#complete au

[emeraldsk]

URZGIIDHGDIFZKGXBOX

HELP

MY IRL FRIEND JUST GAVE THIS TO ME I'M MCFUKIN DYING-

CALL AN AMBULANCE

CALL AN AMBULANCE

I'M DYING I'M SO HAPPY

(She allowed me to post this don't worry)

[successfulshowman]

A flower for a big star like you!! You got a valentine yet :3

(Holy crap you're fast-)

As Emerald let out a small gasp in shock at seeing this random park attendee just give a large flower to Mr. Puzzles, his eyes widened slightly. "Oh! Why thank you, I haven't yet." He carefully took it into his hands with a small smile.

[angelasscribbles]

The Crown and the Shield Chapter 4: Time Is Up

Series: The Crown and the Shield

Fandom: The Royal Romance

Pairings: Constantine x Jackson

Word Count: 645

Rating: PG

Warnings for this chapter: None

My other stuff: Master List.

“Look at your son,” King Alexander stood next to Constantine in the doorway of the palace nursery.

Five-year-old Leo sat enraptured as his favorite nanny read out loud to him.

“He’s fine. He’s happy. What about him?” Constantine had no idea why his father had brought him to the nursery in the middle of a workday, but he enjoyed watching his son play. He especially enjoyed hearing him laugh.

It had taken time, but the lad had recovered from the loss of his mother. As much as could be expected anyway. He was close to his father and his grandparents. He liked all of his nannies but especially the raven-haired beauty laughing with him as they read together.

“He loves her,” Alexander noted.

“Okay…” Constantine replied warily. He knew when his father was angling for something.

The king pulled his son into the hallway, out of earshot as he continued, “She’s going to leave.”

Constantine blinked, “What?”

“She’s going back home to Auvernall. She’s been offered a position with-“

“Well stop her!”

“How do you propose I do that, Son?”

“Offer her more money!”

“It’s not about the money. The position she’s accepted allows her to be near her family. It would take more than a mere raise to convince her to stay.”

“Well, whatever it is, give it to her!” Constantine could not deny the way his son lit up in Eleanor’s presence. She had been a fixture in his life since birth, spending more time caring for him as an infant than his own mother had. The bond between the two was obvious and had been instrumental in her promotion to head nanny.

“I don’t think there’s anything that I could offer her to get her to stay,” Alexander grasped him by the shoulder.

Constantine felt his heart sink, “What are you suggesting, Father?”

“I’m suggesting that you’ve put off remarrying long enough.”

“You can’t seriously be implying that I should-“

“Marrying her will secure her continued presence in Leo’s life, give Cordonia the queen that she needs and present you with the opportunity to give your son siblings. It’s a win/win/win my boy.”

“What makes you think she wants to marry me?”

His father chuckled, “Are you really so blind? Have you not seen the way she looks at you? Leo loves her and she loves him. She’s at least enamored of you. It’s the perfect solution!”

Confusion swept through him. He would do anything for his son. But the thought of betraying Jackson was unbearable. “But Father-“

“You’ve had three years to get it out of your system, son. It’s time to get serious about your family.”

Constantine’s stomach dropped. Get it out of his system? Did his father know about him and Jackson?

“She put in her two weeks’ notice this morning. Time is of the essence! You need to woo her and woo her quickly.”

His voice barely above a whisper, he protested, “But I don’t love her…”

Alexander heaved a deep sigh, “You and your notions of love! Look at her, Son! She’s beautiful, kind, and smart. Love will come in time. Meanwhile, you’ll be giving Leo a mother, something he desperately needs! Or are you willing to watch that boy get his heart ripped out again?”

“I…”

“Think about it. But do it quickly because time is running out.”

Alexander strode away leaving Constantine alone with his thoughts. He crept silently closer to the nursery room door again, peeking in to watch as Leo snuggled into Eleanor’s lap. He mumbled something and she looked down at him, “What is it, little one?”

Leo’s blond head lifted, and his ocean-blue eyes peered into her onyx ones, “I love you. Can you be my mama?”

Constantine’s head fell back as tears filled his eyes. He knew what he had to do.

He just hoped Jackson was going to understand.

