#˗ˏˋ inbox . ››› 𝚂𝚄𝚁𝚅𝙸𝚅𝙰𝙻 𝙾𝙵 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝚁𝙸𝙲𝙷𝙴𝚂𝚃 .

[felinoir-a]

@gwenbiote asked: purrs at

𝙱𝙻𝙸𝙽𝙺.   𝙱𝙻𝙸𝙽𝙺.   𝙱𝙻𝙸𝙽𝙺.   

❝      Are   you   getting   sick?   What   the   hell   is   wrong   with   your   throat?   Stay   over   there   while   I   order   you   some   lozenges,   I   am   not   getting   sick   before   my   trip   with   whatever   cooties   you   picked   up.      ❞      

[felinoir-a]

@overclocks asked : 📞 + 😳 : an embarrassing voicemail

𝚃𝙷𝚄𝙳.   𝚂𝙷𝚄𝙵𝙵𝙻𝙸𝙽𝙶.   𝙼𝚄𝙵𝙵𝙻𝙴𝙳   𝙲𝚄𝚁𝚂𝙴𝚂.   𝚃𝙷𝚄𝙳   𝚃𝙷𝚄𝙳   𝚃𝙷𝚄𝙳.

❝         —   upidstupidstupid,   I   swear   to   fuckin'   god   I'm   going   to   murder   whoever   designed   vault   doors   that   auto-close.      ❞

More   thumping,   the   squeal   of   metal   against   metal,   more   muffled   curses.   Then   an   earpiercing   shriek   of   frustration,   followed   be   a   growl   and   something   crashing   into   a   wall   with   a   crunch.   Shuffling,   the   whisper   of   leather   against   leather,   the   tap   of   claws   against   glass   and   plastic.

𝐔𝐍𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐓𝐀𝐁𝐋𝐘   𝐋𝐎𝐍𝐆   𝐒𝐈𝐋𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄.

❝      If   you   say   anything   about   this   to   anyone,   Stark,   I   will   ruin   your   fuckin'   life.      ❞  

𝙲𝙻𝙸𝙲𝙺.  

[felinoir-a]

@overclocks asked: you want answers? get in the car.

𝚃𝙷𝙴   𝙼𝚄𝚂𝙲𝙻𝙴𝚂   𝙸𝙽   𝙷𝙴𝚁   𝙹𝙰𝚆   𝚃𝙸𝙲𝙺𝙴𝙳,   teeth   audibly   grinding   together   as   the   thief   weighed   her   options.   Her   crew   had   gone   to   ground   and   their   hideout   had   literally   been   blown   sky   high.   Someone,   somewhere   had   been   making   it   their   mission   to   dismantle   the   Cat’s   operations   and   for   once   —   it   couldn’t   be   one   of   the   usual   suspects.   Odessa   Drake   herself   had   been   targeted,   which   ruled   out   the   New   York   Guild.   Nick   Fury   and   Doom   had   bigger   fish   to   fry   than   to   worry   about   the   money   that   had   been   commandeered.  

Which   left   Felicia   Hardy   in   this   position   —   soaked   to   the   bone   by   torrential   rain,   singed   and   covered   in   soot,   watching   as   the   warehouse   that   had   served   as   her   base   of   operations   burn.   Sirens   screamed   in   the   distance   as   secondary   explosions   rocked   the   area,   which   she   bemusedly   attributed   to   Boris’   makeshift   laboratory.   Guild   flunkies   had   come   and   gone,   whisking   away   their   leader   with   only   halfhearted   attempts   to   cajole   Felicia   into   their   vehicle.  

They’d   driven   away   just   as   another   luxury   vehicle   drove   up   to   the   location.   She   didn’t   bother   to   look,   eyes   still   trained   on   the   engulfed   building.   Law   enforcement   wouldn’t   approach   her   in   just   one   vehicle,   given   her   reputation   for   being   slippery,   and   her   nailbeds   itched   at   the   possibility   of   the   culprit   behind   the   destruction   of   her   homebase   coming   in   close   to   gloat.  

But   the   scent   of   expensive   cologne   and   motor   oil   kept   Felicia   from   driving   claws   into   his   chest.  

