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firewasabeast · 1 month

Note

prompt: tommy's dad shows up at the 118 out of nowhere

heads up: Tommy's dad is a homophobic asshole here, and he acts as such. Also contains references to past child abuse (hit with a belt, and knocking a kid)

Bobby was in the middle of cooking dinner with Buck, the rest of the team hanging out on the sofa, when the newest probie, Jones, came walking up the stairs. “Uh, Cap? There's a man here who wanted to talk to you.”

The man followed closely behind Jones, who went right back downstairs to continue with whatever he had been up to.

Bobby wiped his hands off on a towel before walking over to the man. “I'm Captain Nash- Bobby,” he introduced, shaking the man's hand. “How can I help you?”

“Good to meet you, Bobby,” the man replied. His shake was firm, almost aggressive. “I'm actually here looking for my kid. Haven't heard from him in a while and last he told me, he was workin' here.”

As much as Buck was trying not to be obviously nosy, he couldn't help but keep glancing over at the guy. He looked so familiar, but Buck couldn't quite place him. When the man caught Buck's eyes, he quickly looked away and grabbed a nearby can, pretending to fiddle with it.

“I'll help how I can. What's his name?”

“Thomas Kinard. I'm his father, Richard.”

The can Buck was holding dropped onto the counter with a loud thud. Everyone's head whipped in his direction.

“S- Sorry. It, um, it slipped from my, uh, my hand.”

“Uh,” Bobby turned back to Richard, “I'm sorry Mr. Kinard, but Tommy hasn't worked here in about seven and a half years.”

“Figures.” Richard shook his head. “Damn kids'll screw you over every chance they get, won't they?”

Buck hurried over to introduce himself before Bobby could even manage a response.

“Mr. Kinard, hi,” he started, wiping his hand on his pants before reaching out for a shake. “I'm Buck. Evan, um, Evan Buckley. You can call me Evan, or Buck, whichever.”

Richard stared at him in a way that Buck wasn't exactly sure what he was thinking. “Buck's a strong name. I like strong names. We'll go with Buck.”

Buck nodded. “Sure. That- That's fine.”

“So, Buck, did you work with Tom before he left here?”

That's when it hit Buck. If this man didn't even know where Tommy worked, he definitely didn't know Buck was his boyfriend. He could feel himself begin to sweat. Could sense everyone's eyes on him. “Um, no, I- I mean, yes. I work with him, um, sometimes, but not- we didn't work together h- here. So, no.”

Richard snickered. “Cat got your tongue, Kiddo?”

“Why don't you go get your phone, Buck?” Bobby suggested. “Let Tommy know his dad is here.”

“Huh? Oh, um, yes. Yeah, I'll do that.” Buck hoped and prayed to God in that moment that Richard didn't notice the phone in his pocket.

“And while Buck does that, you can have a seat.” Bobby led him over to the table, where the rest of the team was now making their way over. “Once Tommy gets here we'll have lunch.”

*****

Buck skipped every other step as he went downstairs, hurrying outside to call Tommy.

He answered on the third ring. “Hey, Evan. What's up? Everything okay?”

They may have the same job, but it didn't stop them from worrying about one another when they were on shift.

“Hey! Everything's fine, but c- can you come down to the station?”

“You miss me that much?” Tommy joked. “You're off in like four hours, Babe.”

“No, I know. I mean, yes, I miss you, but no that's not why I need you here.”

“What's going on, Evan?” He sounded worried again.

“Your... Tommy, your dad came in looking for you. He's, um, he's waiting here.”

The silence lasted so long that Buck glanced at his phone to see if the call had dropped. “Are you there, Tommy?”

Finally, Buck heard the sounds of Tommy shuffling around. “I'm on my way,” he answered. Any lingering happiness in his voice was long gone. “And Evan?”

“Yeah?”

“I'm sorry.”

“Sorry?” Buck asked. “Why're you-”

Tommy hung up before Buck could get out the question. He sighed, put the phone in his pocket, and headed back upstairs.

“-it looks like the damn United Nations in here.”

Buck's eyes met Eddie's. It was clear he'd walked in on the middle of a conversation that shouldn't be happening.

Eddie shook his head at Buck. A silent don't ask.

Buck sat down quietly, his leg shaking with nerves and his stomach filled with knots. Tommy wasn't even there, but he already felt terrible for him as Richard happily went into a very depressing story about Tommy crying after a girl kissed him when he was twelve years old.

*****

Tommy steeled himself before walking up the stairs at the station. It took everything he had in him to not turn around and go right back home.

He couldn't do that though. Couldn't leave his father with Evan, or anyone else up there. They didn't deserve that.

“Tom had half the girls in the school chasing after him, askin' him to prom, and he still went with the most unattractive looking thing you'd ever seen.”

“Missy was not unattractive, Dad,” Tommy said from the top of the staircase. Everyone turned in his direction. “She was sweet and my best friend at the time.”

“Girl had braces twice the size of her face.”

Richard made no effort to stand and greet his son, not that Tommy expected him to.

Tommy was met with apprehensive hello's from the team, and a look of nervous concern from Evan.

“Come sit with us,” Bobby said, motioning to the seat beside Buck. “We were about to eat when your dad came in, so I figured we could have lunch together.”

“Thanks, Bobby.”

Tommy sat down stiffly, avoiding any physical contact with Evan. Not that Evan was trying anything either. He kept his hands firmly planted on his thighs.

“What are you doing here, Dad?” Tommy was purposefully avoiding eye contact with everyone else in the room. Maybe if he tried hard enough, they'd all disappear and not have to witness whatever was inevitably about to occur.

“Figured seven years was long enough to go by without seeing ya. Thought I'd stop by and see what you'd been up to.”

