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apocalypse-shuffle · 3 months

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BLACK NOIR | EARVING (the boys)

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“Promotion” (Black Noir x Fem!Reader)

| Being Black Noir’s new handler and him becoming obsessed with you since Mr. Edgar himself assigned you to him.

| SFW, vought employee!reader, (TW: Noir is kind of stalking the Reader, who’s uncomfortable but adapting mostly)

| 1k+ words

“You want me to…what?”

“Be Noir’s new personal handler.” He fans his hands out on the table with a shrug and gives you a disarming smile. “You’ll be expected to parlay direct mission instructions from me, accompany him to said missions and stay with the deployment team. I expect you to give written reports on his performance at the end of every day, active mission or not…”

Your eyes continue to widen as his barrage keeps going. This job would require you to be present for everything short of Noir wiping his ass and even then you’ll be outside the restroom.

Mr. Edgar finishes, gives you an expectant look, and you clear your throat.

“And, what if I don’t want the new position?”

“I don’t see why not.” He shrugs, “I mean unless you don’t think you’re good enough for the promotion. Then I suppose I’ll just have to tell Ashley her recommendation was for naught.”

You laugh.

“No no, that’s fine. There’s no need to tell her anything…” you gulp, watching the man just look back at you before taking a second more to inhale, “…ex-cept that her recommendation payed off.”

He tilts his head and it feels like his eyes are boring through your own, boiling your brain to mush. Your voice is small as you push the rest of your words out in one exhale.

“And that I’ll be starting my new position tomorrow. Sir.”

You stretch a smile across your face and hiss out a sigh of relief as that finally gets the man to respond.

He instantly reanimates, reaching atop his desk to hand you a secure black portfolio made from hard plastic.

“That’s great. I’m glad you decided to take on this new journey, Ms. L/n. May it serve you well. Have a good day.”

You don’t dare drop your smile as you take the offered portfolio and shove it under your arm.

“Right.” You take a moment to mourn the loss of your old job before nodding, “Thank you for the opportunity, Sir. You have a good day as well.”

The older man nods back at you, attention immediately gone back to his computer monitor afterward. You blow out air from your nose and then turn on your heels.

It’s not until you’ve left the board room that it hits you.

“Shit.”

The man had just played you. Goddamn Edgar and his resoluteness. Once he’d decided to “ask” you about the upgrade in position he never intended for it to be an actual request.

You rub your temple and head to the restroom. At least you had the rest of the hours in the day before tackling your new job.

You hunker down in the stall after peeing to look over the papers Mr. Edgar gave you. As you're skimming through a whole lot of shit marked “classified” or “redacted” you have the stray thought to be glad that Translucent’s creep ass wasn’t here to ogle you and be all in your business anymore.

Thank the higher power for small mercies, you suppose.

All the snippets of information you're gathering are kind of baffling. Legal name: Earving (of all things), biological male, six foot two, African-American (that’s fun; may be the reason he took such a liking to you too, not many black people made it to the top floors of Vought after all). You dog-ear a packet about some sort of imaginary animals he sees in his mind before looking over a page about a severe peanut allergy. Hmm.

By the end of the day you’ve nearly gotten all the way through Noir’s portfolio, and you’ve also worked up an itch to get out of your skin that means you’re not working overtime worth a goddamn.

At six o’clock on the dot all of your crap is already quite thoroughly packed, your former workspace - barren thing that it already was due to regulations - was cleaned out and ready for the next poor soul, and you’re in the elevator heading for the sub-level garage.

Dead stare locked onto the floor numbers you become acutely aware of the bags weighing your eyes down.

“Fuck,” you sigh.

Black Noir's Personal Handler.

Despite Mr. Edgar’s clear efforts it was more than a little known open secret that personal handlers rarely got to retire. Madelyn Stillwell’s death might’ve been something none of you dared discuss for fear of either Edgar or - heaven forbid - Homelander catching wind and putting you back in your place, but it was a pattern of the job that you all were well aware of.

Though you’d take Mr. Edgar’s culling over whatever Homelander could possibly come up with.

Something about his blonde, blue-eyed, ass didn’t sit right with your spirit.

Far as PR and wrangling went though, short of maybe Starlight, any wrinkles Black Noir managed to make would be the easiest to smooth out.

Plus, even with you and Noir having some form of a pre-established relationship it was in no way dependent or built upon you being Noir’s emotional epicenter like Madelyn and Homelander’s weird…dynamic was.

You had seen and heard far too much in your years working for Vought to think for a second that there wasn’t something dark and twisted going on with The Seven, but Noir still seemed mellow in comparison to the rest and their constant ego trips and dick measuring.

You had zero clue how letting the fully covered man teach you a few notes to a song at the Christmas party when everyone was drunk off eggnog and watered down booze and sitting with him when he was crying on the floor once led you to this.

Sure the silent man and you had somewhat hit it off - so far as you were one of the few non-supers he didn’t intimidate or just flat out ignore - but to be made so intimately in charge of him seemed like a bit much.

Noir had seemed endlessly patient with you as he played for you and then eventually decided he’d teach you how to play the piano yourself, the sides of your bodies’ shifting incrementally until you were pressed flush to one another in both of yous concentration, so you could really only hope he kept that same levelness with you as his handler.

You bank the corner, work bag and portfolio on the same arm, and fish out your keys so you can unlock your trunk and shove your shit inside.

Hope truly was the name of the game here unfortunately. You could only hope Noir kept up his “good” streak, and that that streak wasn’t just a farce that you were now in charge of covering up. Hope that he didn’t end up getting angry or reckless and making you one of those *redacted* cases with a ‘cause of death, unknown’ attached to your name, because you could do nothing to stop him if he wanted to kill you.

Shiver racking up your spine and turning your blood to static, you snap your trunk closed, turning to leave when—

“—Fucking Christ!”

Eyes gone wide and spit having nearly choked you from your sharp inhalation before your exclamation, you do your best to appear composed as Black Noir himself steps out from a conclave of shadows to stand in front of you.

The Devil, you find yourself thinking. Had he been following you this whole time?

For his part Noir doesn’t move aside from cocking his head to the side.

Steadily, you force calmness onto yourself. Ignoring that your voice is too high when you call his name.

“Black Noir,” you say, trying to seep the professionalism back into your tone while smoothing down the creases in your pantsuit, “surprised to see you here. What can I do for you?”

