#wn writing

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Have you seen my little lad?

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[simplykorra]

beatrice + seeing ava upset

[trans-xianxian]

genuinely I think the whole core reveal sequence is one of if not my absolute favorite moments in the show. the punches just never stop coming. lan wangji who has a million reasons to hate jiang cheng asking wei wuxian if he's going to tell him about everything that's going on "because you're brothers". jiang cheng who can never be tender, who uses violence as an excuse to touch, who wants wei wuxian to fight back. wei wuxian who is the reason we, as the audience, refer to his brother as "jiang cheng", whose last words before he died were "jiang cheng", shouting "jiang wanyin!" when he's angry

and then wei wuxian passes out and we get such a phenomenal insight into everyone still living that loves him the most

wen ning jumping in to take the hits from zidian. wen ning who wei wuxian never commands to do anything but he still always comes. wen ning, who Should be scared of jiang cheng because Everyone is scared of jiang cheng because jiang cheng hates him because jiang cheng just whipped him to the ground because he knows first hand that jiang cheng spills blood first and asks questions never, stands the fuck back up and does one of the bravest things he could possibly do. wen ning who stands in the sandu shengshou's home that he is not allowed to enter and tells him that he's wrong. that he's a coward. that his insecurities have been right all this time and wei wuxian really is better than him. wen ning who brakes his promise to the one person in the world he has the most loyalty and affection for, because he's Angry and he's Tired and he's watched wei wuxian suffer insurmountably for jiang cheng who only ever tries to hurt him

and GOD lan wangji. lan wangji who understands what wen ning is saying before jiang cheng even begins to get it. who is holding wei wuxian in his arms as he remembers every time he, out of the utmost love, berated and questioned and scolded him for using demonic cultivation. lan wangji who didn't get it for twenty some odd years but in one horrifying moment he finally understands why wei wuxian gave up his sword, his talent his renown his skill. lan wangji who has a million and one reasons to hate jiang cheng

and jiang cheng. JIANG CHENG. oh god jiang cheng. I'll never stop thinking about jiang cheng with suibian in his hand. jiang cheng who is terrified his whole life that he is not good enough, who is obsessed with being extraordinary, who lives in his brother's shadow. but whose deepest wish, always, was for his family to stay together. and he's holding suibian open in his hands after wen ning has told him a story he knows is true but can't believe, and he pieces together why it all fell apart, why he's alone, and the loss hits him, the guilt, and suddenly it is all his fault, and suddenly none of it was ever worth it at all. jiang cheng who can never be tender. jiang cheng who is obsessed with being extraordinary. jiang cheng who still loves his brother more than anything. jiang cheng who shoved the grief down for 16 years and now it has finally grown too big for him. jiang cheng who runs around lotus pier demanding people open suibian. jiang cheng who does not succeed

and then they're in that DAMN boat

[bazaarwords]

thank you @why-does-it-matterr​! i think i got a little carried away, but i hope you enjoy!

cw: descriptions of injuries

-

There was a place she used to go to after the Order had days like these. Bad days. Ones that left her numb.

Historically, the place is both tangible and not—a lonely tower at the Cat’s Cradle, and once there, a few long moments of contemplation. But her old home is a long way away, and so Beatrice finds the part of her mind that needs this kind of treatment and sends it elsewhere. As for her body, she deigns to get to work instead of separating herself. The OCS may not be her world anymore, but there are wounded. People she cares for.

In the wreckage of their makeshift hideout, Beatrice wonders if maybe it’s never been the events of the day that seep the feeling from her. Maybe it’s always been this—this thing she must do to herself in order to succeed. Months of wandering have not divested her of the need to perform. The months have, however, been a reminder of all she’s lost.

She sets her feelings aside. There are things to do.

The first order of business: Camila’s shoulder is out of socket, and for all their collective expertise, Beatrice remains the best candidate to set it. Years ago, before the Order had swept her away, she’d spent a long summer volunteering in a hospital. It’s not the medical training she’d received afterwards, but the exposure was, at the very least, an advantage.

“Ready?” She asks, although she knows that Camila is always ready.

Camila, in the kind way she does all things, just smiles as if Beatrice is the one that needs the reassurance. She nods. “Go for it.”

Camila doesn’t flinch. She lets out a long, measured breath and she says, “ow” and she laughs at herself. Beatrice would like to take the time to laugh with her, but her joy is locked up in that faraway place. She squeezes Camila’s other shoulder, helps her into a sling made of a torn shirt, and moves on to the next.

Sister Dora has twisted her wrist. It’s discolored and swollen, but her bones are, thankfully, intact.

“A tarask,” she explains, “I thought it’d… well, I thought it’d kill me but…”

But she came back, Beatrice thinks to herself, searching the wreckage for wood to make a splint. She saved you.

She blinks that away—she has to. Sister Dora must notice her reticence. She doesn’t complete her thought. So Beatrice secures Sister Dora’s arm, and she moves on.

Yasmine has taken a glancing blow to the head, and Mother Superion has opted to stay up with her in the wake of the fight to monitor the damage.

“I’m okay,” Yasmine says when Beatrice comes by, holding up a placating hand. “I mean—I remember my name, so. So that’s good, right?”

Superion offers the smallest of smirks. It’s fond, not hard-won. “Yes, Yasmine,” she says, and rises up on unsteady footing. It’s not the new, halo-resurrected Superion.

“What happened?” Beatrice asks, firmer than she’d meant to. Emotions are nebulous when she settles into this way.