Bobby finished setting out the food and everyone began to pass around the dishes and fill up their plates.

“You know you could've come by my house, Dad.”

“Lost your address. You know I'm no good with computers. Plus, thought it'd be nice to see you in action.”

“Oh, well, I'm off for the next two days so... no action.”

“Where are you at now?”

“Harbor Station. I'm a pilot there, but I work ground ops sometimes too.”

“Back to flying, huh?” Richard sounded genuinely impressed. “Good. That's good. Got you a girl yet?”

The spoon Chimney had in his hand dropped loudly onto his plate as Buck choked on the bite of food in his mouth.

“Sorry,” Chimney muttered as Buck coughed.

He grabbed his water and took a couple sips. “Sorry. Sorry, uh, wrong pipe,” he explained, clearing his throat.

Tommy sighed. “Nope. No girl.”

“Well, soon. You're a good lookin' man. Get yourself out there, they'll come running.”

“Running so hard they injure their best friend,” Eddie mumbled, earning him a kick under the table from Hen.

Richard didn't seem to hear the comment, but Chimney spoke up anyway. “So, Mr. Kinard, what do you do?”

“Nothing now, but I did twenty years in the Marines, oil rigging after that. Retired about seven years now.”

“Tough work.” Hen regretted her words the second Richard puffed his chest at them.

“That's right. I always drilled into Tommy's head the importance of hard work.”

"More like knocked it in,” Tommy muttered.

The room quieted.

Richard took a sip of his drink, then opted for a subject change. “Shame I can't see where you're working now, Tom. Guess you were so busy talking about that other thing you failed to mention you were somewhere else.”

“That other thing?” Tommy repeated. “You mean me telling you I was gay and you laughing in my face? Is that the other thing you're talking about?”

“Well, it was all a load of crap, wasn't it? Just another way to disrespect your old man.” Richard looked around the room as he laughed, apparently not paying any attention to the fact that he was the only one laughing. “That was always Tom for ya. Shootin' off his mouth, causing trouble. I told him one day he'd take it too far.”

“Telling you he was gay was him taking it too far?” Hen wasn't even trying to hide the disgust on her face. Richard was too busy being an ass to notice.

“I just knew it wasn't true. He comes to my house all serious, sayin' he's got something he's gotta tell me. I thought maybe he was going back into the army, the reserves or something. Then he tells me he's a queer. I know the world is changing and all that crap, but I also know my son, and that's not my son.”

Tommy felt on the verge of tears now. He hadn't taken more than a couple bites of food, using his fork to swirl the rice and the peas. He wished more than anything he could make himself smaller. So small no one could see him. He was embarrassed and ashamed that all these people he cared about, all these people who were starting to really get to know him for all that he was, were now seeing the disgrace that was his father. That's all they'd be able to see when they looked at him, especially Evan.

Evan who somehow always looked at Tommy like he'd hung the moon and stars. Evan, who made Tommy feel so undeservingly cared for. Who had just swapped I love you's with Tommy a few weeks ago... Now, this is what he'd see. This is what he'd think about. And who could love that?

“Or maybe you just don't know your son.”

Tommy's head shot up and over at the sound of Evan's voice. He sounded angry. He looked angry. Tommy was pretty sure if he could shoot fire, the whole place would be up in flames right now.

“Excuse me?” Richard glared. “Who the hell are you to tell me whether or not I know my son?”

Before Buck even had a chance to make up some lie, Tommy was reaching over and taking his hand, squeezing tight. “He's my boyfriend,” he said.

Richard huffed out a laugh.

This time, he noticed that no one else was laughing. “You screwin' with me?”

“No. Just like I wasn't screwin' with you seven years ago, I'm not now.”

The way Richard shook his head made Tommy feel like he was seven years old again, about to get the belt for bringing a turtle in the house. “My buddy Vic told me his daughter saw you with some guy on Facebook. Called him an ass and an idiot and you're telling me he was right?”

“Is that why you really came here? To harass me and Evan?”

“I never looked at the picture!” Richard replied, his voice rising. “And I had no clue you weren't here anymore. I came here to see you, to get the truth.”

“Well, you got it.”

“That the real reason you quit the army then? So you could be a sissy?”

Tommy's eyes widened, the question catching him off guard. Out of all the ways this conversation could have gone, he didn't expect it to pivot that way. “You've got to be kidding me. Dad, I did not quit the army, I was discharged.”

“And the reasoning never really made sense to me, son, I gotta tell ya-”

“Well it doesn't have to make sense to you, it made sense to the military-”

“-because no son of mine would go crazy in the army. Absolutely ridiculous to-”

“-which is why I got to leave, and I did not go crazy I had a brief-”

“-make up some sort of excuse like that and think it would fly-”

“Okay! Okay!” Buck yelled over them, motioning for them to stop. “I think you proved whatever point you were trying to make, Richard. Let it go.”

Tommy quieted, but Richard couldn't hold his tongue.

“What?” he provoked. “That's what you said it was, didn't you? After some mission gone wrong, you didn't sleep for like a week or something. Went cuckoo so they let you leave? S'what you told me.”

“Okay,” Bobby spoke up, his voice deep and commanding. “Richard, I think you've been here long enough. You should go.”

“If my kid wants me gone he can tell me himself.”

Through his shame, Tommy managed to glare over at his dad. “I never wanted you here in the first place.” He was shaking, his heart racing, but his voice remained steady. He was grateful for that.

An eerie silence weighed heavily around the table. The two men stared each other down until Richard finally tossed his napkin onto the table and stood up, his chair screeching with the motion. “Don't have anything here for me anyway.”

That was Richard. Always had to get in the final word.