The smile you offer him feels wonky even as you command the muscles up, but it’s the best you can do with your heart hammering against your chest as if it wants to run off and leave you behind.

For a couple more beats the man doesn’t do more than size you up presumably before finally - as you were weighing the pros and cons of just getting in your car despite his presence - raising a hand to point at your trunk.

You catch on to his meaning fairly quickly, your smile dropping to something more natural whilst you huff a tiny laugh.

“Oh yeah, guess Mr. Edgar must’ve told you. I’m your new handler - you know, if you had one before that is. I don’t…actually know…” you trail off, shifting on your heels when Noir only continues to keep his stillness.

“Mhm,” you mutter, rocking backwards, just staring until finally Noir shifts and there’s suddenly a pad and pen in his hand.

He flips casually to a clear page before starting to write and you’re fairly sure this is the first time he’s ever actually ‘talked’ to you.

Huh.

Not long after does the pad get flipped over and brandished to you. You click your teeth together.

‘Edgar says you’ll do good,’ he scribbles, writing absolute chicken scratch and letters far too large on the medium sized pages, before flipping the pad back to himself and writing some more.

‘Believe in you!’ and a whole bunch of smiley faces is what meets you once he lets you see.

You blink. Noir puts the pad back wherever he had it initially to give you two thumbs up.

You muster a slightly bigger half smile for his efforts.

“Thanks Noir,” you say, words more sincere than you’d been expecting.

A nod and an eternity more of silence and staring is what he gives you in response.

You’re getting ready to shift, to awkwardly relay that you’d like to be getting home soon, when Noir stiffens suddenly - and isn’t that startling, a man so tall and so strapped with sharp explosive deadly things going so alert like that - head tilting like he’s listening for something.

A few seconds go by like that where he doesn’t do anything else and you fight to keep yourself still, smile gone and part of your lip caught firmly between your teeth.

Then Noir’s giving you a nod and leaving just as silently and unseenly as he had come.

You wait another two-three beats before scrambling into your car. The sound of your lock engaging sounds like salvation and the steering wheel feels like a lifeline as you grip it with stiff nearly foreign fingers.

God.

You force a deep breath into your lungs, make sure it comes out more steadily than it came in.

At least Mr. Edgar didn’t dump you onto Homelander’s lap. Something in you shrivels up and dies at the mere prospect. You nod, your hands flexing on the steering wheel.

This was definitely better.

NOTES: Hope you enjoyed!!

This is a semi companion story to “Pandora’s Melody” if you’d like to check that one out as well.

btw: if you’d like to leave a comment I’d very much appreciate it!

#black noir #earving #black!reader #black y/n #black noir x black!reader #the boys x black!reader #black noir imagine #the boys earving #the boys imagine #the boys black noir #x black!reader #vought international #black noir x reader #the boys

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apocalypse-shuffle · 3 months

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I wonder how many people got “spontaneously” un-invested and disinterested in Black Noir’s character once it was revealed he was actually black (& disabled & disfigured).

#I don’t know sometimes it just crosses my mind #black noir

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apocalypse-shuffle · 3 months

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𝗗𝗘𝗖𝗘𝗠𝗕𝗘𝗥 𝟮𝟬𝟮𝟯 𝗙𝗜𝗖 𝗥𝗘𝗖𝗦 (𝟭)

.☘︎ ݁˖ = BLACK/POC WORKS | 23' FIC REC M.LIST

PEAKY BLINDERS

ALFIE SOLOMONS

Destiny — @butterfly-lies-chase-them-away

A Brother For Cyril ⎢ Part Two — @muneca-lemon-steppa

You Love Is Enough — @muneca-lemon-steppa

Evenings At Home — @muneca-lemon-steppa

Good Girl — @ukrainianmotherfucker

Interviews For New Beginnings ⎢ Part 2 ⎢ Part 3 ⎢ Part 4 ⎢ Part 5 ⎢ Part 6 — @muneca-lemon-steppa

Kisses For Bad Days — @muneca-lemon-steppa

Change Of Plans — @muneca-lemon-steppa

Married Life w/ Alfie Solomons HCs — @muneca-lemon-steppa

All Kinds of Trouble — @muneca-lemon-steppa

Overstimulation + Praise Kink — @fandom-puff

Rum and Soap — @dearshleby

Always — @muneca-lemon-steppa

MICHAEL GRAY

Show You How Much I Love You — @roguerogerss

I Can Imagine — @xoxoavenger

THOMAS SHELBY

At the End of the Day — @lis-likes-fics

The Complaint — @look-at-the-soul

Midnight Interlude — @awritesthings1

Gone with the Leaves — @awritesthings1

Numbers — @mrkdvidal1989

Train Left - Moments Passed — @mrkdvidal1989

Ignoble Sins — @cillmequick

Empty Promises — @fallatyourfeet

You Have More To Lose Than You Take — @mrkdvidal1989

Bloodstained Hands — @mrkdvidal1989

Look At Me — @simplyundeniable98

Time After Time Chapter 13 — @all-mirth-no-matter

A Moment of Happiness — @gypsy-girl-08

Christmas Lights — @mrkdvidal1989

First Christmas — @acewritesfics

Eye Fucking Each Other — @mrkdvidal1989

All I Need — @gypsy-girl-08

Promotion — @acewritesfics

No Man Works Alone — @muneca-lemon-steppa

TRIPLE FRONTIER

BENNY MILLER

The Best One — @theewokingdead

Are You On Mute? ⎢ Part Two — @rhoorl

Ask Prompt — @bullet-prooflove

Are You Going To Be Quiet? — @rhoorl

FRANCISCO “FRANKIE” “CATFISH” MORALES

Bluffing Season — @beskarandblasters

Mesmerized — @endlessthxxghts

New Year’s Day — @hellishjoel

My Home Is You — @chronically-ghosted

Stars — @trulybetty

Need You — @endlessthxxghts

Cravings ⎢ Crash ⎢ Insatiable — @pedge-page

Merry Christmas Cariño — @joelsflannel

All I Want For Christmas — @morallyinept

WILL MILLER

When Sleep Comes Easy — @laurfilijames

Just A Little Push — @missdictatorme

Kinktober 2023: Sexual Exhaustion — @gosmigenergy

Clusterfuck — @velicibeewords

All I Want — @laurfilijames

TRIPLE FRONTIER BOYS

Company — @pimosworld

The Story of Us Masterlist — @pimosworld

TSOU AU ⎢ Never Have I Ever ⎢ Down The Rabbit Hole ⎢ Santa’s A Homewrecker — @pimosworld