[bee-kathony]

The Oath - Complete

Reeling from a bad breakup, Claire finds comfort with a stranger, Jamie Fraser — owner of Fraser & Co. the newest Whisky company in Edinburgh. They share their pain, loss and dreams, after all… it was just supposed to be one night together. READ ON AO3 

Arc I: Ch. 1 | Ch. 2 | Ch. 3 | Ch. 4 | Ch. 5 | Ch. 6 | Ch. 7 | Ch. 8 | Ch. 9 | Ch. 10 | Ch. 11 | Ch. 12 | Ch. 13 | Ch. 14 | Ch. 15

Arc II: Ch. 16 | Ch. 17 | Ch. 18 | Ch. 19 | Ch. 20 | Ch. 21 | Ch. 22 | Ch. 23 | Ch. 24 | Ch. 25| Ch. 26 | Ch. 27 | Ch. 28 | Ch. 29 | Ch. 30

moodboards by @julesbeauchamp

[purecanesugar]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

Chapters: 4/4 Fandom: Marvel Cinematic Universe Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Tony Stark Characters: James "Bucky" Barnes, Tony Stark, Riri Williams, James "Rhodey" Rhodes, Pepper Potts, Phil Coulson, Maria Hill, Hope Van Dyne, Maria Stark, Janet Van Dyne, Jane Foster (Marvel), Hank Pym, Scott Lang, Stephen Strange, Bruce Banner, Carol Danvers, Loki (Marvel), Thor (Marvel), Brunnhilde | Valkyrie (Marvel), Domino, Hela (Marvel), Peter Parker, Wanda Maximoff, Clint Barton, Natasha Romanov (Marvel), Matt Murdock, Steve Rogers, Harley Keener Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Spies & Secret Agents, Not Canon Compliant, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark-centric, BAMF Tony Stark, The Winter Soldier & Potato Peeler, BAMF Bucky Barnes, Bucky Barnes Remembers, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, bisexual energy, author abuses parenthesis, Freeform, Well Adjusted Tony Stark, Rimming, Anal Fingering, Blow Jobs, Resolved Sexual Tension, Friendship, Found Family, Implied/Referenced Torture, Identity Porn, The Tesseract (Marvel), Kidnapping, is it obvious how much i love kids, Cultural Differences, Protective Bucky Barnes, Protective Tony Stark, Italian Tony Stark, positive propaganda for therapy, Characters Watching Disney Movies, Hulk is like an artist okay fight me Series: Part 1 of and the wounds never close Summary:

JARVIS announces, “Sir, Peter Parker is on his way up. Shall I direct him to the workshop?”

Tony has never sighed so much in his entire life. “Send him over.”

Peter appears moments later, face red and eyes frantic.

“Don’t tell me you webbed all the way here?”

“Mr. Stark, he’s dangerous!” Peter exclaims more than yells. “Have you heard what he can do with a potato peeler?”

or

How Tony totally meant to volunteer to be the Winter Soldier’s handler, you know, like on purpose (and not because he had been deliriously awake for 56 hours on a quest to put Fortnite into the grave before Fury had asked). This is obviously Pepper’s fault.

[MCU/AU where Tony was never Iron Man but became a S.H.I.E.L.D operative early in life, and paved a satisfying career of intrigue doing so.]

[whispering-sumire755]

Tigerlily

Her mother hired her a driver and a bodyguard, though Laura didn't want it, said she'd be fine on her own, Talia didn't care, their family was in a precarious situation right now, and she'd be doing the same for Derek and the twins; Peter was only exempt because he was an adult who could take care of himself (and by that, Laura privately thought, what she meant to say was that Peter would totally emasculate and shred any ego and/or confidence the paparazzi/protesters had with his vicious words, if they were in public, and, if not, well. No one would miss them, he'd say, they must be vile people in their private lives to do such vile things in their public ones), and Philip because he was in Ireland with their father. Grouchy, Laura admitted defeat and accepted the burden of whomever her mother had hired, despite being two whole states away from the center of the chaos.

When she leaves her apartment, the first day she's being picked up by this person, she's taken utterly by surprise to see a buxom woman with honey-blonde hair in loose pig-tails tied up with big, sleek ribbons, a steampunk captain's hat atop her head, eyes like crushed nutmeg sprinkled with cigarette-ash flecks, wearing a white shirt and oil-slick black leather pants, her clothes clinging, like she chose them with the specific intention of showing off, standing in front of a pastel, antique Volkswagen beetle, looking for all the world expectant, bored, and vaguely amused in that same way Uncle Peter sometimes gets, like the whole world is a joke that only they're in on.

"You must be Laura," the woman- or, more accurately, girl, at least comparatively- says.

Laura laughs a little, nervous and slightly incredulous, "And you're my ride?"