❝      .   .   .   what’re   you   trying   to   say   here,   Stark?      ❞      The   question   practically   drove   her   brows   into   her   hairline,   slitted   citrine   sliding   to   glare   at   the   man   from   the   corner   of   her   eye.   On   a   normal   day,   she’d   engage   in   banter   and   delight   in   needling   Tony   Stark   into   frustrated   exasperation,   but   with   the   last   several   years   of   work   having   gone   up   in   flames?   She   was   not   in   a   particularly   playful   mood   nor   was   she   up   for   an   I   told   you   so.

❝      You   know   something   I   don’t?   Because   I’m   not   exactly   in   the   mood   for   a   drive.      ❞     

[felinoir-a]

“Please stop. I’ll do anything you want.” Not even actual torture could get him to crack like this but he had all of his stuff so nicely organized.

❝      𝚃𝙷𝙴   𝙲𝚁𝚈𝚂𝚃𝙰𝙻   𝙻𝙰𝙺𝙴   𝙱𝙴𝙴𝙵𝙲𝙰𝙺𝙴   .   .   .   what   was   his   mom's   maiden   name   again?   You'd   think   given   his   mommy   issues,   the   Bureau   would   have   that   on   file.      ❞  

Profilers   should   have   better   security,   because   there's   not   a   chance   he's   getting   her   to   leave   —   the   shade   his   face   is   turning   is   making   her   goddamn   night.

[felinoir-a]

@riselazarus asked: ❛ Well… you’re not a picture of normalcy yourself. ❜

𝚃𝙷𝙴   𝙵𝙰𝚄𝚇,   𝙾𝚄𝚃𝚁𝙰𝙶𝙴𝙳   𝙸𝙽𝙳𝙸𝙶𝙽𝙰𝚃𝙸𝙾𝙽   𝙿𝙰𝙸𝙽𝙵𝚄𝙻𝙻𝚈   𝙾𝙱𝚅𝙸𝙾𝚄𝚂      —      the   overexaggerated   gasp   coupled   with   the   clutching   of   ropes   of   actual   [   and   pilfered   ]   pearl   necklaces   at   her   throat   completed   the   mocking   image   of   a   woman   affronted.   The   Cat   had   already   gotten   her   prizes   for   the   night,   satchel   bulging   with   the   weight   of   the   contents   of   several   safes,   precious   stones   glittering   from   wrists   to   elbows   in   a   flashy   mimicry   of   armbraces.  

❝      Better   to   be   a   catgirl   than   a   dweeb   in   a   red   helmet.      ❞      The   melodramatic   act   melting   to   a   mischievous   grin   and   glowing   eyes,   metallic   claws   dropping   to   glide   against   the   bracelets.   Sirens   screamed   in   the   distance,   just   barely   audible   over   the   ear-piercing   screech   of   the   diamond   exchange’s   security   alarm.   She   would   only   two   to   three   minutes   to   escape   the   general   vicinity   of   the   heist,   if   she   wanted   to   avoid   the   hassle   of   a   police   chase.  

Even   if   it   means   she   has   to   deal   with   an   unknown   to   her   would-be   vigilante.

❝      As   delightful   as   this   has   been,   babe   —      ❞   The   blonde   thief   takes   several   steps   back,   creeping   purposefully   to   the   edge   of   the   building   as   the   grappling   hooks   whirred   underneath   the   priceless   jewelry.         ❝      —   I’m   afraid   I’m   gonna   have   to   cut   this   short.      ❞

[felinoir-a]

𝙰𝙲𝙲𝚄𝚂𝙰𝚃𝙸𝙾𝙽,   𝙳𝙸𝚂𝙰𝙿𝙿𝙾𝙸𝙽𝚃𝙼𝙴𝙽𝚃,   𝙽𝙰𝚄𝚂𝙴𝙰𝚃𝙸𝙽𝙶𝙻𝚈   𝚁𝙸𝙶𝙷𝚃𝙴𝙾𝚄𝚂   𝙸𝙽𝙳𝙸𝙶𝙽𝙰𝚃𝙸𝙾𝙽.   The   Cat   is   painfully   familiar   with   the   tone   heroes   use   when   faced   with   the   bad   behavior   of   someone   they   thought   better   of.   They'd   think   she   was   something   she   was   not,   she'd   do   something   true   to   her   nature,   then   she'd   be   the   bad   guy   —   the   villain   who   burst   their   rose   tinted   bubble.   Like   it   was   her   fault   for   not   living   up   to   the   image   in   their   heads   of   what   Felicia   Hardy   should   be.