What Benny Doesn’t Know Masterlist — @backtothefanfiction

THE GRAY MAN

SIERRA SIX/COURT GENTRY

The Nurse Series ⎢ 2 ⎢ 3 ⎢ 4 ⎢ 5 ⎢ 6 ⎢ 7 — @heresthestorymorningglory

The Spy Next Door — @renren-006

Homework Problems — @renren-006

Wide Open Spaces — @elusivewildflower

Hurt You — @j4desblurbs

Bodyguard!Sierra Six — @wiidvw .☘︎ ݁˖

Safe Hands — @hollandstrophyhusband

Bodyguard!Sierra Six — @wiidvw .☘︎ ݁˖

Aftercare w. Sierra Six — @ken-dom

Bodyguard!Sierra Six — @wiidvw .☘︎ ݁˖

BATMOM

See You Soon (+ Jason Todd) — @reveluving

Batmom’s Biggest Fan — @silly-thinkings

The Bat in the Shadows ⎢ Part 2 ⎢ Part 3 — @ynscrazylife

Long Overdue Masterlist — @apocalypse-shuffle

Love Thorns All Over This Rose ⎢ Part Two — @youreobsessedwithtoomanyfandoms

Harmony (+Dick Grayson) — @soriseerakyra

Batprank ⎢ Part Two — @ciaraswritings

Unexpected — @ciaraswritings

Ballet (ft. Cass Cain) — @reveluving

I Want To See My Little Boy (ft. Damian Wayne) — @dragon-chica

BRUCE WAYNE/BATMAN

Gossip and Galas — @ciaraswritings

DICK GRAYSON/NIGHTWING

The Graysons — @hannibals-favourite-meal

BATSIS

Alleviate The Pain (Platonic!Dick Grayson) — @pugh-pugh-pugh-pugh

#ahhhh #so sorry this took me so long to see #thank you for the mention 🫶🏾#🧡🧡🧡#not my post

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apocalypse-shuffle · 4 months

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BEING IN A RELATIONSHIP W/ EDDIE BROCK & VENOM (generalized canon | 616 | venom movie-verse)

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random Headcanons

SFW, minor canon action, one(1) mention of sex

pic sources: Venom #20 - “All Out” (2023) & Venom #23 - “Symbiote Daddy Issues” (2023)

part one

First post of the year!!! Alright bye.❤️

Eddie’s not a bad writer, and he can come up with a showstopper of an opening line off the top of his head. Because of this - and to Eddie’s constant objection - both you and his second half beg him to hit you with his best pick up lines. He hates it but always caves to elicit a smile or laugh out of both of y’all.

V fusses over you big time. They treat you like the most delicate flower and it annoys you even though you know they're intentions aren't to belittle you.

Problem is V gets very high maintenance and clingy whenever you’re hurt or sick, and not only does they’re stalking get incredibly obvious, but you also can’t go to the bathroom without Venom forcing Eddie to come sit in the bathroom with you. And god forbid you need to go while out in public.

Can you get jealous? Yes. Do Eddie and Venom outdo you? Also yes. They do the most. Someone just looks at you up and down and Eddie's got his arms around your waist, pulling you close to his body and Venom’s snarling at the pest.

Don’t let somebody try to get with you either, having to talk Venom (and Eddie, he’s not innocent of this either) out of committing murder is not a particularly fun experience.

Venom is the dominant one in the bedroom, thank you very much. Problem is Venom is also a creature of sensation, he craves it and as such so does Eddie, so it’s not exactly hard to switch your dynamic up whenever any of you are in the mood.

Getting Eddie to be okay with submitting during sex is a labor of love. At first he’ll refuse to touch it and you’ll respect that just fine, but over time he’ll get little glimpses of being taken care of when you're being intimate and his curiosity coupled with the symbiote’s prodding will make him decide to take a venture in being submissive for you. Only you though.

Venom makes the first move in y’all’s relationship. If you want to consider a little mild stalking “making the first move”. It starts with the Lethal Protector showing up every time you’re in even the slightest bit of trouble or near a big fight going on, and escalates to Eddie frequently ‘running’ into you and striking up a good conversation.

He rings all your alarm bells until he reveals himself to be Venom though, don’t get it twisted. Eddie’s nice and he’s charming but he’s also too blunt and outwardly calculating to not seem at least a little sketchy.

Eddie has a tendency to naturally sneak around the house. Part of it is the remnants of a life lived under Brock Sr.’s roof, but most of it is Venom.

Long story short Eddie’s big and doesn't make much noise unless he wants to and when he just pops out of places a regular non-enhanced person has every right to be taken off guard.

It’s no secret that they would sacrifice their body, mind, and soul to keep you safe, but their jealousy can cloud that virtuosity.

Venom's an asshole when he's jealous and it's not particularly endearing. The hissing when the symbiote feels like it’s being challenged is really pushing it. Them feeling like they can start dictating the shit you’re “allowed” to do is also really pushing it and you nip that shit in the bud real quick; alien hormones be damned.

Both Venom and Eddie's soul purpose is to broadcast the fact that you are indeed off limits to ANY hormonal driven being, which is just the vast majority of humans at this point.

Because of this y’all engage in near constant pda (sometimes a little scenting is involved too). If Venom doesn’t get his fill he will be miserable for Eddie to be around until he does.

You’ll admit though - even if only to yourself - that you do find it kinda hot when they catch someone ogling you and Eddie's eyes flash white in a threat.

The symbiote tends to take control and outright ask the person if they like what they see too.

If they say yes they're basically putting their lives in Venom's hands.

You can't even be mad sometimes either, so you do find their jealousy a little bit endearing… sometimes.

The inevitable hissy fit sex is cool too.

It is aggravating never being able to leave the house alone (especially if you’re wearing something extravagant, form fitting, or revealing) without Venom and Eddie feeling the need to “reestablish” y’all’s relationship before you go out just so that you and everyone else don’t forget you’re taken.

Overall, boundaries must be set, but they’re not unable to be reasoned with, and they’re both far too sweet on you to risk truly upsetting you or breaking your trust (too much).

NOTES: Hope you enjoyed!!

This is just a little quick something, but I have been sitting on it for a while now. Also, yes, Eddie’s shirt does say “Himbo Frankenstein”!

btw: if you’d like to leave a comment I won’t always respond, but I’d very much appreciate it!

