#looks like she’s queenpin!

[sietegotas]

Alice Braga || Soul Press Interview 2021

[softsan]

˚ 🥀⊹ 𝐃𝐀𝐑𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐄𝐕𝐈𝐋, 𝐌𝐀𝐊𝐄 𝐇𝐈𝐌 𝐒𝐌𝐈𝐋𝐄. (𝐩𝐭.𝟏)

✉️ ・ 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭.

✉️ ・ ── 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐬: | 01 | 02 | 03 | 04 |

✉️ ・ ── 𝐦𝐚𝐟𝐢𝐚 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐟𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐬 | 𝐲/𝐧'𝐬 𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐬

✉️ ・ ── 𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: Mafia AU, Angst, Kingpin!Taeyong, Queenpin!Y/N, Fem!Reader, Childhood friends, Betrayal, Enemies to lovers, Eventual Smut. ✉️ ・ ── 𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐜𝐫𝐢𝐩𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧:  You were the only surviving heir of the old-time Mafia kingpin that had ruled the four territories. You were long thought to be dead, living the normal life you had always wanted...Until you run into a Taeyong, a formidable ghost from your past. You are then thrown back into the Mafia underbelly, reuniting with enemies you had hoped had forgotten you. Will you run away? Will you stand beside Taeyong, kingpin of the North, and be his queen? Or will you take your rightful revenge.

✉️ ・ ── 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: Possessive Themes, Future Explicit Sexual Content, Murder, Kidnapping, Strangulation, Torture, Weapons, Graphic Violence, Heavy Angst, Explicit Language, Alcohol Consumption, Mentions of Drugs, Betrayal, Morally Grey Characters.

✉️ ・ ── 𝐨𝐩𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐥 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭.

Past. 

You felt all the air leave your lungs, your chest constricting as you tried to gasp for just one more breath. You heard the patter of your blood as it hit the hardwood floors.

“Y/N,” His desperate eyes plead. 

“What did you do to her?!” Your brother demanded, yanking against the chains that were secured around his wrists. 

“Good catch Taeyong!” One of your captors clapped his hand on Taeyong’s back.

You tried to lift your shoulders, but they refused to support the weight of your head. You were but a lifeless heap, carelessly discarded and left to slowly bleed out on the ground. The man’s sickening laughter echoed throughout the room, filling what was left of your heart with dread.  

“Do it,” His voice urged, “Kill her now.”

Present.

“Today will be different,” You stared at yourself in the mirror, “Today I will smile, and I’ll mean it.” Your eyes circled down to your neck, your confidence waning. 

“Come on!” Your roommate urged, “You can say it better than that.” 

Your shoulders slumped in defeat, “You make me say the same thing at the start of every semester.”

Your roommate clicked her tongue, looking up from her phone. “And I believe this semester is going to be fucking fantastic.” She pointed at your white dress that cut just above the knees. “Look, we’re both looking cuter than ever. We have a new apartment,” She pointed to the living room’s ceiling to exaggerate her point. “This is our second year at college, and you, my friend, are going to put yourself out there.”

You shook your head in dread. “I thought we agreed that in this household, you can be the party fiend, and I’ll be the one that spends her nights binging TV shows on Netflix.”

Your roommate Jen threw you a dirty look.

“Hey! Who else is going to keep the universe in balance.”

Your roommate rolled her eyes. “The world is not going to stop spinning on its axis if you go out once in a while.”

“I highly doubt that.” You mutter to yourself, earning a playful hit from your dear roommate.

You and your roommate Jennifer had been cohabitating with one another since you were both seventeen. Back then, it had been a struggle to find someone willing to share a space with a teenager. That coupled with the awful reputation your foster father and sister had garner for themselves, you weren’t exactly considered an ideal house mate. However, to your pleasant surprise Jen was equally in need of someone to cover half of her rent. 

You had somewhat known about Jen prior to living with her. She had been quite popular at your school, the social butterfly. Admittedly, you were a little suprised to hear she like you, had moved out on her own, yet you never pried. 

Despite, her cheerful demeanor, you sensed a sadness akin to your own. You were both content pretending the other didn’t have secrets they’d buried deep inside their pasts. 

The day had been too long, and the sight of a setting sun was a welcome one. A picturesque scene of pink and oranges painted the skies which backdropped Taeyong’s beloved city. 

“Let’s get a drink to cool down,” Johnny piped, securing his gun back in his trousers.

Mark looked over disapprovingly, “You know you should really invest in a holster.”

“Not a chance!” Johnny grinned, “Taeil will flip if I make another extravagant purchase this month.” 

Taeyong slightly shook his head, half-heartedly smiling. Taeil, his consigliere had only gotten on Johnny’s case after he bought two restaurants and three record stores on a whim. Johnny simply was dead set on never purchasing himself a holster.  

Mark discerning Johnny’s lame excuse, decided to play along, “If you’re tight on money, why don’t we drink at the crappy-looking place.” He pointed to a shabby, bar with rusted molding at the end of the street. 

Taeyong grimaced, he didn’t like spending too much time in disputed territory. The street they were standing on fell in a grey area, both claimed by him, the King of the North, and the terrible Black Crow of the West. 

“We should head back closer to base,” Renjun cut in, noticing Taeyong’s hesitancy.  

Taeyong had his own bars and hotels where he could drink and dine with complete ease. He saw no need to do so here. 

“Let’s do it,” Johnny exclaimed, pulling a protesting Renjun into a friendly headlock.

“It’ll be fine,” Mark reassured, nudging Taeyong’s shoulder. “Nobody’s that stupid to take on all four of us.”

“I’m here! I’m here!” You breathlessly apologized to your manager, reaching for a bar apron.

“It’s fine,” He assured, handing you a docket, “First day back?” 

You nodded, trying to catch your breath “It’s the first day, and I feel like I’m already behind on all of my classes.” 

“Well, tonight should be pretty standard for a weekday.” He commented, his eyes scanning the empty tables, “I’ll be up upstairs talking to a supplier but, give me a wave if you need me.” 

“Will do.” It wasn’t uncommon for you to be working the bar alone.

The 'Old Sand Bucket' where you worked was certainly past its prime. Its interior was outdated, half of the bar stools wobbled, and even the bar counter was unleveled. It just wasn’t a place that attracted a surplus of people. 

You pulled your first load of wine glasses from the dishwasher, lifting them into the bar to be polished.

The door to the bar chimed, “Welcome to the Old Sand Bucket.” You said, without looking upward. “What can I get you?”

Taeyong gave the bar a lengthy overview. It didn’t appear to be suspicious, just the opposite. The dated bar was completely unoccupied beside the humming bartender who was mindlessly polishing wine glasses.

He examined you like the rest, evaluating the level of threat you were. Your head stayed down, occupied with your task. You barely spared a glance at his boys, who began ordering drinks.

You wore a simple black shirt underneath a bar apron with the ‘Old Sand Bucket’ labeled on its front. Your hair was tied in a low ponytail, revealing the curvature of your neck. At its base was a silky black ribbon knotted in a neat bow. Other than being pretty, you didn’t appear to stand out. 

Taeyong hummed, satisfied the bar his boys wanted to drink at was nothing more than a dinky, uninspired establishment.

You heard another person pull out a wonky barstool, which made four people in your bar. Not bad, as you usually didn’t have customers come in until half past nine. 

You placed down a bourbon and coke to your left—a man’s voice offering you a quick thanks.

“What can I get you?” You asked, finally looking up at the last man.

“Whatever’s good.”

Your eyes widened, blinking repeatedly, willing the ghost of your past to disappear back to your nightmares.

This can’t be real. This can’t be him. Please. No.

But he didn’t. He sat in front of you. His bored expression faded as he caught you staring. You immediately dropped your face, your face burning.

Taeyong furrowed his brows, confused. The way you looked at him just then… It was as if you knew him. He wasn’t mistaken. He couldn’t be. The way you were mumbling your answers, your arms shaking as you reached to pour a shot of vodka.

You did the best you could to keep a low profile, keeping your face down, and distracting yourself with work around the bar. You wanted nothing more than to abandon your shift— your heart furiously pounding every time you heard one of their four voices address you. However, at around eleven there was an unusual influx of people (what you believed to be a bachelor’s night out), therefore you needed to power through your discomfort. 

You wavered for your manager to join you downstairs, while you stepped out of the bar and started clearing tables. 

Taeyong kept you in the corner of his eye, unable to shake the curiosity that brewed in his stomach.

“Give us a smile, love,” Slurred one of the drunken bachelors, who had stripped off his shoes and was now wearing one on his head. 

You complied, in order not to make a scene. You reached over his table to pick up one of the empty pints. You felt the irksome feeling of fingers brushing against your neck. You jumped back, dropping your tray. Your hands immediately shot to your neck, clasping where your black ribbon ought to be. 

The shattering of glass made Taeyong stand, interrupting Renjun mid-sentence. Your eyes were aflame with anger, your mouth parting in horror. You were trying desperately to conceal the base of your neck.

Without a second thought, Taeyong approached, pulling the drunken patron up by his wrinkled collar. The man began sloppily flailing, trying to make his pathetic getaway. 

Taeyong snatched the black ribbon out of his hand, before not so gently throwing him to the ground.

“I believe this belongs to you.” Taeyong stepped forward, extending his arm in your direction. 

You instinctively stepped back, your eyes narrowing on the black ribbon between his fingers. There was no way for you to reach for your ribbon without exposing your neck.

“You keep it.” You said as firmly as you could, turning your back to him.

He watched as you retreated to one of the back rooms, his interest in you only spiking.

You hid yourself in one of the alcohol storerooms, searching for something to cover up your neck. You resorted to some paper towels stained with raspberry syrup. It wasn’t one of your greatest ideas, but it seemed to work when your manager came bursting in.

“Where’d you go?” Your manager pressed, “You left broken glass for me to clean up by table fourteen.” 

"It accidently lock myself in the storage rooms again.” You lied.

Your manager sighed, ushering you out.

You did a quick scan of the bar, noticing the four men had since left. 

“What happened to you?” Your manager pointed to the paper towels and raspberry syrup. 

“Ah,” You pressed the wet paper harder against your neck, “A customer spilled a drink all over me.” 

Your manager shook his head, “Go home and clean up,” He signaled you to grab your things, “I’ll close up,”

Scattered, you thanked him and reached for your rucksack.

“Wait,” Your manager handed you an envelope, “Some guy left you a tip.” 

Who gives a tip in an envelope? You eyed it cautiously. 

You waited until you had turned a corner before you used your fingernail to pry apart the sealed envelope.

