#warrior nun fanfiction

[simplyavatrice]

  The light in the room settles again, the halo going dormant as she lands back on the mattress. She’s shaky and uncertain, kind of torn between breaking out into a fit of laughter and bursting into tears.

 Beatrice is still above her, naked in both body and soul, watching her.

 This time, when she touches Ava’s cheek with her hand, Ava presses into Bea’s palm and kisses her thumb as it brushes over Ava’s bottom lip.

 She wants to say it, wants to scream how much she loves her -   but the fog  is fading away. She can feel and if she can, she knows Bea can too.

 So she keeps quiet, scared of what regrets tomorrow might bring. This isn’t something they can just brush off. It isn’t something Beatrice will be able to brush off. She has vows and commitments and internal struggles with her sexuality that she’s battled for years.

 The halo has a seemingly endless power, but Ava knows it can't fix that.

 Still, in the safety of their bedroom, in the pitch black of night, Beatrice doesn’t pull away.

-------

HUGE thank you to @smallandsundry for this commission for the definition of insanity. it truly does capture the moment so perfectly and just...look how well done it is. i am in love

[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.

[unholyhelbig]

Requests are Currently: CLOSED

[When they are open, you can request here. You can also click here if you just want to chat, or have any questions]

Marvel:

Kate Bishop x Reader

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Kate Bishop x Yelena Belova

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Robin Buckley x Nancy Wheeler

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Beca Mitchell x Chloe Beale

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Pitch Perfect Horror Week

Warrior Nun:

Ava Silva x Sister Beatrice

Request Rules:

DO NOT INTERACT with my work if you are not 18+. While most of the stuff that I write isn't NSFW, there are violent themes and I will block you if this rule is broken.

There are a lot of prompts in my inbox, and while I try to get them done in a timely matter, I do have a lot going on most times, so I will post when I post.

While I try to keep my fanfiction gender neutral, some of it will be directed towards she/her or she/they pronouns as that is how I identify and it's hard to break that habit. Mostly gender neutral though!

There are a few things I won't write (Trigger warning for these): Pregnancy, Self-harm, Suicide, or anything underage.

I prefer requests that have a little bit of wiggle room. Sometimes it's hard to conceptualize a longer plot and include everything. I'm not talking about one word prompts here, but I'd like it to be less than a paragraph if possible.

[mpliego]

this piece is much less risqué than the fic that inspired it but i've thought about drawing this moment since i read it

from Frankenstein by LongWindedAnswer

[littledata]

we will never be here again - 1 / 4

In July of 1969, Ava Silva climbs into Beatrice's car carrying nothing but a revolver and a bag full of cash.

[tally-kat]

Hi! I just posted my first chapter of my first fic!

Finally, in the distance Ava sees what JC was talking about.

The first one is tall with cheekbones that look like they could cut glass, her long hair done in a braid. The next woman is small, with a bright smile and curls on top of her head. The next is all muscle, tattoos, and braids sticking out of a cowboy hat.

Then standing slightly off to the side is Cowboy Hat 2 with just as many muscles as Cowboy Hat 1 but no tattoos, and she looks almost shy. The first three are waving as the bus rolls to a stop and Cowboy Hat 1 nudges Cowboy Hat 2 who sheepishly waves, and oh, Ava is struck with needing to know everything about that.

Or

Cowboy!Bea and CampCounselor!Ava AU

[spencerreidswhore187]

Take Me to Church

Ava x Beatrice (Warrior Nun)

Summary: Amidst the chaos of their lives, Beatrice finds solace in playing with Ava's hair.

Word Count: 0.3k

In the subdued ambience of their makeshift refuge, Beatrice sat beside Ava, the flickering flame of a solitary candle casting an ethereal glow across the room. The air was thick with the weight of unspoken battles and the lingering echoes of their pasts. Yet, amidst the calmness, Ava rested her head on Beatrice's shoulder, humming quietly as Beatrice's fingers gently traced through her hair.

Beatrice's gaze remained fixed, her movements deliberate as she navigated the strands of Ava's hair. There was a certain stoicism about her, a demeanour that spoke of a sister warrior's discipline, even in the seemingly mundane act of playing with hair. 

"You ever notice how we're always on the brink of chaos, yet there's something oddly grounding about this?" Beatrice asked.

Ava, nuzzling into Beatrice's shoulder, couldn't help but smirk at her unexpected insight.

"Grounding, huh? I wouldn't have expected you to go all Zen on me, Bea."

Beatrice's response was a subtle nod, her focus unwavering.

"Call it what you want. It's a distraction. Keeps the mind sharp."

As her fingers continued their purposeful dance, it was as if Beatrice was untangling more than just hair – unravelling the knots of tension that accompanied them wherever they went.