#eddie brock #venom #venom symbiote #black!reader #black y/n #eddie brock x black!reader #venom x black!reader #eddie brock x reader x venom #eddie brock headcanons #eddie brock imagine #venom imagine #eddie brock x black reader #eddie brock x reader #eddie brock x venom #venom x reader #headcanons

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apocalypse-shuffle · 4 months

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JASON TODD | RED HOOD (generalized fanon | wfa)

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“Past The Time till Midnight” (Jason Todd & Fem!Reader)

| Jason’s a no good bastard and now you’re bored out of your mind.

| SFW, galas, mild(?) discrimination, -platonic!reader & queer!reader

| Could be pre-relationship if you want, I suppose. Background!(Rose Wilson x Jason Todd) & (Rose Wilson x Fem!Reader)

| Pic source — Batman: Wayne Family Adventures webtoon)

| 2k+ words

You’d had zero clue up until tonight just how fun draining a New Year's Eve gala could be. Honestly, you're upset you had to gain the knowledge through first hand experience too, but that only translates to you hip checking Jason when you make your way back to him.

He lets himself rock sideways the tiniest bit for your benefit. You roll your eyes.

“I thought you said this would be fun?”

You pass one of the drinks in your hands to him and he pockets his phone - whatever urgent call dealt with for now.

“Oh did I?” He nods in thanks then knocks back the flute of champagne. “I lied.”

You suck your teeth, “I fucking hate you.”

A burst of brief snickers is all that proclamation provokes.

With a sigh you cross your arms, sipping at your drink at a far more acceptable pace as you people watch.

Jason and you both are largely out of the way by design. You were of the vast majority of people who didn’t see the fun in being scrutinized by droves of rich socialites for hours on end, and Jason was…Jason.

He maybe showed up to two of these things a year - and never without extensive weedling and bribery from some other one of the bats (though noticeably never by Bruce himself who was almost always the host of the Galas that Jason bothered to show his face at).

Two ladies throwing small looks your way, giggling and laughing, catch your interest on your sweep of the ballroom. You squint.

It’s you who redirects Jason’s attention towards them with an elbow to the side. He makes a low irritated sound that makes you laugh but doesn’t even retaliate before following your gaze.

When he does his eyes briefly light up with recognition. Instantly you perk up too.

Finally, something interesting.

The both of you glance at each other - a grin spread across his face and a raised brow on yours - before moving in tandem towards the other duo without another word.

The women straighten, standing impossibly taller, smiles losing their genuity, as you close in on them.

“Hi,” Jason reaches out to take the shortest of the two’s offered hand. He doesn’t bend down to kiss it though, just holds it until the woman frowns at his lack of kiss then let’s go. “We saw you laughing and couldn’t help but want to join in on the fun. These things can be so uneventful sometimes.”

“Oh! Of course.” She laughs, high and melodic and fake, “Any son of Thee Brucie Wayne is always welcome to join!”

“Great.” Watching Jason’s crowd smile spread across his face is fascinating. “No problem telling me what gossip had you laughing and saying my name then? I like to get ahead of the press.”

He caps the sentence off with a jovial shrug, smile still in place, and it works. Even with their reservations in place - and the fact Jason’s never left his pure disdain for the likes of them secret - they don’t seem to catch that they’re walking into a trap, their smiles broadening. Jason has somehow managed a very distinct balance between alarming and painfully boyish and it’s actually working.

If this is what he always looked like when he did this song and dance in the helmet you were going to clown the hell out of him later.

“Well alright, but we were just talking gossip like girls do.”

You exchange another rapid fire look and Jason’s grin dips teasingly, eyebrows raising.

His look says, “You're up. Bet you can’t do better.”

You grit your teeth just long enough he catches your acceptance, then force the corners of your mouth up.

“Oh yeah, about what?” You look between both women. Jason’s already bracing himself, expertly masking his amusement.

Clare laughs in that airy way these types love so much.

“Me and Linda were just discussing how…fitting it is that two people from your backgrounds would come together under the Wayne name.”

“A wonderful coincidence really,” Linda nods along. Any faster and you think her head will fall off. You wonder if it would look like those mannequins that get knocked over at the mall.

You shake your own head, adopting a bewildered expression. “I’m sorry I’m just not seeing what’s so funny. Could you explain?”

Jason chokes - on what? you don’t know - beside you and dissolves into a short coughing fit. You reach around without looking away from your companions to pat him on the back, silently handing him the rest of your drink.

Clare makes an aborted motion as Linda coos uselessly at Jason.

“Well,” she clears her throat, flipping her hair over her shoulder. “Well. It’s not funny per say. I think you may have misinterpreted - um, confused - our reactions. We just think it’s sweet that two…um…uh…. disenfranchised people managed to meet and get so close after being helped by Bruce. That’s all hun.”

You're not her ‘hun’ and you want to burn the patch of skin she touches when she pats your arm. A reminder to settle down; like a half trained dog stepping out of place.

Your teeth grind together but you maintain your open expression, saying your next words cheerily.

“Oh! Girl, I’m not ‘disenfranchised’,” you laugh, head thrown back for a moment and all, before dropping your head to look her in the eye, “I’m just black.”

Instantly the laughter Clare had joined in on peters off into silence on her end. She stares at you a little blankly. You smile, continuing, “Yeah, and I - uh - just met Bruce Wayne today actually, but I do think I get what’s funny now. Now I know you’re just as fake as your smile…and your personality too, probably. Hell, I’d even be willing to bet that whatever charities you deign to donate to you bad mouth on the side too. Gotta keep up appearances though, right?”

Clare goes beet red and Linda freezes, her little smile and nod deal etched in place.

Clare sputters, brows furrowing in an especially non flattering way in a bid to find something to respond with.

Jason hums lowly, gesturing idly with your now empty glass and her mouth snaps shut like a snapping turtle with a baby’s finger in its clutches. “And I think the word you were looking for was ‘homeless’, Nats.”

Clare doesn’t respond, she stops doing much of anything in fact, only getting redder by the second in the face of Jason engaging directly with her. Wayne influence was strong enough that everyone wanted to gossip about them but no one was willing to say a damn thing to their faces about it it seems.

You can’t help the little grin that realization pulls out of you. The way your heart starts to race alongside it makes it hard to tell whether you want to spit in her uppity little face or laugh in it.