Superion shakes her head. “Nothing that should concern you. A few bruises.” She gives Beatrice a meaningful look—one she’s not present enough to catalogue. “There’s a cot in the back. Rest. We’re fine here.”

It sounds like an order, and even though she’s put the church behind her, she still respects Mother Superion. She can still recognize that she’s done all she can for the group, within reason. So she makes her way to the back room, feeling nothing. She sits on the edge of the cot, feeling nothing. She shrugs off her outer layers, feeling nothing.

Her mind has been in that faraway place, however, and as she returns to herself, everything sinks in.

While information comes in in pieces, on thing is for certain—there’s pain, everywhere. It would make the most sense to take stock of the worst places, the ones that need her immediate attention, but when feeling rushes back into her, the only thing she can think is that she needs to get out of this room and to wherever she’s gone—

There’s a jolt, razor sharp in the already excruciating throb of her abdomen. It’s quite obviously from when she’d been launched across a courtyard. The intensity winds her halfway to standing and her hip smarts as soon as she’s fallen back to the cot. She tells herself several times that she needs to get herself back in that empty place, that world where she feels nothing. Above all things, she needs to be there because she needs to find Ava.

A week prior, there had been a desperate call for help, a train from the small Finnish town she’d wandered into the month before, and Beatrice had found herself right back in the fray. Seeing the faces of her friends again after all their time apart had been bittersweet. When the fight had come to them, she’d remembered the last words Lilith had said to her. A holy war.

Despite her best efforts, she’s in the middle of it.

“Fuck,” she says, because she curses now. Because she knows that her knee is going to give out if she tries to stand. Because she’s effectively trapped herself in this room.

Frustration wells up in her like a lit fuse.

Assess the damage, she thinks, because what the hell else can she do?

The buttons of her shirt are slow work, her hands are weak from gripping her machine gun, her knives, the side of a building as she hoisted herself and Yasmine back to safety.

God is lost to her now, but it is a miracle that none of her injuries have drawn blood. A massive swath of skin along her side is purple and yellow but unbroken—it is the very worst of things. It hurts to draw breath, and hurts even more to bend and pull her pant leg up past her knee, to find the skin there in much the same condition. Upon further inspection, her hip, too, is a wild mess of bruises.

She’s a wreck, and what do they have to show for it? A few inches of ground? A few battered nuns, scrounging up whatever tools they can find?

Ava.

They have Ava. She just… doesn’t know where.

Beatrice had seen it happen as if in a dream.

The blinding light from above, the shockwave that had sent the tarasks flying in all directions, but hadn’t so much as nudged the sisters. When she’d looked, it was Ava’s form in the center of the light—Beatrice would know it anywhere, in any world—flickering in and out. She remembers shouting, desperate, stumbling through the wreckage. The details from there are hard to recollect. It’s when she’d been grabbed and thrown, it’s when the fight had resumed and she’d lost sight of Ava.

But she had seen her. That she’s certain of.

She closes her eyes, wincing as she tilts her head to the ceiling. The breath she tries to take is shallow and does nothing to steady herself.

“Beatrice?”

The pain of movement is forgotten, the voice like a ribbon of gold around her heart.

There’s Ava. There’s Ava.

The breath is gone in a rush, and Beatrice forgets the rest of the pain and she tries desperately to stand, to run, to move. Her leg gives out and Ava’s on her in a second, easing her back down.

“Ava,” she says, voice breaking, throat tight, “Ava.”

Ava kneels in front of her and she takes Ava’s face in her hands and she can’t look away. Suddenly, that place she goes—the one that is empty and lonely is filled with life. Filled with Ava. And she’s here, she’s real and alive and breathtaking in all the ways that Beatrice has loved. Loves. She feels nothing but it, looking at Ava.

“Bea,” Ava says, fingers wrapped around Beatrice’s wrists like they’ve been fused there. “Bea, you—you’re hurt.”

“You’re here,” Beatrice responds—nothing else matters. “Ava, you’re—“ She doesn’t have other words.

It should hurt to speak. It should hurt to lean forward, but then her lips are on Ava’s and nothing hurts, everything aches. Ava makes a small noise that lets loose something in Beatrice’s chest, and she wants to draw Ava closer, but her body betrays her, her whole side lighting up as if on fire. As if to remind her that respite is fleeting. But she doesn’t care, nothing else matters—

Ava notices her wince and pulls away. It hurts to try to pull her back, but still Beatrice tries. “Fuck,” Ava says, voice shaky, “Bea—hold on. You need—“

“I need you to not leave. I’m fine, I promise.”

“I’m not—you’re not fine, your—oh, God, Bea your side—“

Another Beatrice might have taken modesty into consideration. Her shirt is wide open, her trousers undone, and Ava is knelt before her, a hand on her bare knee. She just—she just wants so keenly that the constant, painful reminders of her body’s journey through battle feel like they’re killing her. She wants to pull Ava up and on to her lap, she wants Ava’s mouth on hers again, she wants, she wants, she wants. And maybe it’s her pilgrimage and her seperation from the church that’s allowing her this clear revelation, or maybe it’s just the relief to be in the same room as the girl she loves. Maybe that’s all it’s ever been.

“Let me… shit, I don’t know how good I am at this yet.” Ava focuses down on Beatrice’s splotchy, wounded knee, and the dark room is slowly illuminated by the glow of the Halo.

It feels… itchy, at first. It’s not a scab, but the injury takes on the properties of one—Beatrice tamps down the overwhelming need to scratch or pat at it, but then—as soon as it began—it’s gone. Ava pulls her hand away and the skin is as normal as it’s ever been. An oblong scar where bone is closest to skin from one too many skinned knees, but other than that? Nothing.

