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malum-forev · 4 months ago

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More Than Casual?

Summary: After breaking up with Bucky, you thought you'd never see him again. That is, until you're required to make an appearance at one of the future congressman's events.

Part 1: Casual

CAABNW!Bucky x Agent!ExWidow!Reader

“You ready for the event?” Joaquin asks you as he throws a punch.

“What event?” You huff, dodging the right hook.

“Everyone on Cap’s team gets an invite to the White House.” He covers his guard.

“Less talking, more punching!” Isaiah yells from the other side of his training room.

You’d heard about the event being held at the White House but you decided to turn off the TV the second those familiar blue eyes were displayed. It was too early to see the man who still made you shiver.

“Not going.” Is all you say, throwing him a rogue kick with more force than necessary.

“You’re missing out on the event of the year for what? Ordering in pizza?” He laughs, but you take the opportunity to kick the center of his chest, making Joaquin fly across the room.

“That’s what I’m talking about!” Isaiah hollers.

You help your partner up. “What if I have plans?”

“Plans?” He wiggles his eyebrows. “Are you finally opening your heart to love?”

You roll your eyes, but your heart sinks a little. You’d successfully gone weeks without thinking of him and now, with just a couple of words, he’s back in your mind. Pulling at your heartstrings so tightly it makes your chest cave in.

It wasn’t Joaquin’s fault, he had no idea that the man who’s being honored at the event is the same person who tore your heart to shreds.

“I just don’t feel like going,” you manage to get out. “I much prefer to fight and protect, rather than prance and drink.”

——

“What’s this I hear about you not going to the gala?” Sam casually says a few days later.

You choke on the water you’re drinking.

“That serious, huh?” Sam jokes.

You shake your head. “Doesn’t sound like something that I’d be interested in.”

Your words are careful and strategic. But trying to think of the perfect excuse while your team leader looks at you so inquisitively is almost impossible.

“I’d be nice,” he shrugs. “To go out and support Buck.”

The nickname sends a chill down your spine.

You called him that same name for years, especially when you wanted to tease him. In front of others you’d always referred to him as Sergeant. But in close encounters, especially when you wanted him to plead for something, you’d call him just that. Buck.

It never failed to make you think back to when he was a kid. You’d beg him to see pictures, you knew he had a couple printed out after the rediscovery of the Howling Commandos files.

“You’re looking at the best version of me there is, doll.” He’d always say. “No need to dwell on the past.”

But you knew it was because part of him was always scared to look back. It made him remember he had a life before all of this happened.

“I’m busy that day.” You mutter, picking up the report on the desk.

Sam crosses his arms. “I haven’t even told you when it is.”

You stop in your tracks.

“Is there something else that’s bothering you?” Sam asks carefully. He knows perfectly how to deal with guarded agents. “You can tell me anything, you know that, right?”

You hum.

“So, I hope to see you there, Agent.” Sam narrows his eyes. He doesn’t need to use the words for you to know it’s an order.

You nod your head without another word, leaving the conference room before your anxiety rises more through your body.

——

“You’re pretty amped up for someone who didn’t even want to come!” Sam yells over the loud music playing inside the limo sent for you.

You don’t look back at him as you tip the vodka bottle, letting the clear liquid coat your throat.

On any other day, vodka wouldn’t be your liquor or choice but today, you need all the courage I can get. And in terms of fucking you up the fastest, vodka is the way to go.

You can barely feel your heel poking your foot by the time you step out.

Your eyes inadvertently scan every square inch of the room, not looking for anything suspicious but looking for the man who you’ve been dreading seeing.

It’s bad enough his posters are up on every lamp post.

You make a beeline towards the free bar cart, Joaquin hot on your heels.

“Sam sent me over to babysit you,” he leans on the edge of the cart. “You look like you’re having fun.”

“Oh, yeah,” you say sarcastically, sipping on the martini the bartender set for you. “I’m having a blast.”

Both your eyes travel down to the napkin the bartender passes you, his ten-digit phone number neatly scribbled on the paper.

You turn it over without looking at him.

“What happened to opening up your heart to love?” Joaquin whispers, looking back at the bartender.

“I don’t have time for love.” You mutter, swirling the olives in your drink.

He twists the cap on a water bottle before passing it to you. “You’ll never have time for love, if you don’t make time for love.”

“Who died and made you the team’s hopeless romantic?” You eye him.

“Steve.” He shrugs.

Joaquin goes on and on about love but you can’t hear him anymore. Because the second you look over to the other side of the room, there he is.

Time stands still, and your legs threaten to give out.

Bucky’s changed so much since the day you said goodbye forever. His eyes have dulled, turning into a muted blue like the sky on a rainy day. His hair looks polished, but you know better than anyone else he hates how it feels. “I love it when you run your hands through it,” he used to murmur against your lips. “Makes me feel free.” But most importantly, his expression lacks that liveliness it used to have. The wrinkles near his eyes would deepen the second his lips would stretch into a smile. And it almost always came with a: “You have no idea how much I missed you, Doll.”

Unsaid words stretch between you two. Your eyes say all the talking needed.

Bucky’s eyes travel from yours, down to your left hand, where you’d always wear a vibranium bracelet that he’d gifted you. It had pieces of his old arm in it. Bucky used to say that after The Winter Soldier, he wanted nothing to do with him. Until he met you. He liked when you wore it because it reminded him that even with his past, he could still deserve someone as loving as you.

You rub the spot where the bracelet used to lay.

“You don’t deserve me anymore,” you whisper.

“D’you say something?” Joaquin looks up at you.

You shake your head, ripping your eyes away from the man who caused you unspeakable hurt. But not before noticing how his expression hardened as he looked at the man standing next to you.

You recognized it immediately. It’s Bucky’s signature: I want to rip your head off look.

And it had everything to do with the way Joaquin was rubbing your shoulder.

“Torres, we’re friends, right?” Your eyes bounce from Bucky’s azure to your partner’s brown.

“Yeah,” he eyes you suspiciously.

“Could you pretend to be my boyfriend?” You get out before you can regret the words.

Was it immature? Yes.

Did you want Bucky to feel at least one ounce of the hurt you felt? Also yes.

“Why?” Joaquin’s eyebrows furrow.

“I hate these events because, as you can see,” you flip over the napkin with the bartender’s number on it. “Men always get the wrong idea. So, can you just act like you’re my boyfriend?”

“Is this some kind of test Sam put you up to?”

You pinch your lips together. “Sure.”

“Man! I’ve been waiting for an undercover mission,” he shimmies happily.

“But you have to pretend with everyone, okay?” You look back at the future congressman who’s making his way towards the two of you. “And make it believable.”

Joaquin smooths down his lapels. “You got it.”

Not even ten seconds later, Bucky stands between you and Joaquin with a scowl on his face.

"Agents." He looks at both of you like he's done so many times. But now, his gaze holds Joaquin's for a second longer.

"Congratulations." You raise your glass to him.

"I haven't won, yet." He doesn't look away from the brunet to your side.

"By the looks of it, you're going to sweep the floor with all the other old bozos around here." Joaquin smiles, playfully shoving the super soldier's shoulder but he doesn't budge. Not one bit.

"Could I take her away from you, it'll only be a second." Bucky asks like you're Joaquin's property.

You roll your eyes. "You don't have to ask him."

"As your boyfriend," Joaquin not-so-subtly raises his eyebrows at you. "I approve of your parting."

"We're not in the regency era you doofus." You whisper as Bucky leads the way.

"I haven't been anyone's boyfriend in a long time! I don't know how to act!" He whispers back, throwing his hands up.

"What are you doing here?" Bucky asks the second you're away from everybody else.

"Trust me, I didn't want to be here." You let out a dry laugh, pulling a cigarette from your bag and lighting it up.

"I mean, what are you doing here with him?" Bucky narrows his eyes toward your partner. "What's this? A debutant ball for your new relationship?"

"Why would you care, anyways?" You take a drag, liking the way the smoke coats your mouth.

"I don't care-I-I just-" Bucky runs a hand down his face.

"Look James," You watch as his PR guy paces around the ballroom, looking for the man who is standing in front of you. "It's best if you go back inside."

"I can't." He looks down at the floor. "I can't just leave you out here smoking alone."

A genuine laugh rips through you.

"That's the promise you're keeping up?" You raise your brows, laughing harder as his expression tightens. "Out of all the promises you made me, that's the one you're going with."

"This isn't-" He tries but you interrupt him.

"Tell me what this is?" You push for him to spill what you know is on the tip of his tongue. "What? Was this summon a friendly one? Or did you want to bring me out here just so you could see if you still had it? That power you had over me."

"N-no." He stutters over his words.

"I'm happy now, James." You let out more smoke. "And it's killing you to know that."

"I just don't know how you did it!" He finally snaps. "You come here, looking amazing like always, with another man next to you. Acting like what we had was-"

"What we had was casual." You repeat the words he said. "Nothing more."

"Was it?" His blue eyes lock into yours, tumultuous like the sea.

"Yes." You lie.

"Then why do I feel like this?" He runs a hand through his hair, messing up his perfectly combed hair.

"I don't care, Barnes." You drop the end of your cigarette on the floor. Bucky lifts his foot to step on it, just like he'd done a million times before, only for you to do it first.