Ultimately you don’t get a chance because Jason’s face rapidly shifts from that deceptive boyishness to a sneer that’s very skillfully hidden behind his own even nastier grin.

“I don’t like you Nats, you know that, and we’ve blown up about this before so I don’t want to hear any more of your shitty justifications trust me,” he pauses purely because he’s just that dramatic, huff of laughter falling past his lips, “but you know who would like to hear them?”

Clare scowls, lip upturning. “Who Wayne?”

His sneer drops and all that’s left is that grin. Still just as nasty but clearly mocking. “Vickie would. And she’s always begging for an interview with the previously estranged ‘disenfranchised’ son of Bruce Wayne. She’d eat up every word out of my mouth.”

Jason doesn’t wait for a response, just grabs you by the hand and leaves her horrified face and Linda’s meek cries of: “Jason please,” behind.

You blow out of there so fast that Jason eventually ends up having to catch up with you, long strides barely holding a candle to you fleeing the scene like there’s an active fire up under your ass.

“Don’t bring me back to one of these, Jason.”

“Gotcha.”

“I mean it.”

“I know,” he waits a beat, “and I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine.”

“It’s not.”

“She insulted you too.”

“Yeah but I’m used to rich people’s inability to feel real human emotion, and even more familiar with Clare Nats’ particular brand of it.”

“Fine.” You step over someone's jewelry laying on the floor. You turn back to your friend after giving the diamonds and gemstones a good glance. “And that was definitely a tie by the way.”

“Sure,” he starts leading you towards the other end of the ballroom. “You want something to drink? I need a drink. Hate name dropping Bruce like that; makes me itch.”

You also already knew that from first hand experience; watching him act like he’d quite literally broken out in hives after needing to pull out his father’s name to get through a hospital of all places faster. Steph was hurt so obviously he’d done it but he’d scratched the whole way to the floor she was being held at in Gotham General like he honestly couldn’t help himself. You hadn’t laughed then and certainly haven’t brought it back up to laugh at him after the fact, but you think about it often.

It was a really good pick me up out of context, how could you not?

The two of you hit the bar like sea drifters catching sight of land for the first time in ages, more so because of Jason than you though. You weren’t nearly that thirsty; just dragged along.

He grips the lip of the bartop hard and flags down the bartender. He’s forcing the coolness in his voice, in his posture, when he orders but it’s not like they’d know that.

“Who is Clare exactly?” You gesture to him, unimpressed. “And is Bruce gonna be pissed you mouthed off or something? It’s not like you just ended all prejudice around the world and now he’s got nothing left to fight for or some shit. Why are you drinking?”

“Fuck you, I do not need his ‘okay’ to talk to people.”

You roll your eyes, “Then why, Jason?”

He glares over his shoulder at the way you accentuate his name, roughly emphasizing the vowels, but you don’t do anything more than stare back.

“Nats and I grew up at the same time and she had a lotta opinions about my adoption back then, but I’m mainly irritated cause they’re gonna start…gossiping now.”

You laugh.

“Aww is the big bad outlaw scared of a few blog articles now? I’ll make sure to keep that in mind for when we go up against some asshole with a gossip column.”

The shot of tequila comes, no chaser, and Jason snatches and downs it in one fluid motion. You cringe just as he brings his head down to look at you, pointing with his hand still occupied by the little glass.

“You are…the worst.”

Your facial expression widens; eyes getting big, brows rising towards your hairline, mouth agape - the whole nine yards.

“Me?” You tutt, “I know you fucking lying. You can’t expect me to take your fear of women who sit in front of keyboards while probably sipping on lattes seriously? Come on, man.”

“It’s not just- It’s not just the keyboards okay? It’s the whispers. I don’t give two shakes of a rat’s ass about what these 10% assholes think of me, but having all their attention…”

You find yourself nodding (and mercifully skipping over the rat comment) and hum quietly. “Alright, when you put it like that I guess I get it.”

Jason grunts, sliding the shot glass closer to the opposite edge of the counter, “Yeahhhh. I hate when this happens.”

The bartender takes the glass without even stopping in their rush to the couple flagging them down and you squint.

“Aren’t you 19?”

“Twenty; and nobody asks questions when it could mean they won’t get paid at rich people parties.”

“How very criminal,” you say. You wait for that to - predictably - get a smile out of Jason before jostling him. “Now come on.”

He follows you easily when you walk away, catching up to you almost immediately now your gait is calmer.

“Where are we going?” Jason’s hands shove into the expensive pockets of his suit pants.

You get part way up the first flight of stairs leading to the second floor till you answer him.

“We’re gonna make Bruce do something embarrassing so everyone’s too busy talking about him to remember you exist.”

“Gee,” Jason scoffs, “you sure got a weird way of showing you love me.”

“It’s in spite of how lame you are, trust me.”

Once you get past the stairs Jason automatically takes the lead and steers you towards the east wing of the house.

You’re both rummaging in the attic for anything sufficient for the combined goal at hand, and you’ve got a mesh bag of brightly colored marbles in your palm, when Jason stops searching and turns to you with a grave look on his face.

For your part you stop too, facing him fully with the bag bouncing in one of your hands.

“Hey, in all seriousness I’m sorry again, yeah? My plan was for us to be bored together, not angry together.”

You can’t help the way your eyes roll. “We literally made the decision to go screw with them, because they were talking about us, to-ge-ther. Chill out.”

For half a second Jason looks like he’s legitimately fighting the urge to flip you off - or set Artemis on you during y’all’s next sparring session - but ultimately he just ends up shaking his head at you.

His lips undeniably quirk in the low lighting you guys are working with though so you’ll call that a win.

“Alright yeah. The way she changed colors was pretty funny.”

“Wish I’d gotten a picture,” you add, nodding.

The two of you glance at each other before bursting out into laughter.

After that coming up with a plan to fuck with Bruce - and Tim, per Jason’s added stipulation - takes barely anymore time.

Although—

Conspicuously you check the time on your phone and when 11:53 flashes up at you you grin.

“Hey, do you know if Rose is still here?”

Jason’s brows furrow, but he shrugs at you as he’s looking out over the grounds. He thinks Bruce is entertaining people outside right now and is doing his best to locate him from afar.

“Pretty sure she is. Why?”

It’s then that he turns to you and whatever flashes through your eyes gives you away apparently because then he’s practically wagging his damn finger at you.