𝐖𝐄𝐋𝐋   𝐓𝐇𝐄   𝐁𝐀𝐓   𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐋𝐃   𝐋𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐍   𝐓𝐇𝐄   𝐒𝐀𝐌𝐄   𝐋𝐄𝐒𝐒𝐎𝐍   𝐓𝐇𝐄   𝐒𝐏𝐈𝐃𝐄𝐑   𝐃𝐈𝐃.

❝      Saw   something   I   liked.      ❞   Her   teeth   were   painfully   bright   against   the   inky   paint   of   her   lipstick,   neck   and   wrists   laden   with   glittering   jewels   and   precious   metals.   The   Black   Cat   had   feigned   domesticity,   doing   her   best   impression   of   Gotham's   resident   feline,   in   order   to   slip   past   the   guard   of   the   city's   dark   guardian.   She   was   a   cooperative,   playful   ally     —   all   flirtatious   demeanor   and   witty   repartee,   while   waiting   to   take   advantage   of   an   opportunity.   An   opportunity   that   was   afforded   to   her   by   the   Bat,   so   truly,   it's   partially   his   fault   too.

❝      What?   You   had   it   all   under   control   and   I   had   to   liberate   these   beauties.      ❞  

@crimefightr asked : felicia, what were you thinking ?!

[felinoir-a]

𝐒𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐇   𝐎𝐑   𝐏𝐀𝐒𝐒  (!)

❝  I'll need a couple shots of tequila, the value size bottle of lube, five large towels, and a Night Nurse approved first aid kit.  ❞

𝐒𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐇. [ Bring a pen and some paper too, she's gotta compare him to his daddy. ]

[felinoir-a]

smash or pass

❝  . . . . well that depends. Is Stretch gonna kill me for it? Or does he like to watch?  ❞

𝐒𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐇. [ Bring Reed too. It'll be couple's therapy or something. ]

[felinoir-a]

𝙿𝙴𝚁𝙷𝙰𝙿𝚂   𝚃𝙷𝙴𝚁𝙴   𝚆𝙰𝚂   𝙰   𝚁𝙴𝙰𝚂𝙾𝙽   𝙵𝙾𝚁𝙲𝙴𝚂   𝙾𝙵   𝙽𝙰𝚃𝚄𝚁𝙴   𝚆𝙴𝚁𝙴   𝙰𝙻𝚆𝙰𝚈𝚂   𝙵𝙴𝙼𝙰𝙻𝙴.   She   was   no   Shelby   or   Peaky   Blinder,   but   the   Black   Cat   excelled   at   making   friends   in   very   low   places   and   when   one   of   the   neighborhood   children   had   informed   her   that   her   boys   —   two   men   who   were   practically   her   blood,   practically   an   extension   of   herself   —   had   been   forced   into   cars   notably   belonging   to   the   King   of   Small   Heath   .   .   .   Mad   enough   to   spit   nails   had   been   a   severe   understatement   of   her   mood.   Her   mood   only   blackened   further   with   each   step   down   Watery   Lane,   the   thunderstorm   contained   within   her   body   only   gathering   more   momentum   with   each   gunshot   loud   strike   of   her   heels.  

    Relations   had   cooled   into   an   arctic   chill   between   Thomas   Shelby   and   Felicia   Hardy,   an   unfortunate   byproduct   of   that   fateful   night   nearly   two   months   ago.   She   had   made   it   her   personal   mission   to   avoid   Tommy   and   his   entire   family,   a   feat   made   all   the   more   difficult   by   the   reports   of   the   former's   temper   fouling   seemingly   by   the   day.   His   apparent   inability   to   manage   his   own   emotions   was   not   her   problem,   regardless   of   the   pleading   eyes   his   younger   brothers   may   direct   her   way   at   the   local   market   and   the   messages   passed   through   her   maids.   But   this   was   beyond   the   pale,   even   for   him.