Inside was a one-hundred-dollar bill, your black ribbon, and a napkin that read 'Thanks for your service’. 

Taeyong kept his distance, hiding in the shadows. He watched you leave the bar, with your hand holding some paper towels to your neck. You use the other hand to tear open the envelope he’d left for you.

To his surprise, you barely acknowledged the bill—you were more interested in the black ribbon and the napkin. You stared at the napkin for a couple of minutes, your teeth grinding. You then scrunched it into a ball, throwing it onto the sidewalk with the envelope containing the hundred. You, however, kept the black ribbon.

Taeyong observed you as you slowly pulled the paper towels away, revealing a dark scar that wrapped around your neck... It was as if someone had strangled you with barbed wire. 

A flood of emotions went through him, sympathy, guilt, and finally, coldness. He couldn’t help but remember a young girl who had experienced a similar fate.

You had died many years ago. Or at least he thought so…

NETWORKS: -​

MONI’S NOTE: Woah! I cannot express how excited I am to dive back into this world. For those who don't know, this is an old fic of mine that I wrote like 5 years?! ago. I've decided to rework it and improve the story (also finally give it an ending). I would much appreciate your thoughts, comments, reblogs and likes are extremely valued.

TAGLIST: Let me know if you'd like to be added to this taglist!

© softsan - all rights reserved. please do not repost on any social media sites, translate, or modify any of my works.

[corruptedcaps]

Wedding Hells

Abby was happy she finally managed to convince her best friend Lindsay to not marry her fiancé James. Abby had learned that James was secretly the head of the crime family in town and was involved in every dirty deal going.

As happy as Abby was, James was pissed. When Abby came over to pick up some of Lindsay’s belongings he made she sure she knew.

“Well if it isn’t the do gooder little friend who tricked my fiancé into leaving me. I hope you’re proud.” He said with venom.

“Tricked her? I told her the truth of who you really are you creep and soon I’m going to tell everyone as well. Your days not behind bars are numbered.” Abby said straight to his face expecting to see him bubble up with rage but instead he broke into a smile.

“You have a fire and strength in you I had noticed before. You’ll do just am fine as my wife instead.” He said walking over to Lindsay’s never worn dress.

“You’ve lost it now, good luck with your life, or should I say you’re 25 to life.” She said turning on her heel. However within a feel feet she felt the white fabric of the wedding dress draped over her head. Within seconds it seemed to come alive and squeeze down her body.

“What... the... hell...” Abby said trying to rip it off her but found it was too tight.

“You see Lindsay never knew about who I really was but she was going to be my second in command in my growing criminal empire. I had big expansion plans but needed someone I knew would be loyal and ruthless. That’s where this magic dress came in.” James said matter of factly as Abby continued to struggle.

The dress had started to push off her clothes and toss them aside as it enveloped her body and sealed her in. She was quickly dressed as a bride to be but that’s when the real changes began.

The dress constricted her stomach making it hard to breath for a second. However Abby soon felt her belly shrink to match the tight waist of the dress. It actually felt good.

“Oh what are you doing to me you bastard! It feels... it feels... so goooood.” She moaned as her chest heaved outward as two massive tits grew outward from her modest pair.

“You don’t think I became kingpin without the help of the dark arts do you? Soon you’ll understand. When you become the Queenpin.” James said laughing.

Abby should of been furious with him but for some reason she was more turned on then ever before. The word Queenpin making her wet everything she thought it.

“Oh fuck I hate you James you big dick fuck! Once I’m free of this I’m going to fuck your brains out! Wait noooo! I don’t want that! I neeeeed that. No this is wrong!” She said moaning again as her conflicted emotions fought each other.

“You’re right, this is wrong but doesn’t it feel so good to be bad? No more morals, no more caring what anyone thinks? Just taking what you deserve, which is everything! Embrace it Abby, embrace being a bitch!” He said, tempting her.

Abby’s body continued to change as her mind was at war with itself. Her skin took on a healthy tan, sexy makeup was applied generously to her face. Her hair became thick, long and luxurious.

If there hadn’t been a mirror nearby that day, she might have saved her soul. As her eyes made contact with her reflection she found herself drawn into the cold, permanent bitch faced, goddess that was staring back. James was right, she thought, why should she not have everything she ever wanted? A beauty like her deserved the world and if wasn’t going to be given it she would need to take it.

As the good parts of her psyche were replaced by her new meaner, more cutthroat persona her struggling ceased. Her posture straighten into a classical pose and all resistance faded. Her lips curled into a wicked smile as she eyed James not with disgust any longer but with desire.

“Abby? That’s such a childish name. It’s Abigail from now on. Do I look like some immature child?” She said arching herself against a wall so she could shove out her butt. James mouth was agape.

“Sweetheart you’ll catch flies looking like that, how about you come over here and use it on more expensive tastes?” She said with a purr dripping in lust. James didn’t waste any time as he quickly grabbed her and kissed her deeply. Abigail moaned softly as he did, loving how he tasted. Lindsay had always said he was a good lover and now she was about to find out.

Removing the dress, Abigail found herself in some sexy white lingerie, a by product of the magic dress. She pushed James onto the nearby bed and posed sexily for him.

“When we fuck darling, I don’t want to hear Abby, or Abigail come from that mouth of yours. I want to hear only Queenpin, understand?” Abigail said authoritatively, making James get harder.

“Of course… Queenpin.” Her growled making her as wet as he was hard. Strutting over to him she took out his impressive cock and lowered her tight pussy on top.

“Mmmm a perfect fit… Kingpin.” She purred as she started to rise up and down.

The next few hours were a blur of sexual juices, screaming and grunting. By the time they were done Abigail had forgotten ever being Abby. In her mind she had always been Abigail, a tough and brutal but also outrageously beautiful crime boss.

James had planned on telling his men to fall in line and treat her like a boss too but she slipped into the role so easily that they were too scared to disobey her. Within a week she had doubled James’ profits with her ruthless ways. While James was a perfectly cruel and calculating leader, Abigail was literally created to be bad. She was the model of evil.

However not everyone was as impressed as James, namely his ex-fiancée and Abby’s old best friend, Lindsay. She confronted Abigail one day on the street and pleaded with her to tell her what had been done to her but Abigail just looked at her coldly.

“Do I know you? Regardless no one speaks to me like that, I am Queenpin of this city and I could have you disappeared like that.” She said snapping her fingers. When she did, her two burly bodyguards seized Lindsay and threw her into the trunk of Abigail’s luxury tow car.

Sliding in Abigail smirked as she heard the muffled banging of Lindsay.

“It’s no use dear, even if anyone heard you they’re all too afraid to say anything. You don’t have that fear but you will soon. Once I break you you’ll be employed indefinitely as my new live in maid and sex slave. You’re exactly what I need to help me prepare for my upcoming wedding.” Abigail said callously as she put on her designer sunglasses and her driver headed towards her mansion.

THE END

[dwellordream]

Books Recs of 2024

The Tainted Cup by Robert Jackson Bennett. Mystery/fantasy centered around Din, a young assistant investigator assigned to help an eccentric and infamous detective, Ana Dolabra, solve a series of murders. Din is an engraver, his brain altered so he has a photographic memory. However, no one is quite sure how he got his current position, since he failed every single one of his final exams except the combat portion. Ana is an exceedingly odd woman who refuses to go to any crime scene in person and often performs mad science experiments in her spare time. As Din struggles to keep up with the case, which revolves around a bioweapon being unleashed on a series of the empire's best engineers, he also worries what will happen when Ana finally uncovers his secrets.

Highfire by Eoin Colfer. Urban fantasy (very comedic fantasy) about a dragon called Vern (short for Wyvern), who teams up with a juvenile delinquent named Squib (real name Everett Moreau) to take down a corrupt sheriff who is plaguing the Lousiana bayou. Vern is a very small (seven feet long) dragon who is the last of his kind (as far as he knows). When he is spotted by a local troubled teen, his first instinct is to hunt Squib down and kill him, but he quickly realizes the two of them have a common enemy- the murderous sheriff who is running drugs through their territory.

The Last Tale of the Flower Bride by Roshani Chokshi. Magical realism about a romantic-minded art historian who is swept off his feet by a mysterious and charming heiress. After a whirlwind courtship, the happy couple return to her childhood home; a Gothic manor on a lonely island. The more time our narrator spends around his wife's past, the more questions are raised- increasingly sinister ones about who she is and what exactly she is capable of. Once upon a time, she was best friends with an equally odd and dreamy little girl named Indigo. But no one has seen Indigo for many years now- and the Flower Bride may be behind her disappearance.

Chlorine by Jade Song. Horror/magical realism. Since childhood, Ren's entire identity has been wrapped up in swimming. If she can be strong enough, fast enough, special enough, success is sure to come her way. As the end of high school approaches, Ren's passion for swimming becomes less about her future, and more about past legends of mermaids and sirens dragging sailors into the deep. School, friends, and her parents' expectations all fall away- Ren will make her home in the water, no matter what she has to do.

We Are Not Like Them by Christine Pride & Jo Piazza. Realistic fiction. Jen and Riley have been best friends for as long as they can remember, despite their vastly different childhoods. Riley is from a middle class Black family; Jen was raised by an impoverished white single mother. After twenty years of doing almost everything together, their lives are at a crossroads- Riley is a news anchor about to take Philadelphia by storm, while Jen is expecting her first child with her police officer husband. When Jen's husband is involved in the murder of a Black teenage boy by a fellow officer, Riley finds herself expected to cover the story- and Jen finds herself expected to answer for her husband's actions- and her own beliefs about what racism looks like.

Queenpin by Megan Abbott. Crime thriller/noir. Our nameless heroine lives a mousy existence working as a bookkeeper for a rundown local night club, but her life is turned upside down when the infamous Gloria Denton, a gun moll and smuggler, takes her under her wing. Gloria transforms her young protege from a timid girl to a sophisticated, cunning woman capable of handling gangsters, conmen, thieves, and bookies, but when she falls for the wrong man, her relationship with Gloria is strained, and they must decide just how far they can trust one another.

Everyone Knows Your Mother is a Witch by Rivka Galchen. Historical fiction. Based on the real life trial of Katharina Kepler, mother of the famed Johannes Kepler, Imperial Mathematician to the Holy Roman Empire. Katharina is a busybody, a domineering and devilishly clever woman with a particular talent for healing. She is also a fiercely loyal mother to her adult children, but when an old neighborhood grudge flares into accusations of poison and witchcraft, Katharina is determined not to meekly confess and beg pardon. The more she lashes out at her neighbors and the authorities, the more charges begin to pile up against her- despite her son's desperate attempts to save her from torture and execution.