“You better—”

“—You better hope I don’t get to her before the clock strikes,” you cut him off.

A beat passes where Jason clearly digests the challenge issued and then you’re both fighting to get through the little door that leads to the attic.

Your plans for Bruce - and Tim - could wait for later.

NOTES: Hope you enjoyed!!

This feels slightly all over the place, but whatever. Mind any typos I will catch them later.

Ending off yet another year with a Jason Todd fic. Till next year Lovelies!!!🧡

btw: if you’d like to leave a comment I’d very much appreciate it!

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apocalypse-shuffle · 4 months

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HAPPY KWANZAA!!!💚🖤❤️

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apocalypse-shuffle · 4 months

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Aquaman and The Lost Kingdom (spoilers)

I think the best thing about Aquaman and The Lost Kingdom (for me) was just Black Manta. And not his characterization - because there wasn’t much of one - or his storyline, just his presence. Yahya Abdul-Mateen II brought the potential for a fun villain, and is of course quite attractive, and the Black Manta suit remains one of the best comic looks translated into live action for me. It’s just incredibly cool looking and moves beautifully. The fight scenes - especially Black Manta’s considering how much I liked his physicality - were also very good and fluidly moving (as long as they weren’t underwater, for the most part). There was a fun Texas Chainsaw Massacre callback with the camera flash sound effect and good suspenseful horror shots throughout the movie that I liked as well.

Everything else was…it was. Arthur was just kind of an immature man-child despite having a wife and a child. The storyline was just a whole bunch of other storylines and direct scenes from other movies that didn’t really meld together well enough to make this movie particularly memorable for me. Arthur spoke in nothing but jokes and pop culture references. Everybody else I couldn’t really give that much of a shit about, but at least Randall Park’s character went through an actual character arc.

#aquaman spoilers #spoliers #aquaman and the lost kingdom #aquaman: the lost kingdom #black manta #yahya abdul mateen ii #david kane

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apocalypse-shuffle · 4 months

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BLACK NOIR | EARVING (the boys)

────────────────────

“Pandora’s Melody” (Black Noir x Fem!Reader)

| It’s your first Christmas Benefit since working for Vought and you’re starting to chafe a little at all the rules. Least the music’s finally getting good.

| SFW, office rules, workplace discrimination(?), Vought International’s dress code policy & casual disregard of The Crown Act

| Pic Source: The Boys (s1)

| 800+ words

“Don’t fuck this up,” Ashley had said, sweaty handkerchief that was far too drenched to mop anything else up clenched tightly inside her fist, and a closed lip smile straining her spotty red painted lips.

And for your part you’d smiled back, nodded your head like a heavily - and repeatedly - hit bobble head; eager to keep your position and even more desperate not to be seen as the unfriendly black girl lest you lose your job.

To your credit it’s not until far later in the evening when everybody’s inhabitions are totally fucked, the camera crews and reporters are gone, and even most of The Seven have left to do things far less beneath them than attending a company mixer that you loosen the hold your heart’s keeping on Ashley’s words just…a bit.

Suddenly the music gets a little less mind numbingly fucking boring too and your mood gets a little less sullen, and even with your mandatory three inch heels shackled to your feet you finally begin to feel the music. So bobbing along, and finally downing the singular glass you’d been nursing the whole evening, you find yourself searching out whoever’s creating the new and far more engaging melody.

Your heart almost stops when you realize it’s Black Noir at the piano, gloved fingers flying over the keys, quite literally the only hero still bothering to attend this thing.

When a quick glance up shows that even Mr. Edgar’s no longer in attendance - though never unseeing you’re sure - you start talking mostly out of shock. You’ve never really been this close to any of the hero’s before now.

“Good - ah - good choice,” you murmur, “Hapless is really just such a downer for a Christmas Benefit.”

Muscles tense and breath short, fingers clasped together behind your back like a vice, you wait a beat for his reaction.

When all he does is kind of glance your way though you nearly breath out a sigh right in front of him before catching yourself, and you feel so free that for a second you want to take your hair down from its “more professional” slicked back bun so you can really feel the music through you.

Instead you untuck your dress shirt to quell the urge. Fuck, your pantssuit was starting to feel increasingly more suffocating the longer you worked here. At this point you felt like you’d end up buried in the damn thing then forced to partially exist as a pantsuit wearing ghost for the rest of your forever unrest for good measure—

—annnd think positive thoughts. The music is good, you want to sway. You settle for keeping up your subtle head bop and adding a few soundless taps against your thigh to the mix.

After he doesn’t slice you in half - or some other such gruesome death dealing action - you take another few moments to identify the song Noir himself has begun playing.

It’s lovely, and as much as you want to close your eyes to visualize the song’s name a bit better in your mind you opt not to so you can continue watching the way that Noir plays.

It’s more graceful than you’d expect (but considering the way you’d seen him train that was a little foolish of you). The silent hero’s fingers move across the keys like a true virtuoso, hands gliding from note to note with hardly a thought but still exactly right. In the entire time that it takes you to place the song he doesn’t miss a single beat and doesn’t lose his tempo; not a thing about how he plays looks or even sounds off.

Normally you’d be remiss to label anything perfect, but if there were ever an exception…

…Noir’s playing was perfect.

A small smile stretches your plush lips.

Delightfully so.

“The Minute Waltz,” you say after finally placing the song, only shuffling in place a little.

Which is how in the next minute you end up seated next to him after his head had snapped to you - and honestly you’d half figured he’d stopped minding you by that point so you’d been plenty surprised to find out otherwise.

Black Noir had stared you into submission with exactly one incline of his head to convey his invitation in any clear manner until, with held breath and a prayer, you’d sat down beside him where he’d made room on the piano bench.

Then it’s touch and go as - with your heart firmly in your throat and hoping to god you don’t screw anything up - Noir takes to eventually wanting you as more than just a captive audience. He plays a few simple chords, pauses, then looks over to you until after not too long you begin copying him.

By the end of the function your heart’s settled and you can slowly, but steadily, get through the entirety of Gymnopedie No.1 - with Noir pushing the pedal of course.

He even gives you a little silent round of applause once you’ve played through it on your own.

Like that, Noir at your side and surrounded by all the drunk limp dicks you work with tripping and throwing up over themselves, is the first time you feel like a real part of Vought.

NOTES: Hope you enjoyed!