Once his dad had descended the staircase, Tommy released a deep breath. “Well, that was fun,” he said shakily, trying for a smile.

He couldn't quite seem to make one appear.

He couldn't look anyone in the eyes either. The silence was driving him insane. He knew they had to be watching him with pity.

His eyes were burning, his lip was trembling. He was so close to falling apart.

He really didn't want anyone see him, but he also knew he was too shaky to stand. He opted for planting his elbows on the table and rested his head in his hands.

After a few quiet seconds, Tommy could hear everyone scooting out of their chairs.

A hand rested on his shoulder, giving it a brief squeeze. “Take your time up here,” Bobby said. “Don't worry if you hear the alarm.”

“You've got family with us, Man,” Eddie said as he passed by, giving Tommy a pat on the back.

Chimney was next with a, “Love ya, Bud.”

“Whatever you need,” Hen added as she passed by, “we've got you.”

The gentle touches and words of affirmation as each person went by was what broke him. He pressed his palms hard against his eyes as his shoulders began to shake.

There was another hand on him now. Rubbing his back in gentle, slow circles.

Evan.

“I'm here, Babe,” he said softly. “I'm here.”

The sob that escaped him at Evan's words sounded more like a whine. Tommy was sure he'd never heard himself make that noise before, but now he couldn't stop it.

Evan pulled him in, wrapping his arms around him tight. Tommy hid his face in the crook of Buck's neck, his hands loosely grabbing at Buck's waist as he continued to cry.

They stayed like that for minutes. Evan continued rubbing his back, holding him, letting him get out all the feelings he'd been holding in for years.

“I'm so sorry, Evan,” Tommy whimpered once he was able to find his voice.

Evan held him tighter. “You have nothing to be sorry for.”

“I didn't...” his breath hitched. “That could've been me. That was... was almost me.”

“No,” Evan disagreed. “No, you're nothing like him.” He turned his head to press a kiss into Tommy's hair. “Can you look at me?”

Reluctantly, Tommy lifted his head and pulled back just enough to look Evan in the eyes.

He sniffed, his breathing starting to come back to normal. He was sure his face was puffy and red. He knew a stray tear or two was still falling too.

Evan reached up and wiped the tears away, his thumbs continuing to brush over Tommy's cheeks so he could keep his attention. “You are not and have never been that man. You understand me?”

“Evan.”

“No, I mean it, Tommy. You think Chimney and Hen would ever give him a chance?” He shook his head. “No way in hell.”

Tommy bit at his lip. “This is so stupid,” he said with a wet laugh. “Crying because my dad was mean to me, like I'm some baby or something.”

Evan ran his hands down Tommy's arms until he intertwined their hands on his lap. “Not stupid. Very reasonable, actually. Quite possibly an under-reaction.” He brought one of Tommy's hands up to his mouth and gave it a kiss. “There's only a few hours of my shift left. I'm sure Bobby wouldn't mind if I left a little early. I can drive you to your place, we'll relax with a movie. Sound good?”

Tommy knew he should say no. Knew he should tell Evan that he was a big boy and could handle a few hours alone until Evan got off work. Instead, what came out of his mouth was, “Are you sure?”

“I'm sure.”

“What about my car?”

Evan shrugged. “We'll pick it up tomorrow.”

“Okay... Okay, yeah. I probably shouldn't be driving anyway.”

After wiping away another tear, Evan leaned in and pressed his lips against Tommy's in one of the softest, yet most loving kisses Tommy had ever felt in his life.

“I love you, Tommy.”

“I love you, Evan.”

“And Eddie's right, you know? Everyone here, including me of course,” he smiled, “we're your family. You know that right?”

Tommy nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, I know.”

#bucktommy #911 #tommy kinard #evan buckley #i spent too much time with this one #i always doubt myself when i do that #but hopefully you guys will enjoy it #although enjoy is probably a poor word choice #prompt

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puppetmaster13u · 10 months

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Prompt 110

Duke is kind of confused. Scratch that he’s very confused. And concerned. More concerned than confused actually. Like Bruce is back from apparently being lost in time, sweet! That’s great!

But uh, should he be concerned about the several ghost children now following him around? Should he mention it? Bruce has to know, right? Like he’s half certain that one just picked up a book right in front of him and dropped it in his lap, so Bruce isn’t oblivious right?

#dcxdp #dpxdc #prompts #Batman gives off such dad vibes that several ghost children followed him back home #This includes several of Danny's rogues eventually #Word spreads from one ghostling to the next about the nice mortal knight who has a very safe and warded home #Eventually they approach as well #Might even ask if he could adopt this sick halfling whose parents keep shooting at him #The JL do not want to ask #But they keep seeing dozens of eyes peering from his cloak #and it's concerning

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youneedsomeprompts · 11 months

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~ SENSUALITY & PASSION ~ ONE-WORD SMUT PROMPTS

Feel free to use and reblog!

alluring

touch

seduce

insatiable

devour

yearning

squeeze

hazy

arousing

yield

frantic

supple

lascivious

enchanting

need

besotted

desperation

silky

glow

friction

sultry

burning

urgency

titillating

risque

lewd

charm

tempting

ravish

tantalise

attraction

tease

saucy

curves

dazzling

suave

voluptuous

irresistible

sublime

captivating

enigmatic

blow

caress

tentative

gentle

attentive

tumble

release

salacious

carnal

mischievous

shenanigans

lecherous

frisky

amorous

depraved

affection

rub

seek

united

#smut prompts #romantic prompts #romance prompts #one word prompts #writing prompts #prompt list #otp prompts #prompts #otp #writing inspiration #writing ideas #writers on tumblr #writeblr #writing romance #fanfic prompts #60 prompts

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paperultra · 1 year

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aries and the turtle.