Bury Me Deep by Megan Abbott. Crime thriller/noir. Based on a real life murder case in 1931 Phoenix Arizona. Naive and sheltered Marion Seeley is deposited in Phoenix by her disgraced doctor husband, who is forced to take a job with a mining company in South America after his medical license is revoked. Marion befriends the vivacious Louise and Ginny, two fellow nurses, who introduce her to the underground party scene in Phoenix. Politicians and businessmen flock to the secret parties held by them, and it's a quick way to make money on the side. Drawn in by the luxury and thrills, Marion falls in love with Joe Lanigan, a powerful local politician, but as their affair intensifies, her friendship with the other women fractures, culminating in a gruesome crime.

[soulbrothershow]

The Return of Foxy Brown

Los Angeles was always a city of dreams, but for most, it was a city of nightmares. The streets had evolved since the ‘70s, but the game remained the same: power, money, and control. And no one had a tighter grip on that game than Vivian Wall.

Vivian wasn’t just another player; she was a queenpin. Her high-class escort service was a front for something much darker—sex trafficking and drug running. But her rise wasn’t just about power. It was personal. Vivian Wall was the granddaughter of Kathryn Wall, the late matriarch who once used her fashion empire as a front for similar crimes. Kathryn’s downfall had come at the hands of none other than Foxy Brown. Now, decades later, Vivian was determined to finish what her grandmother couldn’t.

Steve Elias, Kathryn’s lover and business partner, had also fallen during that bloody chapter. Vivian idolized him. His death, along with Kathryn’s disgrace, burned in her mind, fueling a vendetta that spanned generations. She’d been waiting for the right moment to strike back. And now, with Foxy older and out of the game, she thought the time was ripe.

But Vivian didn’t know Foxy Brown.

Foxy had stepped away from the chaos years ago, choosing peace over the battlefield. But retirement didn’t mean she’d lost her edge. She was in her early seventies now, her once jet-black afro with a few strands of silver, her body a little slower but still fierce. The scars of her battles hadn’t softened her—they’d made her sharper, wiser, and meaner.

Foxy was content to live quietly until her goddaughter, Nia, disappeared. The rumors were hard to ignore: young women being lured into Vivian Wall’s orbit, only to vanish. When Foxy heard that name—Wall—it stirred something primal in her.

Foxy stood before a mirror, adjusting her leather jacket. The years had brought more than wisdom—they’d brought resolve. “Time to remind these streets who the hell I am,” she said to her reflection before heading out.

Her first stop was a nightclub in downtown LA, a hotbed for Vivian’s operations. Foxy strode in like she owned the place, turning heads with her confident swagger. The club throbbed with bass, but the energy shifted when people recognized her.

“Foxy Brown?” the bartender asked, wide-eyed.

“You got it, baby,” she said, leaning over the counter. “Now tell me where I can find Vivian Wall.”

The bartender hesitated. “You don’t wanna mess with her. She ain’t like her grandmother—she’s worse.”

Foxy smirked. “Worse? Baby, I dealt with her grandma, her goons, and her trash boyfriend. And look—I’m still standin’. Now, you gonna tell me what I wanna know, or do I need to start breakin’ shit?”

Vivian wasn’t hard to find. The next night, Foxy crashed one of her lavish parties. Dressed in a gold jumpsuit that hugged her curves, Foxy turned every head in the room. The crowd parted as she made her way to Vivian.

Vivian Wall stood at the center of it all, a vision of icy blonde ambition. Her designer gown shimmered under the chandelier lights, but her smile was cold and calculated.

“Well, well,” Vivian said, her voice dripping with condescension. “The infamous Foxy Brown. I thought you were retired.”

Foxy looked her up and down, unimpressed. “I was, sugar. But you dragged me back. You got somethin’ of mine—Nia. Hand her over, and maybe I’ll leave what’s left of your empire standing.”

Vivian’s expression darkened. “You think you can waltz in here like it’s 1974 and scare me? Times have changed, Grandma. This is my city now.”

Foxy chuckled, a low, dangerous sound. “Baby, age ain’t nothin’ but seasoning. And I’m still the baddest thing these streets have ever seen. Now, where’s Nia?”

Vivian’s men stepped forward, surrounding Foxy. “Let’s see if you’re still as tough as you think,” Vivian sneered.

Foxy didn’t flinch. She grabbed a champagne bottle from a passing tray and smashed it over the head of the nearest thug. Chaos erupted.

The fight was a symphony of action. Foxy moved with the precision of a seasoned warrior, taking out Vivian’s men one by one. She used everything at her disposal—a high heel to the throat, a serving tray as a makeshift shield, even the cord from a microphone stand to choke one of the goons.

The crowd scattered, leaving Vivian fuming as Foxy stood triumphant over her fallen men. “You want a war, Foxy? You just got one!” Vivian screamed before storming off.

Vivian retaliated swiftly, sending her top enforcer—a hulking brute named Darnell—to take Foxy out. He caught up with her at an old diner where she was meeting one of her contacts.

“End of the line, Brown,” Darnell growled, cracking his knuckles.

Foxy didn’t even look up from her coffee. “Baby, the only thing ending tonight is your career.”

The fight was brutal. Darnell was strong, but Foxy was smarter. She used his size against him, dodging his punches and landing precise blows to his knees and throat. When he lunged at her, she smashed a plate over his head, sending him sprawling.

As he lay groaning on the floor, she leaned over him. “Tell Vivian I’m comin’ for her. And tell her to bring her best. She’s gonna need it.”

Foxy’s investigation led her to a decrepit warehouse on the outskirts of town, the nerve center of Vivian’s operation. Inside, she found a group of young women, including Nia, being held against their will.

“Foxy!” Nia cried, tears streaming down her face.

“Shh, baby,” Foxy said, breaking the lock on the cage. “I got you. Let’s get you outta here.”

But before they could escape, Vivian and her men arrived.

“Touching,” Vivian said, clapping sarcastically. “You just can’t stay out of my business, can you?”

“You made it my business when you came for my family,” Foxy snapped. “This ends tonight.”

Vivian pulled a gun, but Foxy was faster. She grabbed a metal pipe and knocked the weapon from Vivian’s hand. The room erupted into chaos as Foxy took on Vivian’s men.

Despite the odds, Foxy was unstoppable. She wielded the pipe like an extension of herself, smashing knees, ribs, and jaws. Nia even got in on the action, hitting one of the goons with a fire extinguisher.

Vivian tried to escape, but Foxy cornered her on a catwalk overlooking the warehouse floor.

“You’re just like your grandma,” Foxy said, her voice cold. “All that power, but no guts. And just like her, you’re about to fall.”

Vivian sneered. “You think this is over? I’m just getting started.”

Foxy didn’t give her the chance. With one swift punch, she sent Vivian tumbling to the ground below.

By the time the police arrived, Foxy had freed the women and gathered enough evidence to ensure Vivian’s empire crumbled.

As the sun rose over the city, Foxy stood on a rooftop with Nia.

“Why’d you do it?” Nia asked. “You didn’t have to risk your life for me.”

Foxy smiled, her gaze fixed on the horizon. “Baby, family’s all we got. And when someone messes with mine, I remind them who I am. I’m Foxy Brown. I may be older, but trust me—I’m still bad as hell.”

The streets had changed, but Foxy hadn’t. Justice, after all, never went out of style.

[kaminocasey]

As Luck Would Have It Part 3

Summary: Three years go by. You're now the head of Fisk Industries and you have a run in with Spider-Man. Old feelings get dragged up.

Pairing: Peter B. Parker x Queenpin!Reader

Warnings: 18+ MDNI; Angst, guns, knives, Smut, Oral (f receiving), unprotected p in v (wrap it up), rough sex

A/N: Ah, here we are. Last (?) part (I may do an epilogue ch)! I really love Peter B Parker so much it's actually insane. I think I'll spend the rest of my days wishing he was real. (pics from pinterest)

Marvel Masterlist - Taglist Form - Marvel Sideblog: @stevengrantnotrogers

Three Years Later…

Mary Jane Watson. That’s the woman sitting across from Peter right now. She’s pretty, has a good sense of humor, and isn't an assassin… She ticks all of Peter’s mental boxes. 

But he knows he’s not going to call this woman again. Not that there was anything wrong with her… She just isn’t you. You were his best friend, the love of his life, and his entire world. He knows he can’t recreate that with just anyone. 

When Peter gets home, the same home that the two of you shared, he takes off his tie (the tie you got him for your 5th anniversary) and goes and sits on the couch, turning on the local news. Immediately, a high speed chase catches his eye. Perhaps this is what he needs to get his mind off of you again. A distraction. 

That’s how he’s gotten by the last three years. Distraction after distraction. He throws himself into being Spider-Man even more than he used to. It’s what keeps him sane. It’s what keeps him going. 

He’s not afraid to admit that he let himself go mentally and physically the first two and a half years but now… he’s gotten back into the swing (ha, get it?) of things again. He’s proud of the progress he’s made. Peter is already out the fire escape, mask on, swinging toward the commotion down near Throgs Neck Bridge. If he’s lucky, he can catch them in time and stop them from even hitting the bridge. 

You have no idea how the hell you even managed to end up in this fucking predicament. You don’t do car chases anymore. And you sure as hell don’t chase after thieves. But here you are, on your bike, chasing after Johnny’s cousin Mike. The idiot who stole 3.5 million dollars from you after he thought you weren’t treating him fair enough. He apparently thought you’d be a pushover and that you’d just let it slide. That was his mistake. 

Mike is on the bike in front of you, while Johnny is in the SUV behind you, prepared to take Mike down if he has to. You’re pretty sure he’s going to get caught in traffic on Throgs Neck Bridge before you all hit Queens. 

A place you haven’t been in three years… 

Shaking your head, you refuse to think about it. To think about him.

“Do you see him?” Johnny’s voice is in your ear piece.

Him? 

Oh. Mike. Duh.

“Yeah, I’m closing in on him.” You reply, smirking as you pull your gun out, aiming it. 

Out of nowhere, you hear a ‘thwip’ and your gun is being pulled away from you midair. 

“What the fuck?” You look around. 

That’s when you see him. The red suit… Of course he’d be here.

“Goddammit.” You ride near the rail, almost hitting it, clearly distracted. 

You kick away from it and speed ahead a little bit. 

“I think the Spider is here.” Johnny’s voice fills your helmet again. 

“Yeah, no shit.” You grunt, pulling your bike over to take him on if you have to. “Take care of Mike. I’ll handle this.”