You turn on your heel but Bucky stops you.

"Whatever we had is in the past, and I intend on keeping it that way." You look at him over your shoulder, hating the way his gaze still makes your heart squeeze and his touch makes your skin heat.

"I should leave, Congressman." You say through gritted teeth. "Wouldn't want to give the wrong impression to all the voters around here. "

Authors Note: Hiiiihi! Thank you so much for the love on pt. 1! As always make sure to like and comment. Alsoooo I posted the first chapter of my book, it's on my page. I'd love it if you guys could give it a read. And if you'd like to support me, make sure to give me a follow on my ig and tiktok: @sophiabazar_author, I'll be posting all book related content on there! I'll be posting chapter 2 soon! If you'd like a part 3 to casual make sure to comment!

PART 3: NEVER CASUAL

Tagged: @erinallene @the-bucky-one @unaxv @kodzukenie333 @g1g1l @hanacheryl @ironwinnerwonderland

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kashverse · 5 months ago

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hear me out, papakuna totally distraught about babykuna's first bday because he wants it to be absolutely perfect

sukuna has planned a lot of things in his life.

how to build his own company from the ground up? check. how to propose to you the moment he realized he was utterly, stupidly in love with you? check. how to plan an obscenely extravagant wedding despite you telling him no, we don’t need a horse-drawn carriage, suku, this is not a fairytale— check. but none of those compare to the sheer anxiety that consumes him when planning babykuna’s first birthday.

yes, that’s right. one whole year since you made him the happiest man on earth for the second time. (the first was when you agreed to be his wife. the second was when you gave him a mini-you.)

so naturally, this needs to be perfect. spectacular. a grand event to set the standard for all birthdays to come.

you watch from the couch, nursing a cup of tea, as your six-foot-something, terrifying, king-of-the-corporate-world husband paces the room with his phone pressed to his ear, his free hand gripping his hair like he’s planning the olympics.

"i don’t give a shit if there are scheduling issues, uraume, i need those ponies on saturday."

ponies. there are ponies at stake now.

"yeah? and tell the bakery i want the cake to be exactly like the reference. if i see even one ugly sprinkle, someone’s getting fired."

he hangs up with a frustrated sigh, rubbing his temples.

"baby, 'm this close to snapping someone’s neck."

"you mean over the birthday party that she won't even remember?" you ask, mildly amused. sukuna scoffs like you just committed blasphemy. "the disrespect. our daughter deserves the best."

you glance over at the soon to-be birthday girl herself, currently drooling on her own fist in her bouncer, blissfully unaware of her father’s slow descent into madness. "you’re stressing yourself out over nothing," you hum, sipping your tea.

"oh, yeah? and when she looks back at pictures of this day, do you want her to see a half-assed party?"

you raise a brow. "she’s literally chewing her foot right now."

sukuna turns to babykuna, who is, in fact, gnawing on her chubby little foot like a deranged gremlin. "she’s too young to understand stress," he grumbles, kneeling down to scoop her up. she gurgles in response, smacking her drooly little hands against his expensive-ass shirt. "yeah, that’s great, sweetheart," he mutters, gently wiping her mouth before pressing a kiss to her cheek.

she promptly spits up on his sleeve.

"...right. thanks."

you giggle. "maybe you should focus less on ponies and cake sprinkles and more on surviving fatherhood."

"shut up," he grumbles, shaking his drool-covered sleeve. you shake your head, smiling.

"but honestly, baby, you’re doing so much for her. she might not remember it, but we will. and when she’s older, she’ll see how much her dad loves her." he huffs, but you see the way his shoulders relax at your words.

"...whatever. still getting the ponies."

the day of the party, and babykuna is having the time of her tiny little life.

the ponies? a hit. the cake? bigger than her. the decorations? over-the-top. your husband? going absolutely feral over making sure the event is flawless.

"what the fuck is this?!" sukuna growls, glaring at the table.

choso, bless his ignorant soul, stares at the bowl of m&ms he just put down. "uh… candy?"

"these are the wrong colors."

"i—"

"WHERE'S THE BABY PINK? WHERE'S THE WHITE? DO I LOOK LIKE A FUCKING CIRCUS PERFORMER?!"

choso, looking genuinely scared for his life, quickly scoops up the bowl.

"i’ll—i’ll fix it!!"

meanwhile, babykuna, in her tiny pink party dress, is sitting directly on top of her smash cake, hands covered in icing, face lit up with pure joy as she happily smacks the dessert into oblivion. a photographer snaps a picture at the perfect moment—babykuna, mid-splatter, frosting in her hair, grin wide enough to make your heart burst. you lean into sukuna’s side, watching your daughter go feral.

"see? worth it." you murmur. he sighs, watching babykuna destroy the thing he spent weeks planning.

"...yeah. worth it."

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homunculus-argument · 9 months ago

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Honestly, "high art" of any kind isn't really any more or less incomprehensible or unapproachable than Tumblr meme culture. It's basically the same kind of thing, really, but with a longer time span and more reading to catch up to - things making references to things that were a thing earlier, and everyone kind of supposes that everyone who sees the work also has some background knowledge of the previous work being referred. Just imagine an art history teacher breaking down a tumblr post like

"...And here we see the next poster replying with this image. Here, this image of a statue has a very exact symbolic meaning. The figure of the statue is the Greek god Apollo, here in his role as a prophetic deity, which you may have concluded from the original post referring to future events that may or may not come to pass. In his hand, he is holding a dodgeball, raised on the level of his head, as if ready to throw it. The threatening aura of the image is multiplied by the way the statue's eyes have been edited to gleam omniously - the poster replying to the Original Post is expressing a symbolic, indirect threat, that the future that the Original Post's author described might come to pass, as if the patron deity of oracles had personally cursed the Original Poster to a fleeting gift of prophecy, as swift and brutal as being slammed with a dodgeball."

[scrolling down powerpoint presentation]

"...The second reply, here, has an image of a smiling woman wearing a helmet, standing in a row of people in similar uniforms. This reply requires some slightly deeper konwledge of Tumblr meme lore to understand - the image is a fragmet of a larger whole: a single frame of a gif, of a clip from the movie Starship Troopers. What is important here is the omitted context, which is the line that this nameless character famously says in the scene: 'I'm doing my part!' By posting this image, instead of the entire captioned gif, the replier highlights the implied obvious meaning behind it: They are not merely announcing their intention to actively work to see that the future that the Original Poster foresaw will come to pass, but wordlessly taunt them by implying 'you already know what I mean to do.' It is - in joking - a threat."

"And as you see here, the Original Poster has replied to these comments with a gif, which depicts an encounter between two robotic arms. The swift and dynamic action of the gif serves to express the OP's emotions, as the first robot represents the author themselves, and the second one is a stand-in for the two previous repliers. The way the first robot arm grabs the second one and starts beating it against the floor represents the author's anger. As surrogates for the two parties engaged in the conversation, the author is expressing their personal desire to grab the two previous posters and violently beat them against the floor."

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isuckatwritingsobenice · 1 year ago

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Infernal Shadows

Synopsis: Being one of the most powerful overlords in Hell, you like to keep up with colonies and overlord plans. Recently with the new extermination date out, you hold your annual gala sooner than usual. You hadn’t expected to get in the middle of the already heated feud between the Radio Demon and the head of Vox Tech.

Warnings: She/Her pronouns used for the reader, mentions of blood, voodoo?, Angel Dust being a horn-bag, Reader is referred too as Madame to the public. Vox and Alastor feud because I live for it.

Song for this chapter: The world we knew by Frank Sinatra.

A/N: I wanna make this a three part short story, so if anyone is interested in being tagged in the second part just let me know!! I hope you enjoy!!

Word count: 2655

Navigation!! // Masterlist!!! // Serendipity Writes (event) // Part two

Getting an invite to the annual crimson ball, hosted by yours truly, was nothing but an honor. Every overlord and every sinner in the pride ring waited anxiously for a letter. A black card with white letter in a cursive font stating ‘You have been personally invited by Hells biggest designer. The list of the gala was simple. The usual overlords, Zestial, Carmilla Carmine and her daughters, Zeezie, Rosie, Fredrick Von Eldritch and Bethesda von Eldritch. Alastor who had came back after seven years of hiding god knows where, and by special request, the three vee’s who had never attended the gala before. Then it becomes a bit more political.

Next on the list was the Goetia family, inviting the recently divorced prince with his daughter. Inviting Lucifer and Lilith, though they only ever came when everyone was gone. Then was their daughter Charlotte, who got a plus one as a special perk of being the princess of hell. Husk because he had been an old friend of yours before his status of Overlord was taken from him by none other than Alastor. He was also given a plus one, though he usually never brought anyone extra. Sir Pentious was a candidate, but ultimately scrapped from your list of invites as you felt he was too childish.

The gala was tonight and everything was going smoothly. Preparations were almost done, the foyer was spotless just the way you liked it, and everything seemed to be falling into place. You stared at yourself in the mirror. You had spent months designing your perfect dress for tonight. Everyone attending the gala knew there was only ever one color off limits, because you always wore it best. The color black always suited you perfectly. No one could wear it better than you.