Pairing: OPLA!Vinsmoke Sanji x Fem!Reader Word Count: 1,169 words Warnings: None

asterism (noun): a group of stars; a constellation; a cluster of stars

The first thought that comes to Sanji’s mind when he sees you curled up on the kitchen floor, rummaging through the box of herbs and spices, is that you’re the single most beautiful creature he’s ever laid eyes on.

“Darling,” he says softly, leaning against the doorframe and smiling a bit when you startle, “you could’ve woken me up if you wanted a midnight snack.”

“O-Oh! Um.” Your voice colors the gentle calm of night into something warmer – and like always, he’s drawn to it like a moth to a flame, walking over and squatting down next to you as you scramble to put back a jar of paprika. “I’m sorry, Sanji, I – er, well, um …”

“What are you looking for? I’ll help you.”

Under the yellow glow of the lantern, you seem to shrink. You duck your head and mumble into the collar of your pretty nightshirt. “That chamomile and lavender tea you made a couple nights ago …” you begin hesitantly. “I wanted to make some.” Your voice quiets further. “I can’t sleep.”

Sanji frowns, angling his head to catch a glimpse of your face. You do look a little more haggard than normal, your eyelids heavy, your shoulders burdened. His heart aches. How long had you laid in your hammock, tossing and turning, until you couldn’t stand it anymore?

“I see,” he murmurs. “Let’s make that tea right away, then, shall we?”

Sanji quickly finds the flowers and some lemon rinds he had sun-dried last week. You insist on helping at least a little bit despite his protests for you to just relax, fetching two teacups and setting some water on the stove to boil as he measures the right amount of each ingredient to put into the infuser.

Once the water is ready, steam billowing up past your heads and to the ceiling, he pours it into the teapot and covers it to steep.

(You don’t say anything while the two of you wait, and although Sanji yearns to coax a smile and a sweet conversation from you, he contents himself with the silence as well, which is just as sweet. You sneak glances at him every once in a while, though. He knows because he does the same, and the attention sends a thrill through his chest.)

Time passes. He pours the tea – first for you, then for him.

“Tell me when.” The silence breaks once more as Sanji spoons some honey into your cup.

“That’s good.”

He stirs the tea up, hands it to you. You blow across the top of it and then take a sip as he watches attentively.

“How does the madam like it?” he asks.

You exhale and meet his eyes for a split second before quickly looking away. A small smile touches your lips. “It’s perfect,” you reply from behind the cup. “Thank you, Sanji.”

Warmth stains his cheeks a gentle pink.

“The sky is clear tonight,” he ventures hopefully as he adds two teaspoons of honey for himself. He picks up his cup and gestures at the open door. “Stars and tea pair well together, if you have an appetite for it.”

You bite your bottom lip. His gaze immediately darts down to it, and he swallows, throat suddenly dry.

“Sure,” you whisper.

And so Sanji gains another precious sliver of time with you. Elbows resting on the railing, hot tea and your presence protecting him from the cold, he stands out on the deck of the Going Merry and tilts his head back to look up at the sky.

He knows how much you love the stars. They are one of the few topics you can talk about without your usual shyness, and he thinks of you every time he sees them, pinpricks of pure light shining through the darkness, guiding weary sailors home. Sometimes he thinks you must have been one yourself, carried down from the heavens. Ethereal. Out of reach.

“This time of year,” you say, and Sanji turns his attention over to the stars reflected in your eyes, “you can see my constellation.”

“Yours?” he questions.

“Yes. Those three stars over there.” Your arm stretches out to point at something on the left, your finger tracing an arc in the sky. “In my home village, parents dedicate their newborns to a constellation three days after birth. Mine dedicated me to the turtle.”

A turtle. That fits you incredibly well, he thinks to himself fondly, considering your quiet tenacity. “How come?”

“Turtles represent good luck and a long life.”

“I see. Well, do you think you’ve had good luck so far in life?”

You hum thoughtfully, looking down into your tea.

“I think so,” you say after some time, hushed. “I’m here, aren’t I?”

A chuckle escapes him. “I would argue that you’re the one who’s brought good luck to us, sweetheart.”

You bite back a smile and whisper a small ‘oh’ as he gently bumps your shoulder with his own. Even now, you’re unused to compliments, but no matter; he’ll praise you at every turn until you finally realize you deserve every word of it.

There’s a brief period of silence before he asks, “What do you think my constellation would be?”

“Your constellation?” It doesn’t take long at all before you reply, pointing upward into a spread of stars that he could never even begin to puzzle out, “The ram. Some call it Aries.”

“What does it mean?”

This question seems to fluster you. You cough and stammer for a few seconds. He sips his tea, the beverage sweet and floral on his tongue as he waits.

“Rams … are artists at heart,” you finally say, glancing over at him. Your eyes, normally wary and somber, glitter. “They’re strong and passionate, but also gentle and kind.”

Oh.

Sanji can feel a blush creeping up his neck to his cheeks. God. Surely, you’ll be the death of him, saying something like that so honestly and with eyes that look like that. He’d move heaven and earth for you if you asked.

“I’ll dedicate my life to living up to those qualities,” he breathes once he can speak again. “Just as much as you’ll live up to yours.”

You take a sharp breath.

“You already do,” he hears you whisper.

And Sanji truly, truly cannot resist anymore.

Your name leaves his lips. He reaches out, hand departing from the dying heat of the teacup and seeking out yours.

You do not pull away when his fingertips brush your cool skin over the railing; instead, you let him turn your hand over until palm touches palm, until the spaces between his fingers are filled with your own and his heart beats to the rhythm of yours.

Sanji squeezes your hand, and every cell in his body begs to falter and fall at your feet.

