#oc: eva lean

[angelicadamposting]

Eva Lean & Lucifer ཐི♡ཋྀ | Strike 3

art by the talented @kandavers <3 !!

From before Eva ever fell from Heaven, she'd always had a hatred for Lucifer. She had been Adam's third wife after Lilith and Eve were 'stolen.' Lucifer was the very person responsible for her 'ex'-husband's anguish and subsequent (even if not admitted...) insecurities. So, of course, once she was in Hell and living in the King's daughter's Hotel, she was still quite adamant about her distaste for Lucifer. Bickering with him, nitpicking, mocking or teasing him until it leads to her shouting at him in her own frustration or rage -- all while he stands just a FEW goddamn inches taller than her, with that stupidly handsome, smug grin plastered on his damned face.

For once in her damned existence in that pit, Eva was relieved in her so-called 'sinner-form,' hopeful it'd keep her identity a secret from Lucifer. Still only wishing for few to know of her being a fallen angel, or associated with Adam. Only Vaggie, Valentino, and Sir Pentious are aware by the time she meets the King of Hell. And it did work, the man was too focused on his daughter - as he should be - or arguing with Alastor. It worked all the way until the extermination day when Adam called her out and recognized her on the damn spot. (and we don't know what'll happen after the finale yet so... gotta wait to finish her story</3)

[arolesbianism]

I love it when I have ideas for things and they coincidentally work well with eachother. I'm so fucking smart (did not plan any of this)

[rosvaline]

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CHILDHOOD MEMORY; Vergil and Dante's earliest memory of her. (my OC) ╭━─━─━─━─━─━─≪≫━─━─━──━─━─━╮

Topic: Sparda tells the story of he's sister to 5-year-old Vergil and Dante as a warning against losing a sibling.

[I don't know the author of this drawing, if you know, please tell me!] ╰━─━─━──━─━─━≪≫─━─━─━─━─━─━╯

When he saw the twins, his voice broke slightly, for several reasons. He had become a father, he held these small, fragile little ones in his hands, who looked like a copy of himself. And with horror he recognized the resemblance to his sister as well. It was terrifying, to think again about his little sister, who was somewhere out there in the world, perhaps long dead. This thought drowned him for a moment, but feeling Eva's gentle touch, he immediately returned to his family.

If he couldn't get his sister back, he should devote himself to his boys and his wife. Irys would be proud of such behavior. She would be happy with these boys. After all, she loved human women and small human children, calling them worms...

"Eva, you are wonderful," he whispered, placing both twins in her arms and kissing her temple.

"Little copies of you, aren't they?" her smile was tired but happy.

"That's right, my love," he murmured in response, sitting on the edge of the bed and admiring his new family.

For a moment, looking at the twins, he thought of Irys again. She would have been happy to see these two boys, he could feel it. She would have jumped for joy, helping him take care of Eva and the children. However, she wasn't here, it was Sparda's fault in every percent, he knew it. He regretted those words, regretted calling her a dead weight. But he couldn't turn back time. So he pushed his thoughts away and immersed himself in his fatherly life, always remembering being a husband and occasionally reminding himself of his sister.

Until Dante and Vergil started to grow up more and more. Looking at these two boys, his little boys, he couldn't help but notice the similarities. Dante's energy, and later Vergil's adoration for poetry, made him want to cry. Irys loved poetry, was full of self-confidence and pride, danced, even sang, the more time she spent around people. Now she only has the ghost of it at night, when she dreams restlessly, thinking of distant days that will not return. He regretted being a bad older brother.

"My boys..." Sparda began "You are old enough for me to tell you a little about my family" he smiled gently, seeing Vergil's curiosity and shook his head at Dante's slight distraction.

"Well, my children, I have a sister" these words immediately caught the attention of the five-year-old twins "Unfortunately, our last meeting was a long time ago. We had a fight then. It was my fault. I said a few words too many in anger and I didn't stop her when she was walking away, her back to me" he spoke calmly, carefully watching his sons' reaction.

"Where is she now?" Dante asked, turning his head to the side, and Vergil hit him in the ribs.

"It's obvious that father doesn't know. After all, he said he hadn't seen her for a long time. Think a little, Dante" he rolled his eyes, straightening up proudly, and Dante only rolled his eyes.

Sparda laughed.

"Easy boys. Unfortunately, I don't know where she is now, I can only hope that my dear sister is happy" he smiled sadly, but combed the twins' hair, Dante was pleased with this move, while Vergil grimaced a little, fixing his hair, but he didn't complain. He just didn't want to do his hair again. Dante didn't have such a problem.

"I just want you to remember to watch your words. I lost my sister because I yelled at her in anger, and now she doesn't know that I have two wonderful sons and a wife. You don't have to be nice to each other. Just be there and hold on. Losing a twin is something painful, I know that. I don't want you to share my stupidity and fate" he smiled, leaning down to Vergil and kissing him tenderly on the forehead. Dante wrinkled his nose, so after a moment the kiss touched his wrinkle, making him chuckle.

"What was she like?" Vergil asked, leaning towards his father. "Our aunt. Like you?" he turned his head to the side, curious.

"Exactly! What was she like? Strong? Did she swing her sword like you? Did she fight?" questions poured out of Dante's mouth like a waterfall, standing up to demonstrate the movements as if he was holding a sword in his hands.

"Dante, she was a woman, she probably had more calculations than you-" Vergil began, rolling his eyes, but they were interrupted by Sparda.

"Maybe I'll disappoint you, maybe not, but she was a very energetic woman. Always ready for a fight, I've never seen anyone before or after wield Rebellion and Yamoto at the same time as well as she did. Yes, boys, she could fight with a powerful sword, and in a second hold a katana in her hands and still be just as good. But that's not all. As she got a little older, she started to quote poetry to me more and more often, create various word puzzles when we talked, even if it was during a battle or resting between battles. She was a talented woman with great physical and mental strength. She didn't give up, she kept going, often mocking her opponents, treating them as if they were puppets! And her laugh? Oh, she sounded absolutely like your mother's kettle!" he raised his hands energetically, chuckling and remembering the days of fighting alongside his sister, strong, wise and funny.

He missed this woman more than he ever thought. His smile took on a dreamy shape, Vergil stared at his father, then at his mother, who stood behind him, hands on her hips and a smile as bright as the sun.

"I'd like to meet her!! She'd teach us how to fight, right? And Vergil would have someone to read poetry to! They'd probably sit like two nerds in a library," he chuckled, and Vergil pushed him to the side.

"I'm not a nerd! I can just do anything!" he said defensively.

Dante hit back, of course, and a small, harmless fight broke out.

"Were you like that too? With your sister?" Eva asked, placing her hands on her husband's shoulders.

"We were worse as children. But as adults? Sometimes I'd throw my sword at her if she quoted that weird poetry for too long. Now I'd give anything to hear her quote anything again..." he sighed, placing his hand on hers and squeezing gently.

He missed her. He missed his sister so much, he wasn't going to hide it from himself anymore. He'd give anything to hear her kettle-like laugh, to hear about poetry or human, beautiful women... He wished his family could be complete. Like it should be. He knew it would be unlikely, but he hoped that one day she would knock on his door with a mocking smile and call his sons savages or worms.

Eva kissed his hair, seeing how her sons slowly calmed down, feeling how deep in thought he was. She knew that he missed his sister and regretted every word. I would like to meet her, but... she had a strange feeling that it would never come. She didn't want to worry Sparde about it, she knew that she might be overreacting. But something told her, in the back of her mind, that it was impossible for their family to be complete.

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So this is it!! The first mini chapter about Irys that I wrote about earlier. I decided to make a small series out of it in which I describe Sparda, the twins, her life and possible possibilities of their meeting (like for example she saves her brother's family from being separated, saves him at the cost of herself so that his family lives, finds the twins and takes care of them. I have a lot of ideas!!!) Does anyone want to be tagged under these posts?

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And sorry for my English, I'm learning it, my native language is Polish🤎

[mar3ggiata]

the night of the tarantula - 7

simon riley x oc

I wish I had a soft bed of faith to trust fall into 

'We’re here’.

She stopped the scooter and placed her feet on the ground. Cutting the engine, he finally was able to relax his legs stretching them so he could touch the ground. That thing wasn’t meant for someone his size. His hands still rested on her hips, where he had held her while she drove. His nose was still in her hair. He stabilised the motorcycle, as she was not gonna be able to handle his weight and the scooter’s. She got off the bike before him, he got up and basically scooped the scooter from between his legs. ‘Booster’ that was how she called the motorbike. It was a small scooter, shiny black, aggressive and angry looking scooter. She said they were everywhere in Naples, perfect means of transportation.

She had invited him to go for a ride twenty minutes before, they were in a part of Naples she didn’t really visit when she was young, so that she wouldn’t risk getting recognised or stopped. She had a spare helmet.

He came to knowing he really couldn’t say no to her.

He didn’t want to upset her further than she already was, if she had the strength to get up and ask him if he wanted to go somewhere, he simply considered himself lucky. He wanted to spend time alone with her, and seeing her somewhat happy those days was a blessing. It was rare, seeing her content. And, who was he kidding, every chance to be close to her, he would cherish.

He didn’t even question her when she got on that tiny, almost wrecked scooter and told him to get behind her. She knew the way to the best pizza shop outside of Naples.

He spent the whole journey praying the wheels would hold on, wondering if anyone had seen them two leave together. They did. Price asked where she went and Gaz cleverly noticed Simon was missing too, even if it was ten at night. No one commented further.

The air was soft and warm on his face, her hair gently caressing his cheek when the wind would blow through them. His hands were firmly placed on her waist, his feet rested where her feet were supported to go cause his legs were too long. She placed her feet, she wore sandals, on top of his boots. He felt somewhat used to touching her, it didn't feel so foreign anymore. He squeezed her enough to hold on and not lose balance, and she didn't complain. He thought, every now and then, she was relaxing and leaning into him, pressing her back further against his chest.

'We’re here’.

She stopped the scooter and placed her feet on the ground. Cutting the engine, he finally was able to relax his legs stretching them so he could touch the ground. She got off the bike before him, he got up and basically scooped the scooter from between his legs.

They had left the busy streets behind them, they were in a more rural area. They had passed a laundromat and few restaurants on the way, he didn't know which mountains there were close to, but they must have been in a valley.

She led him to the shop, there was a neon sign that read ‘pizza’ and a few tables outside. Two men were eating at the counter, chatting to the owner. He tried not to stare or look suspicious. 6'2'' fucking brit, built like a wardrobe, dressed all in black, with a pretty girl in a pizza shop at ten pm. Not suspicious.

Eva approached the counter and spoke with a neutral italian accent.

'Buonasera'.

The owner's accent was definitely thicker, he was from the area. 'Buonasera, ditemi.'

'Buonasera' meant 'good evening', he guessed. He had even started to recognise the sound of the dialect, he knew she was faking not being from there.

She asked something else, looking at the counter, he guessed she ordered something to eat. 'Posso avere una pizza fritta pomodoro e mozzarella… e…', she tilted her head in thought. He didn't even try to interfere, he stood there like an idiot beside the fridge. She was in her element.

The owner suggested something, she liked what he said and nodded. 'Si, provola va bene, grazie!'

He gave a quick nod to the man when he felt him look his way. He wasn't wearing a mask at the moment, he had it in his back pocket. It would have been strage. Naples scared him, he really didn't want to mess with the locals, nor endanger Eva. Most of all, endanger Eva more than he already was, him and Price.

'What did you get?' He asked, she led him outside where a small bench was. Before he sat, she signalled to take a peek inside the small kitchen from the window. He took her advice, she gestured to the inside. The same man that was at the counter was moving inside the small space, he checked the temperature of a large pot of frying oil and began to work on his pizza dough. He garnished two dough balls, one with tomato sauce and mozzarella cubes, the other with another type of cheese, sausage and what looked like spinach of some sort. He then closed the dough on itself and pressed tightly to prevent the filling from spilling out. He stretched the dough before gently immersing it in the sizzling oil.