“You sure-” 

“Don’t question me. Go.” You bark. 

“Got it.” Johnny’s SUV speeds past you toward Mike and you pull out your knife, prepared to take on Spider-Man. 

As if he was waiting for you, he drops down from the top of the bridge, releasing the webbing from his wrist, tilting his head. You take your helmet off and rest it on your bike. 

“Long time no see…” He seems nervous.

That voice… Unfortunately, it makes your stomach do somersaults and you feel like you could throw up. 

“Well, Parker… I wish I could say it’s a pleasure.” You glare, trying your best to hide your discomfort. 

“You say that like your last name isn’t also Parker.” You can hear the smirk in his voice.

“Haven’t been a Parker in a long time.” You stare at him.

He chuckles. “You look good.”

“I know.” 

You can feel him sizing you up and then he looks down and sees the knife in your hand. 

“You planning on using that?” He asks, planting his hands on his hips.

The same hips you used to wrap your legs around… 

Jesus. Get a grip.

“If I have to.” You shrug, smirking.

“I’d rather you didn’t.”

“And I’d rather you let me pass so I can handle my business.”

“Your business? The one you inherited from the guy you put into a coma?” “I think you mean ‘we’.” You tilt your head. 

“Sweetheart, you’re the one who shot him. Not me.” He shakes his head.

Your chest tightens at him calling you ‘sweetheart’ and you know you shouldn’t allow that. 

“Don’t call me that.” You step toward him. 

He puts his hands up in defense. “My bad. You prefer Queenpin?”

“That guy stole over 3 million dollars from me… I have to get it back.” You roll your shoulders slightly.

It’s been a minute since you’ve had to fight someone yourself. But you’re pretty sure it’s like riding a bike. Once you throw a punch, everything else will come back to you… You think. 

What if your body betrays you and won’t let you fight him?

Peter says your name and you nearly stop, afraid that your thought process might be right. Unfortunately, you know if you don’t do this, no one will take you seriously from now on. You’ve worked too hard to get where you’re at to throw it all away for Peter again.

“I have to.” You shake your head.

And then you throw your knife, knowing he’d be able to dodge it. It lands in a car behind him as he dodges it, just as you expected he would. Then you throw a punch, which he unfortunately catches so you rear back and spin and kick him in the chest, sending him flying into the side of a Prius. Which you can’t help but chuckle at.

“That yours?” You smirk.

He chuckles. “I wish. It handled that better than a bike would. Great on gas too.” 

You hate that he can still make you smile even after you shattered each other’s hearts. 

“Jesus, you really do talk too much.” You start to get frustrated.

More with yourself than him.

“You never said that when we used to-” 

You run at him and jump, landing with your thighs around his neck, spinning him so he lands on the ground with an ‘oof’. 

He’s breathless as he tries to talk again. “Have to say… missed these thighs suffocating me…”

Christ… That shouldn’t turn you on as much as it does. 

“Shut. The fuck. Up.” You squeeze your thighs around his neck, trying to knock him out.

He says your name again and without meaning to, you let go of him, kicking him away from you, making him stumble. 

“I don’t want to hurt you.” He says, his voice soft enough to make you want to cry. 

“I think you and I both know it’s a little too late for that, Peter.” You murmur. 

With a shake of your head, you run back toward your bike, throwing your helmet on and speeding away. You just need to get away from this bridge… Away from him. 

Peter watches you go. He wants nothing more than to stop you and beg for you back. To tell you he made a huge mistake. He knows that you taking over for Fisk is his own fault. He should’ve been there for you… He shouldn’t have run away… 

Before he even realizes he’s doing it, he’s following you over the bridge toward the Bronx. If he could just… talk to you… one on one. Preferably without trying to kill each other. Maybe he could fix things… 

When you get back to your apartment in the Bronx, you do everything you can to not break down and cry.

Instead, you call Johnny for an update. 

“Money is secured. Mike is being dealt with.” Johnny replies.

You can hear Peter in your head to not kill Mike… that you’re better than that.

“Boss?” Johnny speaks into the silence when you don’t reply. 

Ugh. Goddammit, Peter…

“Turn him over to the NYPD. He can be their problem.” You sigh. 

“Boss… I don’t think-” Johnny starts but you snap at him.

“I don’t pay you to think, now do I?” There’s venom in your tone. But also exhaustion.

“Right. Consider it done.” Johnny clicks off and you toss your phone onto your bed, beginning to pace. 

Every word that was said between you and Peter starts to replay in your mind. Every touch, every chuckle, everything. It made you feel alive again, despite the heartache of it all. 

Would there ever be a possibility of you and Peter finding your way back to each other again one day? Maybe when you’re both gray and too old to be doing this shit anymore… Until then-

The sliding of your window pulls you out of your thoughts and you immediately pull your gun out and point it at the intruder. 

“Woah woah, hey! Just me.” Peter sits halfway in the windowsill, his hands up in surrender.

You don’t put your gun down until he takes off his mask, one handed, still keeping the other one up to let you know he’s not here to hurt you. It reminds you of when he’d come home through the window of your first apartment together and you try your best to push the memory out of your mind.

“You followed me?” You tuck away your gun in the back of your pants, shrugging off your leather jacket and tossing it into the chair in the corner of your room. 

He’s not subtle in the way his eyes rake over your form in your black t-shirt and tighter fitting black jeans. It makes your burn hotter than you’d care to admit. 

“I did.” He admits freely, stepping into your apartment. “Almost scared the 12 cats of the lady right underneath you.” 

You can’t help but shrug. “That lady’s rude anyway. Always vacuuming in the middle of the night.” 

He lets out a huff of a laugh and for a very small moment, things feel like they used to. But that can’t last long, can it? 

“So what do you want Peter?” You stand six feet away from him, your hands on your hips.

He’s quiet for a moment, clearly thinking of what to say. You give him a moment before interrupting him.

“Look-”

“I’m sorry.” His words make you pause.

“What?” “I’m… so so… sorry.” Peter steps a foot closer to you. “I shouldn’t have left that day. I should’ve heard you out… tried to understand your reasoning for things. I’m just… beyond sorry.”

His words send that familiar ache throughout your body and you feel like you’re either going to cry or throw up. Hopefully neither, but who knows.

“Peter…” You whisper, never breaking eye contact with those warm brown eyes you’ve missed since the last day you saw them three years ago.

He cautiously crosses the rest of the gap and takes your hand. “Can I-”

Not bothering to let him finish his sentence, you crush your lips to his, grabbing onto the spider suit as much as you can. His arms circle around your waist, pulling you against him. It’s messy and both of you have tears falling as his tongue begs for entrance into your mouth. You grant him entrance by deepening the kiss, suddenly not able to get close enough. 

“Not gonna need this.” He pulls your gun out of the back of your pants and tosses it to the floor and starts to unbutton your jeans.

“Haven’t decided yet.” You smirk against his lips, kicking your boots off somewhere, making Peter chuckle. 

He groans softly once he has your pants down on the ground and quickly drops to his knees, his hands sliding up your thighs around to the globes of your ass. He squeezes roughly before placing a kiss just above your pantyline. 

“Need to taste you again… please, baby.” He begs softly, looking up at you with needy eyes. “Been too fucking long.”

You can’t help the soft whimper that leaves your lips as you look down at your ex husband on his knees for you. Honestly, he’s never looked so good. 

When you used to have sex, you were more submissive but now… there’s definitely a noticeable dynamic change. It doesn’t seem like either one of you mind, though. 

“Can I please?” He whispers, begging for permission. 

You nod once and he wastes no time yanking your underwear down, tossing them away from your body, and diving his tongue right into your eager pussy. The sound he makes is just downright sinful, causing vibrations throughout your warmth. 

Fuck, how you missed this. 

“God, Peter…” You moan, running your fingers through his hair and gripping tightly. “Don’t fucking stop.”

He moans again and your hips buck against his tongue, the sounds of your soaked pussy filling the room. Unfortunately, your legs start to go weak. As if he can sense it, he pushes you back on your bed, his mouth never leaving your cunt. 

“Fuck…” He groans against you. “Better than I remember.”

When he pushes a finger into you, your back arches up off the bed and you look down at him with lust blown eyes. He’s smirking right up at you and you roll your eyes, both of you chuckling. It’s starting to feel like no time has passed. 

“Feel good?” He whispers, his free hand holding you down over your stomach so that you can’t go anywhere.

You nod, only being able to manage a whimper. 

“God you’re so tight.” He pushes a second finger in and you can feel your body starting to tense up, the desire for Peter coursing through your veins the way spider venom courses through Peter’s. “You think you can still take my cock?”

Your eyes roll back in your head at the way Peter speaks such dirty things to you. 

“I bet you can… can’t you, baby?” He practically coos before his lips and tongue attack your clit again at the same time that he curls his fingers inside of you, threatening to bring you to the edge. 

“I- I can.” You whisper. “Haven’t had anyone else since you.” 

He groans roughly at that and your body immediately goes white hot as you’re pushed completely over the mental cliff, coming loudly as your hands fly to his hair again, practically writhing on his face. 

It’s incredible that your body still reacts the same exact way to Peter as it used to. 

“Incredible. Fucking beautiful.” He moans before quickly sliding out of his suit and climbing into the bed with you as you pull yourself up to the pillows at the head of the bed. 

Peter’s lips find yours, causing you to taste yourself on his tongue. It’s been so long… you forgot what this felt like. You pull him down to you so that his long length slides along your pussy enough to make you both groan against each other’s lips. 

“God… it’s so hot.” He reaches between you and slaps your pussy a few times before dipping just the tip in. 

Your nails rake down Peter’s shoulders, your legs spreading eagerly for him. “Fuck me already.” 

“Impatient as always.” He smirks, resting his forehead against yours. “Good to know not much has changed.”

He looks down where he keeps dipping the head of his cock in and out, teasing you. 

“We have plenty of time to tease each other. Now is not the time.” You whine. 

“So you’re saying this is gonna happen again.” He teases. 

“Peter.” It comes out breathless as you give him a warning glare.

He moans. “God, I still love the way you say my name. Say it again, babygirl.”

He starts to slide his cock in further and all you can do is moan Peter’s name like it's a prayer to God himself. The stretch feels way too good, way better than you remember.

“God, I missed you.” He whispers breathlessly as he slides all the way in, bottoming out. 

You can’t help but clench around him. “I missed you.”

His large hands grip your thighs firmly, pushing them back to open you up more to him and you clench around his cock at the new angle. 

“Oh yeah… She remembers me.” He teases, referring to your pussy and the way it’s still made just for him.