You rest your head on his shoulder.

The tea cools. But the stars remain as brilliant as ever, and your hand stays warm in his, and everything – everything is beautiful.

#aesthetic words prompt list #opla #one piece #sanji x reader #vinsmoke sanji x reader #vinsmoke sanji #sanji #opla sanji #one piece live action #opla fanfiction #one piece fanfiction #reader insert #trying to write from sanji's pov is like. how can i show that this man is absolutely on his knees all the time for reader #just look at him. just.look.asdhgjkl #also i just think !! looking at the stars would be a great date idea w any of the straw hats while at sea #:<

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ekingston · 4 months

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A chef!AU, maybe? In any case, a story in which Kara and Lena meet through one of them preparing/serving/etc food for the other and build their relationship based on that.

(also on ao3.)

“I’m telling you, Alex. It’s her.”

At three pm on a Tuesday their restaurant is characteristically dead, save for the one lone customer Kara is spying on from behind the kitchen doors. The woman is perched, a little perilously, on a barstool at the counter. It’s the one that’s closest to their register, the one with the wobbly leg that Alex keeps telling Kara to fix. One of her red-soled heels is dangling from an impatiently bouncing left foot.

“This is the fourth time this week she’s come in here,” Kara says. “You don’t think that’s just a little bit suspicious?”

Alex shrugs, fully committed to her task of mincing onions. “Maybe she’s just a big fan of Italian food.”

“No way,” Kara says. “No woman who looks like that would put something in her mouth that wasn’t clearly marked gluten-free and vegan. Give me your phone.”

Alex rolls her eyes dramatically as she elbows it over. “Tell me again how you’re totally over Siobhan.”

“Oral sex isn’t a moral issue!” Kara takes a decisive breath while she unlocks her sister’s phone with practiced ease. “Whatever. Water under the bridge.”

“Uh-huh.”

“A love for pasta also doesn't explain why I heard this woman answer a call yesterday with a different name than the one that’s on her credit card,” Kara points out, before snapping a quick picture through the porthole window.

“Okay, now you’re being creepy,” Alex says.

“Shut up,” Kara tells her. “I’m texting Winn.”

Kara eyes the woman at the counter while she waits for his reply. The subject of her suspicion—Lena, she’d called herself on the phone; Tess Mercer, it had said on her mastercard—twists a soft-looking lock of dark hair around her finger as she studies their menu. The way the sunlight sets it ablaze almost makes Kara take a second picture, purely for its artistic merit.

Alex dabs at her onion-induced tears with the cuff of her sleeve. “Let it go, Kara,” she sighs.

“Let it go? Let it—” Kara whirls back to face her, throwing her hands up in frustration. “Do you want The Tower to end up like Winn and James’ steakhouse? Or are you fine with getting swindled by this—this… villain?”

“Of course not.” Alex looks at her like she’s stupid. “But even if this woman is your so-called ‘food influencer’, what do you suggest we do about it? It’s not as if we can bully her into giving us a fair review.”

Kara squares her jaw and sets her fists firmly on her hips. “No,” she declares, her tone grim. “But we can teach her a little about journalistic integrity.” She blows at a lock of hair that’s fallen in her face. “And also, possibly, credit card fraud.”

Alex narrows her eyes at her. “Kara,” she warns, putting down her knife. Her voice is low and cautious, as if she’s talking to the rowdy raccoon that moved into their dumpster three weeks ago instead of to her baby sister. “Let’s just take a breath and think about this for a m—”

Kara is already gone, the doors to the kitchen swinging closed behind her. Sliding into the cluttered space behind the counter, she crosses her arms and then drops her elbows on the bar, leaning what she belatedly realizes is probably a little too close to her adversary. She’s close enough to make out the individual downy hairs on her chin and the lines in her painted lips, which are still pursed thoughtfully in what Kara is sure would look like an attractive pout to someone who didn’t know any better.

But Kara knows so much better.

“Let me guess,” she remembers to get out, much less biting than originally intended. “Today you’ll be having the fifth entrée down the list.”

As soon as their eyes meet over the miniscule amount of space left between them, Kara knows leaning in was a fatal mistake. Her nemesis blinks up at her with wide, startled eyes that remind Kara of the glass pebbles she finds on the beach on her morning walks, not-quite-blue and not-quite-green, and for a moment Kara’s brain sputters out as if someone abruptly turned off the flames that kept it cooking.

But the woman recovers fast, like the scheming scoundrel that she is. She guiltily shutters her eyes behind thick, charcoal lashes, and Kara’s temper revives at the observation that her enemy isn’t as good of an actress as she thinks she is.

“I’ve actually been thinking of breaking my own rule,” she says, with a smile that lands somewhere between self-deprecating and apologetic. “I may give in and order the same thing you served me yesterday.” Kara goes hot all over with righteous indignation at the rich timbre of the woman’s voice, the almost flirtatious lilt it takes on when she adds, “I haven’t been able to stop dreaming about it.”

Kara pulls back a little in an effort to escape that curious gaze, the enticing scent of the woman’s perfume. It’s sweet enough to drown out even Alex’s mountain of onions. “I know what you’re doing,” she blusters.

The—frankly unfairly beautiful—soulless grifter stares at her, stricken. “I’m—I’m sorry?”

“You should be,” Kara says. “I know who you are.” And then, as if she’s putting down the last card in a game of Uno, “Lena.”

The woman goes very still for a moment, and then the corners of her lips tug down in a bitter semblance of a smile. “I see,” she says. She’s rigid, regal; she’s royalty perched on a wobbly wooden stool. “And am I to assume that’s enough for you to turn down my patronage?”