    The   men   at   the   door   moved   out   of   her   way,   whether   due   to   reputation   or   the   thunderous   look   on   her   face,   and   the   tall   blonde   stomped   into   the   betting   house   —   verdant   eyes   afixed   in   a   bloodcurdling   glare   and   lips   twisted   into   a   furious   sneer.   She   couldn't   locate   her   quarry,   but   Polly   stood   tall   and   met   her   gaze   with   an   amused,   knowing   twinkle,   before   the   older   woman   pointed   to   the   back   of   the   betting   area   towards   a   room   with   two   shut   doors.  

    𝐈𝐅   𝐇𝐄   𝐇𝐀𝐃   𝐁𝐄𝐄𝐍   𝐖𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆   𝐇𝐄𝐑   𝐀𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍,   𝐇𝐄   𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐋𝐃   𝐇𝐀𝐕𝐄   𝐈𝐓.

    Even   with   the   hoods   over   their   faces,   Felicia   would   know   Bruno   Grainger   and   Boris   Korpse   in   the   dark,   in   a   sea   of   other   bodies.   Childhood   friends   turned   wartime   penpals   and   confidantes   turned   partners   in   crime,   those   two   men   were   closer   than   family   and   to   see   them   bound   to   chairs   like   common   rabble?   Some   women   are   resplendent   in   their   anger,   but   she   knew   she   was   something   closer   to   monstrous     —   fair   skin   mottled   and   splotched   a   furious   pink,   hair   frizzing   even   with   copious   products   and   pins,   full   lips   pulled   wide   to   bare   her   teeth.   A   vicious   hiss   escaped,   a   deft   hand   pulling   the   dagger   from   under   her   skirts   and   making   short   work   of   the   bindings   at   their   wrists   and   feet.  

    Both   men   hopped   up   with   a   glare,   flinging   the   hoods   to   the   ground,   but   Felicia   shook   her   head,   lips   pursed   tight.   Her   back   was   to   the   mastermind   behind   this   whole   charade,   who   was   standing   behind   his   desk   with   an   ever   present   cigarette   in   hand.   The   thief   quietly   requested   that   the   men   return   to   the   brownstone   she   was   calling   home   and   to   wait   for   her   there,   turning   on   their   heels   after   a   moment   of   searching   both   her   face   and   the   face   of   the   man   behind   her,   the   face   of   the   man   responsible   for   their   kidnapping   and   questioning.   She'd   waited   until   the   double   doors   had   closed   behind   them   and   remained   shut   for   several   moments,   hands   clenching   and   unclenching   as   breath   was   forcefully   exhaled.

    The   tall   blonde   rounded   on   the   man,   a   silent   wraith   as   she   approached   and   entered   his   space     —   nose   brushing   nose,   barely   a   whisper   of   space   between   their   chests.   Enflamed   celadon   clashed   with   frosty   azure,   a   moment   frozen   in   time   in   which   his   stoicism   only   served   to   further   fuel   the   fires   of   her   outrage.   It   was   a   potent   cocktail   of   indignation,   impulsivity,   and   her   cursed   attraction   to   Tommy   Shelby   that   had   Felicia   Hardy   reaching   to   grip   the   back   of   his   neck   and   take   his   mouth   for   her   own.