'Oh, it's fried?' He asked, she replied with an amused smile.

'They started frying it in the 1940s, the people that couldn't afford ovens. It's really good.'

The man kept a close eye on their pizzas, unbothered by them looking at him cook, and chatting to his friends, his voice loud, pronouncing words Simon wasn't understanding. The smell of tomatoes and fried dough invaded his nose, his stomach rumbled in a way he wasn't used to. Even hunger was different when he was with Eva. She taught him food was meant to be enjoyed, it was a gift, culture and tradition. He just ate to survive.

Both pizzas came to cost them eight dollars. Unbelievably cheap, how do people live with prices so low?

'Try this one first', Eva suggested. It was the 'margherita' one. The dough was incredibly soft and light despite being fried, it was fragrant and chewy at the same time. Salty, the tomato was seasoned with oregano. He didn't guess that, she told him. She watched him struggle with the cheese pulling from the pizza from his bite, she smiled and took a bite of the other one. Incapsulated in time, in another universe, they sat together eating fried pizzas, Naple's speciality. He got a beer from the fridge, she gave him her pizza to try, she didn't care he already took a bite of the other one. He was maskless, he was normal. He had a shirt on and jeans, he was relaxed. No guns, no enemies. She wasn't crying for once, she wasn't panicking, she looked at him with stars in her eyes. She was calm and she chose him to share her calmness with. To share the evening, the hot air, the scooter and the mountains. Out of everyone, she chose him.

'Okay, why don't we..' Price tried to regain control of the situation. He took a folding chair from the corner of the room, two chairs one for himself and one for Simon.

'Why don't we tell you the plan, sound good?'

She closed her mouth, taken aback from his calmness, almost surreal. The two men sat down in front of her, Ghost more on the right side of the table. Having him so near frightened her, she could feel his judging eyes on her, she could feel how disgusted and disappointed he must have felt. She sat back, pressing her back to the chair. She wanted to hear.

'We know the south's corrupt, the special services we'll work with are units from the north, they're clear'.

'The north is corrupt too…', she mumbled, Price dismissed her comment with a gesture of his hand. 'We're given a base at Saint Felix, it's a thirty minute drive from the city. We're gonna stay there in the mountains, coordinate from there.' She quickly glanced between the two men. Price noticed. 'We're coming too, you're not going there alone.' Oh. That was different then. A special unit, British secret service squad in her hometown though… They stood no chance.

'Still, I can't just show up at my house…', she started again, and Price interrupted.

'Your sister knows.' She shut up. 'She's with us.'

So, as Ghost came to knowing just minutes before the interrogation that day, Maria Adele, or Mary as Price referred to her, was contacted by Laswell about Eva. She was married now, she had a one year old, she worked at the bank. She used to be a swimmer. They explained the plan and how Eva was going to be sent to Italy to work with the secret services. Maria Adele was shown pictures of Eva from the most recent days and she almost didn’t recognise her. She said her hair had never been this long, she said she looked good. She was an adult, she wasn’t a little girl anymore.

The captain said she was skeptical at first, said no a few times, but at least she understood and offered her help. She was smart, a nice person. Just like her sister.

Ghost had the chance to take a good look at Eva. Her pupils dilated like she was in coke, dark circles under her eyes that she hid with makeup and some redness adorned her nose. Her lips were chapped, she looked like she was about to fall apart, even though she came in so put together…

Price carried on trying to convince her. 'Your sister Mary knows, she wants to help, help us and you…'

'She doesn't need to be involved…', Eva muttered under her breath. She looked small enough to hold in the palm of his hand.

‘She’s with us’, Price repeated, as to reassure her. She didn’t look at ease anymore, she was tense and the fact that she hid her hands under the table made Simon think she was destroying her cuticles again by ripping off her skin.

‘Covid has been harsh on Italy’, Price started. ‘Especially for those small businesses that make money through tourism. And Naples is full of families that are struggling, restaurants, bars and local shops…’

Eva's eyebrows furrowed for a second, her head tilted to the side. What was he insinuating? But she let him speak.

'So we've been thinking, and some of the gangs have already started doing this in Sicily… to give them a hand, to offer help. This is the kind way of saying it, they're planning-'

'To take over the businesses. We put our people to work for them and we share the profit. But when the crisis is done, we still ask for money as a thank you for the times they were in need and we helped. We could even do some money laundering... '

They turned to her, once again surprised. She was so blunt with it, no filter. Not only did she finish the sentence for the captain. She even had more ideas, uh. A true professional. Ghost had to remind himself, not only of her incredible intelligence, but of the fact she was, at heart, a criminal.

She understood what they were thinking, she quickly jumped in. 'They did the same for the earthquake in 2015…', she said, '…they immediately started running made up construction business, they helped the people that lost their homes with loans, and they haven't stopped asking for money since. And the shops and restaurants, they are still under our control, we never really stopped getting a part of the profit from them... and, yes, we would use their businesses to cover the money that we made through drugs and prostitution…'

Price nodded, the unsettling revelation that she was already familiar with that kinda stuff was a lot to take in. And for Simon too.

'So…' Price resumed, '…we believe if you get back to your family, you could suggest this type of business to your mom, and offer your help. You'll be constantly wearing a microphone, you'd be recording every conversation you two have. And you'd report back to us in Saint Felix, every day. Once she trusts you again and lets you in on everything else, we just need to know the details and we'll take it from there.'

Simons studied her reaction to the plan, her face dropped. 'You wanna kill her?' She murmured.

'No, of course not.' Price soon clarified.

She seemed to be thinking about it, her brows furrowed and her mouth in a thin line.

'What about the others?' She asked.

'The Caseranos?'

'Them'.

'Well… we know your ex-'

'What?' She stopped him again. Furious this time, a bit ahead of herself, but still. She did always seem to get angry really fast. This was, maybe, a bit too personal.

Simon knew what the captain was gonna say and frankly, he didn't approve. Lure her ex into confessing using her, it didn't felt right, and he wasn't used to thinking like this. If that was the plan then so be it, if she wanted to help, she needed to stick to the plan. However… He didn't really know how to describe it, but he felt uneasy at the thought of what she would need to do with this… ex boyfriend?

'Well, you two dated, no? A long time ago, but you dated him', Price asked.

She was looking down at her lap, the emotions on her face weren't clear. Regret, nostalgia? Anger, most of all.

'And?'

'We just thought, since he's not with anyone at the minute, and we know he was quite fond of you…', her eye twitched, she wasn't comfortable anymore, '…you could befriend him again and we would go from there.'

'Befriend him, is that the nice way of saying you want me to fuck a guy I dated when I was seventeen?' She almost yelled, and got up from her chair.

The thought made Simon want to throw up.

'We're saying…' Price tried, but she was already gone, at least mentally.

'No no, you're asking me to do the right thing yeah, to do what's right!' She swung her bag on her right shoulder, at that point Simon stood up as well. 'He was supposed to be the enemy, you know I can't even be seen talking to him.'

He thought about saying something. About reassuring her in some way, Price wasn't sure asking her to do that stuff if she didn't want to… He surely would never put her in danger, was he a dangerous individual? She thought he could hurt her, did he ever hurt her in the past?

She was nearly out the door, Price stood up and tried to assure her they didn't want to use her.

'I killed his unborn brother, you're asking me to get with him...' she said. Simon had to admit, it did sound... rough. She was gone before he could process an answer.

And he felt bad. He felt like a complete useless idiot, he could have been on her side, at least for that last part. To let her know he didn't approve of this part of the plan. Did she think he didn't care if she had to have sex with some random guy? Not completely random, but still did she think he didn't care if she felt used? Did she think, because he didn't say a word during the whole meeting, he didn't want to help her?

You could have told me, that was what he said to her last time he was her alone, at the dance studio. He wanted to know, he wanter her to be open with him, at all times, with everything. Him and only him.

He exited the base and got one of the cars.

He drove to her house.

notes: hiii again, its me ehhe I'm barely alive but here we are!

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[call-sign-shark]

The Gentle Art of Terror

summary: Jack and Eva Nelson have an unpleasant encounter during a posh party. Her name? Tina Cacciatore, Luca Changretta's right hand. || Based on the "ask about your OC and mine to receive a one-shot + small moodboard". Also exploring Eva being scared is super cool. (@evita-shelby)

Words: 1.5k

“What are we doing here?” Eva asked, her sly and perfectly manicured hands tightly wrapped around the American’s muscular arm as they navigated in the dim light of the damp wine cellar. Warm but feeble lamps were hanging from the concrete ceiling, softly swinging from left and right at each gust of wind, casting their yellowish hue on the walls. The sumptuous witch’s voice was underlined with a palpable annoyance for she didn’t understand why they should waste their time in this shit hole while one of the most expensive parties ever held in Boston was taking place two stories above them. Jack Nelson‘s only reply was a little “shhh” before he walled himself in silence again, his green eyes surveyed his hostile surroundings with great attention. Even though the letter stipulated that their encounter would be peaceful, only aimed at discussing the terms of territory limits, Jack didn’t trust the man for his life of his. While merciless as an enraged bull and sly as a fox, he knew far too well that Luca Changretta, the most efficient soldier of the Spinetta’s family and the one rapidly climbing the Mafia’s highest ranks, wouldn’t shy away at the idea of slicing his throat at the slightest moment of inattention and Jack couldn’t have that. Even less when his mesmerizing wife, as powerful as him but embodying his only weakness, was with him at this moment.

“Jack.” She called him, her tone firmer as to remind him she wasn’t some kind of docile trophy wife but a Queen who could have almost everyone eating from her cursed hand. The sole power of her voice made him oblige — Nelson pinched his scarred lips in a thin line before replying.

“Remember when I told you Changretta wanted to talk? Well, here we are,” His gaze, usually hard and unyielding, softened at the sight of his wife’s expression, which was a combination of surprise and discontent, “I told you to stay at the party.” 

“And I told you I’m not some meek girl. If you are in trouble so I am, and I won't hesitate to make the fucker atone for the sin of thinking about harming you.” She stated, unbreakable and with the fury of a harpy. To this, Jack couldn’t help but grin: if the situation wasn’t so dangerous he would probably have fucked her right here, right now. With every day passing by, Eva’s reactions comforted him in the decision of belonging to her and only her. 

“Let’s stay careful. I don’t know where Changretta is… Might be as well looming in the dark and waiting to attack—“

“Oh. He’s here.”  She cut him off, one brow raised, her face composed but her gift of Clairvoyance unpleasantly rattling against her bones at the unpleasant sight. In a profound, almost animal instinct, She dug her nails into Jack’s thick sleeve as she felt her husband’s entire body tense when his eyes met with what she saw.

Luca Changretta stood against the wall like he belonged there, a tall and slender figure made of shadows. The swinging lamps of the ceiling threw their warm light at his face, bringing out his sharp traits, accentuating the hard line of his jaw, the predatory gleam in his eye, and the charisma he effortlessly exuded. With an air of casual indifference, the Capo was leaning back, his arms loosely crossed — Surprisingly, his posture was rather relaxed, while still bearing something threatening, like a panther that could spring to action in a blink the moment it smelt blood. A toothpick rolled lazily between his teeth as he carefully watched a third man across him, a man tied to a chair, his form broken and pathetic for he had been reduced to little more than a shell of fear and trembling flesh. 

Eva froze, an imaginary alarm ringing relentlessly in her brain as her genius mind quickly put two and two together —no blood on his face or on his ridiculously pricey tailored suit, a rather long distance from the victim: There was someone else. And that someone was responsible for this twisted scene, probably under Luca’s commands, but if so where was that monster?  Jack should have had the same thought for he quickly checked his surroundings to make sure no one had trapped them but, hopefully, there was no one. However, the echoing footsteps of the powerful couple had drawn the mafioso’s attention for a fleeting second. His piercing green gaze, shining in the dim light, flicked to them and paused just long enough to make sure they understood that he saw them—really saw them. Then, a grin slowly spread across his face in a chilling, knowing smile that curled his lips and reached his eyes in a way that was anything but friendly.