Kara’s resolve wobbles, too. She hadn’t expected her adversary—Lena, she now knows—to roll over so easily. “Well, yeah, obviously,” she flusters, her energy suddenly too large and lumbering in the face of Lena’s deference. “Winn and James are family.”

“Family.” There’s a flicker of wistfulness in Lena’s voice, before confusion colors her features. “So the cold shoulder,” she says. “It’s personal?”

Kara scoffs. The fraudster doesn’t even remember the names of her latest victims. Typical. “It was their steakhouse that you razed to the ground last month,” Kara reminds her.

Lena blinks at her. “The establishment just up the road?” She raises a critical eyebrow. “I’m pretty sure they set themselves up for failure when they decided to name their restaurant Misteak.”

Kara huffs. Her air quotes are appropriately vicious when she says, “They were doing just fine before your slanderous ‘review’ went viral.”

Lena does a remarkably convincing impression of someone who is genuinely flabbergasted. “I don’t even know what that means.”

“Liar.”

Lena’s shocked laughter is bright but brief. It’s the first time Kara has heard her laugh. It’s maddeningly attractive and deeply annoying.

“Okay,” Lena says. She folds her arms in front of her chest and leans back a little in her seat, unaware of its delicate disposition. A smirk tugs at one corner of her mouth. “Tell me,” she says, her eyes narrowing. “Who do you think I am, exactly?”

Kara leans in close again, refusing to allow Lena to get the upper hand. She’d like to wipe that smirk from Lena’s face—manually, if need be—preferably, even, if it means she’d get to smudge that infuriatingly immaculate lipstick with her thumb—

“You,” Kara charges, in an effort to drown out that unhelpful thought, “are a fraud. You call yourself a ‘mystery food critic’ on TikTok, but really you’re blackmailing businesses into buying a favorable review.”

“Hey, um.” Alex has followed her out of the kitchen, holding her phone. “So. Winn texted back, and he says—”

But Lena laughs again, her guarded posture melting down to unmistakable relief. “I’m so sorry,” she says, her voice a high warble. “That sounds awful. And also extremely illegal. Have you reported this person to the authorities? I can get you in touch with an excellent lawyer, if you’d like.”

Kara doesn’t know if she feels more outraged or confused.

…Or possibly some secret third thing.

“So you’re telling me—” Kara barks out a disbelieving laugh. “You’re saying you’re not her.”

“This, ehm— Tic Tac person?” When Lena’s dark lashes flutter, something in Kara’s chest flutters too. “No.”

Impossible. “Then why have you been in here every day this week?” Kara interrogates, the full force of evidence she’s collected behind it. “When neither one of us has seen you here even once, since we opened?”

Alex rolls her eyes. “I told you I wasn’t sure whether I’d seen her here before,” she points out. “Also, Winn says—”

“Oh please,” Kara scoffs, her eyes fixed on Lena, who has propped her elbows on the counter again, closer now than she’d been the last time their eyes met. “As if you could forget a woman as beautiful as—” Kara’s gaze drops to Lena’s mouth, unbidden, when Lena parts those rude, ruby lips. “...You.”

Alex stares.

Kara swallows.

Lena blinks; two times fast, and then again, after a beat, slow and sticky, her eyes darkening.

“So you may as well come out with it,” Kara croaks out what little remains of her anger. “There’s something you want more than our fettuccine.”

Lena’s cheeks have turned a treacherously charming shade of pink. “I suppose you’re right about that one, at least,” she admits after a beat.

In Kara’s peripheral vision, Alex frantically slides her hand across her throat. Kara frowns at her, telegraphing a wordless what is your problem but finding no satisfactory answer in the crimson shade her sister’s face has taken on.

“Yeah, well,” she says, almost disappointed, fumbling to fill the space left by Lena’s confession. “I’m telling you right now that it’s never going to happen.”

Alex clears her throat with startling force. “Winn wants to know,” she says, reading from her phone, “Who’s the hot chick?”

When Kara returns her gaze to the woman on the other side of the counter, she gulps. Lena is somehow even closer than she was before. She’s also fully propping herself up now on the laminate surface between them, granting Kara a glimpse of freckled cleavage that in no possible universe could be interpreted as unintentional.

“So,” Lena drawls. “What you’re saying is you’re not going to give me your number?”

Kara’s throat is suddenly very dry.

“Huh?” she manages, but only just barely.

“I was hoping,” Lena says slowly, that maddening smirk once again tugging up the corner of her mouth, “that you’d maybe like to—”

Lena shifts in her seat, crossing her legs in what is bound to become a devastatingly seductive pose, but the barstool decides in exactly that moment that's it’s finally had enough. Lena yelps as it gives out beneath her with a dramatic snap, one of its rickety limps flying across the floor as if celebrating its first taste of freedom, and Kara’s never considered herself to be very quick, but here she is anyway, on the other side of the counter in what feels like less than a second, one hand gripping Lena’s forearm, the other slipping smoothly around her waist.

“—fuck,” Lena gasps up at her. She feels good, in Kara’s hands, slight but pleasantly heavy, like the santoku knife Alex has forbidden Kara from touching ever again. “Well,” Lena says. “That’s. Perhaps not the way I would have phrased it, especially in front of your friend—”

They both glance over at Alex, but she’s disappeared, the swaying of the kitchen doors the only indication she was ever there.

“O-kay,” Kara says.

Lena grins. “Okay?”

Kara mentally rewinds the conversation and feels her ears burn at the realization of what she just agreed to. “I mean,” she amends. “We could, maybe, grab something to eat first?”

Something devious sparks in Lena’s terrifyingly gorgeous face. She glances down at Kara’s arms before blinking back up at her again and smirking. “I thought you already had.”

And, goodness gracious.

Kara is about to be in so much trouble.

