her.

Then she licked her fingers, paying mind to getting the blood off of each digit as she continued to watch Beatrice deep wonder.

“Oh! Oh! Oh! You taste devine!” The creature said as she pulled her last finger from her mouth with an audible pop.

When she was done, Beatrice tried to jerk away which only prompted the creature to hold her jaw in place with her newly cleaned hand.

And for extra measure, the creature dug her claws a little deeper into the flesh of Beatrice’s shoulder.

Beatrice could only hiss in pain as she wrenched her eyes closed.

“Darling, that won’t do, I need you to open your eyes for me okay? Or this will become unpleasant really quickly.”

Beatrice, too afraid to assume what could possibly be worse than what was already happening, unwillingly complied.

“There you are my love. Now where were we? Ah! Yes, I am going to change you. Relax okay? This will only take a moment.” The creature said in amusement as she smiled once again down at Beatrice.

However, with bloodied lips curling around sharpened canine like fangs, it began to look more like a snarl than a smile to Beatrice.

This time it was different though. The creature's irises only grew more intense in their glowing hue, while her fangs grew larger in size. Before Beatrice could even comprehend what was happening to her, the creature was biting down hard on her neck.

Beatrice’s body immediately seized up, all previous exhaustion forgotten. With eyes significantly wilder, all Beatrice could do was groan as she fisted her hands into the mud beneath her, begging for something to hold onto. The sensation she felt was unlike anything she’d ever felt before, it wasn’t unbearable, nor bearable, but oddly she wanted more of whatever was happening to her.

Grabbing at the mud wasn’t enough, she needed something or someone more solid to grasp onto. Beatrice immediately grabbed a fistful of the creature's hair, and wrapping her other hand around its back began to pull them closer to which the creature responded by biting her harder.

Beatrice choked out a whimper, the sensation becoming more intense by the second. Whatever was in the creature's bite was overriding every nerve ending in Beatrice’s body, and she was enthralled by it.

It was like Beatrice’s life force was playing a dangerous game of tug-of-war. Her body freezing, tremors causing her limbs to spasm every few seconds before reverting back to steady but violent shaking. While her mind had never felt clearer, her eyes seeing things she never could’ve seen with the eyes she had before this incident occurred.

Beatrice was lost in this euphoric feeling for who knows how long, but something occurred to her in that moment that ripped her from her stupor.

Ava.

[possibilistfanfiction]

Avatrice + unfinished business

ps - sorry you’re having a crappy day, pal

[forgive me distant wars (for bringing flowers home) - ao3]

//

to unravel a torment you must begin somewhere

— louise bourgeois

//

‘hey,’ you say, sitting back down in the seat next to bea. the last battle has been won; the war is over. to you, at least right now, it feels like the happiest thing you could ever imagine: getting to leave the ruins behind, getting to spend the rest of your life — hopefully a long and mundane one — growing old with this person you love so deeply. lilith was helping deal with some residuals in spain, and so it was just easier to take a flight instead of teleporting, even though you have to fly across the atlantic and then a whole continent. it feels normal; it feels like something people who have never seen a demon, or come back from the dead, or fought in a holy war, or worn a crown of thorns, or watched someone they love die — it feels like something normal people do.

it’s your first time on a plane, and camila had, kindly, gotten you first class tickets, mostly because beatrice’s arm is broken and tender and in a new cast, tucked away in a sling across her chest. it’s not the time to be excited, you get it, but you’re flying on an airplane and you guess bea has flown a million times but the safety speech and takeoff and little peanuts and glass of champagne the flight attendant offers you, the little travel pillow and the fact that you can watch ocean’s 8 on your own personal little tv is… pretty fucking cool.

beatrice hasn’t talked much; there are dark circles under her eyes and she hadn’t protested when you’d handed her a warm, comfortable cotton sweater and a pair of loose pants, soft socks and birkenstocks, some of her favorites from california, to wear on the flight back — home, you think, for as long as beatrice wants to stay there, getting to be in the sun and laughing with friends she’d made. she hadn’t bothered to put on a bra, mostly, you think, because of the painful, deep bruises along her ribs: she doesn’t have the halo, and she’s deadly and skilled, but still. for as much as you got hit — and walked through fucking fire, swear to god — she’s human, and she needs time to heal.

‘hi ava,’ she says, eventually, rough and quiet, forcing a smile. you’re not quite sure what’s going on, probably mostly that she’s tired and sore, but you have time to figure it out. you know she has nightmares, all kinds, and that she has no plan, so far, to reconcile with her parents; you’re not sure, not anymore, where she stands with her faith. you remember waking up from dying, the first time, alone in a morgue and absolutely terrified, and you think maybe she feels a little like that: confused, and lost, and overwhelmed with a wonder that sits in her hands with nowhere, quite yet, to go.