“Good evening, Mr.Nelson. I didn’t expect you to come to our little meeting in such a good company.” He finally said, his smooth voice slightly resounding in the cellar as he nodded at Eva’s direction to acknowledge her presence. Enemy but still a gentleman. As unexpected as it was, Luca wasn’t particularly surprised considering how skillfully manipulative and equally dangerous the new Mrs.Nelson was. Another shiver ran down the Mexican beauty, who couldn’t help but shift their focus from Luca to the tied-up victim, sobbing in muffled and exhausted squeals through the cloth that gagged him. She felt it — this presence, this fourth person hidden somewhere with a stare so burning she almost nervously scratched herself to get rid of the sensation. 

“Luca Changretta.” Jack simply said, spitting the name with so much disgust and disdain it seemed he had just taken a bite of a rotten apple, “I didn’t know you would put on a show in a pathetic attempt to scare me.” Jack stated with a raised brow — if his enemy had the slightest idea about who he was, he would surely know that cruelty didn’t impress Jack Nelson for he himself used to inflect it for business purpose. Ironically, what he loved the most was the Italian way.

“If you think all of this is to impress you let me tell you that you’re wrong,” The mafioso waved off the cutting remark with a elegant movement of the hand, “This unfortunate soul betrayed me so I had to make an example out of him. Nothing to do with you.”

That was how the men started to talk and while Eva was aware of it, the rest of their conversation blurred into unintelligible background when she noticed the tied-up man’s sudden agitation. The latter jolted and his breath hitched, muffled behind the ragged and saliva-coated cloth gag stuffed in his mouth. The air suddenly became heavy with a primal, animal fear that suffocated Eva. As her clairvoyant senses urged her to flee, her dark eyes still followed the panicking victim’s gaze until they fell on the slim and rather short frame of a woman. 

“Amore,” Luca called, interrupting his conversation with Jack Nelson due to the annoying noise he heard in the background, “Silence him.” He just ordered in a Sicilian — as a polyglot, Eva understood it — with as many emotions as if he had asked her to close the door, before focusing on his business talk again.  Two words, one command, and the girl moved closer, her steps light, almost graceful, as she entered his line of vision. She was rather small, standing no taller than 5”5, and harmless at first glance with her slender frame and radiant, ever-present smile. But Eva knew more than to trust a smile, especially this one who was nothing but deceptive - a mask to hide the hideous. She had long dark hair that cascaded down her shoulders, framing a cute but bratty face with mismatched eyes — one as dark as night, the other a brilliant, unsettling golden sun — and blood splatters.

“What…” Eva breathed. 

The man’s breathing quickened as she approached, his chest rising and falling in sharp, panicked heaves. He pulled harder at his restraints in a desperate, useless struggle but it only seemed to amuse her. The broken doll-faced woman tilted her head, her smile widening and a look of near delight crossing her face as she took in his terror.  “That’s okay.” She simply said with a fake soothing tone before pulling a sharp knife out and slicing his throat before Eva had the time to bat her eyes. The strong metallic smell of blood came in a wave so strong that Eva took a few steps back with her expensive heels clicking, eyes wide open, and nausea hitting. Jack must have borne witness to the same thing judging by the instant and worried glance he gave to his wife.

“Hm?”  The killer girl said as if she suddenly remembered that other people were in the room. She finally raised her bicolor eyes towards the Mexican beauty and paused, quietly observing Eva’s face whose exquisite color had turned two shades paler with lips parted in shock. The grotesque scene in front of her didn’t make sense — even with blood on her own hands, she could never understand such unleashed cruelty. Such a bright glimmer of pleasure when inflicting pain.  Eva was frozen, but Tina’s reaction to her presence was instant: her bloodied face lit up with gleeful recognition and her wicked grin turned into an innocent smile. She lifted her hand; still dripping with blood, and waved cheerfully.

“Oh, hey!”  She exclaimed in a light and musical voice, as though she'd just bumped into an old friend on the street. There was no malice in her tone, no hint of the brutality she had just shown.

Eva’s heart missed a beat for the first time in a while at the dissonance between her casual, innocent demeanor and the horrors she had just witnessed. It was wrong. Wrong. So fucking wrong, even for her. After all, she wasn’t a good person but she wasn’t…That. 

And “that”  was a whole other level. “That” was the kind of monster who could not be bribed, not be stopped. An abomination that no money nor power could restraint. 

And “that”?

That was Tina. 

tag: @runnning-outof-time, @evita-shelby, @peakyswritings

[drewsbuzzcut]

I Can See It In Your Eyes

Drew Starkey x Evangeline Sinclair (OC)

Warnings: none that I can think of (this is also lightly edited so sorry for any mistakes)

“Evangeline!”

“Ms. Sinclair over here!”

“Look this way!”

The young starlet walks down the red carpet, the train of her gown in her hand as she makes her way to an interviewer. The buzzing crowd does nothing for her nerves, but she focuses on the pride she feels as everyone calls out for her.

“We’re here with Evangeline Sinclair. She walked the red carpet for the first time just yesterday for her premiere of her brand new horror movie. Everyone seemed to love it and the reviews are to die for. How do you feel?” The interviewer dives in straight away.

Evangeline only has a millisecond to catch her breath.

“So excited. This movie is special to me and I want people to really feel that. I hope that transcribes well through all the hard work that was put into that project,” she breathes out, hands clutched over her heart to show that her words are heartfelt.

“Today you’re here as well to support your fellow Loewe crew and Luca who you’ve previously worked with.”

“Yes, I am. Luca is a fantastic director and he’s perfect at having a vision and making it come to life. I’m honored to be here to celebrate and support such an amazing film and an amazing cast and crew”

“If you don’t mind shifting gears, rumor has it that Drew Starkey is your newest costar for another horror movie coming out sometime next year,” the woman says excitedly.

“Well I guess it isn’t a rumor anymore. Yes, he’s my costar and we’re actually in the middle of filming. Our lovely cast and crew were gracious enough to allow us to be here supporting our other projects,” Evangeline grins, a little flutter growing in her heart at the thought of Drew.

“Well the chemistry must be strong between you two. I can just feel the electricity buzzing when you walk by one another,” the interviewer points out, making a blush form on the actress’s cheeks.

“He’s amazing to work with. What can I say? Our chemistry is unmatched and that’s why we’re starring in a major movie together,” she muses through a big grin.

“I think I heard my name,” Drew chimes in, popping up behind Evangeline.

His hand finds the small of her back and he places a chaste kiss to her cheek, furthermore making her face blaze.

“Drew! How kind of you to join us. What’s it like working with this generation’s scream queen?”

Both Drew and Eva share a quick glance, their eyes quickly flitting away from each other. The girl is highly aware of his large hand still present on her back.

“Ah man. She’s- yeah she’s perfect. Someone that everyone wants to work with, and I just so happen to be the lucky one to do so. She’s super talented and she really knows how to put dedication into the craft,” Drew compliments, directing his gaze back to her.

They all look at each other just about speechless. Evangeline wasn’t expecting for him to say that and it clearly caught the interviewer off guard.

“He’s such a flatterer. I should be saying that I’m the lucky one, being able to work with him,” she shakes off her surprise.

“And soon everyone will be the lucky ones when they’re able to see your film in theaters.”

Evangeline turns her body into Drew’s, her hand landing on his chest in an affectionate manner. Although their touches seem to be mostly platonic, everyone will still be able to see the tension bouncing between their eyes.

“We can’t wait for everyone to see it,” Drew gleams and squeezes the actress into his side.

“Thank you, Drew and Evangeline. It was nice talking to you both,” the interviewer concludes her interview and the duo bid their goodbyes.

“You should pose with me for pictures,” Drew leans down to whisper in her ear.

The girl blushed furiously this time, heart practically beating out of her chest. Whenever she’s around Drew, her senses go haywire.

“No way. You’re the star of the night,” she huffs out.

“And you’re always a star.” Can he be any more perfect?

“One picture. Only one, Drew,” she gives in.

After a few pictures- after the paparazzi couldn’t get enough of them -the duo make their way inside, away from any prying eyes or lenses.

“I didn’t get a chance to tell you that you look beautiful,” Drew sighs as if it's been weighing on his chest.

“Thank you. You look handsome as well.”

His hands find their way back onto her back, slowly tugging her into him for a long overdue hug. Evangeline doesn’t dare stop herself from looping her arms around his neck. His hair tickles her fingers in a pleasant way, reminding her of all the times she’s played with his hair on set.

If someone were to see them, they’d think they’re a couple. Hell, sometimes her mind even tricks her into thinking they’re a couple. Truth is, their bond has become so strong, a catalyst from co-starring in a movie together. Their characters are each other’s love interest, and they’ve had their fair share of onscreen kisses that have pushed their relationship to toe the line between fiction and reality.

Snapping the girl out of her thoughts, Drew slides a hand down her arm and interlocks their fingers.

“Shit. I need to get going and meet up with Luca and Daniel and everyone else,” he mutters, lowering his head in slight annoyance.

“Nervous, Starkey?” There’s a tease hidden in her words and Drew catches it right away.

He fights off a bubbling laugh and just presses a hard kiss to her cheek.

“It’s okay if you’re nervous,” she adds after he fails to respond.

“I’m fine. I know you’ll be in there, seated right behind me,” he says and gathers her in his arms once again. Even in heels, Eva still has to be on her tiptoes to press her forehead to his.

“Mmm right. I almost forgot that I’m your non-date,” she laughs. Drew had asked her to accompany him during his film's premiere day, knowing that her presence will keep him calm. He also can’t deny that he adores seeing her dolled up and by his side.

“Date,” he corrects her. She stays silent, just peering into his baby blues.

“I’m proud of you,” she whispers and finally returns his cheek kiss.

“I have to get going.”

“Go superstar,” she playfully pushes at his chest.

He squeezes at her hips, reluctantly pulling away to catch one last, longing gaze at her before meeting the cast and crew for Queer.

a/n: I haven’t written for Drew in a while, so I hope y’all truly enjoy it

Let me know if there’s anything specific you want to see with Drew and Evangeline!

[dawningday84]

The young Holmes siblings (including Eva my OC middle sibling) attend a frog funeral 🐸😂

Sherlock stood solemnly at the edge of the flowerbed, a cardboard shoebox cradled in his arms like a miniature coffin. His coat was buttoned all the way to the neck despite the mild weather, and his expression was the very picture of boyish grief and righteous fury.

Eva stood beside him, holding a small umbrella over them both. Her eyes were kind, though her lips twitched now and again as she battled the smile threatening to escape.

Mycroft stood a few paces off, holding another umbrella—over himself alone—with the world-weary air of someone who had once read the entire Book of Common Prayer simply to prove a point and now regretted it.

“Does anyone have any final words?” Sherlock asked, his voice cracking slightly but carried by sheer determination.

Eva cleared her throat. “Hoppy was… persistent. He escaped the tank three times. Once into the linen cupboard.”

“Which you left open,” Mycroft muttered, under his breath.

Eva ignored him. “He was… green. And bouncy. And he meant a lot to someone very small and very fierce. That’s worth something.”

Sherlock gave a stiff nod of approval. “Thank you.”

He turned to Mycroft, expectant.

Mycroft sighed, then spoke flatly. “Hoppy was a frog. He is now a dead frog. I suggest we move quickly to avoid encouraging rodents.”

Sherlock scowled. “You’re terrible at funerals.”

“I’m excellent at logistics,” Mycroft replied coolly. “This is not logistics. This is theatrics.”

Eva handed Sherlock a small hand-drawn cross made from lollipop sticks.

Sherlock gently placed the box in the shallow grave they’d dug earlier, pausing to rest a single lily on top of it.

“Requiescat in pace,” he whispered. “Et semper saltabit in cordibus nostris.”