Back at the hotel, Charlie felt guilty for using her authority as princess to have people help her get ready for this gala. Based on what Alastor had told her, there would be a lot of political powers and fellow overlords there. She wanted to look her best if she was going to pitch the hotel to them. She needed more people on board with the project, maybe someone who didn’t think it was complete and utterly ridiculous joke like Alastor did.

“How do I look?” Charlie asked as the makeup and hair artists stepped away from her. Charlie stepped out, allowing Vaggie to get a better look at her in a tailored charcoal gray suit, a departure from her usual vibrant red attire. The jacket, adorned with subtle pinstripes, accentuated her frame, while the crisp, white silk shirt underneath added a touch of formality. Completing the ensemble, she wore a black tie with a discreet pattern that hinted at both elegance and authority. The ensemble was a strategic choice, projecting confidence and a readiness to engage with the political powers present at the gala for the sake of her hotel. Vaggie smiled and hugged Charlie deeply, their embrace making Charlie feel a little less nervous about the whole ordeal.

“Charlie you look amazing. What happened to the red?” Vaggie asked, before Charlie just chuckled.

“Well, I wanted a change for tonight. I’m always in red, and I feel like they’ll take me more serious if I’m not walking in there with my usual attire. Besides, you read the invitation, ‘formal attire, look your best’.” Charlie said. Vaggie nodded, and Charlie pulled back from the hug to admire Vaggie in her dress. She was wearing a sleek and modern grey dress that gracefully embraced the formal occasion. The dress, with its tailored fit and subtle shimmer, exuded class. The knee-length hemline added a contemporary touch, and Vaggie had decided to pair it with black heels to complete the ensemble. The choice of grey complemented Charlie’s charcoal gray suit, creating a coordinated yet distinct look that would surely make an impression at the gala. Charlie felt her cheeks heat up taking in her appearance, her long hair gently pinned back, the loose pieces of hair framing her face.

“Aww, Vaggie you look so pretty!!” Charlie said excitedly. Vaggie just smiled, ignoring the way her cheeks heated up at Charlies compliment.

“I agree, you look good vagina.” Angel said mockingly, causing Vaggie to glare at him. Charlie just gushed.

“Angel be nice. This is really important for the hotel.” Charlie explained. He just nodded, tilting his head back and downing a bottle of liquor. The staff however was interrupted by Angel making a purring sound at Husk, who was dressed in a nice white suave dinner jacket, with perfect cutouts for his wings, along with some sleek black trousers and some black dress shoes. The match, he had a black silk lapel.

“I can think of another place that suit would look.” Angel said, leaning onto Husk. He rolls his eyes, bottle in hand.

“Do I even wanna know?” He asks, and Angel just grins.

“On my bedroom floo-“ Angel doesn’t get to finish, being shrugged off by Husk who just walks away with a shake of his head.

“Oh my gosh! Husk you look amazing!” Charlie squealed in delight. Husk just smiled softly before setting his drink on the bar counter.

“It appears everyone is ready.” Alastor said, the focus of the room shifting to him. Niffty was at his side studying his outfit from head to toe.

Alastor emerged in an ensemble that deviated from his usual eccentricity, opting for a more formal yet captivating look. A deep red velvet tailcoat adorned his frame, its luxurious texture catching the light. Dark-red lapels, meticulously piped with gold, added a touch of opulence. Underneath, he wore a perfectly tailored crimson dress shirt, the power emitting off of him. Suddenly, the room grew just a tad bit darker, the shadows of the room stretching just a bit. Complementing the ensemble, he chose a pair of well-fitted black dress pants, allowing the bold red hue to take center stage on his appearance. His choice of footwear shifted to polished black oxford shoes, a departure from his usual pointed-toe boots. The finishing touches of the outfit included a matching red silk bowtie, neatly knotted at his throat, and black leather gloves that added a refined edge. Alastor’s presence was commanding, radiating an air of formality while retaining the distinctive charm that defined him. The room was captivated by the Radio Demon’s unexpected transformation into a vision of refined class and style.

“You took forever for that?” Niffty said, before Angel Dust tossed a pillow at her.

“Shut it you. We, we are keeping,” Angel said, hands waving around Alastor, “to whatever this is.”

“Style.” Alastor said confidently. Vaggie just face palmed while Charlie clapped her hands together excitedly.

“Okay, I think everyone’s ready. Should we head out?” Charlie asked. Vaggie nodded, before Alastor dug the invitation out of his coat pocket. Standing near a wall, he traced the symbol on the back of the card on the wall. “Uh, Al? What are you doing?” Charlie asked. He grinned, putting his hand flat on the wall. The symbol began to glow green, before it opened a portal. On the other side, was a large house. The grand Victorian mansion stood as a testament to opulence, its imposing facade adorned with intricate wrought-iron black railings and embellished balconies with hints of chains. Tall, arched windows with stained glass panels framed the exterior, allowing glimpses of the soft glow emanating from within. The entrance, marked by a sweeping staircase, welcomed guests with ornate, carved intricate detailed doors. Charlie, Vaggie and Husk followed Alastor through the portal, Charlie waving goodbye to Niffty, and Angel. Sir Pentious was most likely hiding out in a room somewhere with his egg boys.

As guests approached, they marveled at the meticulous details of the architecture – elaborate moldings, corbels, and friezes adorned every corner. Ivy-clad walls added a touch of nature’s grace, intertwining with wrought-iron lampposts that cast a warm ambiance over the meticulously landscaped gardens.Inside, the grand foyer unfolded, revealing a sweeping staircase adorned with a rich, mahogany handrail. Crystal chandeliers hung from soaring ceilings, their light refracted by ornate mirrors that lined the walls. Plush Victorian-era furnishings, upholstered in rich fabrics, adorned the parlor rooms, creating intimate spaces for guests to gather and converse.Every room whispered of a bygone era – intricately patterned wallpaper, gilded frames displaying classical art, and the faint fragrance of aged wood and lavender.

The air was infused with a sense of refinement, transporting guests to a time when elegance reigned supreme. The Victorian mansion, a splendid backdrop for the gala, promised an evening steeped in grandeur and charm. In the middle of the exterior grounds, a grand fountain of blood took center stage. Its sculpted marble figures spouted blood into the air, catching the moonlight in a dance of liquid elegance. The fountain, surrounded by manicured gardens and flowering shrubs, became a focal point for guests as they strolled through the outdoor spaces, the gentle sound of cascading blood adding a serene touch to the gala’s errie atmosphere.

The overlords arrival made the event much more real. Alastor hums to himself as he walks around the outside grounds. There are servants of all kinds walking around with glasses of champagne. Rosie is sitting on a bench, plucking thorns off a rose. Alastor smiles to himself, happy to see a familiar face he know he can confide in.

“Rosie dear! So nice to see you.” Alastor said with a smile. She smiles at him, teeth razor sharp.

“Do you think you’ll be getting a seat tonight?” She asks, snapping the rose off its stem and tossing it to the side.

“Well of course I will. It’d be a mistake if I wasn’t.” Alastor said with a smile, crossing his legs as he sat down next to her. Sinners from all over the pride ring were socializing outside of the large mansion. He knew you were inside finalizing preparations and possibly screaming your head off. Overall, the air was chilled with a comfortable atmosphere. Well, it had been comfortable, until a loud noisy vehicle stopped at the front gates. Everyone’s heads were turning, Rosie and Alastor looking at each other with strained smiles. Stepping out of the large limousine were the three vee’s, vulgar music blaring from the vehicles speakers as the three made their way through the now open gates. Reporters lined the edges of the gates, trying desperately to see the overlords inside and to try and sneak into the gala, which was starting soon.

“Mr.Vox! Mr.Vox!” News reporters shouted. Velvet was busy taking selfies of her and her outfit, her assistant following close behind her. Valentino was busy looking down at everyone, smoking his usual, while taking his long strides next to Vox, who was in the middle of the three.

On Vox’s right was Valentino, who donned a captivating look for the gala. His tailored white suit boasted a jacket that reached just above the knee, a subtle departure from his usual floor-length coat. The crimson silk lining peeked through, adding a luxurious touch to the outfit. The coat, reminiscent of his extravagant style, also had a vivid-red hue with his signature white fur trim at the wrists. The black and white striped fur trim along the center-front added a distinctive flair. A gold chain and love-heart-shaped broach fastenings adorned the coat, creating an opulent yet alluring look. Finally, he wore polished black heeled boots, maintaining the sleek and captivating allure that defined Valentino’s presence. The familiar color scheme remained intact, blending sophistication with a hint of provocative charm for the grand gala.

On Vox’s left was Velvet, who had spent months perfecting her outfit for the gala, in hopes she’d be invited of course. She had begged the boys to keep a good public appearance, in hopes they’d be recognized and invited to the crimson gala. Velvette, deciding to ditch her usual style, embraced a lavish and over-the-top look that represented her brand. Dressed in a knee-length dress, the garment had a striking blend of black and red hues. The dress, fitted at the waist, flowed into a voluminous skirt, creating a sense of extravagance. The bodice of the dress featured intricate lace detailing. A white collar adorned with a velvet bow added a playful yet mature flair. The sleeves, a fusion of burgundy and white patterns, contributed to the overall lavish aesthetic she had been going for. Her accessories took on a more refined form. Velvet gloves, adorned with delicate lace, graced her hands, and a pearl necklace adorned her neck, adding a classic touch, completed with maroon heels, each step resonating with a sense of grandeur. Velvet’s transformation into this upscale attire reflected her desire to make a statement at the Crimson Gala.