‘you doing okay? did you eat? are you cold? do you need more ibuprofen?’

her smile turns real, and soft, a little sad, and she brings her fingers to trace the newly stitched skin on your face: someone with a divinium knife, a lucky strike through your brow and across the bridge of your nose. in your opinion, it’s pretty badass and, honestly, you don’t mind emerging from a holy war with a scar. it’s a reminder, that you were strong, that you’re still human, in the ways that matter at least: you need to breathe and you can bleed and be hurt and heal; you can love and care. ‘no, thank you,’ she says, then rubs your cheekbone gently with her thumb before putting her hand back in her lap. ‘i’m doing fine.’

you definitely don’t believe her: beatrice, when she’s really fine, smiles and laughs quietly at horrible reality tv, and gets up at the ass crack of dawn to surf before coming back inside and going right back to sleep until noon. she goes to trivia nights at the outdoor foodcourt near your house with extreme, unwavering intensity, and she touches you whenever she wants. ‘okay.’ you adjust the blanket over her lap, just to have something to do, and she leans into you a little bit. ‘when’s the last time you slept?’

‘i’m fine, darling. really.’

‘you know that i know you, right?’

she sighs. ‘i just — i want to be back at the house.’

you don’t miss her reluctance to call it home: residual fear, or a little bit of shame, you’re not sure, but it makes you ache for her. ‘ugh, i miss our bed. and our kitchen, even if what i mostly do is heat up leftovers.’

‘we do have an impressive microwave.’

you smile, and you lace your fingers with hers. ‘we can talk about this later, but — do you want to stay? have you thought about it at all?’

she waits a beat, swallows. ‘i do, want to stay.’ i built myself a life; i built a life where there was room for you in it, immediately; i built us a life, you know she means, but can’t quite speak it aloud. ‘maybe we can look at houses to buy, in a few weeks. i’d like to stay on the water.’

‘well, i, for one, think that the pope should definitely comp a really beautiful beach house for us.’

she laughs quietly, tired, but with humor nonetheless. ‘either the pope or my trust fund.’

‘delightful either way, in my opinion.’

she smiles.

‘hey, i was gonna say, you can sleep, if you want. there’s a few hours before we land, i’ll stay awake.’

‘no, that’s okay.’ she sits up straighter and rubs her eyes. ‘you can nap.’

sometimes you want to shake her, or yell at her, or pick a fight: let me take care of you, you want to say, until she lets you the way she deserves. it scares you, now, the exhausted lilt to her shoulders, the slump in her spine. before, when you had just come back, she was quiet and reserved, still, in ways you think she probably always will be, part of her nature — but she let you order way too much food, and she happily slept in, and let her hair grow long and light and tangle in the salt air. she rested, and she laughed, and there was a looming threat on the horizon but she was so present, so very real. it scares you because the war is over but there’s a weight to her, a vigilance and a sadness, a grief — even though she kisses you with joy and tenderness and the sure promise of forever; she had called you, easily, your life partner at an airport cafe earlier — like her brain hasn’t quite caught up with the fact that she’s safe. there is no more unfinished business: you both made it out alive.

‘maybe we can watch a movie together? or a show, whatever you want.’

‘well,’ she says, ‘i am behind on all of my housewives.’

‘perfect.’ you find it on the little screen in front of you and hand her one her your ear buds. ‘what are lisa and heather fighting about now?’

/

ray, one of bea’s best friends and, now, one of your good friends too, has been watching the house for you, and you had texted her before you’d left out of paris that you’d both had a few injuries but nothing major, and not to worry when you get back. she knows, vaguely, about your pasts and your job, as much as you could really explain without putting her into danger. but, still, she grimaces when she comes outside to help you take your bags in once your uber drops you off from lax.

she gives you a tight hug, which you welcome — this is a life, separate from angels and demons and violence in the form of dying; violence in the form of resurrection. bea hesitates for a moment but then lets ray wrap her up in her arms, as tightly as she can without hurting her, right in your driveway. the air smells like the sea and the sage planted in the yard, and it’s cool as the sun goes down.

‘i’m glad you’re back,’ she says. you’re grateful for her, and all the friends bea had made while you were gone — ray means i love you but sometimes bea needs a minute to catch up, and you love that people know her well enough to understand. ‘come on, let’s get you inside. ava, do you want to help me make dinner?’