(And he shall forever hop in our hearts.)

There was a silence. A pause.

Then Mycroft blinked. “You don’t speak Latin.”

“I do now,” Sherlock said.

Eva coughed loudly to hide her snort.

As the earth was gently replaced, Sherlock stood tall—eyes misty, face set.

Eva leaned toward Mycroft and whispered, “Better than the hamster, at least.”

“Marginally,” he replied. “Though I suspect I’ll be haunted by frog-based poetry for a month.”

She smiled. “We all grieve differently, My.”

He gave a long-suffering sigh. “Indeed. Some of us hold funerals for frogs. Others simply... call pest control.”

Sherlock was already muttering to himself about building a waterproof plaque.

“Come on,” Eva said, with a sideways smile at her elder brother. "We have a wake to get through yet!"

Mycroft raised his eyes to the sky, in silent prayer for fortitude, before bestowing a withering glare.

"There had better be cake," he grumbled, as she slipped her arm through his.

[choicesficwriterscreations]

June MC of the Month: Eva Archer

Please welcome June 2024's MC of the Month: @dutifullynuttywitch's Eva Archer

Each month, we highlight one MC or OC on our Meet My MC / OC List. They are selected randomly on the Wheel of Names, and eligibility requirements can be found here. We accept MC / OC profiles on an ongoing basis. Please feel free to send yours in!

Learn more about Eva below

1- In your own words, tell us what you like most about your MC / OC.

She’s an idealist, preoccupied by social justice. While at the Tower, she constantly fought the authoritarian leaders, which resulted in her and her sister needing to flee so she wouldn't ‘get disappeared’. Now that she’s leading her own colony, she is still trying to find the right balance, ensuring everyone’s voice is heard and feels welcomed.

2- Do you feel your MC / OC is like you at all? How are you alike or different?

I think we both lean towards social justice and fairness in our decision-making. And I definitely gave her some of my musical tastes! (Though I have more grunge and alternative in my repertoire.)

But other than that, Eva is much cooler than I could ever hope to be!! 🙂 She’s a fighter, brave, willing to put her life on the line for others.

3- What is most important to your MC / OC? What is their motivation in life?

Eva is not the bravest, but she is fiercely loyal to her friends. Being forced to leave her fatally injured sister Brynn, her only family, behind after narrowly escaping The Tower was the hardest thing she’d ever done. It left her deeply scarred. She refuses to lose anyone else she's close to and will put her own life on the line if she can save her friends or members of her colony.

Her friendship and frequent quests with Eli and Angel help her gradually feel more confident in her fighting skills. As a leader of the newly established Olympus Colony, she speaks up against injustices and tries to be conciliatory. What are their biggest pet peeves/dislikes?

She despises cruel, self-centered people. Unfortunately there are too many in her post-apocalyptic world, who will do anything, kill anyone just to survive a day longer.

While she generally loves Troy’s easy-going attitude, she absolutely loses her temper when he shirks on his chores - which he unfortunately does regularly.

4- If your MC / OC could change one thing - anything - what would it be?

She would find a cure for the parasite that converts people into zombies. She’s in no way a scientist, but she wholeheartedly supports her best friend Shannon Fox in her ongoing investigations.

5- What is your MC / OC’s favorite quote or song?

Wild Horses, The Rolling Stones.

It’s a bittersweet reaction, really, having lost both of her fathers in a horrible way (one became a zombie and killed his husband), and more recently her sister. She holds on dearly to the lyrics that “wild horses couldn’t keep me away”. It’s how she feels about Troy, and her friends Eli, Shannon, Angel, little May…

Her favorite quote is more inspirational: “Hope is the thing with feathers that perches in the soul.” – Emily Dickinson

6- Is there anything else you’d like to share about your MC / OC?

I adored the Choices book Wake the Dead. Such an interesting, dark concept, where your choices matter, with tons of potential for world-building… I wanted to create a character that had lived through terrible things, resulting in deep-seated trauma, but at the same time could see the light in the world and continue to strive to better her life and that of those around her. This is how Eva was born!

7- Other facts about Eva

Eva was born close to Reno, Nevada before the zombie apocalypse.

She previously worked in pest control from the age of 18, then became a scout at 25 at her former colony, The Tower.

Eva is dating Troy Hassan, her childhood best friend from her Tower days. This was a slow burn, friendship to love. Troy’s an absolute charmer, knows her better than anyone and is her emotional support. He’s much more carefree, which brings out her lighter side – necessary with all the stress and pressures of running a colony during an apocalypse!

She dearly misses her sister Brynn, who died shortly after escaping the tower. Eva admired her fierceness and how she bravely ventured out as a scout every day to support the colony. Eva hopes to become as tough as her sister.

Thank you so much for reading through my MC profile, I had a blast sharing Eva Archer with you!! And thank you @choicesficwriterscreation for giving us the space to gush about our fictional babies!!

[angelicadamposting]

EvaVal 🎀❣️ | Sometimes۶ৎ

art credit to @nattycat08 <3

tw // cw — implied ab*se (?)

Sometimes Valentino was good. Sometimes he showered ‘his Eva’ with gifts, carrying her around and taking her on shopping sprees. Sometimes he complimented her. Sometimes he’d defend her, stand up for her. Sometimes she stayed in his bed all night instead of returning to her room… Until Eva wasn’t his ‘fun girl’ anymore.

Sometimes Eva Lean was tired. Sometimes she wasn’t in the mood to film or dance. Sometimes she just wanted to smoke and sleep. That… ‘sometimes’ slowly, after years upon years, turned into ‘most of the time.’ Val began to choose new favorites.. and Eva moved into the Hazbin Hotel.

She still worked for Valentino, even while living away from him now — much like her friend and coworker Angel Dust. However… Val still had a way to tug at her heartstrings. His sweet words, lying or not, could always pull her back in. The fact he made her scars never visible in any photo shoots or videos posted of her was just one of the many small ways he continued to hold power over her, making her feel as if she was special in some way — that he’d take such an effort to keep her secret… But perhaps, in reality, he just liked being the only one to know about her past in heaven. It made her dependent on him, no? And was that such a bad thing?

[drabbles-mc]

Interruptions

Angel Reyes & OC Evangeline Reyes & Ezekiel Reyes Franky Rogan x OC Evangeline Reyes

Warnings: 18+, pining, language, this really is just a fluffy little something

Word Count: 2.8k

A/N: For my next trick! I will pull out of my bag of wonders a character that the show-runners seemed to have forgotten about but I sure didn't! 😂 Shout-out to Franky Rogan- I hope he's doing okay lmao. I'm not really planning on turning this into a multi-chap per se, but I do plan on just writing some snippets/one-shots that all exist in this universe. This is our first look into this au, but definitely not the last if I have anything to say about it 😂 Enjoy! xo

As far as Evangeline was concerned, there was no real reason for Angel and EZ to be in her shop. She’d told them as much about five minutes after they’d walked in and started causing more ruckus than she wanted to be dealing with. She tried to shoo them away, tried to get them to pop one more door down to go and bother their father instead, but they weren’t budging.

Angel was sitting on one of the chairs by the dressing room and EZ was standing off to the side of the sewing machine that she was currently using. Angel was gawking around at everything as though he didn’t stop by every week, and EZ was studying over her shoulder like he was thinking of becoming the next family seamstress. If the shop had belonged to anyone else, the two of them never would have bothered to set foot inside. Not to mention if the shop had belonged to anyone else, they would’ve barred the two of them from entry ages ago.

“I can feel your breath on my neck,” she said, sounding annoyed for a split second before she started laughing.

EZ chuckled, stepping back and instead starting to pace around the shop. “Sorry.”

“Vete—go be sorry somewhere else. You’re gonna scare people off before they even set foot in here.”

Angel shook his head dismissively. “C’mon, Eva. Don’t think of it like that. Think of it like…we’re like protection, you know?”

Head still angled down at the pantleg she was hemming, her eyes lifted just enough to look over at her brother. “What, you two in the mob now too? MC wasn’t enough?” She shook her head and looked back down at the garment draped over the machine. “Protection,” she mocked. “Who you guys gonna protect me from, anyway? The high school girls coming in for me to tailor their prom dresses?”

EZ laughed as he watched his two older siblings go back and forth. “I don’t know,” he chimed in. “Think those girls might have Angel out-gunned.”

He sucked his teeth. “Fuck both you guys.”

She finally leaned back in her chair, taking her foot completely off the sewing machine pedal. “If you’d left when I told you to, you wouldn’t have to be going through this.”

Angel was finally laughing with her and EZ. “Nah, you know if we never stopped by you’d—” He stopped mid-sentence and stood up from his chair when he saw a police patrol car pull up to the curb right in front of Evangeline’s shop. “What the fuck is this?”

Evangeline mirrored his actions, standing up and carefully draping the pants she’d been working on back over the hanger she’d took them off before she had company. The tailoring job for them was a quick one, or at least it would be once her brothers left and she could actually do her job. She ran her hands over the fabric of her own pants, smoothing them out before looking out the window to see whatever it was that had elicited that reaction from Angel.

She laughed when she saw the cop car parked out front. “Oh, good. Maybe someone will finally be able to make you leave. You think if I ask real nice they’ll give me a couple pairs of cuffs specifically for you two?”

EZ was smiling and shaking his head at his sister, but then when he saw that Franky was the officer getting out of the car, both he and Angel became way more amused than they were annoyed at the cops being there. “Oh,” EZ said with a nod, “yeah I’m pretty sure he’ll give you whatever you want.”

Angel was on the brink of cackling as he nudged his sister’s shoulder. “He’ll give you a pair of cuffs as long as you promise to use them on him just once.”

She rolled her eyes. “I can’t stand either of you sometimes. I hope he knocks your bikes over,” Evangeline muttered with a tiny smile as she moved away from her little brother and went back behind the desk where the cash register was.

There were only a couple seconds between Franky shutting the door to the patrol car and him walking into the small boutique that Evangeline owned, but it was long enough. Angel was sitting back down again, this time just in a different chair that was towards the front of the store. He was leaning back, practically sinking into the soft cushions of it. His legs were spread farther apart than necessary, one hand on one knee, his other on the arm of the chair that he was sitting in. Meanwhile EZ was standing behind his brother’s seat, hands holding onto the edges of his kutte—his default these days.

Evangeline was looking at both of them with a mildly amused look on her face. It looked like they were pulled right out of a movie or a cartoon—stereotypical goons trying to look tough and not quite hitting the mark but they didn’t realize it yet. Her attention shifted off them when the soft chimes above her door signaled Franky’s entry.

He stepped inside, immediately looking around and greeting her with a casual, “Hey, Evangeline,” as he did. He looked at Angel and EZ, seeing the image they were trying to put off and also not being overly convinced by it. When it was just the two of them separate from the rest of the club, they weren’t nearly as intimidating. It was hard to be scared of the same boys he went to school with. He’d known them long enough to know that whatever macho act they were putting on, really was just an act. They had the same look in their eyes that they did back then when they were about to cause trouble after school.

It didn’t take long at all for his gaze to land on Evangeline, the real and only reason he’d even pulled up to the shop at all. She was standing behind the counter, leaning forward onto it so that her elbows were propped onto the wood and her chin rested on top of her interlocked fingers. Her hair was pulled back out of her face, a convenience style when she was using the sewing machine, but there was one unruly lock that had managed to escape and it was hanging just enough to the side so that her face wasn’t obscured at all. She smiled at him, head tilting slightly as it rested in her hands.

He'd known Angel and EZ for most of his life, and it made it hard to find them intimidating these days. In the same vein, he’d known Evangeline for almost his whole life too. Only instead of that fact making her less intimidating, it almost made her more intimidating—it was a different kind of intimidating than her brothers were aiming for, but still. Sure, it’d been so long since high school, and they were all such different people now in a lot of ways, but sometimes when she was looking at him like that Franky still felt like he was the dorky kid in class who was a little in love with his friend’s older sister. They were older now and he was much less dramatic than the teenage version of him had been. In love was an overstatement these days of course. Not that the semantics of it all really mattered in moments like the one he was in.

