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flareondotcom · 2 years

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Hey there gamers :^) ive been working on a dragon age: inquisition fic for a while now, so i thought id post a chapter here! It started as just a fun little passion project to get some ideas out of my head, but it just keeps expanding lol. a brief disclaimer, i have never written fan fiction before this, and im not really A Writer so i am in no way experienced outside of 1 highschool creative writing class, this has just been really fun to put together in my spare time hehe

some general context for this chapter and the world state in general, most of which is expanded on elsewhere in the fic:

- it follows a dalish elf inquisitor (bwaaah, i know, but hear me out) named Emytha Ghilain

- there’s a smattering of oc’s alongside the canon characters

- in this timeline, my Adaar was recruited to be the commander instead of Cullen

- is set during a mission with a party of Varric, Solas, and Risk

- the character named Risk had a placeholder name for so long it became their actual name, and is a childhood friend of sorts of the mc

- it was written with no set romance or ships or anything in mind, so there’s no focus on that (yet.........?!?) but like, go nuts reading this however you want

- takes place post-hinterlands, but before the breach is closed

- this is one of the chapters that takes itself a little more seriously than others

the complete chapter under the cut!!! i hope you enjoy!

Purpose

The sun finally began its long sink below the horizon, painting its nightly sunset in soft pinks and oranges. Emyth finished securing the last tie down of her tent and let out a weary sigh as she stood. She could feel the toll of the day’s journey in every muscle of her body. She braced her lower back with her hands in a slow stretch as she silently hoped that Risk had something good and easy for dinner. She was far too tired to hunt or forage after making it half way back to Haven in one day.

She and her Inquisition scouting party had been closing the more remote rifts across the northern edges of the Kokari Wilds. The previous evening they had received a message from their spymaster, hand delivered by one of her agents in a tightly rolled slip of paper tied with twine. There were no specifics enclosed, only a single sentence, “The Herald is needed back at Haven as soon as possible.”, in a flowing script.

They began the journey back then and there. Emyth didn’t usually travel at such an expeditious pace, but Leliana’s vague urgency made her and her companions nervous. They collectively decided to make fewer stops and divy up resupply duties to save time. Risk was in charge of food, Varric was in charge of drink, while Solas and Emyth were to search for an apothecary, to restock healing potions and salves with herbs gathered along the way. It was an efficient system, allowing them to make good time on their detours.

“Hey Weedy, mind sparking up our campfire? The wind’s starting to bite…” Varric trailed off and shivered as he closed up the front of his coat. He stood restlessly in front of the ring of stones they had set in the dirt near the center of camp.

“‘Course. We should get dinner going soon.” Emyth finished up her stretch and plodded over with heavy feet. As she knelt down above the wood piled in the center, she lifted her right palm, where small sparks danced in the air. Varric knelt down to warm his hands as the sparks grew into a steady crackling fire.

“Where’s Risk?” Emyth asked.

“They assured me they would return before dark. Although they did not specify their whereabouts,” Solas said. He sat cross legged on a fur laid in front of his tent.

Emyth’s gaze flicked quickly from Solas over to Risk’s tent, where their pack was not. Before her brow was even done furrowing, Varric cut in with a hearty chuckle.

“If only we could walk as fast as that elf can pitch a tent. We’d be back at Haven yesterday!” Varric said.

“Why run off right before sun down? It isn’t-” Emyth started, tone raised in tired frustration, when a sudden sharp sound stopped her dead in her tracks. It was the snapping of a branch, on the ground somewhere outside of camp. Somewhere close.

Soon the sound of steady footfalls in the underbrush followed. A familiar shape came ambling out of the treeline and into the light of the campfire just before Emyth reached for her staff. It was Risk, with a fresh hare dangling from their fist and a bow slung over their shoulder. They had a smug expression as they approached the campfire.

“Were you going to say ‘safe’? Don’t tell me, you were worried-” Risk grinned while they dropped the bow from their shoulder to the ground.

“Of course I was worried,” Emyth stood. “you have all our food, remember? Are you trying to starve us all?” Her arms were crossed and her voice was stern, but Risk caught the smile stifled on the edges of her lips. Risk looked to the ground to straighten their face. It was as much a battle of will as it was a battle of wit.