“Jesus, Peter.” You roll your eyes, a soft breathless laugh leaving your lips before he kisses you lightly. 

“Tell me you didn’t miss this.” He laughs as he pulls out and then thrusts back in.

“I- I can’t.” You whisper against his lips. 

He continues pulling out and pushing back in, trying his best to savor the feeling, but you can tell he wants to lose control… to lose himself in you.

“Peter…” You moan to let him know it’s okay, that you’re not going anywhere. 

You can see the switch flip and he roughly shoves his cock back into you and buries his face in your neck, breathing you in with a low growl. As your hands find their way back in his hair, he ruts against you mercilessly, desperately. As if you could disappear again at any moment. 

“Fuck I love you…” His voice is raspy and low. “Never fucking stopped. Missed you so goddamn much.” 

All you can do is kiss him, a lump in your throat threatening to send you into a fit of tears. But he pulls away to look into your eyes, searching with a furrowed brow. He wants to know if you still love him, his thrusting never stopping or letting up. 

“Fuck Peter, I love you too.” The tears spill. “Of course I do.” 

Without a warning, his orgasm is ripped from him, coating your walls in that familiar come that you’ve missed more than words could even begin to describe. He growls against your lips as they collide with your own.

“I’m- I’m sorry.” He lets out a breathless laugh after a moment, his chest heaving against yours.

“Don’t be.” You let out a laugh with him, still unable to quite believe Peter is in your bed with you. 

He stays hovering over you for a moment, his eyes squinting with delight just to be able to be looking at you and holding again. 

“God, you’re just as beautiful as the day we got married.” He whispers, leaning in and pressing his lips to yours. You roll your eyes and he grins, collapsing next to you. “You roll your eyes but I’m only telling the truth.”

“Shut up.” You push him onto his back, climbing on top of him and kissing him as he hands finding your hips. 

“Listen… I know we have a lot to discuss… but I’m in this. No matter what. If we have to keep our businesses separate…” He tries but you shake your head.

“That would never work…” You murmur, kissing down his chest, causing his back to slightly arch into your touch. “I’m giving it up. I’ll go work in actual publishing if I fucking have to.” 

He lets out a loud laugh. “Can we get a Prius?”

You groan. “Could you be any more annoying?” 

“Easily.” He winks. “Answer the question.”

You rest your head on his chest. “Fine. But I’m not selling my bike.��� 

“I can live with that.” He pulls you back down to kiss you again and then rolls you over onto your back, already ready for round two. 

It’s going to take a lot of work, trust, and therapy… But you know that if you and Peter were able to find your way back to each other, you can find a way to make a better future. And as cheesy as it sounds, as long as you have each other, you know you’ll be okay. 

[themememerchant]

P5R ARCANA SWAP AU IDEAS I HAD

These are all small little ideas and thoughts I have for my fanfiction Queenpin Of The Metaverse which I will hopefully be able to begin publishing on ao3 soon enough

So until then, have this moderately sized collection of random facts about the swapped thieves personalities and such

HERE WE FUCkIN GO:

Something not mentioned the original post but is important to know is that the phantom thieves are effectively a giant polycule, many of them are dating each other with Sophia being the exception-(she’s 10)

Sumire, Futaba, Haru, and Ann all trying on Makoto’s bomber jacket when they think nobody’s looking and Makoto thinking they’re adorable

Yuuki trying-(and failing)-to “rizz up” Sumire without knowing what the phrase actually means while everyone else gets 2nd-hand embarrassment

Futaba calling Sumi and Makoto her “Waifus for life-u”

Akira 100% being like Gomez Addams where he challenges the sun to a duel because Goro or Sumi got sunburned

“EN GUARDE, Mon Soleil!”

“Akira, that’s the sun-”

“EN GUARDE, I SAY!”

Yuuki pulling stupidly annoying yet harmless pranks on everyone like giving them 1,000 yen in nothing but 10 yen coins

Anytime someone tries to get a favor from Makoto she pulls out a box of pocky sticks and says: “Ya gotta play for it.”

Sumire doing weight lifting instead of gymnastics because she still wants to be fit

Makoto spots her

Yusuke giving off cat energy by getting stuck in the stupidest places and crying about it

Haru being weirdly talented with every niche thing she tries like drawing and singing

People ask how she got so good and she just shrugs innocently with legitimately zero explanation, she’s just built different

Sophia and Sumire both use age regression to cope with abuse from their respective parents and they set up playdates constantly

Futaba is Sophia’s designated caregiver

Makoto and Ann take turns being Sumi’s caregivers-(they begrugingly agreed to share custody)

TW: ALL THE STUFF ASSOSCIATED WITH KAMOSHITHEAD 

Yuuki having a “Poison” moment like Angel from Hazbin, except the song flips between him being beaten and assaulted in the P.E. office and his cognitive self coming onto Kamoshida

In reference to the above, Makoto and Yuuki having a “Loser, Baby” moment where they bond over hating Kamoshithead once Yuuki awakens

Sumire saying things like: “Everything’s jake!”, and nobody knows what the fuck she means until she needs to explain

Sumire using slang from the American 20’s is such a funny concept to me since not only is it outdated terminology, it’s also in a perfect NY American accent from a Japanese highschool girl

The thieves taking on traits from their personas in general is such a fun idea to work with

Sumire with her slang as i already said but also being enthralled by jazz music and early 20th century fashion

Goro having excellent deductive reasoning and fascination with random knowledge, he also has slight opium cravings

Makoto having inexplicable knowledge on sailing and being really good at bargaining and negotiation

Futaba emitting an aura of almost royal-like confidence that makes other students fall head over heels for her

Yuuki being a master of sneaking up on people by accident and having a really good poker-face

Sophia having a child-like curiosity over basic things like why the sky is blue and how rain works

Akira speaking in random bursts of Latin and Greek, he also begins writing poetry in his free time

Haru saying obscenities with a Southern-belle accent and being really good at working a crowd

Yusuke being followed by Paimon’s demonic parade so anyone near him will hear faint sounds of drums and trumpets when he walks

Ann suddenly becomes a master tactician who was even able to beat Goro at chess once, she also unconsciously whispers French prayers sometimes

Ryuji is a masterful pick-pocket-(Nezumi Kozo)-with great public speaking skills-(Maximilien)-, he later gets a side job with crossdressing-(Nezumi Kozo again)-

Goro and Akira having the same homoerotic tension between each other as canon but Akira is less self-assured and Goro is not a murderer but is still very threatening and intimidating

Ann has a “resting bitch face” because she has trouble expressing her emotions, so most students are too afraid to talk to her. After she joins and starts dating some of the thieves everyone just looks so confused as this gorgeous-yet-stone-faced blonde model starts hugging a red-headed cinnamon roll-(Sumi)-while looking as stoic as ever

Even better when Sumi makes comments like: ”Awww, It seems someone's in an extra good mood today!” And then Ann goes: “Thanks, I was hoping you’d notice.”

The students around them have no idea how anyone was supposed to know the blonde’s emotions, but Sumi is just built different

FUCK NOW I WANT TO MAKE A ONESHOT ABT THIS FUCK-

Yusuke and Futaba are both pretty smart people but when they try to work together they end up canceling out each other’s brain cells and becoming morons

Ann probably wears berets sometimes and the thieves poke fun at her by calling her a "French stereotype"

And that is all for now, who knows what else my diseased mind shall spit out next…

Until then, adieu all ye power tops

[cloudbattrolls]

It's A Kindness, Highness

Inshii | Suunaq Industrial Complex | Present Night

On a plain in the west of Alternia lay a sort of company town, a small, miserable settlement clinging to part of it like a brutalist blister.

A place few trolls had come willingly, and only in the employ of the corporation-gang that lined their pockets.

A place controlled by a mass of sapient parasites, one currently occupied with spreadsheets detailing all the people they kept there.

Inshii tapped away at their laptop when their silenced phone flashed a voicemail notification. They raised one thick finger to press the button that would play it, hearing aids attached to their fins gleaming silver in the low light of their office.

“Mx. Suunaq! We need you on-site. There have been multiple issues and we can’t seem to find the cause. You should really see this.”

The panicked recording of the factory supervisor irritated them, fins flicking as they rolled their eyes.

What did he need them on-site for? They knew their way around technology, yes, but they didn’t have time to fuss over factory problems. They turned back to their spreadsheets, their triple-screen setup glowing in front of them like it had for the past three…four?...hours. 

They rubbed at their eyes - undead though they were, the glare was starting to get to them. 

This was the fifth instance this week. They had all been minor things - glitches in the system that lasted a few seconds, slight inconsistencies in the security records, and brief measurement difficulties with their blood stock. Some sort of tiny weight discrepancy, as if something had been added, but testing had turned up nothing.

They’d all been looked into and fixed. The repetitiveness was irritating, but no connecting thread had been identified.

Of course the problems had started right after they’d gotten good news not long ago, too - they’d heard through their fae contacts that Ullane Wistim was indeed still alive, despite all her clinic’s work and QPIN connections somehow vanishing over a sweep ago. 

Reclaiming her would be quite useful, given it was the regenerative serums she had made that had allowed Ozryel to take on a troll form again. 

Queenpin would be pleased as well. It never hurt to have more credit with the ordinary rainbowdrinker; Inshii had no desire to unseat her when she was there to take the empire’s displeasure directly. Staying deeper in her favor than those in the gang who tried to unseat them was both satisfying and amusing when it caused those petty backstabbers frustration.

They’d also heard that Kaningård was forced to host an imperial agent now. They’d smirked to receive the news, imagining Tuuya having to deal with keeping their little mutant foster project hidden. Likely only a matter of time before the cavern was found out and the inferior second worm swarm was brought in for treason.

Their phone vibrating interrupted their fond imaginings and they scowled, picking it up. What now?

“Mx. Suunaq, please, the factory has locked us all out somehow - and the workers - the workers are revolting, they have weapons, we don’t know how -“

Inshii went still as the call dropped. All their wings and antennae went rigid inside their skin.

That shouldn’t be possible.

All employees were searched when leaving and entering the factory for theft or unauthorized possession of anything they shouldn’t have and monitored constantly by both their security cameras and their butterflies free-flying in the city. 

They were all debtors to QPIN - wretches whose gambling, drug use and other crimes had put them in the corporation-gang’s pocket and for whom there were few choices to pay off their misdemeanors.

Those in the butterfly swarm’s employ had chosen labor.

Labor and blood donation.

A small portion of it went to QPIN for medical uses. But much of it was split between Inshii and their jadeblooded fellow.