“Something I can do for you, Officer Rogan?” she finally asked, proving one more time over that she was the only Reyes sibling who could address him as such without using any sarcasm.

He turned so that he was completely facing her, purposely ignoring the looks he was getting from her two younger brothers. He shook his head as he walked over to her, standing on the opposite side fo the counter from her. “No. Just making the rounds and thought I’d stop by.”

She hummed in amusement as she stood upright again. “Got it. Thought your ears might’ve been burning somewhere out there.”

He cocked an eyebrow. “You talkin’ about me?”

She laughed and shrugged. “Was talking about getting someone to throw these two,” she nodded towards her brothers, “out of my shop. And then you rolled up.”

“Yeah,” Angel chimed in from where he was still sitting, “like an answer to all your prayers, right?”

Evangeline shot her brother a look. “An answer to one of them, at least.”

Franky turned and looked at Angel and EZ. “You know it’s bad when even your own sister is waiting for you two to get picked up.”

Angel stood up out of his chair. In two easy strides he put himself right in front of Franky. There was just enough of a height difference for Franky to have to tilt his head to look Angel directly in the eyes. It was something that would never stop amusing Angel in any close encounters the two of them had.

“I bet you’d be real happy to do that for her, huh, Officer?” he goaded.

Evangeline was standing, arms crossed over her chest as she shook her head at the two of them. EZ was watching her just as intently as he was watching his brother and Franky. The scene was amusing from every angle for different reasons. And, as much as he would’ve loved to see how far Angel was going to take things, he liked his sister too much to let it happen in the middle of her shop. It was one thing when they were at the clubhouse, or Vicky’s. But not here.

“C’mon, Angel,” EZ inserted himself into the conversation, “let’s go. Pop still needs help with the compressor anyway.”

Evangeline cut a small sigh of relief, flashing EZ the quickest of smiles to thank him. “Yeah,” she agreed, “go make yourselves useful somewhere. Por favor. I’m begging.”

She was half expecting Franky and Angel to crash shoulders as the two Reyes boys made their way to the door, but they didn’t. Franky did manage to get the last word in with them, though. Rebutting Angel’s, “Stay safe, Officer,” with an easy, “I’m sure I’ll see you two soon. With the lights and sirens on.”

The door chimed again to signal the two of them leaving. Through the glass windows that made up the storefront, she and Franky were able to watch as the two of them made their way next door to their father’s shop. They were both shaking their heads at the pair of brothers, but for very different reasons.

“Nice to see you boys all getting along still,” Evangeline joked once they were out of sight.

Franky laughed as he put his attention back on her again. “Saying that like I’m the one who started any of that.”

She shook her head as she made her way around so that they were both on the same side of the counter. She leaned back against it, crossing her arms once more out of habit. “That’s not what I said.”

He watched as she crossed one leg over the other, the bright silky fabric of her pants distracting for only a moment before his gaze traveled back up to her face. He saw her knowing smirk and he cleared his throat, hands resting on his belt as he looked down at the floor for a second before getting himself together again.

“They give all the cops that hard of a time? Or just me?”

She laughed. “No one has an easy time with those two…” she trailed off for a moment before continuing, “but yeah you get it a little worse.” She saw the incredulous look on his face and she couldn’t pretend that there wasn’t something endearing about it. “C’mon, Franky. I know you were all friends in school but, you know, they grew up and became members of a motorcycle club. And you grew up and became a narc.”

He laughed, placing one hand on his chest. “Ouch, damn.”

She shook her head as she laughed right along with him. “Their words, not mine.”

They shared another quiet laugh about it before the conversation hit a pause. The only noise in the shop was the music playing from the speakers scattered around, a playlist the Evangeline changed from day to day depending on the mood she was in. Franky looked down at the floor, then around the shop, and then back at the woman standing next to him. He didn’t know for sure but he was fairly certain that she’d been watching him the entire time.

“Talk to me, Rookie,” she said, gently nudging his shoulder with her own. “What’s going on?”

That got him to chuckle. “Evangeline, I told you, I haven’t been a rookie in—”

“Franky, I told you, it’s not gonna make me stop calling you that.” She smiled. “I remember when you were slugging your way through the academy, before they got stupid enough to give you a gun,” she joked. “You’re always gonna be a rookie to me.”

“Almost as hurtful as your brothers callin’ me a narc.” There was a brief pause and he cleared his throat. “I really was just checking in. I think they told me that something about this job has to do with protecting and serving or some shit like that.”

She laughed. “Yeah, I heard the rumors.” Reaching back, she took her hair out of the loose, messy ponytail that she’d thrown it into earlier in the day. She continued to speak as the long, loose waves of hair fell down around her shoulders. “I appreciate you checking in. I’m alright, though. All quiet on the strip.”

“’Til your brothers get here.”

She cracked a smile. “Yeah, ‘til my brothers get here.”

He stepped away from the counter and reached into his pocket for his keys. “I’ll let you get back to work then. Don’t wanna be another distraction.”

Her smile was warm as she shook her head at him. “Very considerate of you.”

He stepped backwards towards the door. “Call if you need anything.”

“911 still a good number to reach you at?”

He grinned. “Yeah, that’s the one.”

She was laughing, mostly to herself, as he turned and let himself back out of the shop. She watched as he went back to his patrol car, noticing how he shook his head at her brother’s bikes on the way. There was a split second when she thought she was going to get exactly what she’d asked for earlier, that he was going to knock them over. But of course he didn’t, not looking to kick up that kind of trouble.

By the time that EZ and Angel came back over to her shop, Evangeline had not only finished altering the pants that she’d been working on earlier when they’d stopped in, but also taken care of another pair in between customers filtering in and out. She considered it a successful day, and the shop wasn’t even closed yet. Judging by the looks on Angel and EZ’s faces, she wasn’t sure if they’d had the same amount of success she did.

“Compressor got you beat?” she asked.

Angel scoffed. “Fuck no. We fixed that shit.”

She looked over at EZ. “Did you really?”

He flashed a grin. “Limping it along until the new one comes in.”

Angel’s head dropped back and he let out a dramatic sigh. “Dude, what the fuck?” He ignored the way that they were both laughing as he focused on his sister again. “So, what’d Rent-A-Cop want, anyway? Y’know, besides your hand in marriage.”

Evangeline rolled her eyes. “He was just checking in.”

Angel scoffed. “Yeah, gotta make sure his precious Evangeline is all good over here.”

She tilted her head. “Why are you saying my name like that?”

Angel gestured to the curb even though Franky’s car was long gone. “That’s how he fuckin’ says it! Swear to God, ‘mana, I haven’t heard that guy refer to you as Eva since he was like, twelve.”

Evangeline laughed. “How dare he call me by my actual name.”

“You know what I mean,” he shot right back, attempting to sound more annoyed than he really was.

She tried to divert the conversation rather than going deeper down whatever rabbit-hole Angel was trying to drag them down. “Why are you guys still here, anyway? Don’t you have motorcycle business to attend to? Parties to throw, windows to smash, all that fun stuff.”

“Party’s tomorrow,” Angel replied with a shrug. “You should come through.” He nodded towards EZ. “Prospect is playing barback.”

Evangeline laughed and nodded. “I’ll think about it.”

The two of them hugged her, taking her gentle cue to get going. Angel pressed a kiss to the side of her head. “Just don’t bring the narc as your plus-one.”

She laughed as she pushed him towards the door, but chose not to acknowledge his last comments. “Be careful out there.” She waited until the door to chime shut behind them before she muttered a quiet, “Pendejos,” to herself and got back to work.

Mayans Taglist (please let me know if you'd like to be added!):

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[cloveroctobers]

TURN THE TV ON — RICHIE JERIMOVICH [Summer Writings]

A/N: Continuing the relationship between Richie x oc (Freya) from a previous summer prompt here. This season ofc was a lot (when is it not?) although many felt like it was missing something I think that was the point of the season to be frustratingly lost or stuck because it’s about subtracting like Carmy said. The removal of a already built foundation to get to the potential of greatness. At what cost though? We’re seeing it.

I can say it’s not my favorite season but I’ve picked up on what I think they’re trying to do and we all know “Napkins” + “Ice Chips” were the best of this season—some might disagree with ice chips and wanted that wrapped up in five minutes but it’s significant to explore Nat’s struggle with motherhood and her as a character. Everything is always in glimpses with the Berzatto’s upbringing. Nat’s part of the bear as well, physically and figuratively—more than ever now. Anyways you didn’t see this with the intent of a mini analysis thrown in but that’s just my two cents! I also enjoyed seeing richie bond with Eva 🥹, Nat and Syd. I expected the fallout with him and Carm though, Carmen’s really showing his ass!!! :/

WARNINGS: language, falling into a slump, blocking out emotions, a mention of Palestine, mentions of c*ncer & a mention of an intimate moment between the two characters.

*GIF BELONGS TO: @sharpesjoy !

<- read my previous anthology piece here.

⋆𖧧⋆𖧧⋆𖧧⋆𖧧⋆𖧧⋆𖧧⋆𖧧⋆𖧧⋆𖧧⋆𖧧⋆𖧧⋆𖧧⋆𖧧⋆𖧧⋆𖧧⋆𖧧⋆𖧧⋆𖧧

Freya doesn’t blink twice when Richie latches onto her elbow, gaining her attention in her kitchen. His voice is muffled as she slightly turns her head to him, watching his mouth move but not picking up on the words just yet.

She keeps her gaze on Richie as he reaches over her to turn the knob to the stove off. When Freya brings her gaze back to the burnt paper in the frying pan, she realizes what she’s been up to for however long she’s been standing in front of the stove.

“Frey,” Richie coughs, fanning the air some, then letting his hand slip to the middle of her back, “what’s going on?”

Her eyes have been dry for the past few weeks, that over the counter drops did not do her any justice and she couldn’t see a doctor since her insurance through her lackluster job was now over. However after finally hearing Richie’s voice and blinking, it feels like a storm is coming behind those dark eyes.

In due time but not today.

“Your uh, friend? Bahja I think? Reached out to me, said she hasn’t heard from you in a couple of days.” Richie continues while the woman breathes, dragging her eyes away from the pan to turn back to the table in the center of the kitchen.

Richie watches her, as she almost springs back into action, rearranging the placement mats on the table, the utensils, and center decor piece before pushing the maple chairs in as if they weren’t in as a far as they could go.

“Freya!” Richie snaps, making the woman sharply lift her eyes to his face, he was never one for patience and seeing her like this felt like a distant reminder of when they first met, “what is it?”

Freya scoffs out some laughter, folding her arms and placing her clef chin into her shoulder while trying to find the words, “…where do you want me to start?”

He leans back against the counter, clasping his hands in front of him, “start with you serving paper for dinner?”

“Those are letters from Jayden.” She informs before pulling her bottom lip in while Richie widens his eyes, “he’s got cancer and he doesn’t have much longer according to his doctors. He put me on the list, tells me he’s never taken me off. A invitation to see my abuser, before they deport him back to Portugal to finish out his last months of life. Isn’t that lovely?”

Richie lets that soak in.

He didn’t know what this poor excuse piece of shit of a person was thinking honestly. Jayden had a lot of nerve and Richie was tempted to take a visit himself. Richie can tell that it was taking a toll on his friend. She doesn’t appear as if she’s been sleeping, her usual wing lined eyes were not in motion, bare and skin rimmed red and he’s been so caught up in his own shit that he couldn’t remember the last time she’s even responded to anything he’s sent her way. He just assumed Freya was busy but she was the kind of person who didn’t just disappear, not when they just got back on track after richie was too much in his head about where they took their friendship.

He still remembered what her moans sounded like and he knows he has no business thinking about it, alright!

Not when she was the person he told what Carmy said to him instead of keeping it to himself. He went into detail with Freya and just dropped crumbs in the group chat.