“Well, quite the opposite. All that last village had for sale was turnips, and I figured we’d all want something a little more substantial.” They knelt down and laid out the hare carefully a few feet from the fire.

“Already field dressed. Mostly. Promise.” They turned their gaze back up to Emyth, with what she would swear were puppy dog eyes.

Solas was now standing over the hare, with one hand raised towards the fire for warmth.

“You gonna finish up and cook it or are we supposed to eat it with our eyes?” Varric pointed a gloved hand on the other side of the flames.

Before anyone could respond to him, a belly or two growled loud enough to be heard over the wind. They each exchanged looks with one another attempting to suss out whose it was, as they collectively realized how long it had been since their last meal. Bemused, Solas knelt down to offer assistance preparing the meat. He pulled a small dagger with a handle made from animal bone from his belt to cut away the skin.

Risk and Solas made quick work of the butcher job while Varric and Emyth cut turnips into a pot of bubbling broth and herbs. Soon the party was sitting snug against the fire enjoying turnip and hare stew, with roasted haunches on the side. Few words were exchanged as everyone scarfed their meals.

They all retired eagerly, shortly after sundown. They usually spent a portion of their evenings swapping stories over provision ale, reflecting their day, or strategizing; but the four had agreed over dinner the day had been long. They needed to be ready to head out before first light. The wind died down an hour into the night, leaving the Inquisition agents to dream in peace.

The morning was warm. Sunlight dappled the forest floor through the swaying canopy above. Soft breezes sang through their leaves with peaceful hushes falling between them. The wind caressed across Emyth’s cheek like a gentle mother’s palm, waking her slowly.

The first thing she saw when her eyes finally opened was the tall wild grass cradling her resting body, swaying as unhurried as the trees. She stretched lazily, and took her time to sit up fully, as if stalling the day. She was in the same forest she fell asleep in from what she could tell from her surroundings, but she was alone. No tents, no smothered campfire, no compatriots packing for the journey ahead in silence, in hopes their Herald would sleep for just a bit longer. There was only quiet, serene woodland as far as the eye could see.

She appeared to be at the edge of a sloped clearing, a gap in the trees where the wild grass grew above the knee. She yawned, and stretched one more time before standing. She paused for a while, scanning the treeline with sharp eyes, searching for a direction to walk.

“Finally. A good dream.” Emyth sighed quietly to herself as she took her first steps eastward, down the slope of the clearing and towards a small gap in the grass. It was likely a foot path of some kind, a trail worn into the dirt by animals. She had learned that when traversing the fade, taking the path of least resistance helped avoid unwanted attention.

She walked the narrow path for an unknowable amount of time. The path never split, and never changed direction. She strolled on, casually brushing passing plants with her fingertips and occasionally humming to herself under her breath. Emyth was no stranger to the fade, but she had dreamt more than ever after receiving the mark. She figured she would wake up, or be woken by Varric, Solas, or Risk soon. She was just grateful she didn’t have to witness anything horrible, or fight her way through demons, or whatever other grief haunted her sleep since the conclave.

She came to a stop when she realized her surroundings had changed some time during her mind wandering. She was still in the same woods, but all the natural greens of the trees and the grass had turned a shade of blue. The moss and fungus blanketing the forest floor and fallen logs appeared to glow, releasing spores of speckled light into the underbrush. She couldn’t recall when the change had occurred, but she was almost certain it didn’t come from her. Perhaps a spirit’s nearby? She couldn’t sense anything close, so on she ampled down the path. She had also learned that it was best to keep moving. The mark attracted all manner of spirits, like moths to flame.

“Has Emytha not woken?” Solas had just finished extinguishing the final smolders of last night’s campfire. “Seems it’s getting late in the dawn- even for her.” He pointed his gaze towards her tent, the only one still standing, with a slight whisper of concern on his brow.