“How did you…” Beatrice trails off, swinging her leg back and forth easily.

“I’d… you know, I’d really like to explain it, but, uh. I have no fucking idea.”

Beatrice can’t help it, she laughs, a little hysterical. And then she wants to throw up.

“Don’t—no laughing. Stop it,” Ava says with a worried smile. She sets the tips of her fingers at the massive bruise on Beatrice’s side, and Beatrice can’t tamp down the shiver that rockets through her at the feeling. “Sorry. Sorry, I just need to...” Ava says, her voice thick, “just let me…”

The Halo does its work again, scrubbing her pain from her, raw and red until it’s not anymore. Beatrice takes a breath, and there is no pain.

“Good?” Ava asks.

“Good,” Beatrice responds. She wants that to be the end of it, but when she tries to move in again—“I think there’s another…”

Herein lies the problem. Her hip.

Ava looks down, and they’re in the middle of a war, but Beatrice wonders if she closes her eyes for just a moment, maybe they’ll be back in the Alps. Maybe there, this touch is necessary for another reason. Maybe Ava is looking up at her like this and maybe nothing has ever been wrong.

But they’re in the blown-out remains of a church, and there are demons everywhere, and in her darkest moments she’d worried that this—her and Ava—was lost for good.

Ava hovers over her bruise, and Beatrice nods. Ava is delicate, fingers light over her hipbone. This is not the time to wish for another life, but still she does. And for the first time in months, the wish has legs. It climbs out of that place she goes and it smiles at her, and Ava smiles at her too, proud of her work.

Beatrice draws her in, and the war rages on, but there are no more lonely places.

She has Ava. It’s enough.

[waitineedaname]

Very specific but I'd love Jiang Cheng being Jin Ling's favorite uncle in aro4aro chengqing au and Wei Wuxian being mortally offended

People seemed to think that Jiang Yanli was completely blind to her brothers’ faults. This was not true. She just generally did not think those faults were nearly as bad as people made them out to be. Most of what other people found bothersome about her brothers, she was charmed by because she was nothing if not a doting sister.

Being doting and fond, however, did not mean she was unaware of how annoying her brothers were. In fact, due to regular exposure to the two of them, she was extremely aware of just how annoying they could be.

Case in point: their tendency to make everything into a competition, including the affection of her own son.

“I’m just saying, if anyone is going to be the fun uncle, it’s obviously me,” Wei Wuxian said, shaking a rattle over Jin Ling’s head.

“He’s two,” Jiang Cheng snapped, bouncing Jin Ling on his knee. “Anything that moves and makes noise is fun to him.”

“Well, I move and make the most noise, so.” Wei Wuxian leaned in and started making faces at his nephew. “Right, A-Ling? Right?”

Jin Ling gurgled happily and clapped his hands.

Jiang Yanli sighed and leaned against her husband. She appreciated her brothers taking her son off her hands for a while, but really, they were enough of a handful themselves. “Don’t fight, boys,” she said, shaking her head fondly. “A-Ling loves you both.”

“Yeah, but he loves me most, right shijie?” Wei Wuxian shot her a grin. Jiang Cheng huffed and smacked the back of his head, making Jin Ling shriek happy peals of laughter. She could practically feel Zixuan roll his eyes behind her.

“Please don’t give my son ideas,” he said in the long-suffering tone he tended to adopt when he had to be patient with his brothers-in-law. Yanli appreciated the fragile civility they attempted these days. “A-Ling, no hitting, okay?”

“Unless it’s your da-jiu,” Jiang Cheng added in a loud whisper, “Then you should hit him as hard as you can.” 

“Nooo, A-Ling would never hit me, he’s such a good boy, isn’t he?” Wei Wuxian cooed, tickling Jin Ling’s belly. Jin Ling shrieked with laughter again and one of his flailing fists collided directly with Wei Wuxian’s eye. 

Yanli only barely managed to hide her laugh behind her hand. Jiang Cheng snickered, and Zixuan let out a quiet huff of laughter.

“Ah, it was just an accident!” Wei Wuxian insisted. “He’s going to be a very strong cultivator with quick reflexes someday, I can tell!” And then, because he never learned to leave well enough alone, he said, “We should just ask him. Just because he’s little, that doesn’t mean he can’t answer questions!” He poked Jin Ling in the belly again to get his attention, “A-Ling, who’s your favorite? Da-jiu or jiujiu?”

Technically, Jiang Cheng should be er-jiu, but he got priority as the one who met Jin Ling first and saw him the most often. It couldn’t really be helped; Wei Wuxian was still unofficially banned from Carp Tower due to his inability to stay out of trouble, which meant Jiang Cheng got to visit his nephew on diplomatic visits, but Wei Wuxian only got to see him during their frequent trips to Lotus Pier. That meant Jiang Yanli was fairly certain she knew the answer, even before Jin Ling said it.

“Jiujiu!” he happily cried, reaching up to grab Jiang Cheng’s cheeks. The betrayal on Wei Wuxian’s face was comical, especially compared to the way Jiang Cheng’s face lit up. Yanli felt a little bad for Wei Wuxian’s feelings, but it was worth it to see her typically dour baby brother beam under his nephew’s uncomplicated affection.

“Ah, come here A-Xian,” Yanli said, sitting up so she wasn’t leaning against Zixuan and could instead summon her pouting brother to her side. “Don’t take it to heart, okay? He’s a baby, he doesn’t mean to hurt your feelings.”

“I know, I know, shijie,” Wei Wuxian sighed, but leaned in so she could pet his hair anyway. “You don’t think I would be resentful of a baby, do you?”