Not when she’s met Tiffany and Frank.

And especially not when Tiffany gave her stamp of approval, although Richie didn’t ask for it or expect Tiffany to show up after Freya was dropping something off to his apartment.

After losing Michael, Richie vowed to pay more attention his friends.

“Mum’s not talking to me again since she’s not getting any more funds from me, talked my sibs out of coming here to spend Amina’s birthday with me, and I got fired thanks to my views on Palestine and participating in protests.” Freya informed the taller blue eyed man.

He rubs his own face in frustration with her, “well, fuck. Why? Why didn’t you tell me any of this sooner instead of me dumping all my shit with pacifier wearing Carmy on you?”

“It’s not your problem.” Freya shrugged and it’s not like Richie went into a whole turmoil about what happened that night either. It was so clear he was angry, hurt, and even being passive-aggressive about the situation.

So she left her shoulder open, as always.

Richie furrows his brows at that, pushing off the counter, “are you kidding me?! Don’t say that shit to me, okay? Anything that involves you is my problem, you’re important too Frey.”

Freya gives a small smile, feeling the weight of emotions being worn on her face then and if she had any more tears left to cry she would. She’s a sniffing mess and would blame it on sinuses if she was out in public, digging her knuckles into her burning eyes with no tears; to save those feelings for when she’s alone.

Richie’s rubbing and squeezing at her shoulders while Freya is taking that moment to herself. She ends up staring at the brash man asking, “so uh, tell me about Ever. Sorry about bailing by the way.”

He asked her to come with him two days before the funeral, she didn’t pick up his call so he knew a text would do, figuring she was at work and not going back and forth with HR over wrongful termination.

“After everything that you’ve been keeping to yourself? I don’t blame you, kid.” Richie responds while Freya lets out a humorless laugh, “enough about me…what are you going to do?”

Freya lifts her shoulders as she glanced to her left where her living room sits, “what I’ve been doing…taking time to figure it out. People take all the time so I guess now it’s my turn.”

Richie feels like he should know what this means, wondering if this will lead to a sense of better direction for his friend or worse. She’s always been soft hearted and that certainly wasn’t a bad thing but she felt closed off right now—almost cold and Richie began to wonder if he should have checked in earlier.

“Stop that,” she snaps her fingers at Richie seeing the guilt in his eyes, “I’m responsible for my own life. I’ll get through this whenever the time is right…just have to feel it for a bit, ‘tis all.”

Leaning forward, she tucks her head underneath Richie’s chin and he doesn’t hesitate to move his hands to lock against her lower back, resting his cheek right on top her now chopped dark hair. The embrace feels nice, right and says that no matter what jar of emotions spilled, they still had each other.

Freya deeply exhaled, eyes closed as she numbs it all out, almost sinking into Richie’s frame as if she’s ready to clock out of the world for at least a few hours instead of feeling it melt away from her. Pulling back she fixes the scarf on her head and heads over to her couch, tucking a leg underneath her before gazing at the black tv and not liking the smidge of a reflection of herself on the black screen, she reaches for the remote and turns the tv on.

Her eyes are in front of her but uses her free hand to pat the cushions for Richie to join her.

He’s in dark attire: a black t-shirt and a gold chain with dark blue washed jeans but as good as Freya knew the older man, he probably kept an extra black blazer in his car somewhere. The suits and blazers were a good look on Richie, gave him a sense of purpose and professionalism—never snobby—while still holding a welcoming nature in his bright blue hues and gestures to strangers.

Freya was no stranger.

It’s the same when he plops down beside her though with a groan, lanky long limbs stretched out in front of him as he folds his hands on top of his growing hair. He also turns to the tv, watching as Freya loads some app to play a movie.

Richie reads the title of choice out loud, “The Umbrellas of Cherbourg…is this one of those sappy musical movies you’re into?”

“Are you judging me Richard Lawrence? Do I grill you when go into your deep dives of Sci-Fi?” Freya points the remote at Richie, with slits in her eyes, making Richie raise his hands in surrender.

“Damn, I can’t ask questions, Freya Freyay Mazari?” He says in a mocking tone, throwing a nickname in place of if she had a middle name would be while Freya rolls her eyes, shuffling over to toss a pillow in his lap before laying her head there.

Richie shakes his head at the woman before bringing his attention back to the screen. The open credits are filled with the sound of flutes and the sunset over a water town, followed by a shot of cobblestone, people walking and the vibrant shades of umbrellas popping open as rain pattered over their heads.

“…Tiff says I should bring you to the wedding.” Richie interrupts as the credits drag on.

Freya curls her feet up and nuzzles her face against her folded hands she’s laying against, “yeah? The one you still won’t RSVP to?”

Richie scoffs, “I’m gonna!”

“When? It’s in September.”

“…how do you know that?” There’s a scowl on the bearded man’s face.

“Oh Tiffany and I are tight.” The British woman tells, “Ever since we first met back at your flat, accidentally. Apparently her and Frank sent me requests on Facebook not too long ago but I wasn’t sure if Frank was thee Frank you referred to and I really didn’t expect him to look like that so I accepted Tiffany’s first before getting confirmation.” Freya rants while richie pinched at the space in between his brows.

Frank’s request was still pending on Richie’s account and Frank never brought it up when they were face to face. It’s not like Richie would lie if the guy ever did bring it up. He personally had enough of Frank whenever he saw Tiffany’s profile picture when she commented on whatever post Richie decided to share to his two-hundred and six “friends.” Frank was kissing her cheek, her hand holding onto his shoulder, oval rock on her finger was shining as she gently smiled at the camera.

Tiffany deserved happiness, this Richie knew, he was just numbing it down until the feeling was gone.

“I’ll RSVP if you agree to be my plus one, you fucking crumpet.” Richie lifts his hips, making Freya complain now that he was ruining her comfortability, only for a second as he pulled out his phone.

Freya debates, “now I dunno if I want to when you just insulted me.”

“What?” Richie unlocks his phone, “crumpet is a cute nickname! A loving term of endearment! You won’t teach me any Arabic anyway so that’s your fault.”

Freya just hums as she tries to focus on the tv.

It’s gone quiet besides the clacking from Richie’s phone as he goes through his texts, trying to find the old link Tiffany sent him. The tv continues playing its dream-like music and Freya even starts to feel her eyes close until Richie grabs her hip, pulling so that she can see the invitation right in front of her face.

“You’ll go with me?” His eyes quickly go from her lips then to her own eyes.

And she looks into his eyes, knowing that it’s genuine, that he wants her there beside him, needs her there with him. Freya knows the man isn’t too proud to beg and they never pity each other.

“Go on and save the date then, yeah? So I can get back to my movie.” She teases with a wave of her hand, the faded henna on her fingers were still noticeable and pretty. She tucks that same hand underneath her face again, turning back to the screen.

Richie deeply exhaled, tossing his phone to the side after tapping on the screen to lock in his new spot—officially being a ex-husband—as he lets this action finally sink in. He was going to watch his ex-wife love someone else for however many years the creator upstairs allowed.

Yet he wouldn’t feel as alone this time.

He pinches Freya’s cheeks together, her complaints were ignored as he pressed a lingering scratchy kiss to her cheek, “thank you, Kochanie. There is that better?”

Usually part of Richie’s native tongue was only reserved for his baby girl, Eva. Most of the time insults were his way of showing his love and Freya was no different, regardless of how sensitive she often was.

Freya uses the sleeve of her beige zip up hoodie to wipe some of the saliva off her cheek, “I guess? No need to thank me, that’s what mates are for, babe.”

Mates.

Something Richie wanted because he knew he wasn’t over Tiffany and knew he wasn’t when his mouth went to work on Freya’s lower region back during that freezing winter. However he was positive that Tiffany wasn’t in his head when they did that they did. The pair came to an understanding back in July and leaving each other alone wasn’t the answer.

He also knew what Freya deserved but he’d be lying if he said he wouldn’t be crushed if she hit him up one day to tell him that she found someone else too.

So he lets one hand rest on her hip, absentmindedly caressing the bone while flicking his attention to the tv.

Until the feeling is gone.

If ever.

⋆𖧧⋆𖧧⋆𖧧⋆𖧧⋆𖧧⋆𖧧⋆𖧧⋆𖧧⋆𖧧⋆𖧧⋆𖧧⋆𖧧⋆𖧧⋆𖧧⋆𖧧⋆𖧧⋆𖧧⋆𖧧

Continue with my summer anthology writings & prompts here.

[zablife]

The Last Supper

Requested by @evita-shelby for my 2K celebration An Evening at Arrow House. Warning: This is a dark fic 💀

A/N: Eva Shelby is an OC belonging to @evita-shelby. She is the new Mrs. Shelby in this fic instead of Y/n. Guest list for this party: Darby Sabini, Alfie Solomons, Michael and Gina Gray, Jack Nelson.

“Are you ready for tonight, my love?” Eva asked, straightening Tommy’s bow tie. She studied his face for any sign of hesitation or anxiety. His family had been cruel in recent weeks, unaccepting of his choice to marry a foreign woman they’d never met. Eva could have cared less what they thought, focused only on her new husband and the unique bond they shared. However, she worried about his fragile mental state, the breakdown which caused him to flee the UK less than a year ago still too fresh to be tested by caustic relatives and duplicitous business associates.

Tommy grasped her hands and kissed the inside of her wrists tenderly. “I’ll be fine as long as I have you. I only need you,” he reminded her. Eva inhaled deeply, a sense of love and devotion overwhelming her. In her whole life there had only been one man who stirred these emotions within her. Sometimes the need to protect him frightened her, the deeds she would be capable of without compunction. She leaned forward, wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling him toward her in a searing kiss. 

“I love you, Tommy,” she murmured against his lips.

“I never doubt that, Evie,” he replied, with a squeeze to her hip. 

———————

Eva had spared no expense for their dinner party, a footman for every guest, the finest wine and carefully planned menu were all part of her plan to create an unforgettable evening. In an attempt to recreate the meal over which Tommy had proposed in Paris, she even hired a French chef. Not everyone knew how to prepare ortolan and it had to be done correctly as it was to be the pinnacle of the meal.

Satisfied that the cocktail hour had passed without incident, Eva sat listening to the ebb and flow of conversation at the dinner table. She busied herself watching those gathered before her, ensuring their comfort like any good host. When the waiters finally placed the next course before Tommy’s carefully chosen family members and associates, gasps could be heard echoing through the room. Some murmured whispers of confusion and others of mild disgust at the cadaverous little golden bird at the center of their plate.

Michael, who was seated next to Tommy, was the first to voice a complaint. “She couldn’t have served a roast?” he spat.

Tommy smirked at his cousin’s reaction to the dish, a gentle shake of his head indicating that wasn’t how his wife operated. “That’s my Evie. She’s quite unique,” he boasted.

Suddenly Eva’s voice rose above the din. She straightened regally in her chair at the end of the table like a queen holding court as she explained her unusual choice. “It’s ortolan, a most sinful delicacy I thought all of you might enjoy. Would you like to know why they're so delicious?” she asked no one in particular. Her lips curled into a devilish smile that left her companions shifting uncomfortably in their seats as she continued. "They capture these tiny creatures and force them into darkness where they gorge themselves on grain and figs. When they’ve doubled in size, they’re drowned in Armagnac and roasted whole.”

Thoroughly unimpressed, Gina scrunched her nose at the sight of her food before rolling her eyes. “I suppose they eat this vile sort of thing in Mexico?”

Eva’s jaw clenched momentarily, eyes flicking up to meet Gina’s as the candlelight reflecting in her irises seemed to mirror the fire inside her. “I told you, it’s French and very exclusive. Try it,” she insisted through clenched teeth.

“It’s true, it's quite rare. People are lucky to taste it even once,” Tommy explained.

“And how is it that Thomas Shelby is fortunate enough to have tasted this delicacy twice in one lifetime? Isn’t that a bit gluttonous?” Darby Sabini asked, his prominent lisp making his last word sound particularly accusatory.