They were a large swarm, after all. They needed a great deal of troll blood, their hunger never satiated for long. Much more convenient to have a steady, constant supply than to waste time on hunting. Living trolls were a renewable source; killing them was only justified if they were too inconvenient to let live.

They got up, wings fluttering again as they moved -

Their free-flying butterflies in the town.

Even the ones on Nott Station. 

Gone. 

All dead at once. With no warning.

Inshii snarled as they tore open the door of their office and ran for the building’s entrance, much faster than their tall, heavyset troll frame would seem capable of moving. Their long hair streamed behind them; they had no time or inclination to put it up in a bun or ponytail. 

In seconds they raced through the streets - 

The empty streets.

Where was everyone?

Where were the workers?

The supervisors?

They could hear a faint breeze as it whistled around the street lights. 

A crow landed on one, watching them with black eyes as it cawed.

Another joined it.

Inshii’s eyes narrowed. 

They let out butterflies to attack the crows, but the birds flew away the moment they split their skin, so the swarm recalled them.

They didn’t smell death, and as all drinkers did, they had a good nose for it.

So why…?

They continued to the factory.

The squarish gray building, a fixture there for hundreds of sweeps, looked the same as ever.

Its doors were flung open. The lights were on inside.

Still they could see, smell, and hear no one. Not a single troll.

Watching this surreal scene from a few dozen feet away, they opened their phone to make a call.

No signal. No connection to the factory’s security system. 

The device began to melt in their hand as they cast it aside with a bewildered curse.

Shiny metal liquid and plastic dripped down as the phone, functional and intact seconds ago, became little more than a puddle of sludge on the pavement.

Their fins flicked. They should go back. This was getting out of control. 

The butterfly swarm turned - 

Crows.

Dozens. Hundreds, maybe. It was hard to tell.

Silently, they perched on the lights. On the buildings. Some flew in the air, their wingbeats steady as they watched the false violet.

Inshii hissed at them through needle fangs. They were the eldest of Ozryel’s children, and these birds thought they could intimidate them?

They took their laser gun from their sylladex -

It stuck to them. It cut into their head, turning into blades, slicing their skin, cutting into their insects - 

With a screech they flung it away and backed up, body rippling with shock and anger as their own weapon betrayed them. It smashed into the pavement and broke, but their pupils were slits, butterfly-like pink and violet fins fanned out in rage. 

The birds sitting still hadn’t moved an inch. The flying ones had landed. All of them stared at the rainbow drinker.

The factory, they thought. There would be a way to communicate in there. Computers. Phones.

Something.

There had to be something.

They ran for the open entryway, half expecting them to shut in their face just to continue this ridiculous haunted hive nonsense. 

The automatic glass doors instead remained invitingly open as Inshii sailed through them and came to an abrupt stop.

The factory was still brightly lit, its lobby the same as ever. 

Boot prints still covered the floor. The logbook laid open on the reception desk.

The computer was still there, though its screen was black.

No signs of a struggle. 

The doors shut behind them.

They scoffed as they stepped toward the technology.

“Whoever you are, you’ll have to try harder than that.” They drawled. “I’ve been on this planet for over four thousand sweeps. Do you think your cheap tricks intimidate me?”

They reached the computer, looking and listening, their internal antennae twitching in disdain as their fins did the same.

“You might be good with technology, and I don’t know what you’ve done with my trolls, but it won’t end well for you.” They said with supreme disdain. “I’m the butterfly. You’re just a pest.”

Laughter, buzzing and technological, echoed through the room. They couldn’t quite tell where it was coming from - were their hearing aids faulty? 

They laid a hand on the keyboard -

And could move no more.

Their whole body froze, except their mouth. Every last segment of their insects was motionless in their skin. They couldn’t even twitch an eye.

How? How could this be?

Then the walls…moved.

They rippled. Like their own insects could do, under their skin.

The metal walls partially warped into flesh, damp pink biowire rising from the hard gray material.

Inshii snarled.

“Stop with your nonsense. What do you want?”

Mercy, came a whisper. Again, they couldn’t tell where it was coming from. It was as if the voice was whispering directly into their hearing aids.

“Mercy!” They laughed - short, sharp and unamused. “I am merciful, compared to much of QPIN. My workers know exactly what their terms are. They know what they will pay, when, why, and how much left there is. They know what mistakes will add more to their sentences or cause them to lose more blood. I don’t have time to humor your dramatics.”

They struggled vainly to move anything besides their mouth.

Nothing.

“SECURITY COMMAND OVERRIDE FIVE SEVEN THREE.” They barked.

Again came the laughter.

Inshii remembered, then, that their eggshell was no more. Destroyed by that wretched hemoanon. 

Every butterfly aside from this body had been snuffed out.

For the first time in ten millennia, the eater of countless trolls knew the cornered and furious helplessness of prey.

Then they felt a tearing sensation within them. Legs and wings and chitin, shredded, by a growing foreign presence in their body, a -

A curling, heaving mass of blades burst its way out of their chest. Metallic, yet…alive. As the things crawled like insects, they gleamed like the biowire in the walls. Like the dampness of new flesh.

Coalescing as if from nothing - no.

They saw their own folded white wings and legs melded with the material. Layered into it, without seam or gap, as if they were one and the same.

How?

How could this be?

The blades scuttled around their body. Gripping them. Becoming heavy as they grew more of themselves.

They felt the buzz. Saw the slight visual glitch.

Spacial distortion tech, the false violet realized. And something…something else…

Stunned disbelief spread through them even as the blades weighed them down, growing like a terrible metallic fractal.

This couldn’t be it. This couldn’t be how it ended. Not for them, after all these sweeps.

They were the butterfly. One of the two last true drinker swarms.

The blades formed into…arms. Arms that pried their stiff mouth open.

Wings. Luminous metallic wings hanging off their body, spreading across the floor, creeping up and joining with the walls as they grew like kudzu vines before their eyes.

The walls, too, grew out into biowire tendrils, as did the ceiling. The floors as well, in shapes and patterns that to the water of trolls almost resembled the cells of a troll brain. 

Inshii - ancient, well-traveled across the empire and its colonies - had no idea what they were seeing.

It didn’t feel like a horrorterror. Their sense of reality was fine; if anything, they felt exceptionally aware, as if the world itself pressed down heavier than usual.

It was no fae. No other supernatural being they had ever encountered. No alien they knew of.

The blades clinging to them, the ones attached to the arms, formed into a vaguely troll shaped body.

The face looking at them was not.

A short, blunt brown face with long serrations on the sides of the mouth. Glowing compound green eyes. A mane of white hair. Two slender silver antennae.

Its segmented, taloned hands kept their mouth pried open, and the face bit their teeth out of their mouth.

Every last needle-like fang was torn from their gums and crunched into pieces.

They’d regrow. They always -

The swarm’s mouth remained empty. Defenseless.

Mercy, whispered the voice again, and this time it reverberated through them - coming from their own hearing aids.

Inshii felt…light. They felt their body start to…break apart. Cleanly this time. Painlessly.

Butterfly by butterfly, they flew out of their skin on a will that was not their own. They circled round the biowire and the wings, landing on the shoulders of the thing with its hands still gripped around their empty mouth.

They changed.

The pure white insects became metallic and iridescent, and Inshii could not feel themself anymore as they turned, quicker and quicker, fading away as every last part of the swarm became something else.

Consciousness dying, Inshii witnessed their own end unable to do anything, drained of self but by bit.

Soon all the butterflies had left their skin, and the air was thick with silver insects.

The rainbow drinker was no more. 

Only their stolen, altered body remained.

—

Hundreds of debtors, transported outside the city and sealed out of it by a forcefield, found a cheerful notification on their phones showing proof that their arrears and records were gone from QPIN databases.

Stupefied, they wondered how this could be. They wondered even more when they’d found the money and supplies provided for them.

They did not question it or linger, leaving behind the miserable town and its factories as quickly as they could, given that several were weakened from frequent blood loss.

They could only assume, as a mass of crows rose and flew from the city, that this was some sort of bizarre miracle.

The birds circled above them overhead, seeing that no harm came to the newly freed trolls as they stumbled away into the night. 

Free at last.

[sercphs]

@boomermania asked: " 'Father' let someone like you join the Hearth? " The domineering crime queenpin looked at the Fatui agent from head-to-toe. Methodically observing, circling her around like a stalking rabid dog. Will she pounce? That depends on the young fatuus' answer... ( Devona to Fatui Fish )

"One should say the same to thee, ast gazing upon the stride of such a disappointment to 'Father' and the 'Family,' it truly ist a wonder how thou ever believed thyself worthy of even standing in her shadow."

⠀⠀⠀⠀The usual chipper upturn to her tune is gone in a flash, her gaze watching the greatest disappointment of the House striding like she's more than she is - more than a failure and a traitor. Just as much as Devona gauges Fischl, she is analyzed right back.

⠀⠀⠀⠀Fischl had done her research on this one, read all about her - a gun and electro delusion, tendencies to run away the second things get ugly, a coward at heart yet easily provoked...

"It ist a wonder that thou accomplishes anything in thine life, given how disappointing thou must find thyself. Warum nicht einfach verschwinden?"

⠀⠀⠀⠀There will be no success in trying to glean anything clear about the younger operative, just the vision resting on her back - mixed reports on what weapon she chooses to wield... And the unending verbosity - containing subtle cruelties.

[edgeworthsstupidbangs]

Title: Worthy

Author: Jada Pinkett Smith

Pages: 405

Format: Print

Genre: Memoir (possibly self help?)

Rating: 3 out of 5

This memoir just wasn't for me. I didn't really know about Jada Pinkett Smith or her career before this and…it doesn't make me want to really explore more of her career or like follow her on social media so I could hear more from her.

She's kind of had her hand in a little of everything when it comes to acting, singing, and dancing which was interesting to read about. She definitely had a very rough upbringing and it was interesting for her to write about how though she had a tough time, she could see the happy moments through it. I agree with her on that front of trying to remember the happy and not swim in the sadness, sort of speak.

I guess my main issues with her are some of the choices she made for her upbringing herself, how she handles mistakes versus how others do, and some of her spirituality choices. 

One of the first things that boggled my mind was how she was a crack dealer while her mother was addicted to crack. It wasn't even told from a perspective of like she learned that it was not a smart move or anything. No, she really wanted to be a “queenpin” and didn't care about the direct harm it caused. Just because she wasn't selling to her mom doesn't mean she wasn't hurting someone else's. She even talks about people she grew up with like Tupac who had an addicted mother, but never does it click on any of her spiritual journeys that this might have been fucked up.