#this prompt is exactly one hundred years old today but HEY LOOK a CLEAN 2000 WORDS #just. clearing the pipes #or whatever it is they say #supercorp fan fiction #supergirl fan fiction #ask meme #thanks for the prompt wilfriede!#i hope it's close enough!#lena luthor #kara danvers #fic by ekingston

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shadebloopnik · 6 months

Text

Unrequited/One-sided Radioapple but it isn't treated like an angsty end of the world thing.

Imagine they slowly get closer after all the banters, and eventually becoming close friends. Lucifer ends up catching feelings for him, and after a long while, decides to confess and ask Alastor if he felt the same.

Alastor admittedly does not feel the same.

He's getting uncomfortable, struggling to keep his composure because he's DONE this before. He KNOWS how this ends. He remembers Vox and all his insistent declarations of affection and desperate pleas for Alastor to reciprocate; the possessive entitlement. He remembers how all those sickly sweet words morphed into something venomous when he didn't give the lowlife what he wanted. He remembers the anger, the ridiculous notion that it was Alastor's fault why he was so mad, that Alastor led him on and that he obviously deserved something in payment for it all-

So yes, Alastor knows how this ends.

It doesn't mean he isn't disappointed though, because he actually LIKES Lucifer, far more than he ever did Vox. Perhaps not in the way the king might have wanted, but he did. He treasured their little talks, their drinking sessions, their shared love for their instruments, Lucifers singing, their little duets, the banter, the playful jabs, the sparring.

He'd even slowly grown accustomed to the other's touches, not feeling the same surge of disgust and discomfort whenever the shorter man would grab at his arm in excitement, forgetting his usual thoughtfulness of Alastor's touch aversion for the short moment of whatever distracted him. Alastor even enjoyed it at times, relaxing at the feel of soft feathers beneath his claws, or the sensation of gentle scratches against his ears.

Difficult as it was to admit, Alastor had grown to care for the angel, the same way he had for Rosie orv Mimzy.

But no matter how fond Alastor was of Lucifer, it didn't change the fact that he didn't feel the same way romantically, or even sexually. No way in the 7 rings of Hell was he going to lie to Lucifer about either, not going to even entertain the idea of pretending he reciprocated for Lucifer's sake. He respected his friend too much for that.

So a clear, direct rejection it is. It was a shame, but nothing could be done. He said his piece concisely, and waited, shoulders set, back straight, smile and eyes a careful blank canvas as he prepared for the inevitable.

Lucifer nodded, a normal soft smile still in place, "Thank you for your answer, it means a lot."

Which......what? Alastor expected an outburst, or at the very least sharp words.

What he did NOT expect was....acceptance? And not just that but, a happy one? Contentment?????

"You're....alright with that?", he had to ask, he had to. Lucifer was clearly just very good at masking his upset.

But the damn angel just smiled?? And it didn't even look fake, just as bright and soft as his normal smiles, albeit a little confused?? Lucifer smiled at him, his brows furrowing in a bit of confused disbelief, as though Alastor is being the weird one here.

"Uhh, yeah??? Why wouldn't I be??? Yeah I may have some feelings for you but its not like you're obligated to feel the same. Above anything else, we're friends first and foremost and i'm alright with that..."

Then he seemed to have reached his own little conclusion as his words trailed off, because suddenly Lucifer's eyes widened in realization of something, and his words picking up with a sense of panicked urgency.

Alastor would really like to know what Lucifer's supposed realization was about himself because he had absolutely no clue.

"I mean, we ARE still friends right?? I don't- I- I hope this doesn't like- change your opinion of me. You're not- oh gosh I'm not making you uncomfortable am I? I- I won't mention it! You can even forget this whole confession ever happened! We can just go on as before! I don't feel any different or would act any different! Honest! I mean, I don't regret confessing because you deserve to know and I'm not ashamed of my feelings, but I don't want you to be uncomfortable! It doesn't change the way i'll treat you! Or change any aspect of our relationship! I don't even think I like you more as a lover than as a friend! I really, really do love our friendship, it matters more to me than any thoughts of being in a romantic relationship with you! So please just forget it all-"

Alastor let the word vomit wash over him, every word leaving him more confused by the minute.

Because yes, there's the desperation he expected, but...it was more about, convincing Alastor to remain friends?? Reassuring Alastor that nothing has to change?? That their friendship is the most important thing here??

(If anyone asks, no Alastor's heart didn't swell. Only lesser beings would have had the urge to cry, and Alastor is anything but.)

Lucifer is unknowingly reassuring Alastor of every single one of his insecurities about the situation. Because Alastor DID want to remain friends, he cared too much about the man to let it go so easily. It was rare to find people who treasure friendships above romantic relationships.

"I don't tend to forget easily, nor will I forget this one in particular.", he spoke, finally finding his voice. At Lucifer's defeated, pained expression( is their friendship really that important to him?), he continued. "But....yes. I'd like that.. To remain...friends."

He didn't often say the word out loud, being comfortable enough with each other that it need not be reassured with the label. But with Lucifer brightening up like his namesake, relief and happiness palpable, Alastor felt no qualms at declaring their friendship out loud.

So life went on as usual. True to his word, Lucifer remained basically the same. The following weeks were a bit stilted for Alastor, as he put some rather painful distance between him and the angel; limiting their interactions, their usual touches.

Anytime now, Lucifer would break and show his true colors, Alastor would think, waiting for the boot to drop. Lucifer would end up angry, and dissatisfied, and that was that.

But it never happened. Lucifer never expressed discomfort when Alastor avoided him, seeming to be understanding of the others need for space. He was just as affectionate as before, though initially a bit held back, as though gauging Alastor's comfort.