The noise Jin Zixuan made behind her made it very clear that he wouldn’t put it past Wei Wuxian to be resentful of a baby. Yanli reached back and pinched his thigh, but otherwise focused on Wei Wuxian. “The next baby we have, I’ll deliver here in Lotus Pier, how about that? Qing-mei can be my midwife, and you can get first dibs on holding the baby. Aside from me and A-Xuan, of course.”

“Promise?” he said, giving her the pleading eyes that always earned him an extra portion of soup. 

“I promise.” She kissed his forehead, and this seemed to improve his mood, though his eyes immediately narrowed in suspicion in Jin Zixuan’s direction. 

“You’re not already having another baby, are you?” he asked. Zixuan coughed awkwardly, and Yanli pinched Wei Wuxian’s cheek this time.

“A-Xian, be nice,” she said, lightly scolding. “We’ll tell you when we know, okay?”

“Okay, shijie,” Wei Wuxian grumbled, still shooting Jin Zixuan judgmental looks. He turned back to Jin Ling, who was being gently tossed in the air by Jiang Cheng. “A-Ling! Do you wanna go down the river and visit A-Yuan?”

“Yuan-ge, Yuan-ge!” Jin Ling happily exclaimed, clapping his hands. His uncles scooped him up and grabbed the bag of diapers and snacks Yanli had brought, bundling him out onto the pier with promises not to drown their beloved nephew in the lake. 

Zixuan let out a tired sigh as soon as they left the room, taking his turn to lean against his wife’s side. “Why are they always this exhausting?” 

Yanli laughed and petted his hair. “Maybe another baby would give them something else to focus on,” she suggested lightly. Zixuan immediately flushed red and hid his face in her shoulder, making her laugh again. 

Yes, her brothers’ antics could be annoying, but they were good uncles. She was very grateful to be able to trust her son in their hands for a few hours.

[add1ctedt0you]

Me, with the unpopular opinion that, in a wq lives au, where wq marries jc, novel canon wwx is not taking well the news about chengqing marriage

[daisychainsandbowties]

Chapters: 2/? [19k] Fandom: Warrior Nun (TV) Rating: Explicit

dragon rider au

///

If dragons had only stubborn bones in their body, Beatrice though that Lilith must be somehow related to them. Seeing Jillian, she lurched away from Saros’ foreleg and tried to salute, but the ground was already muddy from the rain and worse thanks to dragon’s blood raining down onto it. She stumbled and snarled when one of the medics reached out and caught her – she’d been swatting at them like gnats intermittently before this - pushing off his chest.

She stood for a moment, peering listlessly around – past Jillian, now, having already quite forgotten about her. Beatrice realised with a pang that she was searching automatically for Shannon, for Halo, for the dragon and the girl who meant everything to her. Beatrice had never really been able to get Lilith to pay attention to the new or strange or interesting dragons in the courtyard when they went to spy on it.

No, her attention had always fixated on Halo and Shannon, the latter stretched out on her dragon’s white-gold foreleg. They had watched a few times as Halo stirred herself awake to pull the blanket back over Shannon’s body when it fell down.

They’d stopped being so furtive recently, now that they had an excuses to go down to the courtyard to visit Saros. Beatrice spent most of her time down there, in fact, or in Saros’ clearing when he wanted peace and privacy and for the Greylings to stop sleeping on his tail even if it was the perfect size and shape for them.

Still, Lilith always gravitated toward that huddle of white dragon and green-coated girl, with a look on her face that Beatrice had invented metaphors for, but never any precise explanation. It was no surprise to her that this Lilith, exhausted and blood-soaked and bruised by a dead girl’s hands, had forgotten herself and remembered Halo again, first.

Realisation seemed to hit her like a mallet, and Beatrice watched her body fold, moving before anyone else realised. She’d wrestled Lilith enough times to know that she could hold her weight for at least a minute before they both started to shake, and they were home now, where she wouldn’t have to for that long.

Saros, too, had lifted one great clawed hand, intending to scoop Lilith in against his body as he had done with Beatrice so many times before.

But neither of them were so quick as Jillian, who was there as suddenly as smoke. Her eye was mostly on Saros as she moved gracefully in front of Lilith, letting the girl fall against her chest. She was small but had always been uncannily strong, her arms wrapping firmly around Lilith’s waist as a small army of junior medics joined her. “Don’t be foolish,” she said softly into the bloody girl’s ear, holding Lilith up with the strange power that always possessed her when she was about her work. “There is nothing left for you to do.”

She paused, lifting her hand awkwardly to brush blood-soaked hair away from Lilith’s forehead, “I am sure you tried everything you could.”

A sob broke through the silence that had fallen over them, and Beatrice could only watch as Lilith buried her face in Jillian’s neck, letting the woman hold her up. Jillian’s strength held where it flagged so often when she needed to move her tower of books from one room to the next.

Beatrice had caught her sweet-talking Lilith into acting as a pack mule more than once. More than twice, too, sauntering ahead while Lilith sweated in her wake.

There, despite her laser focus on Saros, she examined Lilith for a moment, running her hands over the young lieutenant’s arms, her ribs, her jaw, before passing her off to the medics again. But, before that, she spent a moment wiping blood off Lilith’s face with her shirtsleeve. Slowly, with a tenderness that struck Beatrice as…

Well, it struck her.

read on Ao3

[saetoshis]

cw: fluff, dan heng is just a cute little nerd!

adorable nerdy bf dan heng who, once he opens up after a while of dating, talks about data analysis or computer science or random information without even taking a breath.