In the middle, and the brains of the three vee’s, was none other than the head of Vox Tech, Vox himself. He wore a sleek and modern dark blue tuxedo, tailored with precision. Of course he could only have the best. The suit featured subtle futuristic patterns that enhanced his ‘perfect’ sense of style. To complement his high-tech vibe, Vox wore a light blue undershirt with an upside-down broadcast symbol. Vox's gala attire seamlessly blended power and control with his technological edge, creating a memorable look in shades of dark blue, which in his opinion, was the best color.

Upon seeing Alastor, Vox’s eye twitched noticeably. The gates shut behind the three vee’s, closing off the gala to the public. The overlords begin to get closer together unknowingly, Zestial finding a comfortable corner to watch things play out. Carmilla and Zeezie stand close together, whispering to one another as both Rosie and Alastor stand from the bench. Vox, Valentino and Velvet make their way to the Radio Demon and his colleagues.

“I see the grandpa’s were invited.” Velvet says with a scoff, scrolling through her phone.

“So disrespectful.” Carmilla says under her breath, looking away from the three vee’s.

“Hm, interesting, and I was beginning to think the only interesting thing tonight would be the dinner.” Bethesda said, her brother nodding.

“Well, it seems the children brought their play date to the public then.” Zeezie says. The other overlords laugh and Valentino sneers at her.

“Well an idiota like you would think so. Then again, don’t you all do the same with your diapers?” He asked, puffing the smoke into her face. She growls at him, fists clenching at her side, but Carmilla stops her.

“Didn’t they say this was an adult only gala?” Carmilla asked, Rosie chuckling at her words.

“Oh can it grandma.” Velvete said. But Vox remained silent, having his own personal staring match with Alastor, whose smile was stretched ear to ear, teeth on full display.

“I thought this gala was meant for real talent?” Vox asked, stepping closer to Alastor.

“Well it was until you showed up.” Alastor said with a smile. “There’s no originality in copying someone else.” He tuts. Vox narrows his eyes, face twisting with anger as he steps closer to Alastor again.

“You wanna tell me something, you old piece of-“ Vox is stopped, the lights to the exterior of the mansion dimming. The lights behind the large front doors opening slowly. Two tall black shadowy figures stepped from the door, smoke at their feet.

“Thank you all for your attendance. As we know, the annual Crimson Gala is held every year, and this year is no different. With the new extermination date, important decisions must be made. Tonight, ten individuals will be selected to sit at Madame’s table where she will discuss private plans on how to move forward.” The two said in unison. Everyone fell silent as more shadows appeared, each one sitting on the sides of the steps. Lights around the staircases began to light up, and people began making their way up the stairs.

“Well~ this should be fun.”

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raven-at-the-writing-desk · 2 months ago

Text

an italian fish conspiracy theory

We’ve been calling Mrs. Leech “Georgina” (which I believe has Greek origins) but what if her name is actually… “Giorgina”, a more Italian spelling??? Might this be how her name will be localized in EN?

I thought this because Ultramarine City strikes me as very… mediterranean?? More specifically, Italian. For example, the geography and architecture resembles Italy’s coastlines, which are rocky. The buildings and surrounding have similar coloration as well. Seafood is highly popular both in Italian costal cities and in Ultramarine City. (These are also true of Eric’s castle + kingdom from the film.)

Furthermore! Malleus has a voice line in his Shore’s Celebration card in which he mentions having gelato, which is an Italian frozen dessert similar to ice-cream. Gelato has lower milk fat content (less cream, more actual milk) and a slower churning process, which incorporates less air into the final product. Riddle’s voice lines mention lemons as a local specialty, just like how some regions of Italy are known for citrus. Sicilian lemons in particular come to my mind. The NRC boys eat Italian foods in the event, such as pizza, saltimbucca, amaretti, and prosciutto. Jade even mentions that Sunshine Lands uses olive oil for its canned tuna—olive oil being the fat of choice for many Italian dishes. Jade even states in episode 4 of the event that Ultramarine City is best represented by olive oil or lemon syrup. Olive and lemon are also used in their soaps.

When the NRC group sits down to eat dinner at their hotel's restaurant, Italian terms are used. For example, antipasto (appetizers), primo piatto (first course), secondo piatto (second course), etc. The dishes served are also very Italian: carpaccio, seafood platters, risotto, orzotto, txangurro, acqua pazza, and crostata. Many of these dishes feature tomato, lemon, and olive oil, all ingredients that prominently feature in Italian cuisine.

Now, it’s true that these Italian details apply to the city and not necessarily to Mrs. Leech herself. BUT—she has an acquaintance that is getting married here, in this specific place. It’s possible that they’re connected more than we think. Maybe Mrs. Leech has more “Italian” (or whatever the Twst equivalent of it is) background than we think she does.

Jade, her own son, has a voice lines in his Shore’s Celebration card in which he mentions wanting to arrive via gondola if he were to have his own wedding on land. A gondola is—you guessed it, an Italian boat. Now why would Jade specify a GONDOLA and not a ship, rowboat, or any of the other kinds of boats…? Why would he pick a type of boat that has no appearance in The Little Mermaid (which was originally a Danish tale) and didn’t associate with a particular location like Ultramarine City?

When you think about it, this isn’t even the ONLY Octatrio member with Italian ties. The -grotto in Azul’s surname is an English word adopted in the 1600s, but originally derived from Greek, Latin, and Italian origins. We also can't forget how the trio is constantly presented as "mob" or "mafia"-like. Mafia, of course, being an organized crime group or family originally operating in Sicily, Italy.

The on-campus café Azul runs, the Mostro Lounge, is Italian for “monster” (and many fans of even mistook the name as “Monstro”, the name of the whale from Pinocchio, which is set in Italy). His mother’s restaurant, La Grotta, also sounds Italian. Grotta refers to a pothole (ie a hole or cave made in rock by the action of swirling water). Azul even specifically refers to his mother’s restaurant in a few voice lines as a trattoria, which is an Italian eatery. Jade references ristorante (formal eatery), gelateria (basically a gelato shop), and taverna (more casual eatery) in the Sunshine Lands too. Not only that, but food is a huge part of Italian culture. It’s important for families to come together to eat at the same table (something which is increasingly becoming difficult to so in the modern age), and feeding others is seen as a sign of love. AND WHAT DO MRS. LEECH AND MRS. ASHENGROTTO DO??? That’s right, they give Azul lots of food 😭 Not to say that food = love is exclusively related to Italian culture, just that Italian culture is one of the cultures with that strong association.

Because the twins and Azul live in the same general area of the Coral Sea (they are familiar with the ice floes of winter, they go to the same schools, their families seem to know each other), I find all these Italian details to be more than coincidence 🤨

That’s not to say that the Coral Sea and/or the Sunshine Lands ARE 1:1 twisted Italy. I’m sure the devs have additional inspirations as well, such as other mediterranean cultures and maybe even some non-mediterranean cultures. For example, the Octatrio mention their home, the Coral Sea, being frozen over in winter, which definitely does not occur in mediterranean areas but are moreso associated with Scandinavian (like Denmark, the area in which TLM originates) seas. just thought this was interesting to note!!

Goes back to tag all my Georgina posts with “Giorgina” too just in case…

#twisted wonderland #twst #disney twisted wonderland #disney twst #Jade Leech #eternity float spoilers #Georgina Leech #notes from the writing raven #jp spoilers #twst en #twisted wonderland en #Azul Ashengrotto #Tweels #Floyd Leech #Octavinelle #the little mermaid #pinocchio #Giorgina Leech

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alternate-real-ities · 3 months ago

Note

Hey, something's happening in my office... my coworkers are disappearing, or I guess, maybe the office is shifting? It seems like there's less office guys around and more and more guys from the warehouse division showing up, although why'd they show up to the office park is beyond me. Just more huge, asian dudes keep coming. I was asked to direct them over to shipping department, they all seemed nice enough but man, they stunk. Think my clothes need a wash now, I can still smell them on me.

I feel like I'm one of the last guys around in button down and a tie. If you can help explain what's going on, just look for me, I'll be the only short, lean, clean cut, Mexican American guy trying to keep this office above water.

Investigation Report: Office Outbreak

To the distressed individual who reached out for help - We are truly sorry, but by the time our team arrived at the scene, it was already too late for you. Your family has been notified and dully made to forget about this incident. We are now working on containing this outbreak and preventing it from spreading further. May you be at peace in your current state.

Overview

An investigative unit was dispatched to assess the circumstances unfolding at the corporate office of [REDACTED], now Subject C. Unfortunately, Subject C was not found at the office when the team arrived, but substantial evidence was gathered from the scene. Camera footage from the building's security system allowed the team to piece together a timeline of events leading up to Subject C's current state.

The following report thus details the team's findings and a possible timeline of events that led to the current situation. For physical reference, we include an old photo of Subject C, which was found in their office.