It plays into a little bit of my second reason that she really picks and chooses where she was wrong and where she wasn't. Its almost like if she can explain it or it makes her more dimensional, its fine! Who cares how bad you look? She does this not only with the drugs thing but with some of her issues that led up to her not fully divorce but not open marriage with Will Smith and the fact that her “entanglement” was with one of her son's friends. Girl…that isnt a good look. But she just says it like “Well, Will knew so its fine!” Uhhh…

My last thing was during her spiritual journeys, she mentioned at one point being a Scientologist and studying the religion and…im sorry, but no. There are so many people escaping scientology, people like rapists that theyre defending to keep the religion look good, and youre treating it like “well, every perspective of religion is important!” Kindly go to hell. How do you sit there and tall about the oppression of black folks, especially black women, but ignore the abuse thats going with that so you can collect religious understanding as if they were pokemon cards? Never did she say anything like “Hey. It was bad of me to do this especially with things that have come out.”

The writing is good. Its well edited and you can tell she put thought into it but if she thinks that i'm going to fully sit there and do self help work with her, she's mistaken. The only thing i didnt like was the like paragraphs of bragging about people shes met. It should have been edited.

Was this worth the read? No, but I see why she, her husband by law only, and her kids act like the way they do.

[charming-or-tedious]

Demons run when a good man goes to war

INT. DEA OFFICE, DAY - CONFERENCE ROOM

WESLEY and SGT. GREY are meeting with DEA Agent TAGGART.

WESLEY That's not good enough.

TAGGART With all due respect, you wouldn't be in this meeting unless a U.S. Senator didn't owe your family a favor.

WESLEY My fiancée was just abducted by a cartel queenpin who is running circles around the DEA, so don't give me that. --

GREY Okay! Okay, okay. This is getting us nowhere. So...what are you doing to get my detective back alive?

TAGGART The DEA is using all available resources to track down any intel on La Fiera's recent actions. But here's the hard truth -- you have no proof that Detective Lopez was even on that plane.

GREY If they were going to kill her, they would have done it at the same time as Officer West. She's still alive...and I'm not gonna lose another cop. Do you understand me?

WESLEY If we get proof that Angela was on that plane, you'll go get her?

TAGGART [ Sighs ] Look, believe it or not, I am not a bad guy. But when you are this high up the federal food chain, there is a layer of politics that needs to be navigated. Now, the reality is, you could bring me that proof. I can't act on it -- not right away.

GREY [Shouts] If we don't move heaven and earth to protect our own, it'll be open season on cops! Even a suit like you should understand that.

TAGGART Sergeant, I share your frustration --

GREY [Still shouting] My frustration?! I lost a kid who was like a son to me! What I'm feeling... [voice breaks] is biblical! So, if you are done wasting my time, I have a killer to catch and a friend to save.

He strides out of the room.

WESLEY Do you at least know where La Fiera would take Angela?

TAGGART Ascertaining that information is our number-one priority.

WESLEY Mine, too.

You gotta understand - Sgt. Grey had been mean, grumpy and tired all 3 seasons. But seeing him loose it like this…? raising his voice?!

jfc

Character development 👌

[softsan]

˚ 🥀⊹ 𝐃𝐀𝐑𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐄𝐕𝐈𝐋, 𝐌𝐀𝐊𝐄 𝐇𝐈𝐌 𝐒𝐌𝐈𝐋𝐄. (𝐩𝐭.𝟑)

✉️ ・ 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭.

✉️ ・ ── 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐬: | 01 | 02 | 03 | 04 |

✉️ ・ ── 𝐦𝐚𝐟𝐢𝐚 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐟𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐬 | 𝐲/𝐧'𝐬 𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐬

✉️ ・ ── 𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: Mafia AU, Angst, Kingpin!Taeyong, Queenpin!Y/N, Fem!Reader, Childhood friends, Betrayal, Enemies to lovers, Eventual Smut.

✉️ ・ ── 𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐜𝐫𝐢𝐩𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧:  You were the only surviving heir of the old-time Mafia kingpin that had ruled the four territories. You were long thought to be dead, living the normal life you had always wanted...Until you run into a Taeyong, a formidable ghost from your past. You are then thrown back into the Mafia underbelly, reuniting with enemies you had hoped had forgotten you. Will you run away? Will you stand beside Taeyong, kingpin of the North, and be his queen? Or will you take your rightful revenge.

✉️ ・ ── 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: Possessive Themes, Future Explicit Sexual Content, Murder, Kidnapping, Strangulation, Torture, Weapons, Graphic Violence, Heavy Angst, Explicit Language, Alcohol Consumption, Mentions of Drugs, Betrayal, Morally Grey Characters.

✉️ ・ ── 𝐨𝐩𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐥 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭.

Past.

Click.

You choked out a silent cry, your vision darkening as your world closed in on you.

Taeyong’s hand was trembling, his gun still pointed against the base of your skull. He let out a hopeless gasp, his chest relentlessly pounding.

He had pulled the trigger. You were supposed to have died by his hand. He was to end your beautiful existence. He was to snuff out the brightest light to have ever entered his miserable life.

“Taeyong!” His partner cursed “Hurry up and do it!”

“I’m out of bullets,” Taeyong said, no louder than a whisper.

He slowly pulled the gun away from you, relief washing over him.

“She trusted you,” Your brother spat, his voice laced with venom, “She trusted you and you stand over her to fire a bullet into her brain!” He thrashed the chains which tied to his wrist, against the hardwood floors.

Taeyong’s partner laughed. “The weak don’t deserve to live.” He circled closer, offering his loaded gun to Taeyong.

Taeyong’s hand felt numb as he accepted the gun.

“Take the brother out. He talks too much.”

Taeyong stared at the cold metal between his fingers.

“Do I have to repeat myself?”

He didn’t.

Taeyong fired. Blood splattered against the white walls. The roar of the gunshot echoed endlessly into the night.

You wanted desperately to pry your eyes open, but your eyelids felt so heavy. Your body ached; your limbs groaned. Your lungs felt like fire, screaming with every shallow breath you took.

“So, this is Silas’ precious daughter?” A woman taunted, her voice growing louder as did her footsteps. 

Father? 

“Silas’ most prized possession,” She almost sang, “Just look at this priceless cage he built to keep her safe.”

“There is no such thing as safe,” A man added to the conversation, “At least not in our world.”

“Who cares?!” Another said impatiently, “Let's get it over with and kill the bitch.” 

The woman chuckled as you felt the patter of her icy fingers graze across your neck. 

“The four crescent-cut diamonds,” Her voice softened, delicately holding up your golden necklace. “I’ve only heard about it in rumors, who would have thought such an exquisite piece actually exists.”

“A memento!” The older gentlemen exclaimed. “For us, the new rulers of this unforgiving land.”

“There are only three of us and four diamonds?”

“Never mind about that.” The woman cut in, “We still have to kill the little girl.”

I don’t want to die. Your lips refused to move. There’s so much I still haven’t done...

The barbed steel wrapped around your neck, messily cutting up your flesh. It tightened, strangling around your throat.

In another life, you wouldn’t make the same mistakes. In another life, you wouldn’t be friends with Taeyong.

Present.

You stared stonily at the food laid out in front of you. Despite, the constant rumble of your stomach you stubbornly held your ground.

“If you behave, then I'll sneak you some dessert.” The young man tried to bargain with you. You had quickly learned his name to be Mark.

“I’m not hungry,” You turned your nose.

Mark scratched the back of his head, unsure how to handle you. After all, you were Taeyong’s distinguished guest, if any harm were to come to you, Mark would surely lose an arm for it.

In Taeyong’s absence he had Mark set up security cameras, guards, and twenty-four-hour patrols. All to ensure you stayed in Taeyong’s residence.  

Mark heard the buzz from his phone. It was Gracie. He rejected the call. He wouldn’t make the same mistake again. He wouldn't underestimate your will to escape.

The last time he was briefly distracted, you’d managed to shatter a window with your bare hands. Mark had just caught you in time before you were about to launch yourself out of the third-story window.

Mark remembered the long-hanging curtains. They danced in the wind as he desperately applied pressure on your bleeding wounds.

“Please just don’t try anything stupid again.” Mark squeezed his eyes in frustration, “I’m already down an arm.”

You slightly tilted your head not following the last part.

“Taeyong’s so going to cut another one-off, if you keep harming yourself.”

You glanced at your bandaged hands, reminded of your recent antics.

“So please stay put and eat something.”

Just as you were to refuse, you heard the bedroom door burst open. In came a disheveled Taeyong, his hair a mess, his tie loosened around his neck.

“I won’t let you starve yourself.”

Mark let out a sigh of relief, saluting his boss.

“You can go,” Taeyong released Mark from his duties.

“Ah, and about my arm boss?”

“Leave.”

Mark wasted no longer, quickly scurrying outside the room and closing the door behind him.

“Y/N.” Taeyong addressed you.

Unease bubbled in the pits of your stomach, your heartbeat picking up. You refused to face him, instead pretending to study the embroidery of the pillowcase on your lap.  

“Y/N?” He said again,

You squeezed closed your eyes, wishing he’d stop.  

“Y/N?”

“Why did you bring me here?” You broke, your voice quivering in unrest.

“Y/N.”

“Why?” Your eyes revealed themselves, glistening as you held back tears.

Taeyong’s chest sank, he didn’t have any worthy explanation. All he knew was that he wanted you, he’d always wanted you. He needed you here, here beside him.

Taeyong kneeled by your legs, his face upturned to you.

“If you want to kill me. Then do it." You plucked up the courage, "Please don’t torture me.”

Taeyong shook his head, his brow furrowed. He didn’t have such intention. How could he possibly get you to believe him?

Taeyong stood up unexpectedly. You raised your bandage hands to shield yourself from the blow you expected. Taeyong’s guilt swelled, it tore threw him like a bullet grazing his heart. All of a sudden he wrapped his arms around you, pressing his face into your hair. He clumsily apologized, over and over.

You went rigid, unsure how to react.

“I’m so sorry,” His voice crumbled, “I’m so sorry for everything Y/N.”

“Just one bite,” Taeyong offered sweetly, a spoonful of cooled soup hovering in the air. 

You grimaced, childishly avoiding his spoon. 

“Please,”

“Not until you untie me.” You quibbled, using your chin to nudge in the direction of your bound wrists. 

Over the last few days, Taeyong stayed by your side. He’d talk, sometimes about trivial things like the weather, other times he’d share stories about his boys. He’d watch the movies he let you pick, otherwise, he’d watch you whilst you read books off his bookcase. 