“-and so that’s how python works. are you… listening?” dan heng hesitates, tilting his head as he looks down at you where you have your head cradled in his lap. he sighs, knowing he got off on a tangent yet again. “…sorry, i was talking for a while. i’ll stop.”

“i’m listening. keep going…” when you look up at him with such sweet eyes and an interested lilt in your voice, dan heng thinks he’s melting from the inside out. you find his little interests and quirks to be undeniably attractive, and you can’t help but smile until your cheeks hurt with every word he lets out.

“oh…” dang heng almost looks surprised, and it shows in the way his eyes light up a little bit. he caresses your cheek so gently, as if all his appreciation for you was pouring through his one little touch.

he gazes down at your eyes, then your lips, and suddenly he’s not so interested in talking anymore. it takes only a moment before he’s pressing his lips against yours with all the love in the world, his hands caressing your back and pulling your frame against his chest.

“i love you, dan heng…” you smile out the words between lustful sighs, and those words are enough for him to crack. his touches and ministrations are suddenly more urgent and needy, his broad shoulders shifting to shadow over you.

dan heng murmurs against your ear, “you have an extraordinary talent of shutting me up, you know that?”

2023 SAETOSHIS. do not copy or repost.

[willowedhepatica]

"Do you love her?" Camila asks and it makes Beatrice grip the mug tighter. She works her jaw, staring into the leafy tea water that had already run cold. She would drink it anyway.

"I've only known her for six months."

"She's very charming."

"She is." Damn it, she is. "Even Lilith has gone soft. She let Ava go on a long monologue about whales and their mating cycle yesterday, it was quite amusing to watch."

"Beatrice."

Beatrice straightens automatically, her eyes shifting forward.

Camila's eyes are soft when they finally land on her. "It's okay."

"What?"

"To love her."

"I don't–"

"Oh, but you do."

Beatrice frowns. She doesn't know if it is because it scares her or irritates her. "How can you be so certain?"

Camila laughs, light and knowing like she just asked something ridiculous. Beatrice turns away. It was a serious question.

"You know a couple of days ago when we were at that party?"

Beatrice nods.

"Ava dragged you out on the dancefloor with all those people and loud music and sticky floors and you had only eyes for her. Even when someone bumped into you it didn't seem like you cared."

It had been a great night. She could remember how much Ava was laughing, her smile growing even bigger when Beatrice accepted her request to dance. She couldn't say no to that.

"She's very persuasive..."

Camila nods. "She is."

"I didn't want to disappoint her."

"You know you wouldn't do that. Even if you said no."

Beatrice humms. "What's your point?"

Camila takes a sip from her drink, sets it down. "You let Ava take you out of your comfort zone. I've never seen you smile more than these last few months and..." she gestures forward, "you're kind of glowing, even for how clishé that might sound, it's true. You can't deny it."

"I–" Beatrice clamps her mouth shut, leans back in the chair. "It isn't like that, it's... I don't know if that's true..."

"Why?"

"She makes me ache." She mumbles, almost without thought before she whips her head up as the panic wash over her. "It's not, I don't–"

"Bea, it's okay." Camila reaches forward and places a hand on hers but Beatrice draws away. She smiles anyway, a little sad this time. "Tell me. Tell me how she makes you feel."

It's a lot. Too much almost. Beatrice clench her hands into fists before unclenching them again. Takes a deep shuddering breath before speaking. "It hurts." Her lips twitch down, she shakes her head. "She makes me feel full." Of what? Everything, too much, not enough. Beatrice absent mindedly strokes her hand over her chest, puts pressure. "It feels like I'm going to burst. And yet..."

"And yet?"

"It feels like I could bear the pain. Over and over, every second I'm with her I could bear it. Every second I'm with her, it hurts less."

"That sounds an awful lot like love." Camila says. "Are you scared?"

"She makes me feel brave."

[analogoose]

excerpt from carnivorous saints ch.2 (coming soon)

catch up on ch.1 here

//

From the corner of her eye, something moves in the shape of a person. Short. Someone close in age, strolling into the parking lot like she just walked from bus stop ten minutes away. Someone new. Someone pretty. Wearing a tank top as bright as the sun. Short hair bouncing against the collar of her neck. A bag almost bigger than her body, slung over one shoulder effortlessly. 

The next time Beatrice puts the cigarette to her lips, she almost inhales too hard, pulling away to cough into her arm. Her throat burns in comfort as she releases the last of the smoke from her lungs. Everything is starting to settle now. Her insides feel colored with the same lethargic glow as her surroundings. Beatrice studies the woman as she walks to the entrance of the factory. The way the defined muscles of her shoulders shift together like gears as the woman lingers there. Even from this distance, Beatrice catches a glimpse of a small tattoo on her spine, compact and intricate. It calls for a closer inspection. And the thought of touching it comes unexpectedly. All-consuming. 

Beatrice looks away, severing the connection. All at once, sound rushes back in. The slow bursts of katydids and the crescendoing rattle of cicadas as they begin to wake. Loose gravel crushed against her boots. She takes a final pull from the cigarette, not minding the burning edges that have begun to touch the tips of her fingers. She’s not a praying woman, not anymore. But some days, the blunt touching her lips feels as pious as the cross she used to kiss during every Good Friday service. 

[possibilistfanfiction]

not truly a prompt but would love some more outside perspective for surgeons au

‘dr. v, hey, what’s up?’ silva says, leaning against the doorframe of the supply closet with far too much aplomb for someone who spilled chili all over himself in the cafeteria — in front of beatrice, who had, horrifyingly, just rolled her eyes with a smile — merely an hour ago.