‘i can help,’ bea offers.

ray shakes her head. ‘nope. you can shower and lie down, and ava can come get you when we’re done.’

bea frowns. ‘you’re sure?’

‘yes.’ ray gets bea’s suitcase and starts to walk inside. ‘you can come relax on the couch if you want, but i know you haven’t slept well in a long time, and you’re hurt.’ bea bites her bottom lip, like she wants to argue but knows she won’t win. ‘plus, ava needs to learn how to make my abuelita’s guacamole for you.’

‘okay,’ beatrice says, running a gentle hand along the picture in the frame on your entryway table, next to a small, misshapen bowl that you’d made in a pottery class that holds your keys. there’s no dust on anything, and there’s a profound sense of grace: you know that ray had cleaned, had kept fresh food in the fridge, had opened the doors every day to let the ocean air in. ‘okay.’

/

beatrice pads down the stairs just as you’re crying from cutting an onion, laughing from it, garlic and peppers roasting on the stove. you’d helped her up to your room before, and you think she almost started crying when she’d sat down on your bed to take her socks off. you’d kissed her forehead. now, she’s in an old pair of her running shorts, her favorite hoodie, comfortable socks; her hair is in a damp bun and, even though she doesn’t look less exhausted, she does look like herself.

you smile at her and she waves, kind of dorky, and then settles down on the couch. you’d put a gentle record on before you’d started cooking, and you don’t need to walk around the couch to know exactly how she’s curling up, careful of her wrist in its cast and sling, how, if you’re lucky, she’s let her eyes fall closed.

‘i recorded some matches from the open,’ ray says, ‘if you want to turn one on.’

bea lifts her good arm with a dorky thumbs up, which you love, and then you hear the little click of the remote as she navigates through your apps and opens the right one to stream. everything smells so good, and you can hear the ocean outside, and beatrice loves to watch tennis; if it’s on, she often does while you’re making dinner as the day winds down. ray teaches you how to smash avocado properly and you add in the chiles and garlic and lime juice, when you squeeze it, gets in a little hangnail you have and stings, just for a moment, and you put your finger in your mouth and wait for the halo to soothe it. beatrice is fast asleep on the couch, you see when you walk over; you take a soft blanket, neatly folded, off the back, and drape it over her gently. bea curls up when she sleeps, small and contained, on her side, her hands tucked neatly under her chin.

you love her, and the war is over; you won.

when you wake her a few minutes later, she flinches away from your hand.

/

when you wake up the next morning, early, beatrice is already gone. the sheets are cold when you reach out and touch them, but it doesn’t terrifying or even surprise you: she’d eaten dinner quietly and then gone up to bed; she had been under the duvet and asleep by the time you finished cleaning up and had a beer with ray. now, after you put on a thick sweater and a beanie and make coffee in two to-go mugs, she’s right where you thought she would be. her back is a little hunched and she’s just in a t-shirt, even though it’s freezing cold before the sun has washed over the coast with its warmth.

you’re definitely not a stealthy person to begin with, which is fine, especially now, but you make sure to be as loud as possible before you sit down beside her. she smiles at you, looking even more tired than she did yesterday, you wonder if she really slept at all last night. but, still, she kisses you softly when you hand her her mug.

‘you’re not wearing your sling.’

‘good morning to you too, ava.’

you roll your eyes. ‘hi, love of my life. you’re not wearing your sling.’

she shrugs, trains her gaze back on the water, the incoming set and her friends on their boards in the distance. ‘wasn’t feeling as sore.’

‘you know i don’t believe you.’

she takes a sip of her coffee, hums quietly: you know you got the oat milk ratio right, and you know she had missed it.

‘are you… unhappy?’

‘no,’ she says, more intense than you had anticipated, looking more alive than you had seen her in days, weeks maybe. she turns toward you and seriously cups your face in her palm. ‘no, ava, i — i am so happy. all i want is this life with you, to build our home.’ her eyes fill with tears and her lower lip starts to tremble. ‘i just — i’m so tired, and i feel so overwhelmed.’

’okay.’ you soothe your fingers over her collarbone, take note of how cold her skin is to the touch. ‘that’s okay. i’m here for it all, you know that, right?’

she swallows. ‘i do, yes. thank you.’

‘no need to thank me.’ you kiss the tip of her nose and her smile, for a flash, turns real. ‘i love you. and, honestly, when i got back, i was really surprised how well-adjusted you were. you have to feel overwhelmed and weird at some point.’ you pair it with a cheeky grin, one you know will soften the blow; one you know will help her feel good, and loved, and cared for: nothing about her is a flaw.