“Fashionably late, as always.” Varric muttered as he pulled his pack closed. “We’re just about finished up here. Perhaps Gambler over there would care to check in on our dear Herald?” He stood as he slung it over his shoulders and secured it on his back. He gave them a pointed look as he adjusted the heavy bag. Hearing the nickname Varric recently christened them, Risk looked up from running a whet stone across the sword in their lap. The concern clicked in their head as they switched their gaze between Solas and Varric, the former still staring at Emyth’s tent, while the latter looked at them expectantly. Risk cleared their throat loudly, and stood. They returned the sword to its sheath and dropped it to the ground next to their shield.

“Oh Herald?” They took slow, striding steps towards the tent. They paused when they reached the entrance, still closed. “Savior of Thedas? Hate to break it to you, but there’s a world out here that needs saving.” They slowly peeled back the edge of the entrance flap. “Emyth,” They said, long and drawn out, as they bent down to cautiously poke their head in. Solas and Varric looked on in anticipatory silence as Risk’s head and shoulders disappeared through the entrance of the tent. There was a pause.

“It’s empty,” Risk said abruptly.

“What?” said Varric.

“Where is she? When did she leave?” Solas shot up to standing, clutching his staff at his side.

“So none of us know.” Risk stood up from inspecting the tent. A pause of quiet fell between the three of them as their minds all raced for what to do next. “Do you think something’s wrong?”

Solas scanned the surrounding woods with quick and focused eyes. “I am unsure. She has never been unaccounted for before. Not since-”

“The conclave.” Risk interjected. They turned away to face the woods, trying to see as far as they could as their hands balled into fists at their sides.

“Don’t worry friends, she’s a lot tougher than she looks, she can handle herself on her own for a while.” Varric stepped between the two with a low and soothing voice. “Look, I stayed up a few hours to do some reading after we all went to bed last night, just couldn’t sleep. Being camp neighbors, I would have heard her leave, and I didn’t. So, she couldn't have been gone for more than a couple of hours.” He had a good sense for tension, and he could see an oh shit situation bubbling over from miles away. “We’ll find her. Only question is, do we split up and fan out, or search as a party?”

“I suggest we stick together. We do not yet know the reason for her absence.” Solas secured his pack and kept his staff in hand. Risk stared into the forest still, as if they couldn’t hear either of them.

“Hey.” Varric placed a gentle hand on Risk’s arm. The touch broke them out of their thoughts. “She can’t have gone far. Let’s put those infamous tracking skills of yours to good use, eh?” Varric clapped them on the back as he stepped past them.

The three of them took to the surrounding woods in a spaced out, single file line. Risk quickly took the front-most position, searching for any signs in the underbrush of Emyth’s passing, while Varric and Solas scanned their surroundings near and far, weapons drawn, occasionally calling out her name.

The forest grew dark, despite how it was just morning. Fireflies now peppered the woodlands with their drifting blinking lights. Emyth had no idea how long she had been walking by this point, but surely it hadn’t been that long. It had only been a pleasant stroll. For the first time in weeks, she didn’t feel chased. She secretly wished her fellow agents were with her to enjoy the scenery, though she tried her best to keep her mind clear and free of distractions. She recalled Solas’ words, One must stay focused in a place that can be shaped with but a thought.

As she walked, she could hear the soft and distant sound of- Bells? A very faint, melodious ringing sound, hiding somewhere on the breeze. Walking further still, the sound grew louder, slowly but gradually, until she came to recognize it as the sound of metal wind chimes. It was a familiar sound, a nostalgic one. She could make out a large structure between the trees ahead of her. A house? No, a cabin. The path led right up to the cabin’s front porch, and as she approached she gathered more details. The covered, cozy sitting area on the front porch. Carefully tended gardens of vegetables and flowers all around the yard. Drawn curtains, no movement or lights inside. Strange architecture. The only split in the path she had seen so far, forking right, curved around the cabin to the back. She spotted the wind chimes as she followed the split, several were strung up on the windowsills of the second floor. Have I been here before? No, she thought. Surely not. Stay focused.

Around the corner, behind the house, was a small pond framed by tall reeds and blanketed in blooming lily pads. A small fountain trickled on its west bank. It looks like a painting. She stopped at the edge of the reeds. Between their shoots she could see her distorted reflection in the water. She looked up and scanned her surroundings, and froze when her eyes came upon a massive figure she hadn’t noticed before. Its rotund towering shape dwarfed the reeds it was nestled in across the pond.