“You would speak of my husband’s greed at his own dinner table?” Eva asked with raised eyebrow, moments away from telling everyone in the room what she knew of his own cupidity and egotism.

A booming laugh came from further down the table as Alfie Solomons exclaimed, “Fuck me, a bloody parrot on a plate! Well, I'll give it a go. How do we eat this, dove?” he asked, gathering his knife and fork with gusto.

“You pick it up by the head like so and eat it feet first,” Eva demonstrated, wincing slightly at the scalding temperature before delicately placing it back on her dish. “When the bones begin to crack ever so delicately in your mouth, the fat will mix with the delicious flavor of the organs on your tongue. There’s nothing like it,” she assured him.

“That’s monstrous!” Gina cried, staring at her host in horror.

Eva grinned wickedly. “Don’t worry, that’s what the napkin is for. To drape over your head to hide your face from God.”

“Can’t say it’s the worst I’ve ever done,” Jack Nelson chuckled as he grasped his napkin in his right hand, ready to accept the gruesome challenge.

“Exactemente,” Eva said with an encouraging nod of her head. “On my count everyone,” she said, manicured hand reaching for her own napkin as she gave a wink to Tommy. She counted down from five as she watched her hesitant guests fumble slightly, a few nervous glances exchanged as heads disappeared quickly under the linen cloths. A rush of quick inhales permeated the air as everyone rushed the piping hot delicacy to their mouths. Eva’s muffled voice could be heard beneath her own napkin as she finished the count. “Two, one,” she said breathlessly, covering the steps of the waiting footmen behind each guest.

For a brief moment the only sound that could be heard all around her was the abrasive crunching of bones, evidence of the devoured birds and the little sin committed. Just another in a long list for these damned souls, she thought.

“Tell me what you eat and I’ll tell you what you are,” Tommy and Eva had been told in Paris when they first consumed the dish. The words echoed in Eva’s mind as she braced for the shots that rang out next, followed by the clatter of china and crystal. Removing her napkin carefully, she surveyed the lifeless bodies of her husband's enemies slumped over the table, blood seeping onto their plates through their makeshift executioner's hoods.

The assassins dressed as footmen folded their aprons as Tommy instructed, "Tell Johnny Dogs to light the fire now."

"And tell the chef to prepare the next course," Eva added before they filed out of the room.

When she was finally alone with her husband, she noted how he too still held the delicate bird in his hand, uneaten.

"Shall we?" he asked, raising his napkin invitingly.

"I don't feel ashamed, do you?" she asked, tossing the linen aside with a smile.

"No," he replied with a decisive shake of his head.

"Then let God watch," she answered, eating her ortolan in one bite.

-----------

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[mar3ggiata]

the night of the tarantula - 5

simon riley x oc

'Deep rivers run quiet.'

‘You wanna know something?’

She cleaned the corner of her mouth with a napkin. She propped her feet up on the stool, adjusting the hood of her sweater on her head. Copenhagen was incredibly cold in the winter mornings

‘What?’ She asked.

He was shirtless, leaning against the kitchen counter. He had a bowl of yogurt in his hands, spoon hanging from his mouth. He preferred anything sweet for breakfast, yogurts or any cake she baked. Fruit sometimes, frozen grapes. She had a bagel on the plate in front of her, crumbles of bread and egg on the plate and on the table, she was a messy eater.

‘Every morning, or like before lunch, I squeeze the mayo for you… I-‘, he mimicked slamming the mayo on the table to make it fall to the opening of the tube, ‘I make sure it’s all to the very end��� cause it can get stuck on the sides of the bottle, you know, and I’m stronger than you…’

Her eyes lit up and she smiled. Her shoulders were shaken with a sincere laugh.

‘Really? You’re calling me a little bitch cause I can’t squeeze the mayo?’

She smiled. He scoffed and nodded, setting his empty yogurt bowl in the sink.

‘Yeah, my little bitch…’

She took another big bite or her sandwich, smearing egg yolk all over her cheeks. She grabbed the napkin again to clean herself, rubbing her feet together to feel some warmth. As she placed the half eaten bagel on the plate, Simon’s large arms wrapped around her. He scrunched down enough for his body to completely envelope hers. One arm around her neck, the other up her shirt. She felt his lips kiss her cheek, the bridge of her nose, her jaw. She was almost lifted from the chair by the force of the hug, she let her head fall back against his chest.

‘The things I do for you…’

‘Do you know what I do every day for you?’ A giggle escaped from her lips as he squeezed harder, a kiss on her neck sent tickles down her spine.

‘I know what you do for me every night…‘

She laughed out loud. His chest filled with warmth and he closed both arms around her. Still standing up behind her, he nuzzled his nose in her hair, she moved her hands on his naked arms. She squirmed in his grasp. ‘I move your blanket every day from the bed to the couch so you can have it when you nap’, she argued. She turned in the chair, freeing herself from his embrace. She cupped his cheeks with both hands, cradling his face and forcing his close to her. ‘I make sure your blanket is on the couch during the day if you wanna nap and then I take it back to bed with me so you can sleep with it.’

'The green one?'

'The green one.'

He closed his eyes, jaw unclenching, eyebrows relaxing. He felt her thumbs soothing the skin of his under eye bags, the crooked bridge of his nose, coming down to his jawline. He leaned into the chair, into her, almost wishing he could crawl inside her, he was never close enough. So soft, so tender, so indulging. When the palm of her hand caressed his cheek, he turned his head to kiss it.

‘You're saying I’m a little bitch cause I need my blanket?’

She laughed again. It felt like her chest cracked and happiness was finally flowing in her veins.

Eva was allowed to go teach ballet the next day. They escorted her car to the school, they watched her park and go up the stairs. They waited three hours for her to finish teaching a class and rehearsing with her dance partner. The same morning at 7, they has two soldiers walk ten feet behind her as she walked her dog, to the park, around the walkway of the lake and back home. Fucking terrifying. She felt imprisoned, she felt like she was gonna get shot by a sniper or some shit through the windows of the ballets school.

'Remember, arms in fifth position here…' Even teaching was harder than normal. She felt dizzy, she wasn't strong enough to lift her legs where she wanted them, the girls weren't listening today, she couldn't find the right music.

'Let's see it from the top, please…' She knew they were watching her from downstairs, the thought made her throat close up. '…and one and stay! And two, piqué! And rond de jambe…'

It was weird, knowing the fucking military was at the door, knowing her, the dance teacher, was being watched as the girls rehearsed. By authorities of the government.

After rehearsing with Blake, for both Arabian and Snow Queen, she took five minutes alone to regain her strengths. Or so she thought she was alone. She walked in circles around the room, head down, hands on her hips. She felt like a stranger in her own body, in that stupid leotard wet with sweat, feet bleeding, arms sore. But at least, alone. Away from the barking of her dog, away from Salvo, he was kind and considerate and made sure she ate and took care of herself but God, did she want to be alone… Away from that interrogation room, from the pictures, Price and… well, even him.

Ghost was standing by the door, as he did a million times before. Like a fucking dog he follower her scent and took his usual spot in the corner. Watching her, admiring her body, the way she danced. He watched her pace around, breathing still laboured from dancing for three hours, leotard slick with sweat. She went to the corner of the room where she usually had her bag and sat down. He had to slightly crane his neck to see her, risking getting caught. She had a pink bag, never seen that bag before. She took off her pointe shoes and winched in pain, he supposed she had blisters on her feet. She inspected her toes, the tape and those blue patched he saw her put on once to protect her skin. She discarded the old shoes and threw them in her bag. In the pink sack were a pair of brand new shiny pointe shoes.

She sat on her heels, got out a needle from a small flower printed box. She sawn two pink ribbons one at each side of the shoes. The ones she tied around her calves. He watched her fingers work with the fabric, brows furrowed while trying to get the ribbons symmetrical on the shoe. She cut the excess lace with her teeth. Still on the ground, she took the inside sole of the shoe, shank is what it's called and ripped it. She bent the shoe in half, pressing with both hands. He watched her biceps contract while she squeezed the shoe in half and then released it. The violence, the accurate, pondered violence she was putting in her movements made him think she was relieving some anger on the shoes. When she was done, she got up and he thought she was finally ready to leave. She wasn't.

She pressed the heel of her naked foot on the shoe, bending the shape of it and popping the toe box. A loud crack left the shoe looking lifeless. She repeated the procedure with the other shoe, putting her whole weight on it, bending and pressing. Crack. As he wondered why she was destroying the new shoes, she turned her back to him. Facing the wall, she let her fingers travel to an unspecified spot. A step back, she slammed her pointe shoe on the wall. Again, and again, and again, a rhythmic and incredibly loud bang, bang, bang, bang. He nearly flinched at sound. At the force. The front of the shoe connected with the wall several times before she was satisfied. She repeated with the other shoe. Bang, bang, bang, he stared at her back, the flower tattooed on her back distorted by her movements. He imagined the wall would dent and break and collapse and the whole building would crumble on itself. When she was done, silence filled the room again. She was panting. She put the shoes back in the pink bag, that's when he felt like he could knock. She turned in one sudden movement, frightened. By him, that is.

Her ponytail messy, her skin red from exhaustion, she looked at him betrayed. Disappointed. When he was the one who was supposed to be hurt in the situation. He knew why she was mad, don’t get me wrong. He had told the captain to contact Salvo, he gave in the only ally she had outside this situation. He had a job to do, that was the thing that she didn’t understand. So, she really had no right to look at him like that.

She stood next to her bag, jaw clenched, her eyes empty of emotion. It was the first time he was alone with her in what felt like months, he felt so detached, so disconnected. She was a stranger. And yet, there he was. Chasing her, again. Longing for time alone with her, following her, feeling privileged enough to get alone time with her out of all his colleagues. He was sitting in the car, staring through the windows of the ballet school. He would see her move around the room occasionally. He saw her students leave at 10, when the lesson was done. He saw Gemma, remember Gemma? He saw her dance partner, the guy who plays the prince, enter the school at 10.02, joining her in the rehearsals room. He found himself wondering, did she eat that morning? Was she tired, dancing for those many hours? Did she have something to drink with her? Was she busy with her patients later, how was her dog, did she need any help?

What the hell was she thinking?

He watched her from the corner of the room, she looked like she wanted to disappear into the wall behind her.

'All good?'

His voice was so low she barely understood what he said. A whisper, like he didn't even want to speak. Masked and cruel. She didn't know who that person was and the thought of having had him so close to her made her sick to her stomach. She didn't reply, she packed her bag. She put on a sweater and stripped of her skirt. He had seen her dance before, her legs in pink tights. He had seen everything, why bother to care at this point.

'What?' He asked, reacting to her silent treatment. Louder this time.

She pulled a pair of sweats on her legs and undid her ponytail, she slipped on her running shoes. She started walking towards him. She didn't look up from the ground, she knew why he was there, to collect her. To take her back home and then to work after lunch. After work, she was gonna being interrogated again. Standard procedure.

His words vane, she still wouldn’t speak. She stormed towards him like a deadly, terrific hurricane. She passed him, squeezing herself between his body and the door frame. He acted out of instinct.

His hand grabbed her wrist as she walked past him, he snatched her close to him with too much force making her nearly lose balance. She looked at him with fire in her eyes, shocked at his move.

'Lasciami stare!' She yelled, freeing her wrist from his grip.

He registered, as he didn't understand what she was saying, she spoke Italian instinctively. She took a step back and he shivered at the thought she might be fearing him. He attempted to close the distance between them with a step. He didn't have a plan after that. Yell at her, corner her against the wall, question her about her lies now that they were alone, hold her, kiss her. It was insulting to his rank, to his persona, to everything he was. This feeling, this emotion towards her. He craved her presence, he craved being close to her, physically in her space. He realised it just then, he realised that's why he was in the interrogation room, why he was escorting her to class, offering to go fetch her from the school and bring her to her car, it was to be close to her. And now that he was he didn't know what to do.