‘silva.’

you’re a little proud when dr. silva — usually infuriatingly unflappable — gulps. ‘hey, so, uh, well. i’m saying this in confidence.’

you resist the urge to just walk past her, because you definitely could, and you’re way too busy, but she’s unfortunately actually a great intern, switched to your service after beatrice told chief superion they had feelings for each other. which, well — it seems serious, and dr. silva has made beatrice, your best friend — your sister — happy, happier than you’ve ever seen her, so you’ve come to terms with the fact that ava silva is probably going to be in your life for a long time now.

‘go on,’ you say.

ava nods, steps into the supply closet and closes the door, glancing behind him quickly. 

‘the coast is clear, for whatever secret you’re about to divulge that i’m sure i won’t want to know.’ you know the coast is clear because you come into this particular supply closet to catch your breath when days are chaotic and overwhelming, to, on occasion, shed a tear or two over a bad outcome or, even more embarrassingly, a great outcome, too much family thanks sent your way. 

dr. silva isn’t deterred at all. ‘okay. um. beatrice cried herself to sleep last night. and last thursday night too. i know she doesn’t want me to know, or i guess, she probably doesn’t, but, like, i care about her, a lot, and i lov— ‘ ava shakes his head, a little panicked, but then soldiers on. ‘do you know why? is there anything i can do?’

beatrice, you are well aware of, has therapy every thursday, barring emergencies she can’t get out of. you also know, from years and years of watching her hold feelings in for days, weeks even, until she explodes a little, that beatrice is a slow processor, someone who needs her time to understand what she’s feeling. before she met ava, you’d text her every thursday, after she’d gone to the dojo or climbed or run, and you’d read a new study together (not sworn to secrecy) or catch up on love island (sworn to absolute secrecy). 

but now there’s dr. silva — ava; there’s someone for beatrice to be held by, someone to warm the cool side of the bed. you can understand from when you first started dating camila, the sheer panic that she would realize you needed things, the sheer panic that you needed her, that beatrice doesn’t want to share with ava whatever was difficult or sad or hard to process. beatrice is excellent at most things, including kindness, and especially including steadiness, and you know, no matter how open she is in therapy, that what she grew up having shoved down her throat is not an easy thing to overcome. 

‘she has therapy, thursday morning, every week if she can make it.’ maybe beatrice would be mad at you, but you don’t think so — sometimes it’s easier to have help, anyway. 

‘oh,’ dr. silva says, their shoulders relaxing immediately. ‘well that makes a ton of sense. i was worried it was my cooking or taste in music or something.’

‘i’m sure those things don’t help.’

she rolls her eyes. ‘thanks for telling me.’ thanks for knowing beatrice so well; thanks for loving her too goes unspoken; to dr. silva’s credit, she does seem to understand that there are lines too tender for her to cross.

you nod, just once, and motion toward the door. dr. silva steps aside, a little hurried, trying to be polite — for once.

‘i need post-ops on mr. williams, and then we have a consult with dr. masters.’

‘sexy.’

‘i can get you fired, you know.’

dr. silva’s grin, under the florescent lights in the hallway, is almost rakish. ‘i do know that, and i also know you wouldn’t.’

‘the next abscess i see is yours.’

ava just laughs.

/

beatrice slips into the supply closet silently, just behind you, a week later.

‘jesus,’ you grumble. ‘i’ve got to find a new spot.’

she’s undeterred, wearing a fleece over her scrubs and a bright orange fisherman’s beanie — silva’s undoubtedly; beatrice would never buy anything bright orange herself — a neat canvas tote from her favorite coffee shop on her shoulder — tired, and on her way out. ‘did you tell ava i had therapy on thursdays.’

‘well, you do.’

she clenches her jaw, seems to toy with what she wants to say. ‘thank you,’ she settles on, surprisingly but also not: beatrice is kind, above all else; kinder than you ever expect. 

‘i apologize,’ you find yourself offering, ‘if i overstepped.’

she shakes her head. ‘it’s — was it hard for you?’

‘camila?’

she sags back against the closed door. ‘letting someone in, like that.’

‘well, i certainly didn’t choose ava.’

beatrice laughs, a little, but, ‘i don’t feel as if i had much of a choice. he’s, just, spectacular.’

you refrain from saying anything mean; there will be time enough, years and years and years of it if beatrice has any say. ‘he took care of you?’

‘as much as i let her.’

you have to smile, then; there are a handful of times you’ve been in charge of taking care of beatrice: after her parents visit, each time, especially in college, tears and hours of sparring; after she had top surgery, helping her take a bath and deal with her drains; once when she got food poisoning from a sketchy burger place she resolutely loved. ‘no small task.’

‘we’ve got to get better at that, don’t we?’

’speak for yourself. i’m a seasoned professional.’

‘ah yes, you, remarkably comfortable accepting affection and care. since the moment we met.’

you laugh; you can’t help yourself. ‘you’re happy?’

‘beyond.’

’sure you couldn’t pick someone less… ava?’

beatrice elbows you but it’s lacking any malice. you sling an arm around her shoulders, as close to a hug as you’d get under normal circumstances, especially at work. ‘you know,’ she says, ‘everyone knows you come in here to decompress. you’re not stealthy.’

you shrug. ‘intimidating, then. no one interrupts me.’

she lets you have it with just a small smile, kind once again, and makes to slip out the door. ‘i’ll leave you to it then.’

‘sure.’