‘i suppose.’

‘it’s okay, how you feel. we’ll figure it out.’

she nods. ‘okay.’

‘for now —‘ you stand and then offer your hand to help her up — ‘let’s get you inside, or at least into a hoodie. you’ve gotta be freezing.’

it seems to occur to her, all of a sudden, that she’s in shorts and a t-shirt. ‘oh.’

you make a big show of brushing sand off your butt, which makes her smile, genuinely, and then she eagerly laces your fingers together.

‘wanna get breakfast burritos? oh, or donuts. beatrice, both?’

she pauses to kiss you, gently. ‘we can get everything you want, darling.’

you let out a whoop, probably far too loud for this early, but it makes her laugh, and you really don’t care about anything else.

/

‘what… are you doing?’

beatrice finishes knotting her obi with one sure hand, the other clumsy in her cast. it’s been two days and, mostly, you’ve gotten her to nap with you a few times; you’ve ordered in your favorite foods and she’s done your laundry — you were banned from helping ages ago — and gone to her favorite bookstore, her favorite coffee shop, your bar where they were thrilled to see you back and already tried to get you back on the schedule. it’s been two days and you’re home and safe but you’re starting to think that, in some ways, at least, beatrice can’t quite believe that she is: she hasn’t touched you since the night before the final battle. she hasn’t let you touch her.

‘going to the dojo,’ she says, like this is an obvious, logical thing for her to do right now.

‘beatrice.’ you walk toward her, standing still in the middle of your big closet. ‘you’re hurt.’

‘i’ve had worse,’ she tells you, clipped and annoyed and maybe, maybe, a little scared.

‘baby.’

she shakes her head and moves away from you; you’d seen her ribs, just this morning, the big bruise that runs their length still purpling, green around the edges, spreading all along her side. it’s been four days since she broke her arm — in three places, dr. salvius had said when she put the x-ray up on the screen: the tender marrowbones, the wrist, ulna and radius, rendered in black and white, the cracks plain to see, others more faded, healed reluctantly in their wake.

‘ava,’ she says sharply. ‘i’m fine. i’m just going to run through some kata. it’ll help me feel less stiff.’

you somehow don’t believe her, but, ‘okay, i guess. but, promise to be gentle to yourself?’

she smiles, not reaching her eyes. ‘sure.’

‘will keiko be there?’

‘yes.’

‘okay, he’s my favorite. i trust him to not let you get even more hurt.’

‘i really am just stiff.’ you know that’s not true; she’s taken advil ever six hours since you’d been back, precise and necessary. keiko is her preferred sparring partner, and a good friend, so you figure you can text him if you have to.

‘let me pick you up afterward? we can grab lunch.’

she agrees easily with a nod, and then steps toward you and runs a hand through your hair tenderly before she kisses you.

‘i just — i just want you to be okay.’

‘i will be, she says. ‘i always am.’

/

‘so, beatrice,’ keiko says, smiling happily now that the two of you are back, relaxed at a table at your favorite cafe by the water, ‘what’s your favorite thing about ava?’

‘my boobs, definitely,’ you say immediately. you’re extremely confident in your answer.

beatrice, instead of laughing, only looks down at her lap with a frown. ‘i was going to say your joy.’ it’s quiet, and way too sincere for the moment, really. you take her hand gently and kiss her knuckles, littered with white scars.

‘that’s very gay,’ keiko says, his perfect smile on display, although when he glances at you, you can tell that he’s worried too. ‘both of your answers, honestly.’

you laugh but bea hasn’t looked up from her lap.

‘i’m gonna go to the bathroom, or maybe go flirt with our server; he’s yummy,’ keiko says, and you squeeze his in thanks as he leave.

you crowd into beatrice’s space, duck so you can rest your forehead against hers. ‘hey, bea.’

she sniffles in response and your heart aches for her.

‘i’m sorry i made a stupid joke about my boobs, but — what’s going on?’ keiko had told you, while you’d sent bea to get a table, that she had asked to train with him, even with her cast. he hadn’t known about her ribs, but he’s trained with beatrice for a while, so he knows enough of her movements, and her responsibilities and past, that you’re sure he was able to tell.

‘i really love you. i’m really happy, i am. i want —‘ she sniffles — ‘i want to feel it, i want to touch you. i just — it’s like someone moved all the furniture two inches; i feel off. like nothing is… real.’

it doesn’t quite make sense to you, but that doesn’t really matter: beatrice is hurting, and confused, and, she’s your partner. you will be there for her; you will help her as best you can; you will love her, steadfastly, like she’s always loved you. ‘we can make sure you’re safe, and we’ll figure it out, okay?’

she swallows and wipes her tears, then nods. ‘yeah, okay.’