Um, I just wrote this tonight at random and with a cold so if there’s mistakes no there isn’t. Also, it’s Christmas and I figured I had a themed fic in me tonight so here you go and Happy Holidays (I guess)!

Don’t question how the Reader-Insert knows the names of these songs, it doesn’t matter.

btw: if you’d like to leave a comment I’d very much appreciate it!

#black noir #earving #black!reader #black y/n #black noir x black!reader #the boys x black!reader #christmas fic #black noir x reader #black noir imagine #x black!reader #the boys #the boys imagine #the boys black noir #the boys earving #the boys x reader #vought international

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apocalypse-shuffle · 4 months

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Just so y’all know: I can’t speak for every other fic author but I can say that I remember when people leave me kind comments. I recognize your urls and/or usernames on AO3. I remember you and sometimes in writing my fics I think to myself, “Oh, I hope this person sees this because they liked x in this other fic I did.”

Not only that—I go back and reread comments when I’m feeling low. I look at tags and reblogs and asks and wish I could hold them in my hand like a note from a friend on an old, torn piece of notebook paper.

Your comments have so much more impact than you know. So thanks to those who use the comment section to spread love and encouragement. We appreciate you.

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apocalypse-shuffle · 4 months

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SAM WILSON | CAPTAIN AMERICA/FALCON (the mcu | tfatws | captain america: the winter soldier)

────────────────────

“Arm Day” (Sam Wilson x Fem!Reader)

| You don’t show up for your running “date” with Sam so he shows up at your place to get a different kind of exercise in.

| SFW, exercising, romantic tension(?)

| Jesus, my summary is very nearly an innuendo. (Pic Source — Captain America: Civil War [peachy-ash icon], Captain America: The Winter Soldier [iconpsds icon], The Falcon & The Winter Soldier [marina-na-na icon])

| Inspo: Instagram

| 1k+ words

It’s the sound of your phone buzzing against your nightstand that wakes you up, and with a groan you lift your head to squint at it.

‘Sam Wilson’ flashes across your screen and you in no way can suppress the eye roll that elicits.

He was your gym buddy more often than not, but this was getting ridiculous.

When y’all ran laps together he’d slow down for you so you could keep one another company. When you were on the treadmill he’d be running in the one right beside you and hold out his arm if you stumbled so you wouldn’t go flying, emergency stopping the machine for you. You would spot each other, go out to eat afterwards, even make meal plans together. Sam was your number one.

He was also more of a pain in your ass than your actual personal trainers had ever been in the past.

You grope around for the phone, lifting it up to your ear once your clumsy fingers stumble across it.

“Yeah?”

Your grunt is met with an honest to god laugh. At this early in the morning?

“Oh my god,” you whine. “Sam, please, what do you want?”

A scoff this time.

“Y/N, it’s Saturday. Get your ass up, we got places to be.”

Still laying on your stomach you flip your head over to press the other side of your face into your pillow and switch your phone to the other ear accordingly, eyes slipping back closed.

“We? I told you I’m not leaving my house today.”

A beat of silence and then: “Okay…”

“Awesome. Have fun sweating by-”

“I’ll see you in five.”

You choke on your spit, words coming out in a whoosh and eyes snapping open.

“Fuck no! Sam!”

The sound of the dial tone reaches your ears and you curse, shooting out of bed, sleep no longer an option.

You drop your phone on your sheets and then scramble around for some shorts. If you could get to Sam before he got all the way to your apartment maybe you’d be able to shove his overactive ass back in his car.

In a frenzy you stuff your phone in your pocket and start towards the front door scratching at your head when it hits you. You’re scratching at your bare head.

“Shit- where in the world…?”

You whip around and start back towards your bedroom to look for where your head wrap had hidden itself during the night. You weren’t going all the way downstairs looking a mess.

Anywhere on your bed was a no show. It wasn’t hanging off your lamp like you’d found it once (who knows how it ended up there in the first place), and it wasn’t under your bed.

You're just about to throw caution to the wind and run out as you are regardless when two things happen at once. You find your wrap sunken into your shoes at the end of your bed and someone knocks at your door.

“Oh come the fuck on.” You grit your teeth, snatch up and firmly situate your traitorous wrap, then stomp over to jerk open the door.

“No.”

In front of you, dressed in a gray pair of sweats, Sam frowns lightly, thick brows raising.

“You made a promise,” he hedges.

You flip off said thick - accusatory - eyebrows.

“Screw my promise. I'm going to stay home and you’re going to leave. Goodbye.”

The door closes right in his face. He doesn’t take the chance not to let it, only to step back so he doesn’t break his nose. You appreciate that.

“Now hold on-! Aw come on, Y/n!” There’s muffled shuffling behind the door, him adjusting his gym bag more than likely, before he knocks again.

While you ignore him to start taking stuff out the freezer for a smoothie - you were already up, you might as well make it worth your while - he knocks three more times.

It’s when your phone starts buzzing on the countertop that you cave, stomping back over to the door and cracking it open just enough for him to see the glower on your face.

“What part of ‘Bye’ isn’t clicking? I’m tired, my muscles ache in places I didn’t even know were possible, and if I have to meal prep anymore I’m going to scream.”

He peeks through the sliver.

“Just one little circuit, alright? I brought everything with me so you won’t have to leave… .” His eyes have taken on a particular brightness that makes you just a little weak in the knees. “I’ll even cook for you after.”

Goddamnit. Your face smooths out from the glare you were rocking and Sam’s lights up.

“See? That sounds nice, now, doesn’t it?”

“Fine. A full meal, not no damn sandwich, and you make my smoothie before we start.”

“Deal. Thought you were gonna break my heart for a minute there, I'm really glad we pulled through though.”

“Yeah yeah,” you grumble and drag him and all his crap in.

_ _ _

“If you’re still aching after two days then we probably have to adjust your routine,” he curls upward and the muscles in his arms flex, stretching the sleeve of his maroon shirt to its limit. “I’ll take a pen and paper to it and we’ll figure it out, that fine by you Queen of Sheba?”

You scoff while going down on your push-ups.

“Yeah, it’s fine Sam,” you make sure to catch his eye as you straighten your arms to come up, “thanks.”

He smiles, switching to do curls with his left arm.

You go down, but end up watching unblinking for a few seconds as the muscles on his bicep become well defined peaks.

Hn.

Sam glances up and you rapidly realize that you’ve been laying on the ground and staring creepily at him for the better part of a minute.