Timeline of Events

[48 Hours Prior]

The video footage of 2 days prior shows Subject C entering the office with a noticeable change in demeanour. He appeared to be bothered by something, constantly looking over his shoulder and fidgeting with his clothing. The office was relatively quiet at this time, with only a few employees present.

Our team's observations suggest that Subject C was already experiencing the effects of the Asian Flu at this point, though the symptoms were not yet severe. This is deduced from his contact message, where he mentioned his encounter with a new group of employees from the warehouse division. It is likely that Subject C was exposed to the virus during this encounter.

Video footage from this time period also shows Subject C seemingly struggling to focus on his work, sweating profusely, and exhibiting signs of confusion. These are common early symptoms of the Asian Flu, which can cause disorientation and cognitive impairment in its early stages to distract the host from the virus' effects on the host's body.

As the day progressed, surveillance footage shows Subject C subtly changing in appearance. His clothes seemed to fit a bit tighter than usual, hinting at a slight increase in muscle mass and overall body size. However, these changes were not drastic; he simply appeared more filled out and energetic compared to his typical demeanour. Subject C also exhibited increased activity levels, frequently getting up from his desk to pace around the office or stretch, as if excess energy was coursing through his body.

The rest of the workday passed without incident, and Subject C left the office at the usual time. However, the changes in his physical appearance and behaviour were becoming more pronounced. Video surveillance shows Subject C leaving the office filling his shirt more than usual, while sweating heavily.

[24 Hours Prior]

The video footage from the day before Subject C's current state shows a significant escalation in his symptoms. Upon entering the office, Subject C was visibly larger and more muscular than the day before. The increased height and bulk are evident in the footage, as previous recordings can be compared to his current state. He came in with his sleeves rolled up, revealing his newly developed biceps and forearms. He had also forgotten to wear his tie, which was unusual for him. The office remained mostly empty like the day before, with only a few employees present.

Our team's analysis of the footage suggests that Subject C's transformation was accelerating rapidly. Footage from the rest of the day shows Subject C exhibiting increasingly aggressive behaviour against his computer, which he seemed to be struggling to operate. He was also seen pacing around the office, but his remaining colleagues appeared to be avoiding him. This may have been due to his probable newly acquired scent, which was likely becoming more potent as his transformation progressed, as some people are seen holding their noses or coughing when he passed by.

Our team also caught an interesting moment in the footage where Subject C seemed exhausted and sat down at his chair, his shirt now straining to contain his growing muscles. He was sweating profusely, and his breathing was heavy. He appeared to be in pain, clutching his chest and grimacing. His facial features appeared to be changing as well, with his hair physiology changing, becoming more curly and darkening, and his face becoming more masculine and asian-like.

We believe that Subject C was nearing the final stages of his transformation at this point, as his symptoms were becoming more severe and his behaviour unpredictable. The office was completely empty by the time Subject C left. He was seen exiting the building, his pectorals straining against his shirt, as his shirt's top button had popped off. He was still sweating heavily, however, his breathing had become more controlled. Our team also captured moments where Subject C seemed to be sniffing the air, as if he was tracking something, however, he was most probably smelling himself. This behaviour is consistent with the heightened sense of smell that is a common symptom of the Asian Flu.

[Present Day]

Our team arrived at the office the day after the last recorded footage of Subject C. The office was in a state of disarray, with furniture overturned and papers scattered everywhere. No employees were present, and the building was eerily quiet. We discovered Subject C's discarded clothing in front of the warehouse entrance, which was open and unguarded upon our arrival. A strong, musky scent lingered in the air, which is consistent with our knowledge of the Asian Flu's effects.

Upon further investigation, our team noticed a glistening trail leading from the discarded clothing towards the open warehouse door. The viscous substance was unmistakably semen, suggesting that Subject C, in his transformed state, had left a trail as he moved about. Following the trail inside, we were greeted by a scene that defied belief. The once orderly warehouse was now filled with muscular Asian men, all visibly transformed by the Asian Flu.

And there, standing amidst this chaos, was Subject C. But he was barely recognizable in his new form. Gone was the scrawny, unassuming man from the office photos. In his place stood a colossus of rippling muscle and tanned, glistening skin; he was easily 6'5" with a physique that could only be described as grotesquely exaggerated. His pecs were each the size of watermelons, glistening and flexing independently under his sweat-slicked skin. Ropes of muscle rippled down his eight-pack abs to his V-cut hips, disappearing into a waistband straining to contain an impressive bulge.

His bronzed skin seemed to emit an almost supernatural glow, beaded with exertion under the harsh warehouse lights. High cheekbones and almond-shaped eyes hinted at his East Asian heritage, now exaggerated by the virus's influence into a face of rugged, masculine beauty. A light dusting of dark hair across his chiselled jawline framed full, sensuous lips curved in a predatory smile. The scent emanating from him was overwhelming - pure, concentrated pheromones that would have made our team swoon if not for our protective gear. Subject C's transformation had not only enhanced his physical form but also amplified his masculine allure to dizzying heights.

Behind Subject C, the rest of the warehouse was a sea of similar forms - the other office people he had once worked alongside, now transformed into muscular, sweaty Asian bros like himself. They lounged against pallets stacked high with boxes bearing cryptic markings in languages we didn't recognize. Others stood in loose groups, engaged in low conversations that were punctuated by "bro speak" and the occasional burst of laughter.

They hefted pallets and machinery with ease, their bodies built for hard labour rather than office work. The air hummed with a symphony of grunts, groans, and the clanking of metal. It was clear that in this new form, Subject C and his crew were thriving. Their minds may have been dulled, but their bodies were powerful tools, perfectly adapted for manual labour. In this world of grunts and muscles, critical thinking was obsolete. They only needed each other now, their minds unaware of the world they had left behind.

Conclusion

The evidence gathered by our team suggests that Subject C was exposed to the Asian Flu virus during an encounter with a group of warehouse employees. Incubation time took approximately 48 hours this time, during which Subject C exhibited common symptoms of the virus, such as hyperhidrosis, cerebral cellular decay, and a heightened sense of smell. His transformation accelerated in the final 24 hours, culminating in his current state as a muscular, Asian bro (as he calls himself).

A containment squad has been dispatched to the warehouse to secure the area and prevent further spread of the virus. The sweaty beasts within will be quarantined and studied to better understand the virus's effects and potential treatments. The investigation team will continue to monitor the situation and provide updates as necessary. The situation is dire but not hopeless. We recommend a thorough decontamination of the office space and a review of existing safety protocols to prevent future outbreaks. This concludes the investigation team's report on this recent outbreak of the Asian Flu virus.

Please refer any further inquiries to the investigation team's lead, Dr. Ming.

[End Report]

#asian flu #asianization #male transformation #muscle tf #muscle transformation #musclegrowth #race change #alpha man #alpha muscle #asian hunk #asian muscle

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honeychamomile1 · 7 months ago

Text

Odd One Out

JJ Maybank x fem!reader

Summary: Reader feels invisible around the Pogues.

Warnings: Crying, feeling strongly excluded, comfort, mention of disease, etc.

Note: I know this wasn’t part of my “Future Stories” post, but it’s been a side story for too long so I decided to post it! Hope you like it!

Masterlist

“I’m tellin’ ya, pineapple doesn’t belong on pizza, that’s uh,” Pope chuckled at the silly conversation of debate whether the topping belongs on the delicious food or not before finishing his sentence, “the end of discussion. Debate closed.”

The whole room was still trying to wear off its laughter, a few people still going off in a fit before calming down again.

The girl was laughing too, just a lot softer and less full of….what’s the word….happiness.

Most of the time she didn’t know what the jokes were about, or the little references they would whisper to each other were on the topic of. It didn’t help the fact that she was sitting away from the majority of the group, the one sitter arm chair away from the couch they crowded.

She still remembers the encounter of them practically pushing her away from the group, forcing her to sit on the chair alone. She had walked in with them, all of them still laughing at some joke JJ said but of course she couldn’t get a word in on what he spoke at all, for she was always in the back of the group anyhow. The friends had walked in the house, one by one plopping on the couch or on the floor in front of it, so there wasn’t a single little space for her to squeeze in.

If she thought back deeper and shut her eyes, she could still feel the stare they laid upon her, waiting to see her point of action towards the matter. It was almost like they didn’t like her, like if she went near one of the particular that very person would be the unlucky girl or boy to have to deal with her for the rest of the hang out.

So yeah, her cheeks flushed deep red as she stumbled over crossed legs and ankles towards the back of the room, muttering soft pathetic apologies before sitting in the very chair she is sitting in now.

Now it wasn’t so bad, just that she was in the back, meaning all she could see were backs of heads and once in a while profiles. So the bit of participation she wished she had was no longer available, so now she was sitting in the chair, her legs crossed apple sauce style so they wouldn’t accidentally kick someone.

JJ was so close. So close that all she had to do in order to talk to him was tap him on the shoulder. He would turn around and talk to her and smile, giving her one of those blue eye sparkles. Maybe then she’d-

If she kept thinking like this she’d never be able to participate in the conversation. So she forced out a chuckle, trying to ease herself in.

Maybe she could squeeze her own voice in with all the others? If there’s room for them there has to be room for her too, right?

“One time I went to a pizza shop and-“

Her voice dyed out, the response being absolutely nothing. No eye contact, no expression change, not even a glance from anyone, almost like they didn’t even hear her.