‘i love you. i’m in it with you.’

‘i love you too.’

you squeeze her hand. ‘so, do you want me to feign an emergency or do you want to finish lunch with keiko? you know i have a flair for the dramatic.’

it gets her to laugh, which settles your nerves: she’s the person you want to spend your life with, the one you know the best. ‘you don’t say.’

‘whatever. so?’

‘let’s finish lunch. then i need to nap, with some advil. to be honest, i should not have done all i did today.’

‘you don’t say.’

she rolls her eyes, but then she smooths her thumb over your cheek. ‘thank you, ava.’

‘dude. always.’

‘dude?’

‘whatever.’

/

things get better, of course they do: beatrice is gentle and wonderful, as she always has been. sometimes she wakes up early to watch the sunrise and say hi to her friends surfing; sometimes she sleeps late like she prefers. she makes dinner with you, and you convince her to go shopping even though she insists that you have more than enough clothes. you go to see a sparks game with a few of your friends, court side because you can, because you get to live your life now; you get to eat cotton candy and tell bea which players you think are the hottest and watch her laugh, watch her light up, watch her get dressed carefully in soft clothes and hold your hand at dinner, on top of the table. sometimes it feels like nothing can touch you, not anymore. you fall asleep on the couch one night playing with her hair, and when you wake up later, in bed, she’s awake, looking at you softly.

‘you carried me up here?’

she nods, like there was no other option. beatrice has loved you grandly before; beatrice has fought her way through men who wanted to kill her, just to hold you for a few minutes, just to say goodbye. she’s always been quiet but there had been, during the war, a devotion and reverence that made you want to press her up against a wall and kiss her until she forgot the blood and the burn and there was only the moon through the gossamer curtains, until there was only your mouths and the histories hidden in them. sometimes, when she makes you coffee when she gets in from the beach, or settles between your legs while you’re lounging on the balcony, kisses your collarbone and then situates herself, opens a book and rests a gentle hand on your knee — sometimes you think this is the way she was meant to love. this is the way she was meant to love you: in the mundanity and the laughter. she was meant to love you in the light.

/

you drift away from beatrice in the whole foods by your house, mostly so you can pick out a bunch of chocolate without her grumbling, and also so you can watch her carefully inspect plums, holding them gently in her palm and smiling a little when she thinks she’s found the best one. she’s in a hoodie and shorts, her long hair braided neatly, soft and sleepy and so beautiful. you wait for a few moments and let yourself yearn for her, let yourself feel her absence, just for a second, just so you can return to it in all its warmth.

she’s moved on to inspecting peaches when you walk up behind her and hug her, and then, all of a sudden, you’re slammed onto your back, plums everywhere around you. it takes your brain a second to catch up, but then there’s bea’s horrified face above you and a few people looking on in concern.

‘ava,’ she says, her eyes filling with tears; she brings a shaking hand to your cheek but then snatches it away, ashamed. ‘ava, i’m so, so sorry — i —‘

‘hey, it’s okay, i’m fine.’ you sit up and then stand; you help her pick up the few plums that have fallen and then tug on her hand, get her to abandon the basket even though she tries to argue, and you walk out into the sun. she’s breathing hard, her chest heaving, and you hurry to your car, where you take the keys from her pocket and then get her into the passenger seat. ‘breathe, bea.’ she shakes her head and she’s crying now; you don’t know exactly what’s happening, but she’s hyperventilating and you gently push her head forward, between her knees, and run your hand along her spine. sometimes, after nightmares, you feel panicked, so you know at least a few things to try to help her calm down. ‘bea, what noises do you hear right now? can you tell me five?’

there’s a few ragged breaths but then she says, ‘a car alarm,’ and you know that she can do it. she gets through sound and smell before she sits up and then you get in the driver’s seat but you still hold her hand as she tells you five things she sees, her breathing returning to normal. you open a bottle of water and hand it to her, and she takes a few sips before turning to you.

‘are you okay?’

‘yeah,’ you say, ‘i’m fine, truly. not a scratch or a bruise. you’re losing your touch.’

‘ava.’ her lip trembles. ‘i — i don’t know what’s happening.’

‘well, we fought a war,’ you say, and you put your hand on her cheek and run your thumb under her eyes. ‘and you were fighting for a long time before that. so now, maybe you’re just having a hard time catching up to it being over.’