‘drinks later when you get off? perhaps just the two of us?’ a measure of care you’ve never been brave enough to offer but are always grateful to accept — your oldest friend.

‘i would really like that, beatrice.’

she nods. ‘text me when you’re done.’

[gohandinhand]

turning sun into sugar, spinning straw into gold [2/2]

Fandom: Warrior Nun

Pairing: Ava/Beatrice

Rating: T

Word count: ~9k chapter (~19k total)

Read it on AO3

Canon divergent from the end of 2x02; what if they didn’t get called back to the fight, but had to find a new place to hide away, train, and fall in love? AKA a thinly veiled excuse to write a love letter to the pnw

The rain comes to stay and the life force of the trees shifts from leaves to trunk and branch, the bark overgrown with a carpet of moss reanimated now by the constant mist. The trees stretch their naked branches into the sky — like fingers, like roots, reaching for the clouds, like the very concept of a tree has been inverted. There’s still life and growth and green in the moss, a jewel of life, and these trees that look like they’ve been drawn in thick chartreuse crayon are a stark contrast to the still-dark evergreens that remain, unchanged, like guardians.

A reminder, a benediction; there is more than death and nothingness, even if winter is coming.

[plutosrobin]

chapter 9 <3

“You’ll stay?” “There is nowhere else I’d go.” And Sister Beatrice is not a touchy person, but she holds Ava until the sky holds the sun. They are asleep, by then, so she misses the way the horizon cradles the light - orange and purple fanning out and casting gold onto Ava’s face, half-hidden between Beatrice’s neck and her shoulder.

[youve-cath-to-be-kitten-me]

coda (18/18)

Masterlist!

Ava Silva x Sister Beatrice (For the AvaTrice Big Bang 2024!)

Rating: E

Word Count: 100k

Multi-Chapter (18/18) + Art Collaboration with @adlerdoodles!

Summary:

coda (n.): in music, a passage that brings a piece (or a movement) to an end

Ava Silva has everything she’s ever wanted. Her dream job designing lights for the Royal Ballet. An apartment bigger than a shoebox. A city to explore full of sexy accents and taxis that are all (yes, ALL) equipped with ramps. 

Beatrice Young has everything she’s ever wanted. A coveted spot as one of the youngest ever principal dancers at the Royal Ballet. The role of a lifetime. A routine that makes it so that she never has to worry about what happens next.

It’s funny how quickly things change. 

Teaser:

Ava Silva pushes back from the lighting board and throws her hands up, grinning. 

“I’m so fucking good,” she laughs. “So fucking good.” 

She grasps the pushrims of her chair and rolls back into place, tapping a few buttons to go a few cues back. With three taps of go, the lights on stage flash bright for a second then drop out, leaving only a cream-colored spotlight in the center of the stage. The cue is labeled The Kiss, and, frankly, it’s probably her favorite one in the entire show. (The other cue labels have no such dramatics. The one before it is called Romantic Foresty Shit 5.) She taps a few keys to reset back to cue 1. 

Make no mistake, Ava loves every single part of the work she’s done on this project. She’s spent the last few weeks squealing to herself in the booth as she designed scene after scene (after scene after scene). It’s been all ballrooms and forests and spells and one particular section of creating the effect of water around a prop boat that almost gave her an aneurysm. 

Working Swan Lake is a dream. Working Swan Lake at the Royal Ballet is an LSD trip hallucination that made her pinch herself every time she stepped into the building for a month after she started working. (She considered it a good luck charm, but she’s honestly surprised she hadn’t developed a little bruise on her forearm.) Even after all these months in London, Ava still can only half-believe she’s actually doing this. Sure, she has all the credentials or whatever. But the fact that she got an email a little over a year ago that said “pack your shit and get your ass across the pond” (paraphrased) feels more like the plot of a movie she’d watch than her actual life. 

But today is the first rehearsal she gets to run lights with the dancers. So shit’s realer now. 

Read HERE on AO3!

[sisterdivinium]

For the curious:

The VtM doctor superion AU manuscript is still waiting for revision. Patience! At least it has a title now.

Meanwhile, I've started work on the other longer doctor superion AU which I've dubbed the "teenagers AU" (it has a title too but I don't want to mention it just yet). That should take me a few months.

This means I get to reiterate how only drabbles will be posted (with their usual regularity) while these stories get done. I'm still here, of course, just a little bit quieter instead of seeking out forgotten WN posts people don't reblog anymore so I can reblog them myself -- then again, I do occasionally pop into Dreamwidth to talk about other things apart from WN and fictional nuns in general, so there's that too and you're welcome to come hang out :)

[mdzs-owns-my-ass-i-guess]

Sleep like the dead

@cullen-blue23

🧟😴😭(The ONE TIME Wen Ning decides to take a nap. The juniors find him and assume he’s passed on for good. Ugly crying ensues. He wakes up to find several teenagers bawling on him)

Funny story: one evening, when I was still living in the university dorm rooms, I fell asleep very early (it was still light out) because I was exhausted. My preferred sleeping position back then was hands on my chest, motionless, on my back, like a dead person.

My roommate came home from class at some point that evening and I suddenly woke up to someone shaking me, increasingly panicked, asking me if I'm dead on the verge of tears.

I just said "yes" and got back to sleep. (I do not remember this part, I just know I woke up briefly - my roommate told me this the next morning. Apparently she'd been shaking me for a while before I decided to respond!)

Anyways, enjoy!

"Oh, sweet, uncle Ning is here!" Lan Jingyi exclaims as he notices Wen Ning leaning against one of the large, wisteria trees in the bunny field, little fluff balls surrounding him. "I wonder if he has any new stories from his travels! I've had enough of old teacher Lan's lectures!"