She quickly realized it was a statue of some kind, and sighed out the sudden tension. It was a stone carving of a creature she had never seen before. It had some canid-like features, long and curling stone fur, impressive teeth and claws, with an unusual tail. Is it a bear? Or a dog? Fereldans do love their dogs. She shifted her weight from one foot to the other. Maybe it’s a lion. Emyth chuffed to herself in amusement.

A cracking sound interrupted the silence. Even though the noise was by no means loud, Emyth near jumped out of her skin in surprise. It sounded like the stone itself, like it was about to crumble from the inside.

Bits of rock flaked off of the creature’s eyes, falling away into the pond and slowly revealing a familiar shade of green light underneath. Emyth took several steps back in rapid succession, has a spirit possessed the statue? No, this is the fade. It could be anything- she trips over her feet and lands square on her ass in her haste.

Once the beast’s glowing eyes were free, it stood up, movement smooth as silk, as if its skin merely looked stonelike. On all four of its legs, it fixed its gaze on Emyth.

Fenedhis-

“Here,” Risk called to the other two agents. Solas and Varric hastened to their position, where they were leaning over a spot on the forest floor next to a large fallen log. They both peered over Risk’s shoulder to see a section of small, humanoid tracks in a patch of mud.

“Remember the fuss it took to get her to wear those damn boots around Haven? Midwinter? She threw ‘em out into the snow so many times, I’d recognize those prints blind.” Varric said.

“They’re hers, alright. It isn’t much to go on, but-.” Risk stood up, their thoughts outpacing their mouth. “Look, it doesn’t make any sense. These prints tell me she wasn’t in any kind of hurry, and none of the surrounding plants are damaged. No other sets of tracks either. There’s no evidence to suggest she was chased, or dragged off. It’s like she just- walked away.” Risk looked to Solas. The party had been searching for a little more than an hour. The sun had begun its climb into the sky, and this was the first trace of her they had found.

Solas paused pensively. “I’ve sensed something unusual in this forest since we’ve entered. I could not place what it was before, against the background magic of the many demons and rifts, but I feel it is close now. Whatever it may be, it feels old, older than-” He was cut off by Risk, who abruptly got in his face.

“Since we got here, Solas? When were you planning on sharing this with the rest of us? Or were you just going to keep it in your back pocket in case it became relevant? It’s real fucking relevant now, isn’t it-” Risk’s voice was raised.

“Gambler,” Varric interrupted and pushed himself between them.

“This is not the time to let our emotions get the better of us.” Solas looked as though he wanted to say more, but instead he sighed. “As I was attempting to share; I suspect this path may lead us to the source of this disturbance. With no templars, apostates, or rifts left in the area… it may be what’s holding up the Herald.” He pointed with his staff in the direction the tracks were headed, northwestward down a narrow trail worn in the dirt.

Risk’s glare softened after a moment of calculating, unbroken eye contact. They huffed as they turned away, hastening down the trail. Varric gave Solas a wordless, sympathetic look before he turned to follow Risk.

There were little to no markings on the trail, a partial heel print here and there, but the dry packed dirt was poor for leaving much of anything behind. Risk’s eyes were glued to the path, searching for any and all signs they were headed in the right direction.

“Maybe we should slow down? We could miss something at this pace!” Varric called out from quite a ways back.

“Not a chance.” Risk muttered, their speed unchanging.

Just then, they almost tripped over something lying across the trail. They stopped dead and knelt down to inspect the object. One of her boots. Only the right one. “Guys, I found-” Risk was going to call their find to attention, but was abruptly cut off by Solas’ voice, more filled with shock than they had ever heard it.

“Emytha!” Solas shouted.

The surprise caused Risk to look up from the trail for the first time in a few hundred paces. They stumbled backwards, kicking their feet in the dirt, attempting to grasp what they were looking at.

There she was, floating in the air about nine feet off the ground.

Unmoving.