‘but —‘ she clenches her jaw — ‘it is over, and i know that.’

‘yeah, i know you do. but you know that bodies and brains aren’t like that, all the time. i know you know that.’

‘i just — this isn’t who i am. this isn’t what i’m like. i should be feeling happy, and grateful, and just planning the future with you, and for myself, but then —‘ she looks out the window, away from you — ‘then i don’t know what’s real, or i’m so scared.’

‘beatrice.’ you wait for her to meet your gaze. ‘we’ll figure it out. i have my stuff too, and you know that. and i know that you don’t love me any less for it.’

‘i would never.’

‘yeah, so — i love you. no matter what. i love you.’

‘i’m really, really sorry.’

‘it’s okay.’ she takes another sip of the water and slumps in the seat, drained. ‘also, i stole that, so now i’ve officially shoplifted something. bucket list item completed.’

bea snorts a laugh. ’that was not on your bucket list.’

‘how do you know? it totally was.’

‘should we… go pay for it?’

there’s a hint of a smile still on her face, a real one that you delight in. ‘nah,’ you say. ‘let’s go home.’ she opens her mouth but you beat her to it: ‘we can order groceries, bea.’

‘okay.’ she lets out a big breath. ‘let’s go home.’

/

bea had already been seeing a therapist, you know, since before you even came back; she’d told you, one day, when it was foggy and you’d driven out to malibu, that she talked a lot about her sexuality, and her expression, and her parents, and her faith. you don’t think, the entire time, that she had talked about the things that make her hands tremble now; you don’t think she had talked about the absent way she’ll stare out the window while she washes the pan you’d made eggs in for breakfast, how she flinches away when you move too quickly. maybe she hadn’t noticed; maybe she had gotten to love you in a way that sat in her chest and never quite made it out while you were gone: her friends all know about you, that you were ‘sick,’ that beatrice ached for you. but they don’t know she’s saved the world. they don’t know that she’s saved you.

you wait for her, after therapy, with all the windows open in the house so it smells like the ocean and always a little like the smog that sits inland; you light candles and get the softest blankets out for the couch. you order her favorite birria and make sure there’s cold seltzer — one of her favorite small indulgences — in the fridge. when she gets home, her shoulders slumped, she looks exhausted, but the little divinium chain camila had given her glows a pale blue when you’re near, and it’s not perfect, but it does help her feel calmer sometimes. now, she smiles gently at you and kisses you. there’s a steadfastness there that you recognize from before: you are hers and she will protect you. there’s no battles, no wars, but there are things to be protected from: bad drivers and rip currents and the bad sushi you had one time in santa monica. life is rich, and abundant, more than you ever, ever dreamed it could be, in this realm or any others.

you eat your tacos on the couch, wrapping bea up in blankets while she laughs and pretends to resist. you kiss her and kiss her and kiss her; she tugs on the bottom of your shirt and it’s warm, the air, and her skin is hot. it’s been weeks being back — extraordinary weeks; confusing and difficult weeks — but she lies beneath you and tells you that you’re her favorite person; that you’re a blessing; that you save her life, even now, and then she laughs and says you taste like guacamole and you love her, so much. and then she smiles and takes your hand and places it on her waistband.

’i want you to touch me.’

she kicks the blankets to her feet and is hungry when she kisses you, arches into you when you run your fingers through her wetness and rub a circle around her clit. you kiss her pulse point, scrape your teeth along her collarbone, reach under her sweater — she’s not wearing a bra — and tweak a dusky, hard nipple softly. she says your name and it’s heaven, to watch her fall apart beneath you. the halo glows as the sun sets and she sighs your name.

/

Ava🍊 (10:02 am)

hey babe no worries but can u be allergic to pineapple lol

bea 💓💫🏄🏻‍♀️😎👭🥋📿 (10:03 am)

Are you feeling like you can’t breathe or are really itchy? I’m not sure what the halo would do in this situation. I’ll be home as soon as I can.

Ava🍊 (10:03 am)

no no it’s okay my mouth is just a little fuzzy it’s kinda fun not really but kind of

bea 💓💫🏄🏻‍♀️😎👭🥋📿 (10:04 am)

I’ll come home

Ava🍊 (10:04 am)

you don’t have to, it’s okay bea i really am fine

Ava🍊 (10:05 am)

how about if i come to you? that way you don’t miss out on dojo time

bea 💓💫🏄🏻‍♀️😎👭🥋📿 (10:06 am)

Is that a hassle for you?