She was speaking loud enough, the same volume of everyone else, but she also didn’t want to talk over the whole group just for a grab of attention.

So the conversation she wasn’t included in continued, someone else’s voice covering hers.

That someone else being Kiera, who of course everyone has to pay attention to. “Yeah, I agree, no more pineapple on pizza talk, maybe we should get actual pizza.” She suggested, and everyone loved the sound of that.

So did she, her stomach being the other thing she was thinking about besides the fact she wasn’t being included. She got up with the others, heading out the door behind JJ.

If she just tapped him on the shoulder-

He closed the door. Maybe he didn’t see her, since there was a corner to go around before exiting the house, but he didn’t forget about her, right?

She stared at the closed door, the past events causing small tears to arise in her eyes.

No.

She can’t cry just because someone closed the door in her face. It was such a small thing, a small action of a mistake he might’ve made. She almost expected him to come back, staring at the handle to see if it would twist, awaiting his face to pop in and apologize for the little thing he did.

But he never came.

She took a sharp breath in, reaching forward for the handle herself and leaving the house.

The group was outside piling into the Twinkie, talking about. She went to the side door too, hoping she could squeeze in somewhere.

But all the seats were full, and all the pitiful eyes were on her.

“Oh, there’s no room. Maybe you could drive in your car and meet us there?” Sarah suggested, and it was the first time that day they spoke directly to her. And it should’ve been something she enjoyed, like a little invitation to join the conversation or an offer to squeeze next to someone, them willing to be a little bit uncomfortable just so she could join.

But it was something she wished didn’t happen, because why did she even go to the side of the car in the first place? Did she really think there would be room for her?

“Or someone could squeeze over..?” Sarah trailed off, looking over at the rooms of people, and the girl couldn’t help but notice how John B moved closer to the edge with the window, covering a small space. Her heart broke.

“Or ya could sit on my lap, Princess.” She heard JJ chuckle, and she glanced at him, her broken little heart believing him for a second, her cheeks softly flushing, before realizing it was a joke. Some people laughed, Kie smacking JJ on the arm but there was a smirk on her lips.

The girl cleared her throat awkwardly, fiddling with her hands, all eyes still on her.

“Yeah, I’m not gonna go anymore, I’ll just go home…I’m not feeling so well.” She had to come up with some excuse, some ticket to get out of there, not like they would miss her at all.

She just walked away, heading to the sidewalk to walk home. Alone.

No one wished her well, despite her lie, but she still wished to at least get a “get well soon” or a “goodbye”.

Nothing. Just pity looks as she walked away, not long before chatter filled the car once more and they drove off.

She didn’t feel like eating anymore, despite her stomach yelling at her because she missed the only chance to eat; they would probably make her pay for her own meal anyway.

So she headed home, arms crossed as tears finally made their way down her cheeks. It hurt, the concept of not being included. She was the nickel out of all the pennies. They were all tan skin and smiles, considering themselves lucky because they found each other, very similar to being lucky when you find a penny. But she was all silver and plain, having a different engraving on her and being a different size than everyone else; they were all small and sweet, yet she was the biggest fool out of all of them.

She hated being a nickel. What did she have to do to be a penny?

She didn’t know, and that right there made her cry harder. She wiped at the tears but nothing worked, for whole rivers were already down her face by now. Her heart cracked, she felt it, because she knew if John B moved over just a little there would be enough room for her to sit with them.

But he didn’t want that. He didn’t want to sit next to her, like she was some sort of disgusting disease that he didn’t want to catch.

All she wanted was to be included, to feel loved and fit in by them. But she’ll always be the odd one out.

She fell asleep crying, and woke up hungry since she skipped dinner the day before.

She got out of bed, seeing her red-eyed self in the mirror while brushing her teeth.

She decided to go out today, to JJ’s house.

Now, it didn’t seem like a good decision, but she needed comfort and he was the only person she knew that would provide it. Maybe she would tell him how she’s feeling, not the crying all the way home part, and he would assure her he likes her in the group.

At least that’s what her brain told her he’d say.

Because her mother wouldn’t understand, plus she had other things to deal with, and she didn’t want to bother her father with all the work loads he had on his mind.

But JJ, he was the shiniest penny of all of them, and he seems like the only person to trust. Sadly she didn’t forget about the joke he made the day prior, suggesting she sat on his lap, but it was a one time thing and he could’ve been peer pressured to make it.

That’s what her brain kept telling her.

But the morning was sunny and warm, practically begging for her to enjoy it so she couldn’t refuse.

She put on some Jean shorts and a sun shirt, putting some knitted bracelets on her wrist because she saw everyone else wearing one; plus they were fun to make.

She had made one for JJ, his two favorite colors she overheard him reveal tied into the bracelet. She was gonna bring it to his house, maybe have the courage to give it to him.

She got to his house on foot, spotting his blob of blonde hair behind his car hood, where it normally was.

She shyly made her way over, gazing at his car to pass time. She liked how rusty it was, showing its age but it was still quite clean, like it was his prize possession. (It probably was)

“She looks good, doesn’t she?”

She flinched, looking over at him and making eye contact. His blues were something she admired, but looking directly into them overwhelmed her so she looked away. He chuckled.

One of the main reasons why she went to him was because JJ was the type of person who could talk to anybody. He knew the words to say or the way to talk to make the person comfortable (friend wise that is.)

She hoped he would do just that while he talks to her, and so far so good.

She nodded in response, hands in her back pockets of her shorts and fiddling with the bracelet she made him.

“Yeah, looks great.” She assured, despite the fact that she knew he already knew that, but then again it was all worth the smirk he gave in response, leaning back into the hood.

“What’s wrong with it?” She had the courage to ask, hands out of her pockets now and fingers fiddling together.

He shook his head. “Absolutely nothin’, just had to replace the engine.”

She smiled softly at that, glad that there wasn’t anything severely wrong with his car. “That’s good.”

He nodded, clearly half listening but she knew it was only because he was so focused on the task at hand.

They fell into silence for a little bit, and she was kinda glad he didn’t ask why she was there, mainly because she needed time to build up the courage to start the topic.

“Hey, JJ?” She blurted out, forcing her lips to move. Her heart started beating quite quickly. He looked up at her briefly at the acknowledgment before glancing back down, letting her know he was listening.

“Mm?” He hummed.

“Um,” she started, fiddling with her hands harder than before and trying to ignore the surprisingly annoying racing of her heart. “I noticed yesterday-“

“You noticed the toilet paper I put on John B’s shoe? You didn’t tell him, did you?” He interrupted, his eyes sparkling as he looked at her. She’s always wanted an eye sparkle from him, that meant the topic was mischievous and exciting for him.

But now wasn’t the time, for she needed to get to the point before her courage wore off. “Well, no, I didn’t tell him, but-“

He let out a sigh of relief. “Good, I wanted it to be there when we went to get pizza, which…”

He slowly trailed off, realizing she wasn’t there when they went out.

She swallowed nervously, feeling her cheeks flush. “Yeah, whatever, anyway, I really need to talk to you about something.”

She was satisfied that she could get that sentence out, for the courage in her chest hasn’t left yet.

His face drew back, twisting with confusion but he looked okay with it. “Okay, what’s up, sugar?” He said casually, leaning back down and popping the old engine out, lifting it before placing on the ground.

Her cheeks flushed red at the nickname, but brushed it off so she could stay on task. She kept telling herself that talking to him would help, so she really wanted to get her point across.

“Um, well, I’m feeling a bit, I don’t know, like I don’t…belong.”

The word: belong. It was something she always wanted to do, something she would die just for a taste of being it. It was something she so wanted to be that she held the word close to her heart, holding onto it tightly so it wouldn’t leave her. It was slowly fighting back against her grip ever since she met the group, yet she wanted friends so badly she kept trying.

She stared at JJ to see his reaction, watching as he lifted the new engine towards the car hood. He must have felt her stare because why else would he look up, eyes looking as clueless as ever.

“Did you say something?” He said, scratching his head, closing the hood.

“What?” She pathetically whispered, tears welling up but she blinked them away. She cleared her throat. “N-no, I didn’t say anything. I was gonna say I made this for you.”

Her voice was soft and helpless, setting the bracelet on the now closed hood of the car after taking it out of her pocket. He stared at it, eyes softening slightly before looking up, meeting her glossy eyes.

“I-I hope you like it,” She said, voice thick and her lips were quivering, tears so close to bursting themselves out.

“Woah, what’s wrong?” He said, stepping around his car and reaching for her, but she snatched her wrist out of his reach.

“You weren’t listening to me!” She sputtered. “Just like everyone else.”

“I’m sorry.” Was all he could get out because he was in shock at her outburst. Normally she is the quiet cute girl in the corner, now her eyebrows were furrowed in anger and her cheeks were red. Smoke was practically coming out of her ears.

“Sorry?” She quoted. “I have been feeling like this for weeks, and I finally had the courage to talk to someone, that someone being you of all people because I had a speck of hope that you would listen but when I do you can’t do that just this once?!”

“Feeling like what?” He said- almost demanded- his eyebrows furrowing. She threw her arms in the air in asasperation at his response, like out of the whole outburst she expressed the only thing he heard was that little part. “Does it even matter?” She almost yelled. “You had one chance to listen and you didn’t take it. If you cared you would’ve listened.”