 "They say focus is a weapon," Bea murmured. "And if you can make someone lose focus on the chaos, even for a moment, it's a victory."

Ava, ever the pragmatist, chuckled at the notion.

"I'm all for unconventional warfare. Carry on, soldier."

Beatrice's fingers moved with a seasoned precision, each stroke a deliberate manoeuvre in a silent strategy. Though small and confined, The room was a sanctuary of sorts, shielded from the outside tumult by the quiet exchange between two warriors seeking solace.

"In the midst of battles and skirmishes, even nuns need a moment of respite. This... this is our moment."

Ava, in the embrace of the momentary truce, acknowledged the unspoken pact with a nod.

"If this is a warrior's version of a spa day, I'm all in."

A/N: Thank you for reading ◡̈

[vioartemis]

I'll hold your hand

(Ava Silva x fem! reader)

Summary: You've been in St Michael's orphanage for the past 12 years and made a friend there. Or maybe she's a bit more than just a friend after all... Warnings: bit sad at one point ig, not proof read (English isn't my first language, I'm sorry if there are mistakes or if something doesn't make sense TvT)

"Wanna see something cool?" Ava whispered to you as Sister Frances was walking out of her room

"Sure!" you smiled

Ava looked at the older woman and you could see her right hand move slightly as she extended her middle finger. You both chuckled at her action, which drew the attention on you.

"What makes you laugh so much?" Sister Frances asked, clearly annoyed

"Oh, Ava just cracked a very funny joke. Nothing you could get I'm afraid" you replied with a little smirk

You could see her jaw clench from afar, and you were sure she was holding back not to hit you both in that moment. It wasn't a secret; she never liked neither of you, and you didn't like her either.

She didn't say anything to that and left the room, muttering under her breath.

You looked at Ava, who was already looking at you, and you both laughed again.

"That was hilarious!" she finally said after her laughter calmed down

"I know, I am so funny"

"And so modest too"

You chuckled and wiped away a few tears on Ava's cheeks, caused by her laugh.

"Thank you"

"Don't thank me. Soon you'll be able to do it yourself, I'm sure of it" you smiled

"You think?"

"Yeah! Look at you, flipping her off like that! You'll be walking in no time"

You kneeled on the floor and rested your chin on her bed with a smile.

"Give me your hand"

You complied and held her hand softly, your eyes never leaving her face. You knew what she was trying to do, it had become part of your daily routine now. Her fingers moved slightly, not quite reaching your hand.

Ava swore under her breath, and her fingers stopped moving. You stroked her hair gently, trying to reassure her.

"You're doing great, you're almost there"

She shook her head.

"You only say that so I don't feel worse..." she took a deep breath "I promise I'll hold your hand, one day. Hug you even"

Your smile got bigger.

"I know. I know you will. I believe in you, I'm so proud of the progress you've made already" you punctuated your words with a gentle squeeze on her hand, even if you knew she could barely feel it

Your words made her feel warm inside, a feeling she almost only had when you were there. As she couldn't leave her bed, your presence helped her and made her days better.

You would watch tv together, criticize everything and everyone, joke, laugh, sometimes you would even read to her. She found your voice so calming and soothing, she could listen to you talk for hours.

Right before Sister Frances came, you were actually reading her one of the only books the older woman let you buy after you annoyed her with it for a really long time: The Shinning. You were almost finished, there were less than a hundred pages left.

"I better go back to my room. Sister Frances would be capable of keeping me away from you if we keep pissing her off today"

"What about the book? You said it was almost the end!"

"It is! I promise to read it to you tomorrow"

You smiled as you got up, the book in your hand, before bending down again to kiss her forehead. You didn't leave her room without a cheerful 'goodnight!', only met by an eye roll and a barely audible 'goodnight'.

On the way to your room, you smiled to yourself, not knowing there would not be a tomorrow.

<><><><> ♡ <><><><>

"Ava, someone said they wanted to see you"

The girl looked up from the glass she was cleaning.

"What? Who?"

"I don't know, she only said she wanted to see you. She's outside, on the left of the bar"

Ava was a bit confused, but took off her bartender's apron and left it on the counter.

"Be careful, maybe it's a trap" Beatrice warned her as she walked past her

"I'll be okay, don't worry"

She smiled and left the bar, looking for that mysterious person. On the left of the bar, where Bea told her, Ava could see a person, but their back was facing her.

"Excuse me, are you the one who asked to see me?"

There was a moment of silence before the person turned around, letting the sun shine on a face Ava never thought she would see again.

"Y/n?" she asked hesitantly, barely believing her eyes

She could see tears in your eyes before she was pulled in a tight hug that, for the first time, she could give back.

"I thought I would never see you again" you sobbed in the hug "I thought you were dead...!"