"We only have about ten minutes or so until the next lecture, Jingyi." Zizhen reminds, in a tone that's more befitting to Lan Sizhui than himself.

"Yeah, but it's with senior Wei, so we can be a bit late. He is too, especially now that Sizhui is back and they're catching up." A laugh. "He gets so mopey whenever he and uncle Ning leave for more than a week, whining about his little radish forgetting about him or something!"

"C'mon, it's cute." Zizhen elbows him. "And anyway, Sizhui always brings us gifts so..."

"At least he does!" Jingyi says, accusingly side-eyeing Jin Ling. "Some of us are incredibly stingy!"

"Shut up, what am I, your sugar daddy?! Get a job!"

"I have a job, dumbass, I'm a cultivator!"

Jin Ling smiles, venomously. "Oh, really? I must have forgotten, that's how remarkable you are!"

"You fu-"

"Guys?" Zizhen interrupts, having gone ahead to greet Wen Ning. His voice is shaky and his complexion pale, "I-I think uncle Ning is - I think there's something wrong with him!"

Jingyi and Jin Ling quickly close in the distance and crouch to take a look at the man. He looks... like he always does. Pale, dead, you know - the fierce corpse aesthetic. But his eyes are closed, and he doesn't seem to be... moving. At all.

Jin Ling reaches to poke his hand. "Uncle Ning?"

Nothing. He frowns, and reaches to shake his shoulder. "Uncle Ning!"

There is no response. Wen Ning stiffly leans against the tree, expressionless, shadows and sunrays dancing on his face.

"Come on, this isn't funny, wake up!" Jin Ling tries again, hiding his worry behind apparent anger. "Wen Ning!"

Jingyi reaches to tug on one of Wen Ning's sleeves, vision increasingly blurry. "Wake up, why won't you wake up? Uncle Ning!"

Zizhen lets out a sob, joining his friends as they attempt to bring Wen Ning back to consciousness. But no amount of shaking or tugging or begging seems to work, and their words are increasingly broken by sobs .

"We-we need to - senior Wei - Sizhui - he's gone-" Jingyi tries, tears falling down his face as he slowly resigns to the reality of what is happening.

"Shut the hell up! He's not!" Jin Ling yells, the tears filling his eyes starting to fall, "He's - he's fucking dead already, how can someone die twice?!" And Jin Ling resumes trying to wake him up, poking his cheek. "Wen Ning, what the hell are you doing?! Open your eyes already!"

"How - how are we going to tell... how..." Zizhen mumbles, wiping his tears. "I don't want uncle Ning to be gone!"

"He's not!" Jin Ling insists, his face wet with tears, red from both anger and panic. "He's fucking not! He's - I -"

But the more he tries, the more he loses hope. This has never happened before, this isn't something they can fix. This isn't something anyone can fix, Wen Ning is really...

"Wake up! Wen Ning...! How dare you do this to me...! You said...!"

There are no more words now, no more attempts. The three juniors cry over Wen Ning's corpse, trying to will themselves to get one of their seniors and... and... Oh, uncle Ning really is gone now, he's gone and they'll never see him again, they'll never talk to him again, he won't ever tell them stories or help them with night hunts or scare off Jin Ling's annoying cousins or...or...or...

There is a grunt.

Wait. A grunt?!

Jingyi's head snaps up. "Guys!"

"Shut the fuck up, Jingyi!" Jin Ling cuts in, "I don't want to hear any of your-"

"Why are you guys crying...?" A new voice joins in, and the juniors attention snaps towards the source, where Wen Ning blinks wearily at them, as if awoken from a deep slumber. "Did something happen...?"

There is no response except three juniors now having jumped in his arms.

"Don't ever fucking do that to me again!" Jin Ling warns, "We thought you died!"

"Well, I already-"

"No, for good!" Jingyi adds, and makes no effort to hide how he's snuggling to the Ghost General's chest. "We tried to wake you up for so long and you just wouldn't!"

"And anyway, what's up with that? Fierce corpses don't sleep!" Zizhen asks, trying to get Jingyi to leave him some room on Wen Ning's chest.

"I found a potion... I missed sleep and wanted to experienced it again..."

"Yeah, well, warn us next time! Can you imagine how Sizhui would have reacted? Or senior Wei? Or even Hanguang-Jun?!"

"I will tell you next time, Jingyi. And do not worry, Sizhui didn't get scared the first time I took the potion... When I woke up, I found him calmly trying to invent...something to bring me back."

"Ah yes, the senior Wei instinct."

---

The juniors don't show up to class, so Wei Wuxian goes to find them and scold them about it - after all, they can flunk, he doesn't mind that, just let him know!

So he storms through the Cloud Recesses, growing increasingly worried about where they could be - has something happened to them? Are they sick? Did they get cursed? Did they die?

And just as he's about to go grab Lan Zhan from his meeting with his brother because the kids are nowhere to be found, what if they got kidnapped or worse!

...he finds them.

And Wen Ning.

They're all snuggled together, napping underneath the large wisteria tree, bunnies around and on them.

The sight is so heartwarming that Wei Wuxian decides not to disturb them.

In fact, he decides he wants to nap too, and settles next to Jin Ling, leaning against Wen Ning's shoulder.

----

"Why does Hanguang-Jun look like that?" one Lan junior asks as he spots the man walking from the bunny field with a grim expression.

"It's the vinegar." the other replies, "Senior Wei must have done something that's gonna have us banned from being around the jingshi for three days again."

"Man, I wish that was me."