Despite, your best efforts not to directly interact with him, you found yourself less and less frightened of Taeyong. His concern, his benevolence—you despised the part of yourself that saw the resemblance between this Taeyong and your childhood friend. 

Taeyong lowered the spoon and placed it back into the bowl, “If I untie your wrists you’re going to try an escape through the window again,” His eyes flickered towards your bandaged hands, “I can’t have you hurting yourself.” 

You bit the inside of your cheek, “I won’t do that again.” You willed yourself to grumble the words.

Taeyong’s tired face flashed upward, a hopeful smile growing on his lips. He reached down and undid the knot that secured you to the chair. While the silk rope fell to your feet, you stretched your arms, bending your wrists back and forth. 

“Eat,” He pushed the bowl towards you.

It had been a while since you’d last given up and eaten the food presented to you. 

I do have to conserve my energy...

You slowly picked up the spoon and scooped up some soup. You hadn’t realized just how hungry you’d been until you tried your first mouthful. The rest of the soup was quickly devoured.

Taeyong was content you were eating again. He watched you, adoring the cute scrunch your nose made when a droplet of soup touched it. He had every urge to wipe it away with his hand but held back in fear of startling you.

“Would you like some more?” 

You shook your head, knowing even if you were to say yes, Taeyong wouldn’t be the one to leave and retrieve it. If you wanted to get rid of Taeyong you’d have to try a lot harder. 

“I’m actually quite sleepy.” You faked a yawn, rubbing your eyes, “I’m just going to take a nap.” 

You plopped yourself down onto Taeyong’s mattress, pulling the duvet over your legs. Over the last few nights, one of your arms had been tied to the bedpost to prevent another reckless escape attempt. Taeyong, however, had also been in the corner of the room perched on an ottoman. His hawk-like vision never wavered from you, fearing if he’d close his eyes, you’d simply vanish from his presence. 

You observed the dark bags under his eyes and his sickly pale complexion. 

“You should leave and get some sleep,” Your tone was neutral, “Or I’ll just escape when you pass out from sleep deprivation.”

You noted the alarm on Taeyong’s features by your use of the word ‘escape’. 

“I’m joking,” You tried to keep up the little repour you’d built, “But you really should get some sleep.” You lay down on the pillow, turning your back to him. 

After a short pause, you heard Taeyong begin to move about. A silly part of yourself thought perhaps he was heading towards the door. You were wrong. 

You felt the other side of the mattress slump down. Before you had a chance to move, Taeyong coiled his arms around your frame, pulling you close against his chest. 

“What are you doing?” You stammered. 

“Making sure you don’t leave.” His breath tickled down your neck. 

All tempts for an escape tonight were futile. You sighed, sinking into him. There was no way he was letting go of you tonight.

Past. 

“She’s dead.”

Taeyong was frozen from shock. 

She can’t be. Y/N’s not dead. 

After all he’d done to ensure you’d come out of the massacre alive. Shujin, his partner was lying to him. He had to be. 

“That can’t possibly be true.”  Taeyong’s voice trembled. 

 “It is,” Shujin grinned, “Too bad you ran out of bullets. You could have made her death quick. Painless. Instead, she died a slow and agonizing death.”

“No,” Taeyong’s voice cracked, his eyes watered, “You’re lying to me.” 

“I’m not,” Shujin almost sounded gleeful. 

Taeyong’s vision blurred, his knees buckling until he hit the ground. He had purposely emptied his magazine before entering the room you were in. He had foolishly thought he could be the one to save you, but instead, he’d been the one to prolong you’re suffering. 

Present.

“Does it hurt?”

You were beginning to doze off, begrudgingly finding Taeyong’s warmth quite comfortable. Your bodies were snuggled close, your legs intertwined together.  

“My hands are okay,” You absently mumbled.

Taeyong reached for one of your bandages. He brushed his fingers across them.

“And what about the scar on your neck?”

You didn’t answer, sleep had come too soon to consume you.

You must have been dreaming when you felt lips sweep across your neck, leaving a feathery kiss on your scar.

NETWORKS: -​

MONI’S NOTE: Part three! I hope you like it! I would much appreciate your thoughts, comments, reblogs and likes are extremely valued.

TAGLIST: @advent-entertainment, @tyongluvs, @blackswann-53098, @straykidsftnct, @justineasian, @jaehyunpeachyy

[secondhandmckie]

❛ i’m trying to fix your hair, so hold still. ❜ / Queenpin and Banshee 👀

Random Dialogue Meme

She wouldn't, though. As much as Molly might have wanted to at least try, she couldn't find it within herself to sit still. Stakeouts on rooftops were less taxing, honestly, and that was in full tactical gear. This required...makeup. Dresses and heels. Playing nice.

Molly recognizes that there are times someone in Karen's position needs to be seen in public, needs to maintain face, but that didn't mean she also had to do so, right? It felt like an unnecessary expense...or effort.

"What's the point of this, anyway?" She asked, wrinkling her nose and reached forward to look over the bottle of hair product, frowning at it. "Not this but like--you said you needed me to help you. I was pretty sure that meant behind the scenes."

[lasisgood]

Spoilers for ep 4 of echo

I always wondered why it was never the same interpreter

It's cause he kills them.

He cares about her, but if he really did he would've learned sign language

HE PUT THAT THING IN HER EYE

But he still cares about her?????

HE BROUGHT HER COOKIES

she likes cookies that's so cute

He wants her home

I'm at the Choctaw casino

Me : of course he is

SHE CALLS HERSELF QUEENPIN

That's so cute

THE POWWOW EP!!

Oh wait no. They're still setting it up

CHULA KNOWS SHE LIKES COOKIES TOO

ITS THE GENERATIONAL TRAUMA

Oh no now she's gonna choose kingpin

"Everything the light touches is yours. To use to fix Chula's truck"

"Is that from lion king?"

"It's the same. But different."

I FORGOT ABOUT BUSCUIT FIXING CHULA'S TRUCK.

Biscuit is a real one. Selling his ps4 to help fix the truck, and now looking for parts. Lol everyone is scared of Chula. Kingpin is nothing compared to Chula.

WEVE COME FULL CIRCLE

THE POWWOW MUSIC AT THE END HELL YEAH!!!

They sounded like northern Cree but it's the Haluci nation.

[truthseekingxaffection]

"So, I know it's not the most romantic thing but..." Ren handed Yui a katana. The sheath had a silk material covering it. When she would remove the sword itself, she'd find the word "Queenpin" engraved on the platinum blade. "Felt like I should return the favor for the knife you got me."

@wildxcardrebel

She blinks, surprised at the katana presented to her from him. It's one thing to get a dagger...It's another to get something like this.

Already the woman holds it in firm hands, examining it and going so far to doing the old motion of flipping it dramatically before using her left hand to pull the sword a bit. The gleam of the metal shining to reflect her eyes before pushing it back in.

"In...Incredible," Yui whispered before looking up at him, "You...you didn't have to..." The work on the katana is practically close to the same craftwork back at Daidara Metalworks, either way...This must not have been easy for him to get her.

The woman hesitates a moment before looking up at Ren, "....I'm going to hug you." That's all for a warning towards him as she quickly pulls him into a tight hug, "Thank you...It...It's really amazing."

[cloudbattrolls]

@condescensionsation (for the conversation ask that got ungraciously eaten by tumblr)

--

The silver desk in the middle of the well-lit office had once belonged to Jamie Abnale, but was now covered with duck knickknacks. Its pencil mug was decorated with a dancing kittycat meme, and it was dustier in the few spaces not covered by stray papers or notepads that had never been so disarrayed when the blueblood had used it.

It now held a nameplate that read 'Chimer Latrai' and the eponymous fuchsia was settled in a chair she'd brought in to both spin around and accommodate her tall stature.

On it rested a folder that had ‘RESTRICTED’ printed on it in imperial red.

Chimer looked at the man anxiously sitting across from her, his worry clear from his stiff posture and fins held at a determined neutral half-mast.

It was a little funny, though not the kind that made her laugh. More the ‘where did my life go’ type.

“So…I mean. Your résumé is good. Ullane said you’re pretty solid, a few incidents aside. I’m not gonna phone up Queenpin for a reference, but I’m sure she’d say the same. But why did you apply?”

“Tuuya recommended it to me.” He admitted, seeming sheepish about the fact, his glow spots flicking brighter and dimmer in turn.

The fuchsia snorted. “I don’t know if that’s a good thing or a bad thing. You don’t eat people, right?”

The violet looked scandalized at the very thought. She laughed.

“Great. Already an improvement. But like, you’re pretty busy these nights already, aren’t you? What made you want to go back to your old gig?”

Thrixe shrugged.

“Money. I don’t charge the clinic or Kaningård too much, they’re both good causes. But also…I want to keep my skills sharp. I feel…restless.” He admitted.

“My life is great. Better than I ever thought it’d be. But even though I’m doing work I enjoy, it’s not quite the same.”

Chimer nodded.

“I know you can follow orders. Probably better than worms mcgee can, though I admit they weren’t always wrong when they decided to divert. Hurts to say so, but it’s true. More importantly…do you understand you’ll be going directly against the empire at times?

Tuuya’s said to me that you still have tendencies that way, which I’m not gonna lie, is pretty funny given your whole deal.”

The hybrid winced. “I…I am no longer loyal to the empire. I haven’t been since I faked my death and fled. Then they tried to kill me a second time.” He said with a sigh.

Chimer’s eyebrows raised.

“Yet you don’t sound mad about that.”

“I’m a threat.” Said the violet bluntly. “A major threat. From a security standpoint, trying to eliminate me made sense.”

She laughed softly, rolling a pencil between her fingers.

“You sure are, bud. You’re a threat I want on my side…because even though I’m out of my old politics now, there’s a whole new field I’m playing in. I know now that the only reason no one screwed with me before was the resistance’s protection, and the resistance is gone, thanks to a certain freckled moron hunting their leader.”

Thrixe blinked. This was complete news to him, and he had no idea who the freckled moron was.

“Corelo’s great, but he has his own stuff to deal with, and I prefer him close to me.” She continued. “He’s best on the management side. You I need in the field, when trouble comes calling, or when I need to prevent it.”

She straightened up, her gaze harder.

“But will you go against the empire? Not just ignore their rules. Not just slide under their radar. Actively step up and fight their forces. Can you do that, Thrixe?”

The violet thought.

Then he nodded.

“Yes.”

Chimer Latrai grinned.

“Great. Welcome to the team. We have doughnuts every other week.”

Thrixe looked confused.

“I don’t eat doughnuts.”

His new boss looked at him in mock horror.

“You are a sad, weird little starfish.”

The violet rolled his eyes.