Ava🍊 (10:06 am)

nah i'll just bring my ipad and email from there i always get all hot and bothered when i get to watch you anyway even tho you better not be doing anything that’s gonna hurt your wrist 👀

bea 💓💫🏄🏻‍♀️😎👭🥋📿 (10:07 am)

I’m not, I promise

bea 💓💫🏄🏻‍♀️😎👭🥋📿 (10:08 am)

Are you sure you’re okay to come?

Ava🍊 (10:08 am)

yes my love i’ll be there in 10 mins flex extra hard when i come in

bea 💓💫🏄🏻‍♀️😎👭🥋📿 (10:09 am)

Ava. I’m in my gi

Ava🍊 (10:09 am)

hmm still hot for one secondly can i watch you shower later then? please

bea 💓💫🏄🏻‍♀️😎👭🥋📿 (10:10 am)

I’ll see you soon. And maybe. If you’re good.

Ava🍊 (10:11 am)

wow yes ok see you in 5 minutes if i run fast can’t wait

/

she has bad days, where she doesn’t want to get out of bed, or where she looks at you, hazy, in the morning, and her hands shake while she drinks her coffee, like she’s not quite sure what’s real. one time, when you’re watching some stupid action movie on tv, her whole body starts trembling and you have to take her hands and go stand, your pants rolled up to your knees, in the freezing cold surf until it seems like she comes back to you, with a sob and a tight hug and then a small, quiet request for ice cream. and it’s okay: she does grounding exercises in a workbook her therapist has given her, and, eventually, she gets her cast off, the skin underneath pale and flakey but the first time she gets to run through forms with her bo, just in your yard in the afternoon sun, in her hakama and a sports bra, there’s a peace that fills her then, tangible and visible, the set of her shoulders and the sureness of her hips.

one morning, as time floats on as it’s bound to do, at least here, she’s still in bed when you wake up, even though she had planned to go surfing. you’re worried for a moment, that something had happened, or that she’d had a bad nightmare, but she smiles gently when she sees you’re awake and smooths hair off your face. are you okay; how can i love you better you want to ask, but then her eyes are calm and her fingers don’t shake at all.

‘i just have bad cramps,’ she explains.

‘aw, baby.’

‘it’s okay. i took some ibuprofen a few minutes ago.’

‘let me get you the heating pad.’

‘i’m fine.’

‘beatrice.’ you kiss her forehead and then rest yours against it; you let your easy breaths and her soft skin fill the space for a moment. ‘let me take care of you. please.’

she’s still, but then she scoots a little so her head is tucked into your neck. ‘okay.’

‘yeah?’

she smiles up at you, so fucking pretty you don’t even know what to do with yourself. ‘yes, ava. the heating pad would be nice.’

/

beatrice settles: she buys pants she loves and gets a few more tattoos; she surfs in the mornings and teaches aikido and tells you all about all the podcasts she likes to listen to on her runs, or when she’s making dinner; she goes down on you one morning until you come so many times you forget everything but her. you go to a winery in ojai and you sit with her in the hotsprings and she kisses the scar through your brow a little clumsily after a few glasses of chardonnay. you drive to a farm on your way back to the city, one with regenerative practices that move beatrice to tears when the guide happily answers her quiet, precise questions on the tour. you cry about a pig and a rooster who are best friends, but, like, who can blame you, really?

she throws you a big party with all of your friends the weekend before your birthday, and then quietly takes you to joshua tree, which seems like another planet and you’re in awe, all over again, of everything you get to see in this world. everything smells like sage after it rains, a flash storm, and you hike to an oasis and sit and share a peanut butter and jelly sandwich with beatrice, who is sunkissed and golden and so goddamn beautiful in a t-shirt with a hole in the sleeve, with jelly smudged on the corner of her mouth that you kiss away. she brings binoculars and shows you quail, shows you small wrens in cacti. that night you eat burgers and fries and she somehow has managed to sneak an entire cake into your air bnb without you noticing — which she should probably tease you about, but she’s too sweet to do it right now, not when she’s putting candles into the frosting with a very exacting expression, not when she sings to you softly, and then tells you to make a wish.

she’s left her divinium chain on the nightstand at your house on the beach, and she’s looking at you like she understands it all: the stars are so bright overhead and you can see for miles, and miles, and miles. it makes you feel invincible; it makes you feel like a god; it makes you feel like a girl: someone loves you, and you get to love her back. later, you’ll eat edibles together and sit outside wrapped in blankets as the desert air turns freezing, and she’ll tell you how she learned to ride a bike, and the name of her childhood cat, and about the horrible hangover she got from homemade vodka in krakow. things will feel soft, and she won’t be able to stop smiling while she kisses you, and she’ll push the beanie off of your hair and touch you beneath the infinite sky. you’ll live like this, you think: folding the laundry and haircuts and hangovers and broken wrists and books you read to her in the middle of the night when things are hard and sleeping is scarier than staying away. you’ll live in it all, in the fucking joy.

for now she laughs into your mouth and everything smells like the faint smoke from birthday candles and the petrichor in the distance.