Her arms were out perpendicular to her sides, with limp wrists, as if something was holding her up by the arms like a ragdoll. Her legs were dangling, with only the left boot on, but her face was turned upwards looking at… something.

They couldn’t tell what. It looked like a massive shape of light, a giant creature sitting on the trail they had been following, completely still as it held her up to its face with two giant three-fingered hands. It looked similar to the magic they saw around the rifts, shimmering and green.

“What- We have to-” Risk reached up with a trembling hand.

“You mustn't touch her!” Solas snatched away their reaching hand by the wrist and pulled them back towards Varric, who was holding his ground with Bianca at the ready.

“Breaking the link may cause an explosion- killing us all.” Solas held on tightly until Risk regained sense enough not to struggle against him.

They all stared down the shimmering beast. Its body twisted in the light, blinking in and out like a shadow made of green glow, as if it were both here and in the fade simultaneously.

It just sat, staring directly into Emyth’s eyes as it held her up to its own wide, unblinking gaze.

“So, we found Weedy. Any idea what the hell is going on?” Varric said.

“From what I can tell… It is a spirit. I am unsure of its intentions, but Emytha is alive, at least. Whatever it wants, it is powerful enough to manifest directly from the fade to communicate with her, no tear in the veil needed. Right now, she is likely experiencing something akin to a dream, in a pocket of the fade created by the spirit itself,” Solas said as he helped Risk to his feet.

“Great. Good thing Chuckles here can talk to spirits. You can talk to this thing, right? Preferably without pissing it off?” Varric shifted his weight from foot to foot. Even his nerves were beginning to shake.

“Essentially.” Solas sounded irritated, but moved on quickly under the pressure. “I may be able to pull her out safely, if I can tap into the connection the spirit has created between them.” He squared his shoulders, centering himself.

“Anything you can, just do it,” Risk said quietly as they drew their sword. “We'll do all we can, too. Just say the word.”

Solas nodded to them. “Make sure nothing disturbs this process. The breach has caused all manner of magic to run wild, I cannot know what will happen if the spell goes wrong.” He took a handful of steps towards the giant fade creature and slowly kneeled down to settle on his heels, resting his palms on his thighs. He sat there with his eyes closed for a handful of moments before they shot back open, glowing the same shade of eerie green light.

A heavy silence fell over them all.

Risk and Varric stood with their weapons drawn for quite some time, stanced for anything to happen. Any noise, any breeze had their glance, but the woods were mostly quiet and empty, besides them.

“I’ve been watching you. You, who has been touched.” The creature spoke, but its mouth did not move.

Its voice was both high and low, sonorous and layered; and sounded to be coming from inside her own skull. It stood stoically over Emyth’s crumpled form. Its stone-like face made its expression impossible to read as its eyes remained fixated, wide looking with no pupils, never blinking.

“Been getting that a lot lately,” Emyth muttered.

Her shoulders dropped ever so slightly. She couldn’t sense any immediate danger the way she did when dealing with demons, even the overly friendly ones. Even still, she felt the absence of her weapons and comrades dearly as she lay beneath its scrutinizing gaze.

“The ancient magic burned into your palm… it is of the veil. Awoken after millenia immemorial to rend that which held back the sky. Yet, interloped by the unknowing, to mend it instead.”

“Tell me,” the creature lowered its head by inches. “What pushes you towards your destiny?”

“You know about the mark?” Emyth shot up to her feet, all caution fleeing her mind.

“Time wanes. Answer first.” The creature’s words were quicker and sharper.

Emyth instinctively took a step back but maintained her stare into its glowing eyes. The beast did not move. She took a deep breath as she pondered her answer.

“I want to protect them.”

“Protect who?”

“Everyone- anybody,” she often struggled to find the right words, especially when it was of utmost importance.

“Ah, so you recall more of your old ways than I thought. Mythal enaste, myth na falon.” Its voice softened again, but the Elven was spoken in a different voice entirely. A woman’s, from the sound of it, but unfamiliar to Emyth. Her head cocked in surprise at the sound of elven in her ears. It continued, with its voice changed back.

“Il bes? For glory? Riches? For love?” The sound of stone rubbing against stone betrayed the smoothness of its voice as it rocked back and forth on its haunches like a cat. Its head drifted to the side in a tilt as it spoke.