Roughly, you clear your throat; Sam smirks and seems to go deliberately slow on his next curl. The way you gulp hurts a little.

“See something you like?”

Scowling, you roll your eyes and pick back up where you left off on your push-ups. You’re focusing intently on the tile underneath your palms when you answer him.

“No,” you snap to the floor.

Everything about Sam’s laugh says he doesn’t believe you worth a damn.

You don’t particularly care what he thinks though; something that you reiterate over and over in your head as you go on to the next workout.

Where the fuck Sam’s forward ass got off hiking a portable pull-up bar up to your apartment you did not know, but here the thing is, sitting nice and pretty like it belonged to be an absolute eyesore in the middle of your living room.

You sigh and decidedly don’t stare at him too hard as he eases down to the floor to take your previous place and start his own round of push-ups, and probably a few floor presses or something considering he brings the dumbbells down with him.

On your end starting your pull-ups starts off relatively easy. They’ve never been your favorite - and you’re certain they never will be - but at least you could do them now since you started training with Sam almost a year ago now.

Sam was neat like that. Uplifting without slipping into condescension, and being one of the few people who could push you so thoroughly out of your comfort zone.

Certainly the only person you allowed to upheave your more flexible boundaries with so little push back.

Breath huffing out of you you force yourself to rest before starting on your next set, eyes running over your workout partner’s back and the way the muscles there are also incredibly defined as he engages them.

It was a little unfair honestly. Who gave Sam Wilson the right to look so perfect? With a grunt you start working out again.

Eventually you begin waning, you can feel it in the way your arms instantly start to shake as you try to pull your body weight up for your next set, and the excess heat building in your fingers. How even as you attempt to swing your legs to get more momentum to do the pull-up you just barely manage to get one in before your arms give out, straightening back, and you’re left just hanging there.

“Goddamn,” you curse. Today really was just not your day.

Distantly you note the soft thud of weights being set down at your left but you're so focused that you don’t notice Sam move until he’s already in front of you.

He jumps up and you make a startled noise as you come face to face before he does a pull-up as easy as can be. Your lips purse.

He grins, “I got you, come on. One more rep.”

You sigh but he’s looking right into your eyes with that soft grin on his face - and you’re a sucker - so you cave in less than five seconds. Also, you don’t want to keep hanging any longer than necessary.

“I might not have one more in me, period, but I’ll try,” you murmur as you look away. You prep your muscles to move, assuming the right position, when Sam shaking his head in your peripheral catches your attention.

“Didn’t I just say I had you?” He doesn’t wait for you to respond before he’s swinging just that much closer on one arm - fucking show off - and grabbing enough of your thigh to nudge you forward so he can get his arm around your upper leg and then pull you in.

“You’re such a show off, you know that?”

You still follow his line of reasoning, though; pulling up enough that you can get both of your legs around his waist.

Sam just laughs, teeth glinting.

“I’m just happy to help.”

“Ha,” you mock, but when he pulls up you do so with him. Your arms bend, but not with nearly as much strain as before with him taking the majority of your weight, and the pressure on your core significantly lessens.

You won’t admit to having to bite back a smile at the feel of him tucked against you.

“You okay now?”

“Yeah,” you pant out, legs tightening absentmindedly around his waist. Sam grunts lowly in the back of his throat. “You in the habit of catching people like this?”

The look that briefly flashes across his face is far more severe than you think your question merits, and when Sam answers he makes sure to look you in the eye.

“I try to be.”

Then the moment’s broken, he’s pulling you both back up into your final exercise of the day and you’re left wondering where the hell Sam Wilson got off making you love him like this.

NOTES: Hope you enjoyed!! If there’s any typos I’ll catch them later.

btw: if you’d like to leave a comment I’d very much appreciate it!

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apocalypse-shuffle · 5 months

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“Birthdays” w/ STU•M & BILLY• L | GHOSTFACE(s)

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

“You know, as I get older I understand more and more why so many adults just don’t celebrate their birthday. Like so much bad shit happens around my birthday once it comes around I’m just not…excited anymore.”

There’s a weighted breath of silence after that from the guys. Being literally on top of Billy - only one of your legs laid over Stu’s torso - you can feel the big exhale he lets out and when you look up at him the expression on his face is oddly tender.

His sure hands - resting over the dark skin of your naked hips - squeeze in something like reassurance—

—“Lame,” Stu cuts in from where he’s settled along Billy’s side.

Like being tugged by a string you and Billy simultaneously cut a look in the other’s direction. Except Billy looks like he’s seconds away from cuffing Stu in the head and you’re caught somewhere between being insulted and curious.

Forcing Billy’s free hand from where he was rearing it back, and pressing his arm back to his side, you turn to raise a brow in Stu’s direction.

“Why’s that?”

Sharply Stu sticks his tongue out at Billy before averting his attention to you, his expression softening.

Laying sideways on the bed he props his head up so he can look at you better from your slightly elevated position.

“I just think it’s a little stupid is all; defining the success of your birthday by other people’s standards and then dropping the whole idea when it doesn’t work out.”

He makes a sound that’s somewhere between a scoff and a snort, nose scrunching cutely, and you know that if he wasn’t actually making you think right now you’d’ve leant over to press a kiss to the tip.

“Like,” Stu continues, “you let somebody else who doesn’t even know you plan your birthday. Of course it’s gonna suck.”

You find yourself nodding along and underneath you Billy finally relaxes. You can still feel the way he rolls his eyes though and know what’s coming before he’s even inhaled.

“Wow Stu, didn’t know you had it in you to rub that many brain cells together.”

This time when one of you rears back a hand to dole out a cuff it lands.

Billy recoils from you with an over exaggerated “Ow!” The laughter in his voice doesn’t dissipate though, nor does he seriously dislodge you from your allotted position.

“It was a joke! I was joking!”

You talk over his verbal flailing with an exasperated huff. “Stop being such a dick.”

Beside you two, Stu giggles, nonplussed, and cuddles in closer.

“Yeah, you dick,” he tacks on, arm wrapping around your waist to give him better leverage to press his lips to yours.

Neither of you pay attention to the way Billy snipes back at you both, but when he’s finally finished bitching neither you nor Stu reject his advances either.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

NOTES: I'm growing close to aging yet another year and am having feelings, so here.

Hope you enjoyed!

btw: This shit is short but you can still leave a comment if you want. Idk.

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