Months would pass, and the king never faltered. Their friendship remained strong, if not growing ever closer than before. Alastor found himself even growing more comfortable with the man. Affectionate touches were becoming common, hugs and head pats and cuddles being a welcome thing, with the reassurance that the shorter king would never disrespect his boundaries.

Lucifer seemed genuinely happy about it, despite being clearly told that none of Alastor's actions hinted at anything romantic. In fact, he seemed ecstatic that Alastor was getting more affectionate towards him as a friend. The embarrassment the radio demon felt at having Lucifer basically tear up (no really, he was crying so hard, full on drama sobbing) with joy in front of him was intertwined with the sheer incredulous fondness he felt for the man at that moment.

They were sitting at a couch one night, more than a year passing since that confession. Lucifer was leaning back, resting against the cushions, while Alastor had his head on the smaller one's shoulder, nuzzling at the crook of his neck, legs tucked close to his body. Both had a book in hand, two nearly empty cups of tea on the table in front of them. Every so often, Lucifer would flex his fingers that rested on Alastor's head, running a digit against the other's ear, often prompting the demon to lean into the touch. White wings enveloped the two, blanketing them against the chill of the night.

As Alastor turned the page of his own book, relaxing into the touch of his dearest friend, he wondered how he ever got so lucky in hell.

#this may have gotten away from me lmao #this was supposed to be a rlly short prompt of 'Unrequited love but overbrimming friendship' but instead i typed out this word vomit-#i don't know if im labeling things right here??? this may not look platonic tk others but ig im sort of projecting here #bc i want friendships like this soo badd. i mean this is still platonic right??? this is normal friendship behavior like come onnn #I've been teased about being ace bc of this mindset but i always just go RIGHT this is how friendship works y'all blind😭😭😭#bloopnik writing #bloopnik rambles #radioapple #appleradio #platonic radioapple #platonic relationships #aroace alastor #alastor hazbin hotel #alastor hazbin #hazbin hotel alastor #hazbin alastor #alastor #duckiedeer #unrequited feelings #BUT NOT UNREQUITED LOVE HELL YEA #one sided radiostatic #lucifer morningstar #hazbin hotel #THEY LOVE EACH OTHER SO MUCH AND ITS BEAUTIFUL #queerplatonic #i think #fic #fanfic #radiosilence

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ghostbsuter · 1 year

Text

John Constantine was in prison.

No, not a normal, mortal prison. Those wouldn't be able to hold him like this one does.

No, he's imprisoned in the Infinity Realm.

The warden of the establishment is Walker, someone whose blood sings Witch Hunter.

If that wasn't bad enough, with every second, it gets worse. Angels decided to interfere in a realm not in possession of their God.

Who's idea was it to go against the Infintiy Realm? Are they nuts?

"John Constantine," One of the messangers steps forward. There is no weapon in sight, yet.

"Under the scrutiny of Heaven, we were sent to retrieve you for a trial." Their voice clipped, blond hair shimmering a soft green and John is sweating buckets.

"Your deals with various demon folk and such shall be judged unter gods court and—"

A loud bang echoes through the hall, Walker's men are surrounding the beings of heaven and particular brave soul steps forward.

The lad is young, can't be older than Bat's Robin. He walks with an air of authority, white hair floating against gravity's rules and towering before the flock of messangers.

"How dare—"

The boy, the godling– growls.

He blocks their view of Constantine, staring them down.

Some of the angels fall back, wings arched and ready for a fight, weapons still not in sight however.

"I am Phantom, King of God's of the Infinity Realm." The child with a title too much for such small shoulders bear, introduces himself.

It sends the flock into mild panic. Constantine is just a bit satisfied at the change.

"Returns to your god and tell him this, every Constantine bearing the title Laughing Magician is under my protection."

For such a small stature, his voice is booming, the command thinly veiled as a threat and icicles forming around him.

"Tell him that if he ever dares to breach my territory once more, I will not hesitate to call war upon heaven."

The main angel of the flock, the one that had read out Constantines sentence, hesitated only for a moment before urging the others to leave.

Posture stiff and movements jerky.

They didn't expect to be told off like this, John muses.

He only slightly dreads when phantoms attention drifts to him finally, a light knock on the metal bars and the whole wall was gone.

"Follow me, John Constantine."

And John does.

He'll sweet talk himself out of this on the way to his doom. Like always.

—

("Unpopular belief, but I actually quite like you." Danny had stated once in the garden, sitting on a table and drinking tea. John hadn't touched his cup nor desert at all, cannot trust those of the infinite after all.)

(A rip into the green before them had created a portal, a gateway.

"Leave, Laughing Magician. Hold onto that necklace, it will ward off anyone with the intent to harm and deals as a warning to those working for the immortal."

And as John steps forward, his eyes meet toxic green.

"We will see one another again, sooner or later. Farewell, Jester."

The portal spat him out in his apartment in New York, if it wasn't for the protection charm, Constantine would have believed it to be a mere dream. A warning.)

#dcxdp #dpxdc #dp x dc crossover #fic prompt #writing prompt #dc x dp prompt #let me share my world builidng here #implied that god in constantine is one of the kings #there are many king of gods #theyre usually the leaders of a realm and together create the council of Yggdrasil #god wants to have words with Constantine #u guys can decide whats up with heaven to have beef with connie #connie is dannys favorite to watcg #this mans life is a shit show #dannys eating sm popcorn #wdym GOD wants his man??? aint no way hes getting whats MINE #-danny #god may have created everyhting they know #might be older than time itself #but they are not older than the infinite #the realms of the unruly #the glue between everything that is to exist and has already been done #god cant fight what is not theirs #every realms of king of gods is just a masisve dick measure contest tbf

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