She pulled away from the hug and gently placed her hands on your face to wipe away your tears, just like you did for her many times in the past.

"I'm sorry... I tried to see you after everything happened, but you weren't there..."

"I- I ran away after Sister Frances tried to inject me something in my sleep that night..." you looked directly into her eyes, not quite believing she was real yet "I went to your room, I wanted to see you, but... you were s-so pale... and you weren't opening your eyes... How are you not dead? Are you even real?"

A new wave of tears threatened to flow down your cheeks. Ava smiled a bit at your last question.

"I'm very real, I promise. As for the rest..."

She explained everything to you, knowing that she could trust you with her life and that you would believe her. By the end of her story, you were both sitting on the ground, your backs against the bar's wall.

You were trying to assimilate everything she had just told you, and it was a lot, she knew it.

"Give me your hand" she asked softly

You complied, and you held hands. For the first time, Ava could feel the warmth of your hand in her, she could really hold your hand. I'm holding your hand now... she thought.

"You okay?" she asked after a moment

"Yeah... just... wow"

You finally turned your head to look at her.

"I really thought I had lost you... I missed you so much..."

Ava couldn't help but smile at your words. She pulled you in for another hug, enjoying the feeling of it.

"I missed you too" she rubbed your back before pulling away again

For a moment, she found herself unable to look away from your face. You hadn't changed that much, but at the same time you did. She could still find all the details she loved about your face, and your smile was still her favorite thing to see.

She was feeling so nice and warm... She hadn't experience this since the day before she died, not even with JC.

Even if she hadn't realized back then, now she knew she had always loved you. Or maybe she did know it but buried her feelings, knowing she could've never gave you a normal relationship.

Seeing you again just caused all her feelings to come back, and she had a hard time containing them.

"How have you been? I talked a lot about myself, now I want to hear about you"

"Oh, well... I just tried to go as far as possible from the orphanage" you replied with a little shrug "I didn't really know what to do... It was hard not having you by my side, you know?"

Ava was touched by your words, it made her melt a bit more.

"Did you meet anyone you could travel with?" she asked, trying to be subtle

"Not really. Making friends has never been my thing"

"What about... more than friends?"

"You mean like a crush?" you chuckled "No, no crush either. The only one I ever had was back then at the orphanage" you turned to her "What about you?"

She shook her head.

"Me neither"

You nodded, before looking back in front of you with a little smile.

"Hey um... Do you want to go out tonight? There will be a party at the bar" Ava asked you

"Parties aren't really my thing to be honest, but thanks for the invite"

You didn't miss the disappointment in her eyes at your answer. It made you smile a bit more.

"Why'd you look so sad about it?" you teased her

She hesitated to answer honestly, because it would mean confessing her feelings. But you wouldn't juge her, would you? Maybe, maybe you would even give her a chance, now that she wasn't paralyzed anymore?

"I just want to spend time with you, is that a crime?" she replied with a smile "Also make up for lost time"

"It's not like it's your fault or anything... It's hard to find someone when you have no idea where they are" you nudge her gently

"I... wasn't talking about the past few months"

"What were you talking about then?" you asked, confused

"... The twelve years at the orphanage"

Your confusion must have been obvious, because she sighed and tried to find her words.

"I wasn't really there, I couldn't do anything beside looking at you or speak... And you were just so nice, spending your days with me instead of going with the others while I couldn't do anything to repay you..."

"Ava-"

"You always did everything you could to make sure I wasn't alone, you encouraged me, you stood up against Sister Frances for me... You were just- so perfect... You made my days better, gave me a reason to wake up in the morning... A-and I was just laying there, doing nothing-"

"Ava." you grabbed her hand "Don't say it like I was the only one to contribute to our friendship. I stayed with you because you were important to me. Because I wanted to. Because I liked being with you"

"But you could've been so much happier without me! You could've found yourself friends with who you could so things, maybe find someone you liked and build a relationship with them... A normal relationship, a real relationship, not like anything you could've had with me, assuming you'd share my feelings..."

Your eyes went wide at her words. She had feelings for you...?

"But now that I'm more normal I really want to make up for all these years and spend time with you. Show you I'm more than... than a quadriplegic teenager"

"You think I don't know that already?" your words made her turn to you "That never mattered to me. Not one second"

"Y/n-"

"It's always been you, Ava"

She was stunned, mouth half opened. The words were stuck in her throat.

"To me you always were so much more than 'a quadriplegic teenager'. You were everything. Every night when I went back to my room I was looking forward to seeing you the next day" you gave her a smile, tears in your eyes "These years with you, they were the best ones of my life. And... and when I lost you that night... my whole world collapsed. I regretted not having told you how I felt about you and how much you meant to me"

Your voice was shaking by the end of your little speech, but you had to finish it now. You took both her hands in yours.