“Will you be fate’s pet, like so many before you? Or will you finally raise a voice to your silent Creators? They do not answer the prayers of their people, as they once did. They cannot hear them. Too far, too deep.”

it abruptly snapped its gaze back to Emyth, causing her to startle once more.

“But you, you could shake the very heavens, interloper. If you would only lift your hand to reach. Tell me.”

“Bes a mala sulevin?”

Sulevin?

She felt a sharp pull on her mind, as if her brain was being tugged out of her skull. Her surroundings felt layered all of a sudden, like three overlapping dreams playing out all at once. She could see branches against the sky, flashes of blue and silver, and the two giant, thrumming eyes of the creature boring into her.

Has someone been calling me? She squeezed her eyes shut. She could feel damp earth pounding beneath her feet as she ran so fast her every muscle screamed. Someone I know? There was a chorus of distant voices both whispering and shouting her full name. The colors wouldn’t go away, no matter how tightly she kept her eyes shut. Blue and silver, blue and silver. She couldn’t tell if the voices were getting louder or further away, her senses felt overexposed, like they were bleeding into one another.

A small, abrupt explosion shocked the party. Green sparks flew in all directions. Emyth’s body was thrown backwards by the blast, crashing right into Solas. He managed to catch her, but the impact knocked the wind out of him and sent him skidding across the dirt on his back. Risk lunged forward ready to cleave their sword through a demon, but there was only empty, silent air. Varric rushed to Solas’ side as he groaned, still gripping Emyth’s arms, who lay unconscious on top of him.

“What happened?” Risk tossed aside their sword and shield and knelt beside Varric, unsure of what to do with their hands. Varric protected the back of Emyth’s head with his palm as he pulled her off of Solas and onto the ground.

Solas winced in pain as he propped himself up on his elbow. He placed his free palm on his ribs, and his expression eased slightly when it began to glow with a soft blue light.

“She is unharmed… likely fainted.” He sat up fully. “The spirit appears to be… gone. I doubt it will be further trouble.”

After hastily scanning his surroundings, he turned to Emyth. She appeared to be unconscious, but was softly mumbling something over and over, as if she were having a nightmare.

“We need to suppress her connection to the fade. She cannot control the dreaming abilities given to her by the mark, and because of this, she will be vulnerable to spirits everywhere she goes.” He hurriedly rummaged through his pack, pulling out a small tempered glass flask of blue leaves suspended in a darker blue liquid.

“In low intermittent doses, magebane should help, at least until our return to Haven.” He took out a pipette from the pouch on his belt after digging around for an unbroken one, and opened the bottle.

Varric lifted Emyth’s head slightly to help Solas drop the liquid into her mouth.

Risk looked on in tense silence, holding Emyth’s right hand tightly in theirs, hoping for any sign of her waking. Soon after ingesting the rhemedy, she fell still. The rise and fall of her chest slowed as she slipped into peaceful sleep.

“So… she’s gonna be… fine?” Varric anxiously asked after a few moments of pause.

“Yes. It’s unclear when exactly the Herald will wake, but I doubt her recovery will take more than a day.” Solas reached for his staff that was laying on the ground nearby. Once in hand, he used it to stand and lean on as he caught his breath.

“How are you holding up? You took an entire elf to the chest, and then, got up and healed her. I’m surprised you’re even standing.” Varric turned his attention to Solas.

He stifled a chuckle as a look of pain creeped across his face. “I am fine, I assure you. Perhaps a few bruised ribs. Nothing that cannot be healed on the way.”

“Then let me just state for the record that the weirdest shit always happens to us. I feel someone has to, otherwise fate will keep trying to one-up itself.” Varric lamented.

[Elvhen translations:

Fenedhis: A curse word, expletive

Mythal enaste, myth na falon: By Mythal’s blessing, protect your friends

Il bes?: For what?

Bes a mala sulevin?: What is your purpose?]