“I do care, sugar,” he desperately assured. “I didn’t know you needed my full attention. I should’ve listened, and I’m sorry.”

“It doesn’t even matter anymore, forget about it, JJ,” she said, wiping her cheeks before turning away.

“No no talk to me, princess. I’m listening I promise,” he whispered, dirty fingers curved around her wrist.

She turned to him, desire for someone to listen to her was strong.

Once he knew she wasn’t gonna leave, he let go of her wrist, the warmth from his touch leaving her. She fiddled with her fingers, looking into his eyes that seemed so sincere.“You promise?”

He nodded almost instantly. “I promise.”

He even held out his pinkie to her, making her laugh but seal the promise nonetheless.

The rest of the morning they sat and talked, JJ’s smile as big as ever and the threads tied around his wrist.

She laughed.

Laughed.

And she actually got to hear his jokes for once. The ones she missed, misheard, and never repeated for her.

And those sounds were as genuine as they could get, her heart singing as he gave her a real eye twinkle.

It was at that moment her heart fell, fell hard for the boy next to her.

And at their next hangout she didn’t have to sit on the chair alone like she normally does, for now she got to see on Maybank’s lap (as offered) as she laughed with the group and got to have her say.

She felt loved. Felt like she was included.

And, most important of all, she felt belonged.

-Tell me what you think? 🫶🏻

#jj maybank x reader #jj x fem reader #jj x y/n #outer banks #outer banks imagines #jj maybank #jj maybank x fem!reader #outer banks x reader #jj maybank fluff #outer banks fluff #outer banks angst #JJ maybank x reader angst

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winkofcharm · 21 days ago

Text

Spinning, Spinning, Spun - Chapter 1

Please help me, this is far longer than I expected it to be lmao.

Batfam x Reader {platonic} [Previous] [next]

Barbara Gordon is simultaneously the first to notice, and the sort-of last to know.

It begins as most nights do for her, preparing for her shift as Oracle, waiting for you to send over the photos of the day. Scanning through the reports, planning out the routes each Bat would take, keeping an eye on any sort of forum, social media, police report, etc - that might drop a hint for what criminal activities may be planned for the night. It was a familiar pattern, one she had held to for years, even before she joined The Family.

She’d known for as long as she could remember that she wanted to be in law enforcement, and since she was strictly forbidden from joining the GCPD by her Dad, what better way than this?

First as Batgirl, fighting along Batman and Robin - being brought into the fold, into the family. She even remembers the first time she was brought into the batcave, and became aware of the men behind the masks; The Bruce Wayne, The Dick Grayson. She was going to work with the legends she modelled herself after. The ones who inspired her to take up a mask, to hit the streets of Gotham, and fulfil her dream. But it wasn’t just the two of them, was it? There was their butler, Alfred Pennyworth, former military, hyper-competent, and a master of what he did. And then…there was you.

Barely a toddler, not able to comprehend what was going on, even if you wanted to. You were a cute kid, for sure, but she didn’t really know much about kids, and wasn’t interested in learning either. She had more important things to do, and yeah, she felt kind of bad brushing you off whenever she stopped in during the day, but that’s what Bruce told her to do - and at the end of the day, he was your dad, and had the final say. If she ever was curious about who exactly was watching over this child while She, Bruce, Dick, and Alfred were all preoccupied, then it was only a fleeting thought before refocusing on the job at hand.

She watched you grow in glimpses and glances. Sighing a breath of relief when Bruce told her you were in on the secret, and letting another when he mentioned you wouldn’t be involved. By the time you were told, she was already Oracle, and balancing another vigilante would be stretching herself a little too thin. You learning the secret, also led to her seeing you less and less. And if she were completely honest with herself, it was a solace, a weight off her shoulders - one less person she needed to lie to.

It became so much easier once you started leaving The Manor, she didn’t need to worry about running into you, and the awkward greetings that would follow. Barbara could get right to work, without needing to censor any discussions or plans. Anytime you were home, you seemed to get the hint quickly and make yourself scarce. The contact was minimal, until Bruce came to her with a request.

You were getting popular on social media, and with that popularity came risk. Risk of people getting too curious, of not just your safety, but the others safety being compromised as well. So a plan was put into motion.

Every day, at 5pm Gotham time, you would send over any pre-planned posts and pictures, and Barbara would scrub them clean of meta-data. She would cross-reference any details regarding the rest of the family, making sure the timelines of events stayed consistent (though, she admits, you were pretty good at that already - and getting better at covering your own digital tracks. It seemed almost redundant to have her backtrack over everything, but who was Batman without redundancies?). Then, once satisfied, she’d send them back, and you would post at predetermined times.

For the last five or six years, this system worked. You were always punctual, provided the few times you were late due to scheduling conflicts with the regular time, but even then, you always let her know ahead of time. Until this time, that is.

5 pm, 18:00, 5 in the evening - came and went, and not a text, or dm, or email in sight. Maybe you were busy, maybe you were sleeping? You were in Hong Kong, possibly on your way elsewhere at the moment, and time zones could be tricky at best - but you never missed the 5pm cutoff.

And honestly, she may have been the first to discover your disappearance, if she hadn’t been immediately distracted by a new thread on the Gotham subreddit. An unconfirmed source, one she needed to follow up on asap, claiming a grumbling in the underground - a rumour, unsubstantiated, but all rumours regarding any of the rogues needed to be followed up on.

Thus, your lack of contact went unappreciated, and unheeded.

The second to notice, and the first to inquire, was one Stephanie Brown.

Steph - as she insisted to be called - was probably just as active in the realm of social media as you were, even if she wasn’t quite as popular. She never really got the invites to collaborate and create as much branded content as you did, but she didn’t really want that. She was okay with being “Gotham famous”, where people who were chronically online may recognize her out and about, but she wasn’t being hounded. Not like you were, and that was perfectly fine.

She didn’t want to be as famous as you, hell, from the few times you actually made conversation, you didn’t want to be as famous as you are. The first time Wayne Enterprises pushed for a collab between you and her, you had been so... so…something.

You had been sat beside her in a boardroom, the company PR team presenting why it would be so great for You, at the time the only known biological Wayne heir, and Steph, at the time girlfriend to their youngest ever CEO, to run a series of posts together online to promote brand engagement and blah-blah-blaaaaaaaaaah. Meanwhile, Bruce and Tim sat opposite her and you, nodding and agreeing with whatever business talk came out of the team's mouth.

She also remembers nodding along, even if she didn’t understand what they were saying. It wasn’t like either of you were going to turn down the proposal, especially since it was coming directly from Bruce. She “uhuhed” and “okay’d” at all the right times, and you…you just sat there.

You never even really looked at her, and Steph recalls how angry that made her. How you glanced over her once before looking away (before looking down) and never really looked back at her (never looked back up). She thought you to be stuck up and rude, some bratty kid living rich off their daddy’s money. It wasn’t until later, when you actually were working together for a supposedly “candid” photo opportunity, that she realized you were just quiet and a little awkward.

In person, you were a complete 180 from how you presented yourself online. Online, you were confident, bold, clever and witty. In person, you shrunk into yourself. Shoulders hunched, eyes looking anywhere but forward - until the camera started rolling and then, then you transformed. Shoulders back, eyes forward, smirk playing on your lips. You went from random nobody, to someone who couldn’t be mistaken for anything other than the child of Bruce Wayne.

It made her curious, and for Stephanie Brown, curiosity was dangerous.

She started by asking Tim about you, but he couldn’t give any more information than she already had, and even then, some of it seemed to just be about the online you - not the real one. When pushed, he got frustrated, and ended up starting a small argument.

“Does it matter? All you have to do with them is pose for some pictures - it’s not like they do anything else.”

And didn’t that set Stephanie off. You were a person, more than an online presence - so she and Tim didn’t speak for a week, until you had left town again, and the reason behind the argument semi-forgotten.

Then she made the mistake of asking Bruce - and fuck, wasn’t that one of the most terrifying conversations (could it even be called that?) of her life. She tried to play off her questioning as small talk -

“Man, they’re completely different in person y’know. I expected them to be just a rich kid, but -”

Bruce cut her off. He hadn’t even been looking at her at first, but the moment he realized she was talking about You, his head had whipped around at her. His eyes hardened, his face twisted into one she’d only seen before aimed at lowlife thugs. Stephanie could feel the fear creeping in, her palms starting to sweat. She had made eye contact for just a moment, before casting her eyes elsewhere. Why had he reacted like this? She just wanted to know more about his kid. She didn’t think that was wrong - how could it be?

“All you were to do was a job. They’re to be left alone outside of that.” She tried to defend herself, mostly out of surprise, but Bruce wasn’t having it. Anything she spoke was met with a cold and stern:

“Drop it.”

So she did. For a bit. The next time you were in town, and you were asked to work together again, she tried to bring it up again - and Bruce got even angrier. She ended up benched, and if she had to choose between you and Spoiler?

Well, she didn’t know you that well. And Spoiler, Spoiler was always going to be more important.