    𝑳𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈   𝒔𝒕𝒓𝒖𝒄𝒌.   𝑻𝒉𝒆   𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒗𝒆𝒏𝒔   𝒐𝒑𝒆𝒏𝒆𝒅.   𝑨   𝒈𝒊𝒂𝒏𝒕   𝒘𝒂𝒗𝒆   𝒕𝒉𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒕𝒆𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈   𝒕𝒐   𝒑𝒖𝒍𝒍   𝒉𝒆𝒓   𝒖𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒓.   That   first   press   of   his   lips   against   her   own   felt   like   a   livewire   pressed   to   every   nerve   ending   in   her   body,   a   gasp   mercifully   muffled   between   them   and   disguised   by   the   grasping   fingers   tightening   in   his   dark   hair.   Tommy   shuddered   before   responding   voraciously   in   kind.   Large,   callused   hands   slid   over   the   expensive   wool   and   fur   of   her   coat,   making   short   work   of   dispensing   of   it   and   throwing   it   across   his   desk.   An   arm   clasped   tightly   at   her   waist,   pulling   hips   to   hips   and   chest   to   chest,   the   other   hand   cupping   her   jaw   with   fingers   tangling   in   wintry   strands.

    But   then   blunt   teeth   bit   into   his   lower   lip,   drawing   a   tiny   pearl   of   blood   and   the   fingers   that   were   tangled   in   his   hair   wrenched   backwards   —   pulling   greedy   mouths   away   from   one   another   so   that   she   could   stare   him   down.

    ❝      If   you   ever   pull   this   shit   again   with   people   I   love,   I   will   slice   you   open   from   your   chin   to   your   cock.      ❞

    Felicia   made   no   effort   to   pull   away,   heart   hammering   in   her   chest   and   veins   thrumming   from   the   heady   pairing   of   anger   and   potent   desire.   Her   lips   were   swollen   and   lipstick   smeared,   hair   mussed   from   his   fingers,   but   her   eyes   were   flinty.   A   moment   of   weakness   on   her   part,   but   it   likely   served   her   purpose.  

    ❝      Any   questions   you   have   relating   to   my   boys   and   my   business,   you   can   direct   to   me.   Do   we   have   an   understanding,   Mr.   Shelby?      ❞

@proofwhisky + a  kiss  as  a  warning.

[felinoir-a]

𝚆𝙰𝚁   𝙷𝙰𝙳   𝙽𝙾   𝙱𝚄𝚂𝙸𝙽𝙴𝚂𝚂   𝙱𝙴𝙸𝙽𝙶   𝙶𝙴𝙽𝚃𝙻𝙴,   𝚃𝙴𝙽𝙳𝙴𝚁.   It   had   no   business   feeling   like   a   safe   harbor   in   a   storm,   like   comfort,   like   solace.It   should   not   be   easy   to   relax   in   the   presence   of   a   man   known   as   the   Scourge   of   the   Underworld,   especially   when   she   herself   was   one   of   the   most   infamous   criminals   in   the   city   and   starred   on   dozens   of   most   wanted   lists.   The   Black   Cat   should   have   been   another   bullet   casing   left   in   the   darkest   corners   of   the   city,   another   splatter   of   blood   and   viscera   against   the   brick.

But   instead,   Felicia   Hardy   is   treated   to   the   resurrection   of   the   Bayside   skirtchaser   that   was   Frank   Castle,   from   before   the   deployments   and   the   trauma.   A   twinkle   of   irresistable   mischief,   a   slow   and   lazy   smirk,   just   enough   teasing   and   innuendo   to   titilate   and   tantalize.   That   kind   of   charisma   had   its   own   gravitational   pull,   effortlessly   hooking   the   blonde   thief   into   his   orbit   with   flirtatious   banter   and   with   the   promise   of   a   good   time.   They'd   been   dancing   around   each   other   for   weeks,   which   was   the   only   reason   she   allowed   him   so   close   to   her.

𝐎𝐍𝐋𝐘   𝐓𝐎   𝐁𝐄   𝐓𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐄𝐃   𝐁𝐘   𝐀   𝐁𝐔𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐅𝐋𝐘   𝐊𝐈𝐒𝐒,   𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄   𝐀𝐍𝐃   𝐆𝐎𝐍𝐄   𝐀𝐆𝐀𝐈𝐍.