#dragon age #dragon age inquisition #fic wip #inquisitor lavellan #varric tethras #solas dragon age #dragon age oc #lmao idk what to tag #questions comments concerns.............. lmk :D #i might post it all in order on ao3 if ppl are interested

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voidselfshipp · 3 years

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Black Dragon Boys HCS

Cw:food, ab*sive m*other mentions

Kano

Hes a huge softie! And very easy to convince , Well at least by me anyway "if ya think you can bat your cute little eyelashes to get what ya want...then youre absolutely right"

Whoever said that this Man doesnt shower is wrong, I like the hc that hes actually quite clean, his own house Is a different set of rules but shhh

Messy, just...so messy

As seen in his friendshipp finisher hes quite good at bbq so every sunday he invites kabal and erron over to have a good ole bbq

Fuck cannon, black dragon bffs , they get on eachothers nerves but honestly is way more fun if they are just good Friends who do dumb shit togheter.

(Erron is the only one with functional braincell convince me otherwise)

Shirts? Why would he need shirts? This Man loathes shirts, getting him to use one is a miracle and a feat few people can accomplish.

The aussie jokes like "that isnt a Knife,THIS IS A KNIFE" arent funny to him, but kabal does it to get on his nerves.

He Designed a whole place in the black dragon base as a kitten sanctuary, anyone is free to take a break there if needed, a short one though, get back to work!

If you wanna get on his good side just buy him knives, the older the better he has a whole collection of em.

He shaves with his knives, and thats a fact , hes got a pretty steady hand too.

This Man sleeps shirtless, i mean who needs sleepwear anyway.

Kabal

Aw yeah my main Man kabal!

Ive been wondering, if we ever had a playlist togheter it would be a Fucking minefield.

Maybe you got some nice old indie rock, and suddenly 5 songs of h*milton the musical come in ONE AFTER THE OTHER.

I like the idea that hes just a huge nerd (I read this hc some months ago in a @/spacehologramcollection fic) and honestly same lets stay all night playing games togheter.

He says fashion aint his thing but u see his wardrobe and everything looks good on him.

Of course he has those clothes that are rotten and gutted and that he uses to mess with kano or erron.

He fast as fucc boi, if you feel a breeze behind you thats probably kabal running to do something he forgot before kano notices.

Hes honestly okay with kanos bbq, he brings all the snacks to eat while the foods cooking in the grill.

Mans got everything you need, he aint picky with snacks, he has this huge drawer in his messy ass kitchen filled to the brim with snacks.

Likes cleaning but it takes him so long to get started with it.

Sleeps like a fucking log, good luck trying to awake him.

Erron

Me? Proyecting my trauma on him? I could never. BUCKLE UP EVERYONE

He lived with his abusive mom most of his teenager years, he did learnt a lot from her but still hates her guts to this day.

If you for some reason want to make him mad ask abt his mom.

Hes the only person that has a functioning brain when hes with kano and kabal.

Hes the person who takes em out of trouble.

He talks mostly with cowboy slang, he wont translate nor Will he stop doing it,good luck.

Okay this is a crack hc , you cant tell me he didnt find "old town road" by lil nas x at least a bit amusing.

Hes has that "horse girl" energy.

His hat is his most precious thing, dont touch it (only I can)

If you ask him how Long hes been alive he'll answer but Will tell you a different thing every time. Just to mess with you

When its bbq sunday hes the one who brings all the drinks, he has Many favors yet to be cashed ( idk If thats how you say it)

He snores rather loudly, kano and kabal have learnt to deal with it and block out the sound.

Okay...I think thats all of em!

Also if you happend to notice that one (or more) of my hcs resemble someone elses please let me know, so I can check and if needed credit them properly.

#erron #kano #kabal #jericos cannon hcs #tw abusive mother ment #tw abusive mother #tw food #cw food #tw flashing lights #cw flashing

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stillthewordgirl · 6 years

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LOT/CC fic: Wager

Sara and Leonard definitely have some issues to work out since his return, but it's been an adjustment for the entire Legends team. And they, of course, deal with that in their own unique way. (Set during and not long after "Me vs. You.")

Yeah, I love this 'verse. Here's another one! Please note that it's set partly during the, err, events of "Me vs. You" and partly afterward. Many thanks to LarielRomeniel for the beta.