Blondie flashes a grin, full-up of too many teeth, plumb-red tinted lips parting dangerously around too-sharp bone, an expression as seductive as it is terrifying. "That's right," she opens the backseat door and bows with a flourish, waving Laura inside the vehicle, "my name's Erica; our chariot tigerlily and I will be providing you all of your escorting and personal protection needs, as per your mother's- and therefore my paycheck's- request."

"Uh-mm," Laura laughs again, walking down the concrete steps and away from her apartment complex's entryway, stopping short when she gets to sidewalk proper, biting her lip and wringing her hands a little. Erica remains bowed, though she does turn her head to narrow her smokey eyes, the silken waterfall of her sunlight hair tangling with her neck, the black bow holding the pig-tail in place falling just under the girl's ear, contrasting the brilliant neon-chain piercings that decorate- nearly overwhelm- it. "Are you... old enough to be doing this?"

An explosive sigh as she rights herself, leans an elbow on top of the door and rests her cheek on her hand, its' opposite going to her hip with a half-resigned, half-sass sort of attitude. "Do you want to see my credentials? I've got about a dozen boxing medals, three belts, a nikyu rank in judo, and-" she does an asymmetrical kind of jazz-hands, underwhelming and seeming almost bored, like she's explained this thousands of times, before returning to her original position- "surprise surprise, a driver's license. I'm qualified, does my age really matter?"

"I... suppose not?"

"You don't sound too sure about that, princess."

Laura shakes her head with a little hiccup-squeak- a sound she will never admit to having made, and will quietly freak out about later, thank you- "Nope, I'm sure. I'm sure," and with that she skedaddles on into the car- as elegantly as she can manage, after everything- ignoring her driver's growing smirk with an awkward, embarrassed kind of desperation. She hears Erica huff out something of a laugh before the car door's shut gently behind her, the girl moving to the driver's seat and clambering in.

"So: where to?"

"Belle Grove Kindergarten," Laura answers promptly, mildly relieved to be done with the social niceties of it all.

"Oh, that's right, your mom did say something about you being a teacher." Laura hums affirmatively. "I hate kids, personally, but, you know-" she turns the key, starting the car and pulling away from the curb- "kudos to you for bringing knowledge to the next generation of assholes, or something like that."

Laura chokes on her own spit, and it takes a lot longer than she'd like for her to become composed enough to dignify that with a response, and all she ends up managing is a very high, very unsure, haphazardly chagrined and slightly sarcastic, "Thanks?"

She glimpses, from the rearview mirror, Erica's eyes crinkling with the mirth and width of her smile.

It's odd to learn about someone so extensively over such a short period of time, but, at the same time, it seems almost natural. There's awkwardness and blundering, but Erica and Laura just kind of click.

The wind-swept wild maiden, and the tamer, tranquil, motherly type of woman, both of them very, very different, but uniquely complementary to each other.

Erica, Laura finds, became a bodyguard straight out of highschool, her epilepsy- which she avoids talking about like the plague, so long as she can get away with it- made it difficult to become a driver in any capacity, but, her episodes winding down as she got older, along with finding meds to manage it that managed it well, or, at least, better than the others before, did seem help in that vein. Still, if she has even one seizure, it could revoke her license, which, while Erica understands, the safety of others and all that, she's also vaguely bitter about.

The girl's overtly sexual, voraciously flirtatious, with a mask of lethal confidence born from deep-rooted insecurities. She's very explorative of her identity at this point in her life because her identity always used to be her illness, and now that she has the chance to discover herself outside of that, she's diving in headfirst, reckless and urgent. She's a very in your face with both my middle-fingers in the air type of person, but there's a depth, a complexity to it, and a frugal kindness saturated in cynicism riding just underneath.

Her style, too, is fascinating, from her clothes to her car to the way she utilizes her language, and, despite mostly being a pacifist herself, if Laura's being honest the way Erica fights is... mouth-watering. Would be a vulgar thing to think. Which is why Laura isn't thinking it.

At all.

Erica taps the metal curl of her sunglasses against her teeth, glaring at the door that leads into Laura's apartment complex, impatient. She knows that the school-year is over, but she also knows that Laura isn't the type to have with staying inside or being idle. The woman likes fresh air and sunlight the same way flowers do, in that she needs it like breathing, could only wilt without it.

Which is why Erica ended up outside her place, figuring she'd still need a ride... somewhere.