‘there’s not a lot for me to wish for, anymore.’

she shrugs. ‘wish anyway.’

you do: abundance. it’s easy, to long for it, because you hold it in the palms of your hands every day. you settle into bed with her later and you thank her and she tells you, 'i feel so safe, with you, where we are in this world,' as you hold her. with your eyes, you trace the weft lines of a tapestry hanging on the wall. the way you love her feels the same: intricate and infinite, spring and the color orange and a brave, disappearing horizon line, blue in the dark. she falls asleep, soft, in your arms; the sun rises in the morning and paints the horizon gold.

[unicyclehippo]

‘whoa holy shit. bea, did you see that?’

‘mm.’

that’s a no, in the bored yet attentive way that only beatrice can manage. it makes ava want to press up against her side, grab beatrice’s face in her hands and drag her face around to look at her, but she doesn’t and she deserves a reward for that, honestly, so instead she pulls a foot out from under beatrice’s thigh where she tucked her poor cold toes and jabs her hard in the thigh.

‘ow! ava, why?’

ava scowls. ‘you’re not watching the movie.’

‘i am—‘

‘no, you’re reading. i can see the book, bea,’ she laughs when beatrice shuffles it further out of view, behind the cushion on her lap. ‘it’s fine,’ she assures when beatrice looks a little shame-faced. ‘i mean it’s family movie night—‘

‘it’s only the two of us, ava,’

‘—and you’re reading like you don’t even care about the extended marvel universe—‘

‘i don’t.’

‘—or the fact that the hot chick—‘

‘black widow.’

‘—just wrapped her fucking thighs around that guys neck and killed. him. killed him! threw him around like he was - was - like it was totally effortless and yeah i know it was a stunt or whatever but!’ ava slaps beatrice on the shoulder excitedly. ‘and you missed it!’

beatrice blinks over at her, then at the screen, then back to her. ‘okay.’

ava throws herself back into the arm of the couch. ‘i’m replaying it, and you’re watching it this time.’

‘yes, dear,’ beatrice mocks lightly. folds her hands over her book, closed around her little finger, and sits up straight to pat attention. a little smile playing at the corner of her lips. when ava sits too long, distracted by the way her lips curl and the way her own heart stuttered at the words—it was a joke, it was a joke, it was a joke, ava!—beatrice turns to frown at her and ava nearly drops the remote, fumbling to press play.

beatrice tilts her head to watch. ava watches her—the play of light across her profile, her undivided attention—and smiles sheepishly when beatrice catches her, the scene over.

she doesn’t call ava out on her staring. it’s much, much worse. beatrice says, ‘it looks impressive but it’s relatively simple,’ and ava stops thinking about the red-headed chick and starts thinking about beatrice. thinks about beatrice sprinting down a dim-lit corridor and throwing herself at some faceless nobody, thinks about her thighs—ava is touching them, right now, her foot against them soft but undeniably muscular, and now she’s staring at beatrice’s legs and—locked around his neck, the graceful way she would throw them both to the ground.

‘you can do that?’ ava asks, cheeks burning, breathless.

beatrice’s eyes flicker over her cheeks and turns her attention back to the book in her lap with an equal flush of her own. her fingers skitter over the pages. ‘yes.’

‘can you -‘ c’mon ava, you can do this, don’t ask her to do it to you, focus. ‘can you teach me?’

beatrice swallows. ‘you do need more practice,’ she agrees slowly, and when her eyes widen ava thinks it maybe occurs to her precisely what she’ll be agreeing to.

‘probably i should stick to the basics,’ ava tells her, because hormones and feelings aside, the last thing she wants to do is push beatrice and hurt her.

long fingers drag over the pages of her book. she taps, the sound methodical, thoughtful.

‘i can teach you. i can - yes.’

I feel like as a community, we dont talk enough about how Ava learned that legs over the neck takedown and how Bea taught her that but that she HAD to have practiced that on Bea??????? The homo eroticism. The foreplay of it all.

THE BLACK WIDOW MOVE I THINK ABOUT IT ALL THE TIME. EXCELLENT POINT ANON.