She was still looking at him baffled at him move, chest moving quickly with every breath, hand gripping the strap of her bag tightly out of anger.

'Why? He spat out, and it came out louder than he intended it to be.

'Uh?

'Why did you do that?'

'What?' She squinted her eyes at him.

'Lie.'

She scoffed, 'Oh please…', she was ready to run down the stairs.

'That's not an answer!'

She turned her back to him and the thought of her leaving made him step foreword one more time. She would not get out of that conversation.

'Oi!' He grabber her arm once more, tighter.

She tried to free herself by simply pulling in the direction of the stairs but she soon realised his hand on her forearm wasn't just lingering there. She turned back around to face him, delicately placing her small, soft hand on his, on her arm. He thought for a moment she did change her mind. This was all a big mistake. He thought they would sit on the dance room floor like they did before and talk, and she would explain everything, everything was just a big misunderstanding and maybe -

'Get the fuck away from me.'

Her eyes betrayed the harsh sound of her voice and he noticed. A shadow passed through her green irises, of fear. Of disappointment and longing. For him, maybe? He didn't move an inch despite her request. Instead, he gently pulled her closer and closer. Her running shoe squeaked on her floor, a sign she didn't want to move but she wasn't resisting either. He bent foreword to get a good look at her, trying to read her feelings through her expression. She strangely enough, didn't stop him. She looked up at him, the hand she had placed on his falling at her side. Like she wanted to see how far he would push himself. He felt like their noses were about to touch.

'You could have told me.' He said, he didn't need to raise his voice, she was close enough to hear him even whisper.

She seemed hurt by his words, her brows furrowed. She opened her mouth but no sound came out. He wouldn't understand. Never, no. His entitlement, the audacity of coming here and demanding thing he know she can't give him, after seeing her crying her eyes out during the interrogation, no. He knew too much already, he knew everything, her mom, her brother, no...

'No…'

She finally managed to speak. He sounded desperate at that point, considering they should have been back to the cars at least 10 minutes ago. He scanned her face for any sign, anything that would tell him she was being honest and open, anything to make him believe her.

'You could have told me, I-'

She shook her head, like she was getting back to her senses, like he put a spell on her. She pulled her arm back and he didn't try to stop her this time.

'No…' she mumbled, and before he knew it she was out the door.

notes: uh damn

taglist:

@random-fandom-smoothie @lucienofthelakes

@ghostlythots @sweetfemmefatal @natxpat @chavarriakeren647 @ravenmoore14 @farther-than-pleiades @internallyscreamings @hwromi @atoxicrat @cuti3maddi3 @deafeningkittenblaze @its-celeste @serene-hills @lexidoll12 @poohkie90 @lunatiquess

@warmedbythebody @katzykat @iristhemuse @azkza @keiraslayz @abbyandermine @jennyjencakes @dest-nai @corset-briefs @nutze-kekse @ilytsukiw @b3anspr0ut

@pondsblog @missyouzoe @fallenkitten @bigauthorrascalturkey @bethtay @angelynn-nicole @starluv @stargirlisworld @giyuuslittleslut @impossiblecupcakelight

@rkrivees-blog @ghosts-hoe @kam1snotverysmart @gauky76 @freyjaaasstuff @spicyspicyliving @scottpilgrimvsmyfists @courtney0-0 @shinchanboi @darling006 @my-therapist-hates-me @asteriadisera @sigynxlokiwifelover

[eddysocs]

Tender Persistence — Meredith Grey x OC

Summary: Meredith is fighting to work through her flu symptoms, but her ever present intern Eva isn’t about to let Meredith stay at Grey Sloan while she’s sick.

Word Count: 760

Warnings: None

The day had been a whirlwind. A seemingly endless cascade of surgeries, patient consults, and paperwork kept Meredith Grey on her feet for hours. But it wasn’t just the hospital chaos weighing her down. It was the dull ache in her body, the persistent throbbing in her head, and the scratchiness in her throat that she had been trying to ignore for days.

Meredith knew she was running on fumes, but she wasn’t one to back down from work, no matter how terrible she felt. As the day wound down, the symptoms finally caught up to her. A dizzy spell hit her just as she was wrapping up a patient’s chart. She braced herself against the counter, willing the room to stop spinning. But before she could regain her footing, a familiar voice cut through the haze.

“Dr. Grey, are you alright?”

Eva Santorini, the intern most frequently on her service, watched her with concern in her eyes, and though Meredith knew she had no ill will, it felt like a look of pity. Eva had noticed Meredith’s fading energy and the flush in her cheeks that had nothing to do with stress. Now, her worry was confirmed.

“I’m fine,” Meredith muttered, straightening up and attempting to act normal, though her legs felt like jelly.

Eva crossed her arms, unimpressed. “You’re clearly not. You’ve been pushing yourself too hard, and it’s catching up to you.”

Meredith brushed her off with a weak wave of her hand. “I’m just tired. I need to finish this chart and then—”

“This is non-negotiable, Meredith.” Eva’s voice held firm as she addressed the attending by her first name. “You’re going home, and I’m taking care of you. No arguments.”

Meredith tried to protest, but a cough racked her body, and she could only wince as her head pounded harder. Eva didn’t wait for another excuse. She grabbed Meredith’s coat and bag, taking her by the arm with a gentle but unyielding grip.

“You’re burning up,” Eva murmured, brushing her hand against Meredith’s flushed forehead as they made their way to the elevator. “I can’t believe you’ve been working like this.”

“It’s nothing I can’t handle,” Meredith mumbled, though her voice lacked its usual conviction. She leaned a little more into Eva, allowing herself to show a little vulnerability if only to take the edge off the chills running down her spine.

The ride to Meredith's was quiet, the tension from earlier melting away as Meredith finally surrendered. By the time they got to the house, she was too exhausted to fight back anymore. Eva helped her change into comfortable clothes and guided her to bed, pulling the blankets up around her.

Meredith closed her eyes, already feeling a bit better just by being home. But when Eva disappeared for a few minutes and returned with a tray of soup, water, and medicine, she couldn’t help but attempt a weak smile despite her feverish haze. “You didn’t have to go through all this trouble,” she croaked.

Eva settled beside her on the bed, smoothing the damp strands of hair away from Meredith’s forehead. “Of course I did. You’d never do it for yourself.” At that Meredith frowned, but they both knew she was right. Eva held out the medicine. “Take these. And don’t even think about sneaking out of bed for work calls.”

Meredith swallowed the pills, the genuine caring in Eva’s voice making it easier to accept the help. For someone so used to holding everything together on her own, it was a rare relief to let someone else take the reins, not that she’d ever tell Eva that.

The evening passed in quiet companionship. Eva stayed close, occasionally checking on Meredith’s temperature or simply sitting nearby with a book she’d pulled from her bag to pass the time. As the fever began to break, Meredith reached out, placing her hand atop Eva's, startling her a bit with the contact. “Thank you,” she whispered, her voice hoarse but no less sincere because of it.

Eva’s expression softened as she squeezed her hand. “You don’t always have to be invincible, Meredith Grey. Everyone has their limits. Even you.”

With a tired nod, Meredith allowed herself to relax fully for the first time in days. She let the exhaustion pull her under, and as she drifted off to sleep, the thought lingered. Sometimes, letting someone care for you wasn’t a sign of weakness. It was simply trusting the people who cared enough to know what you needed, even when you were too stubborn to admit it.

For @sicktember

Forever Tag: @baubeautyandthegeek, @kmc1989, @curious-kittens-ocs, @fanficanatic-tw, @gcthvile, @kenjioharashotspot, @immyowndefender

[system-of-a-feather]

At this point in our recovery, I'm comfortable listing this, but the fictional sources we have introjected from at any point:

Riku (Kingdom Hearts)

Dark Riku (Kingdom Hearts)

Repliku (Kingdom Hearts)

Data Riku (Kingdom Hearts)

Riku Again, but Generalized and to the Left (Kingdom Hearts)

Riku AGAIN, but Generlized and to the Right (Kingdom Hearts)

Hollow Ichigo (Bleach)

Redacted (OC)

Redacted (OC)

Yut Lung (Banana Fish)

Lucifer Morningstar (Lucifer)

Eva Roux (Code Vein)

Redacted (OC)

Redacted (OC)

Ray (Our System, not fictional but has to be added in here for lels)

I feel like I'm missing one - probably from the branch of XIV's fused parts cause dude has so fucking much, and I guess a hypothetical short lived Nero (DMC5) introject.

But I just really had to make this post cause its fucking funny how our brain just kept printing Rikus

Redacted (OC) are just because I prefer to lean on keeping those more on the private end since two of them are from a story I plan to turn into a comic and the other two I'm keeping with consistency.

This post is more than ok to make light hearted jokes about, this post in itself is a light hearted joke.

[villainsimpqueen]

08/06/24

Hey guys! I know i made a Patreon to put all my juicy fanclans lore n stuff in full detail, but im just like super excited to show some of my stuff, so ima put the little bits on tumblr to show what im working on but have everything else on my Patreon. As i said before im making a huge evolution tree of all my clans down to my most popular one & one i have a fic on

The barren lands Na'vi.

each fanclan i have are their ancestors showing evolution through generations until we reach them!

Heres a few new ones i have fully made up and of course will be posting on my Patreon a little later.

Rivonyk (River Na'vi clan)

Origin:

Great storms had attacked the vast oceans and the Rivonyk ancestors the Ivonara were slammed around by the storm's rage slammed and pulled under angry waves losing their final breath others swirled and whirlpools gasping out their last air bubbles the ones who had survived the raging waters were thrown from the sea in onto land their tears grew and pulled at their feet the lost of loved ones and being unwelcome to the only home they knew cause great grief amongst them and they solved for many days great Eva used their tears to form new waters ones that would always be safe for them and this forms the rivers of Pandora Where the rivonyk grew to thrive forming new pods and schools.

Physical traits

Skin starts turning to mossy greens with bright wavy markings with yellow or red markings around the eyes(Like yellow & red ear sliders)

Illuminous at markings start to form into spots (Like spotted trout)

Noses start to unflatten and slightly still have narrow nostrils.

Ear fins now being a small singular ear with small fins outlining them.

Arm and leg fins growing smaller while hands still have webbing fingers and longer nails (Like snapping turtles)

Their 2 tails have fused into one thick tail with a small fin at the tip.

Chest starts to narrow why the body grows more muscular and lean.

Eyes are a variant either being reflective with slit pupils or round pupils they can be different colors such as bright oranges greens in yellows.

Their dual queues have formed into one growing to be long and narrow.

Still has small sensor bumps on the chin and upper lips.

Has a long and thick red tongue that umbres to pink in the mouth, the tip of the tongue being bright red.

Mire'lok (Marsh land Na'vi)

Origins:

Were descendants of the Rivonyk who traveled more inland streamed finding a humid jungle and continued onward until the jungle opened up to healthy lushful marshlands. There they adapted to blend into the marshlands and jungle becoming their own people, which became the Mire’lok. They formed many tribes within the marshlands and jungle making both their vast home. 

Physical traits:

-Elong limbs such as arms and legs, tail and queues, they become more thin like, having more muscle build than fat.

-There's tails being meaty at the base and sliding down to a narrow tip with a fin-like structure at the end. 

- skin tones changing to deeper hues of greens, teals and on rare occasions having morphs of bright greens and blues. 

-Patterns becoming more snake-like patterns, specifically python and constrictor base like patterns.

- Eyes have variant pupils, they can have slit eye pupils or they can have round eye pupils. 

Eye color can be bright greens, yellows with morphs having bright oranges and reds.

-Ears becoming smaller and closer to the head, with a protective skin flap that will cover their ear drums to keep water out of their ears.

-Noses being flat but with larger nostrils that help with the humid air. 

______________

Please Do Not(!) Make an oc to my clans without permission!

If you want to make a charater oc to any of my clans please message me and lets talk!