Sighing explosively, she gets up off of her car, rubs the sun-scorched metal feeling out of her skin with a small grimace, and decidedly presses Laura's buzzer. No response. She clicks the button over and over again, irritating-persistent, pestering, until she hears a crash and an undeniably familiar voice shouting, "Cora, I swear to god—"

The aggrieved words halt, stutter, caught like fluttering-fragile butterfly wings in her long, pale throat, heterochromatic eyes startled-wide when they light on Erica—who'd backtracked down the small set of stairs, back to the sidewalk, to look up at the sight of her boss' daughter, her client, her friend, standing sleep-soft messy on her balcony. ink-silk curls in a loose-tumble bun, a slightly revealing preppy-pink satin slip under an unzipped hoodie, baggy sleeves sliding adorably over her bony hands, dream-like cotton-candy designs on it.

"Sorry to disappoint, princess," Erica smirks, watching as Laura's barefoot toes flex against charcoal grey floorboards.

Laura blushes furiously, rosy hue dusting her from her prominent collarbone all the way to her crown, getting ripe-strawberry dark just at the tip of her ears, and erica's helpless to the way her smirk widens into a genuine grin. "Not disappointed," Laura says, breezily, turning her eyes away and smoothing her hands down her skirt with all the air of recomposed royalty—the act betrayed entirely by her coloring and the high-pitch, embarrassed crackle of her tone. Erica bites back a laugh, scuffs the heel of her boot on the crack-crumble cement.

"You gonna grant me entry into your tower? Or am I gonna have to beg you to let down your hair?"

Laura's eyes flutter closed, tonguing the back of her teeth even as an indulgently mirthful smile overwhelms her. "You know... I shouldn't," she points out with a look, exasperatedly shaking her head even as she retreats back inside to buzz Erica in, fatalistic, calling over her shoulder: "You’re likely a dragon, come to kidnap me and burn me alive."

Erica rolls her eyes, jogs back up the little street-stairway, opens the door when it unlocks for her at Laura's bidding, before running up the three flights it takes to get to Laura's apartment, only the barest hints of breathless when she gets to the woman's door and sweeps inside. "No way am I a dragon. I'm more like... Excalibur," she leans into the woman's space, sultry-purr, "silver and sharp."

Laura backs away with a sound split between a groan and a sigh, "And just as dangerous."

"Not exactly," Erica hums, shutting Laura's door carelessly and meandering to the dining table, snatching an apple from the wicker-weave basket in the middle of its’ wax-shine mahogany expanse and biting into it. "The dragon kills you, princess, because it's hungry, driven by instinct, whatever. I, on the other hand, am wielded in your defence-" she shrugs- "or not. Maybe your evil step-mother picks me up and beheads you with me. My point is, as a weapon, I have no intent, good or bad." 

She looks up from her fingers, picking restlessly at blood-rich apple-skin to find Laura staring at her, expression indecipherable.

Silence reigns- vaguely uncomfortable- for a second too long. Erica blinks, knits her brows.

"... What?"

Laura shakes her head, "I— Nothing. Nothing, nevermind." She clears her throat, shuffles things around that don't really need to be shuffled, restless. "Um, so. What're you doing here?"

"My job, unless I was fired while I wasn't paying attention."

Laura huffs a little, glittering starlight returning to her eyes, "No; I'll have need of you for a while yet. But..." She shrugs, "I don't really have anywhere to go."

"Bullshit," Erica scoffs, narrows her eyes when laura's only response is a deadpanned glare. "Seriously? No... friends? social gatherings? nothing?"

*"Nothing,"* Laura sighs, nearly a pout, flopping lethargically onto her white-cotton plush couch. "Just the kids—work."

Erica blanks for a moment, fidgets, eats her goddamn apple.

"Okay," she shatters the vaguely somber air after a moment, annoyed, tossing her apple-core into the trash-can on her way to the couch before lifting Laura bodily off of it, hauling her into a bridal-carry easy as anything, and ignoring her yelp of utterly indignant shock. "Fuck this. We're going out."

Laura sputters for a moment, hands flapping a little wildly as Erica straight-up carries her past the threshold and- since the stairs don't seem like a good or practical idea- to the elevator, before she resignedly, almost begrudgingly, gives in, wrapping her willowy arms around Erica's neck and melting into her with a huff. "I suppose it wouldn't do to leave tigerlily all by their lonesome, anyway, would it?"

“No,” Erica agrees victoriously. “No, it would not.”