"I'm in love with you, Ava"

It took her a minute to be able to speak again, still shocked by everything you just said.

"Me too... I mean- I'm in love with you too..."

Your smile showed how happy you were to hear her say that. You gave her hands a little squeeze as your gaze fell on her lips for a split second. She noticed it and slowly leaned in. You did the same, and your lips finally met in a soft kiss.

If anyone had told you that you would be kissing her behind a bar in the Alps, you wouldn't have believed them.

But apparently miracles exist.

[alterumsinealterononest]

Bea and Ava cooking dinner together one night after a light/happy day at work. Bea doing most of the cooking because Ava is busy jumping around (calling it "dancing") and singing along to the songs playing from her "boo boo would love these" Spotify playlist. "Let's get married" by the Bleachers comes up and she and her wooden spoon give the performance of a lifetime (as they have been doing for the past 45 minutes). After a few minutes Beatrice notices that although the songs keep playing, Ava is quiet and seemingly concentrating on the task she was given (lost in her own thoughts, most likely).

Worried, Beatrice bumps her shoulder and offers her a small concerned smile, asking if she's okay.

"We could, though, right?" is Ava's answer.

"Get married", she adds, seeing Beatrice's confusion painted all over her face.

[simplyavatrice]

Ava Silva, just hearing her full name jogs a memory - a fuzzy one - of a time when she heard that name. She doesn’t remember where it was. An article or a movie or…something but she knows she’s heard that name before. Ava Silva is a celebrity. She’s an actress. She’s been flirting with an incredibly famous actress. or A Hollywood AU

[bazaarwords]

Ava has made an assessment:

“The desert is too hot!”

Turns out, they’d rolled up in the back of their fancy box truck just before sunrise, and now the sun has risen. And it’s hot. Probably as hot as temperatures can possibly be. Ava’s pretty sure of that.

“Water is wet,” Beatrice says, more a grumble than a comment, and if Ava was not otherwise miserable from the heat and the sweating, she’d be on her ass. Bea is funny when she wants to be.

[morningsound15]

Pairing: Beatrice/Ava

Rated: E

Word Count: 10,747

Thank you to those who gave me prompts!! I desperately needed them. So now enjoy 10,000 words of whatever the fuck this is. Lots of love from me to you, Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year

**

And Beatrice is not good; she is not holy; she is not worthy of her vows. She is taking advantage of Ava’s good nature, of her warmth, of her need for physical intimacy. She knows that she is. She knows that when Ava reaches for her in the dark it isn’t because she’s reaching for Beatrice so much as she’s reaching for someone. A body. Any body would suffice. Beatrice’s body, with its racing heart and its trembling fingers, with its weak-kneed sensibilities and inability to say no, just happens to be near.

And Beatrice is not good; she is not holy; because she does not stop it from happening. She leans into it. She draws Ava into herself, she breathes in the scent of Ava’s shampoo, she revels in the warmth of her skin beneath her clothes, in the perfect way Ava’s soft curves seem to meld against her own hardness. Beatrice is all sharp edges. She is stern, she is steel.

She is weak, for Ava and everything about her.

**

5 + 1: five times Ava initiates romantic contact with Bea + the one time Beatrice does

[crown-ov-horns]

Ava and Adriel are NOT cooperating. I'm writing Ch 2 of And the Sea became Blood. It's meant to be Enemies to Lovers (aka Villain annoys Heroine until she falls in love with him), so they're supposed to lock horns, but they're being civil. For fuck's sake, they're at some party, discussing how neither knew their dad. What is happening here.

Also, I'm not sure what's more scandalous - the fact that Archangel Michael will fall in love with the Antichrist, or the fact that she's bordering on functional alcoholism... She's having a hard time, let her be.

[littledata]

on that dizzy edge - 3 / 3

“So how’s living together?” Camila asks, “You haven’t killed her yet?”

Beatrice huffs, “Why does everyone seem so certain that Ava and I living together will end in murder?”

---

Beatrice’s best friend is moving in with her and it is absolutely not going to change the entire trajectory of her life.

[sisterdivinium]

Rating: Mature Archive Warning: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Category: F/F Fandom: Warrior Nun (TV) Relationship: Jillian Salvius/Mother Superion Characters: Jillian Salvius, Mother Superion (Warrior Nun) Additional Tags: Demonic Possession

With a "holy war" looming on the horizon, Jillian Salvius approaches Mother Superion with a proposal that might benefit her own ravaged heart as well as the OCS' operations for as long as they remain bereft of a halo bearer. Some demons, however, are all the more dangerous for hiding in plain sight...

[tally-kat]

Chapter 5 is up! I even made a shitty meme to go along! I hope you enjoy!!