❝      That   all   you   got,   old   man?      ❞   Citrine   eyes   flutter   from   half   mast,   her   lips   aborting   their   chase   of   his   with   a   pout.   It   was   something   so   startling   sweet,   so   delicate   and   tender,   that   she   was   unsettled     —   an   unfamiliar   warmth   blossoming   in   her   chest,   flushing   her   cheeks   and   heating   her   from   the   inside   out.   Instead   of   taking   the   time   to   evaluate   the   emotion   and   process,   Felicia   reacted   on   impulse,   falling   into   what   was   familiar   and   safe:   heavy   handed   innuendo   and   flirtation.   She   reached   out   to   grasp   at   the   collar   of   his   shirt,   aiming   to   keep   Frank   from   getting   too   far   away.   ❝      Kiss   me   like   you   mean   it,   Castle.      ❞

❛   chaste .   chastely  kiss  my  muse . + @wardogsong

[felinoir-a]

𝙰   𝙼𝙾𝚄𝚃𝙷   𝙵𝚄𝙻𝙻   𝙾𝙵   𝚁𝙰𝚉𝙾𝚁𝚂   𝙰𝙽𝙳   𝚃𝙷𝙴   𝙲𝙻𝙸𝙲𝙺   𝙾𝙵   𝙰   𝙷𝙰𝙼𝙼𝙴𝚁   𝚆𝙴𝚁𝙴   𝙷𝙸𝚂   𝙰𝙽𝚂𝚆𝙴𝚁.   Cats   are   an   elegant   species   that   often   preferred   the   neatest   solutions   to   their   problems,   but   certain   situations   called   for   examples   to   be   made.   Something   about   Gotham's   smog   thick   air   heated   her   blood   to   boiling,   drawing   out   a   viciousness   that   didn't   exist   on   the   other   side   of   the   river   in   New   York.   On   edge,   short   on   patience,   temper   frayed—  

𝐖𝐎𝐔𝐋𝐃   𝐘𝐎𝐔   𝐓𝐑𝐔𝐒𝐓   𝐀   𝐇𝐀𝐋𝐅   𝐅𝐄𝐑𝐀𝐋   𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐄𝐘   𝐂𝐀𝐓?

❝      You   really   wanna   make   that   bet,   Red?      ❞   Slitted   pupils   blown   wide   and   head   cocked   to   the   side,   the   Black   Cat   was   nothing   but   taut,   lethal   lines   and   malicious   intent.   The   explosion   had   seared   her   skin   through   the   suit,   leather   clinging   painfully   to   rapidly   welting   skin,   but   the   grip   on   the   .44   Magnum   didn't   waiver.   She'd   risked   her   skin   for   this   damn   job   and   she   sure   as   shit   wouldn't   be   letting   a   cocky   upstart   in   a   stupid   helmet   separate   her   from   her   prize.     ❝      Because   I   can   guarantee,   you   aren't   lucky   enough   to survive   playing   with   me.      ❞     

@batagonist asked : you're not going to shoot me.

[felinoir-a]

𝐒𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐇   𝐎𝐑   𝐏𝐀𝐒𝐒

❝  Team daddy issues? Where do I sign up?  ❞

𝐒𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐇. [ It's cheaper and more fun than therapy. ]

[felinoir-a]

"smash or....pass?" diana asks uncertainly.

❝  . . . do you got some vacation time saved up? We need to test the durability of your bedframe.  ❞

𝐒𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐇𝐒𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐇𝐒𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐇𝐒𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐇𝐒𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐇.

[felinoir-a]

  𝐒𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐇   𝐎𝐑   𝐏𝐀𝐒𝐒 

❝  I feel like either option is hazardous to my health, but only one of those options could be fun.  ❞

𝐒𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐇. [ Is that a gun in his pocket or is he really happy to see her? ]

[felinoir-a]

𝐒𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐇   𝐎𝐑   𝐏𝐀𝐒𝐒

❝  . . . Is Selina around? Are you guys off again right now? Is this being recorded?  ❞

Hesitant 𝐒𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐇. [ She's trying to not get into a catfight over a man. ]

[felinoir-a]

𝐒𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐇   𝐎𝐑   𝐏𝐀𝐒𝐒 HUFF

❝  Did it once with the original, negative ten out of ten. Do not recommend, left a negative yelp review. Now get out of here before I get the Raid.  ❞

𝐏𝐀𝐒𝐒. [ Her ego and self esteem cannot handle being involved with another Spider. ]