They spend the day driving around, avoiding paparazzi, getting frozen yogurt, a whole trunkload- literally- of books, two records, a record player, and a moment saturated in the floaty-fluff memory of dancing with Erica in the middle of the street, both of them a study in awkward clumsiness and both of them devolving into hysterical fits of laughter.

The image of Erica with her head thrown back, their bodies spinning, dizzying, her laughter throaty and reckless and breathless-wild, is replaying in Laura’s head on a loop when Erica walks her back up to her apartment, the sight of the girl's teeth, tongue, the roof of her mouth, unexplored places that Laura suddenly, yearningly, viscerally, wants to map out, discover, taste, know. Which is probably why, when Erica grins a, "G'night, Lulu," with every intention of leaving, Laura ropes her in- knuckles fisted in the collar of her shirt- and kisses her soundly.

Erica freezes for just the barest hints of a frantically eternal, terrifying moment, before she's all motion, folding Laura into her body with all the ease of a sculptor molding clay, fingertips, sharp nails, pressing into her shoulder blades as she dives into her in turn, greedy, with a gasping moan, wavering somewhere deep, all animalistic, ferine need.

When they part enough to allow air back into their lungs, lips bruised and spit-slick, Erica rasps, teased lovely, so fucking lovely at the edges, "That was-" a swallow, dry, clicking- "unexpected."

"No, it wasn't. It was a kiss. That's what you're supposed to do at the end of a date, isn't it? Kiss?"

Erica snorts, dissolves into giggles, lets her head fall to rest on Laura's shoulder, button-nose pressed into Laura’s pulse-point. "Yeah," she agrees, every muscle easing down to supple, pliant, and Laura hadn't even realized how tightly Erica was holding herself until now. "Yeah, I suppose it is."

"Come inside?" She asks, maybe begs, and Erica lifts her head, raising an eyebrow, which has Laura rolling her eyes. "To cuddle. Watch Netflix? Eat p—" she halts herself- because she knows, she knows how much Erica hates popcorn- squints her eyes at the ceiling for a second as she thinks, both arms wrapped around Erica's back, one hand absently playing with her puppy-soft hair. "Poptarts," she decides, finally, looking back down into Erica's eyes, only to be knocked entirely breathless by how much of the girl's naked heart is beating in them, joyous, honeycomb sweet, and glittering with something new, transcendent, something that, maybe, hopes to be love.

Erica catches whatever expression of besotted surprise Laura must be wearing with a kiss, like fireflies in a mason jar, says, "Sure. Poptarts sound good."

And Laura realizes, mostly accidentally, that she's now dating her best friend, and her whole world glows.

(When the political turbulence gets tied up, and the reason for Erica being hired concisely ends, she moves on to a new job, another client, but her relationship with Laura remains, grows, develops. The two women explore each other, their identities together, and, when Laura decides to bring the girl home to introduce her to her family- them road-tripping to BH in tigerlily- Erica brings a fruit-basket, which she bequeaths Talia, for essentially introducing them.)

[xadoheandterra]

Title: Dreaming Bitter Darkly Fandom: Assassins Creed Odyssey Character: Alexios | Deimos Warning: implied violence, implied mental instability, horrible coping methods Parts: I | II | III | IV | V | VI | VII | VIII | IX Summary:  It starts when Deimos is a boy. He dreams of an island Kephallonia, a man Markos, a bird Ikaros, a girl Phoibe–all things that the Cult says don’t exist. This is a lie.

Deimos goes to Kephallonia for a day. He is fifteen and doesn’t say a word to anyone, he just goes. He dresses in his most bedraggled shit, leaves behind his glowing sword from the forge of the gods, and just goes. He doesn’t think about it, about the consequences of this choice, because Deimos doesn’t think. He overhears the Eyes whispers of a girl on Kephallonia, an island that he’s told doesn’t exist. He overhears words about the bloodline, and family, and it strikes something within him into a whipcord fury.

He’s already killed ten people in his rage before he leaves, and that settles the Cult into enough of a frenzy to wonder what set him off so that Deimos isn’t missed for the week of travel to Kephallonia and back. All of it is rather deviously done; Deimos sneaks aboard a ship in the clothes of some ‘Cyclops’ men, then sneaks off when on Kephallonia. He changes his clothes back to the bedraggled and broken pieces of leathers he’s stolen away from the Cult and sneaks around the island for a day.