Even after she and Tim broke up, you played the part of her digital bestie - and she would catch glimpses of the real you, the you no one else had seen, whenever she could. At one point she realized she knew more about you then the ones purported to be your siblings, and it sent her into a spiral. At best, you were coworkers, and she knew more than the people who were supposed to know everything.

It helped that you posted several times a day, everyday. And sure, a lot of it was the fake influencer bullshit, but sometimes you’d sneak in the truth. Those were the posts she went out of her way to like and repost. She learned your favourite colour and favourite hot beverage in the same post, and made sure the next time you went out together for content, that it was prepared correctly, in a mug of your favourite colour.

The small smile that lit up your face was perhaps the first real smile she had seen you make. And if it made her heart flutter, well, she kept that secret close.

So it became a habit of hers. To scroll through your posts everyday, except today -

You hadn’t posted anything. Not a thing. Nothing on twitter, on instagram, on snapchat, on tiktok - nothing. She refreshed each one multiple times, just in case, and kept switching between platforms, just in case.

It set her on edge. Made her stand a little straighter - and then - the panic set in as she recalled -

You queued everything.

You queued your posts for up to a week out at a time - meaning while there was nothing made public today, you hadn’t posted anything for the last week.

So Stephanie did the only thing she could think to do, and went to the only person who might know more and be willing to share.

Alfred.

Thus Alfred became the third to notice, and the first to know.

He remembers when you came to the manor. How little you were, the power of your lungs as you cried out into the world. A cry that would, if he were honest, barely ever be answered.

Barely two weeks old, and already being forced to learn how cold the world is - he tried to apologize for it, but how could he? Nothing could replace what had been lost, nothing could replace what would never be given.

Your mother had died in childbirth, or shortly after. The timeline wasn’t quite clear, but she had enough time to list one Bruce Wayne as the father on your birth certificate. Something neither he or Bruce had expected - let alone the call that came from the hospital, requesting someone come pick you up, lest CPS get involved. Bruce eventually relented under that threat, wanting to avoid any sort of government digging, but only if a DNA test proved you to be his child.

The Hospital agreed, and two days later, the results came back positive. You were his, and he was all you had. They refused to allow Alfred to collect you, no matter how hard Bruce pushed - he had to be the one to pick you up. So Bruce brought Alfred with him, and the moment he laid his eyes on you, he was yours. You were, in Alfred’s opinion, the most valuable thing in the world.

Bruce, his ward, his son in every way but blood, to Alfred’s disappointment, did not agree. There was no time for an infant, not in his crusade. Despite trying his best to care for you and Bruce at the same time, Batman’s schedule made it impossible.

An infant needed around the clock care, and if he was in the Batcave watching over Bruce and Dick (who hadn’t even been told about you - didn’t even know you were there in the manor, having been put in the nursery wing at the far end, where your cries were only to be heard by a nanny no one had bothered to hire), then there was no way for him to watch over you - there was more than one morning you woke covered in your own mess.

Alfred at least got Bruce to agree to hire a Nanny after the second week. He refused to have the Nanny in the main house, however. And how was that supposed to work anyway? Another person, poking around Wayne Manor with all its secrets? Bruce would never stand it.

The solution broke Alfred’s heart, even if he agreed it was for the best.

A country house, unused since the days of Thomas and Martha Wayne, and a Nanny, paid an ungodly sum and handpicked by Alfred himself for her silence and skill. Off you went, nearly two hours away, out of the grasp of Gotham and its shadows. The Nanny they had hired was instructed to send reports every week - written and verbal. The written reports went to Bruce’s desk, with any requests for new furniture, clothing, toys and other expenses were signed off on and sent back. The verbal reports? Those were Alfreds.

He was kept up to date with every milestone, from learning to turn yourself over, to your first words and steps. The Nanny mentioned more than once she was worried about how quiet you were, how hesitant to ask for anything, from physical needs to emotional ones - and it hurt him to hear. You were a Wayne, the world would be at your fingertips, nothing should be out of reach - except, perhaps, your own family's affection.

He assured the poor woman that the quiet was normal, that Bruce himself had been a quiet baby before exploding into a vibrant child (until reverting back after the alley). He did insist, as you grew older, that you would be brought into the phone calls. How delightful it was to hear you, even if it was just a few scattered words.

Years passed like this, until suddenly you were at the cusp of puberty. And Bruce had no choice but to bring you back into the main house. The Nanny who had raised you, who you clung to for all your needs, was ready to retire. Alfred was the one to convince him to let you back, Dick was leaving, and he couldn’t imagine the Manor without some sort of childish light. Perhaps you could even get to know your father, grow close to him, and never be sent away again.

How futile a wish.

You never stood a chance.

Alfred went himself, to collect you. Your sparse belongings had been sent ahead, having arrived in the Manor two days before you had - and had been placed once again in the nursery (though the crib had been removed, and replaced with a large four poster bed - curtains in your current favourite colour, and ready to be replaced when you changed it).

You were polite and proper in your greetings, exactly as you were raised and taught to be. A firm handshake, your tiny hand in his - something you should have learned from your father, but was taught by a stranger. You remained silent the entire way home, looking out the window as the countryside changed. And Alfred couldn’t help but look back in the mirrors, and try his hardest to memorize everything about you.

He should have known better. He spoke to you, as you approached the grounds, how your father was waiting to meet you (and held back on speaking about Dick, if only to ease the blow on how your father would rather raise a child that wasn’t you). He had thought Bruce would do the right thing and be waiting to greet you, as he had been raised to do whenever family arrived, so when he finally pulled up to the front doors and Bruce wasn’t there, he felt ashamed. He apologized for your fathers faux pas, and you just brushed it off - claiming you understood how busy he was.

He would later find Bruce in the Batcave, with Jason Todd in tow. He would scold Bruce privately later, for doing all the things he had expected him to do with you, with Jason instead. A tour of the manor, showing you your room, introducing you to the history of your great family - all things Alfred had done instead.

It was Alfred who helped you adjust, who prepared you for your new role as a Wayne heir. It was Alfred who introduced you to Jason, upon escorting you to the library and catching him there as well. And it was Alfred who went and yelled at Bruce for allowing you to assume you were like the others, an orphan taken in by a wealthy patron.

It was an innocent question on Jason’s behalf, one he apologized for immediately after -

“Did Bruce take you in too?”

And you turned to Alfred, unsure how to answer - he could see the words of affirmation forming in your mouth, the questioning furrow of your brow, before he cut you off -

“Young Master is Master Bruce’s child by birth, sir.”

“Oh! Sorry! I’m really sorry, he just didn’t mention anything and I just assumed, and I’m rambling, I’m sorry.” The embarrassed blush that bled onto Jason’s cheeks was probably the only thing that saved him from a scolding for asking such a question, along with your own response:

“It’s okay, you didn’t know - “ and thus your introduction was awkward and stilted, but at least you might finally have someone else by your side.

He should have known better.

He told Bruce of your meeting Jason, of the conversation you’d had, and how for a moment (perhaps much longer) you had thought yourself another ward, hadn’t been assured that the Wayne family was, in fact, your family. And While Bruce never addressed your feeling of lack of belonging - he did stress that you and Jason were to be kept separate, as much as could possibly be done.

Alfred verbally agreed, and mentally decided to make sure you and Jason spent as much time together as possible without Bruce noticing. Which proceeded to blow up in his face when Jason, in the midst of a visit from Dick, inadvertently blew the whole secret sky high.

You never told him of what happened that night. Never looked at him again with trust in your eyes. Never reached out to Jason, or Dick, or even Tim when he arrived. You locked yourself further away, kept to your room outside of meals and school. And Alfred, if he ever heard you crying to yourself, pulled back; never acknowledged the damage done. How could he? In supporting the others, he had failed you.

You lived as a ghost, and when you started leaving the manor more and more, he hoped you would move on. That you would grow into a person all your own, without the shadow of your family. But you never completely broke away - how could you? When they started finally pulling you in, in a grotesque semblance of a relationship that was never really real. It made him sick to his stomach, seeing you on the cover of Teen Vogue , purporting an interview about how great your siblings were. Siblings you hadn’t spoken to in months, hadn’t seen in even longer.

Then Stephanie Brown took an interest, and Alfred, remembering how badly things had gone before when Jason had taken an interest, kept it to himself. Passed on what he could recall of your likes and dislikes, of your habits and rituals. So it wasn’t necessarily surprising when she called to ask about you. He paid no mind to Stephanie pushing for him to call you, gave the excuse of wondering when you’d next be in town, and that she’d tried to text you but had gotten no response. So he did. No answer, straight to voicemail - your phone was apparently turned off.

“Please leave a message after the beep - “

Generic, he was hoping you had changed it by now, but clearly, he’d have to remind you again. But before the beep could go off, his blood chilled.

A laugh.

Not a laugh, a cackle.

Familiar, and cruel - on your voicemail message, on your private phone, and one all too recognizable.

The Joker

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taglist: @holybatflapexpert @electricgg @xoyumiqls @holderoflostmemories @sleeptimes @galaxypurplerose @sassam

(apologies if the tag didn't work, i'm new to this ;3; )

#batfam #neglected reader #batfam x reader #batfamily #reader insert #writing fanfiction #fanfiction #spinning spinning spun #batman #barbara gordon #stephanie brown #alfred pennyworth

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