Deimos watches. Observes. He finds Markos that doesn’t exist and just sees the things that cannot, possibly be real. He spots Phoibe who is barely nine, smaller than Deimos thought and Deimos isn’t as large as many others. He’s short in his own stature, growing still, with a barely there scraggle of facial hair. It is a point of embarrassment that he lets no one get away with.

Phoibe speaks with a woman, tall and pretty faced with long hair that drapes over her shoulder in a braid. The woman has an eagle, Ikaros, that Deimos recognizes like a pang through his heart. He clenches his hands tight around his knife. Ikaros is his.

Ikaros isn’t real.

Phoibe calls the woman Kassandra.

Deimos feels like his world is falling apart. He sneaks away then to butcher wildlife in a fit of rage, screams into a cave as he tears wolves apart with his bare hands, and then cries into the bloodied mess for a few hours before, looking like some sort of demonic creature, he emerges to clean himself off. This trip of his is a mistake, Deimos knows this. He is fifteen and not twenty-five and this is his first time stepping foot upon Kephallonia. Ikaros is not his. This is not his life. He does not exist here. His dreams are taunts of the Gods and the world only likes to remind him of this. His life is pain and not—not this. This is not his.

He wants it, though, Deimos knows. He wants this life. He wants to be twenty-five with nine year old Phoibe and older than dirt Markos and Ikaros that lives forever and is his. He wants Kephallonia to be his home and to have a baby sister that dies named Kassandra and not who—who this is. This woman that has his Ikaros and his Phoibe and his Markos and his Kephallonia and his baby sisters name that doesn’t exist.

Deimos strips himself down and baths in the waters off some sort of lake he didn’t bother to learn the name of. He cleans the terrible armors as he scrubs his skin clean and watches as the water turns red with blood both his and not. He stares at his arms and hands, at his chest, and the mess of scars that covers him. The Cult says he is as beautiful as if carved from statute, burn marks, cuts, scars, and all. He takes the praise because it is flattering, but kills any that look at him like Elpeanor once. He takes eyes and tongues with equal measure and makes a show of vicious violence because he refuses to be touched.

“Oh. Hi!”

Kephallonia is a threat. Deimos whirls around, surprised when he shouldn’t be, lost in his own thoughts because Kephallonia is a threat. He crouches low in the waters and sees Phoibe on a rock, knees up to her chin as she watches him with wide eyes and a smile.

“I’ve never seen you before!” she says full of cheer and Deimos—a part of Deimos curls up inside, all hallow and broken beyond repair. He stays mute. What can he say to one of his dreams brought to life. “I’m Phoibe,” she says.

Deimos says nothing. She frowns a little, leans forward, and Deimos leans back wary.

“Can you not speak?” Phoibe asks, and Deimos says nothing. “I’m sorry.”

Deimos says nothing as Phoibe moves closer, as she reaches out to touch him. He says nothing as he shoves her aside the minute she touches his arm with wide and curious eyes. He yells, and then runs, and then disappears beneath the waters surface and leaves everything behind.

Kephallonia is a mistake, Deimos admits once he’s back on a boat and bound for home. Kephallonia the lie, the mistake. Deimos vows to never come back again—it is a lie to himself, though, because Deimos can’t forget Kephallonia. His dreams won’t let him, and that urge to visit comes back strong and strong. He remembers Phoibe who stares at him in horror as he throws her—Phoibe that stares at him with adoration—and Deimos never wants to see Kephallonia again.

Except he does, a few more times over the years, and each time when he comes back home he cuts a swathe of bloodshed to remind himself that Kephallonia is not real. At least not the Kephallonia he dreams of. Phoibe though, Deimos knows, Phoibe is real. Deimos returns to Kephallonia if only for her.

[stars-of-nixie]

For @losfrpw2k17, Day Five, Free Day. Heatvibe Cafe AU.

Summary: Cisco didn’t expect to fall for the grumpy guy, who made the most divine cup of coffee this side of Central, or the melt-in-your-mouth-you’ve-gone-to-heaven- pancakes, but he did.

And it’s not like anyone could blame him either, cause really, have you seen Mick’s shoulder’s or just how good he is with his hands as he shapes delicate looking roses out of fondant? Or how Mick can talk for hours about the mechanics engineering, even if most of the science didn’t make since to him? So yeah, Cisco totally fell and he fell hard.

Now if he could just work up the courage to ask the other man out....

(Maybe he could get Iris to do it for him, since she asked Mick’s partner for her and Barry, he wonders as he sips slowly at his coffee, the Vibe, named and created specifically for him.)