Still with my own weird take on who Charlie might be (I want Mick to befriend a dragon, OK?) and the Constantine & Gideon 'ship no one asked for! (Hellship? Magicship?) Can also be read here at AO3.

Find the series here at AO3.

“Aw, come on, luv.” John Constantine leans back against the table in the rec room and looks beseechingly up at the ceiling. At least, Mick thinks he’s trying to look beseeching. If anything, that sort of expression came less easily to the warlock’s face than to Mick’s own. And that was saying something.

“Just a ‘yes’ or ‘no.’” Constantine, apparently forgetting who he’s talking to, absentmindedly sticks his unlit cigarette back in his mouth. “To settle the bet. That’s pretty innocent, right?”

Mick, who’s sprawled on one of the room’s sofas, snorts. He can nearly hear Gideon’s sigh. For an AI, she’s got more personality than a lot of the people he’s known. Of course, after more than three years, he’s known her longer than he’s bothered knowing a lot of people. Er, more normal-like people.

“Mr. Constantine,” Gideon says almost primly. “As I have told you before, that is, quite frankly, none of your business.”

That’s about the fifth time she’s told the warlock that. Mick snorts again. Constantine glances his way and flashes a quick grin around his cigarette. Zari, perched on one of the stools at the table, just shakes her head. Nate mutters something, and Ray gives him a look.

Charlie has long since wandered away, uninterested in human drama—or, Mick thinks to himself, more uncomfortable with it. He gets it. He often feels the same, after all, the motives and reactions and feelings of so-called normal people a mystery.

Well. They’re none of them particularly normal, here, if normal is even a thing that really exists. (He’s pretty sure, these days, that it isn’t.)

Still, the human drama here is between two of the people he lov....he likes most in the world. Two people he wants to be happy...and to stick around. Blondie, he’s pretty sure, isn’t going anywhere; this is her ship now and she’s captain more than assassin, even if she’s still just as badass as ever.

Snart...well.

“I can’t believe this,” Nate mutters to himself, getting up from his own seat. “It’s more likely she pushed him out an airlock. Haven’t you heard them since Snart come back on board? I don’t think they’ve exchanged two words without fighting.”

Mick frowns. Pretty’s having a hard time dealing with Snart’s presence on the Waverider, and he supposes he can sorta understand, even though he’s still ridiculously pleased about it himself.

“He’s not the one you saw,” he tells Nate tersely. “As part of the Legion.” He really hates these moments when loyalties old and new clash. For that reason alone, he hopes Constantine wins his wager. Could solve a lot of problems.

Or create new ones. But right now, he’d be OK with new ones.

The historian paces to the other side of the room, then turns, starting back at him.

“Isn’t he?” Pretty demands. “Isn’t he the exact same person? Just from a few years later in the timeline? What makes you really think he’s changed that much?”

“Other than the fact he’s been working with us for a month?” Zari asks, even as Ray stands up, too, distress on his face. Mick’s just trying to not to show that the words hurt, taking a pull of his beer as he tries to figure out what, if anything, he wants to say.

He should have left with Charlie.

“Snart was...is a hero,” Haircut speaks up staunchly to Pretty. “I told you what happened. He sacrificed himself—or he thought he was going to, anyway—to free time. And even before that, he saved our lives lots of times. Russia...Salvation...”

“Could say the same about me,” Mick cuts in, once he decides what he wants to say, before anyone else can distract him. He looks right at Nate. “How d’you know I’ve changed? I was...I was a lot worse than Snart, really. Once.” He shrugs uncomfortably. He is, now that he thinks about it, pretty sure Nate has no idea about Chronos. But even before the bounty hunter, he’d been…he’d done a lot of bad things. It’d been Snart who kept him in line.

Nate’s angry look fades, a little. For a moment, he looks pretty uncomfortable, too.

“You...you’ve proven it,” he says. “Lots of times.”

“So did Snart. You just weren’t there t’see most of it.”

“Will you all shut up?” Constantine asks, turning to survey the room with a world-weary eyeroll. He glares around indiscriminately, then takes his cig out of his mouth and looks back up.

“Gideon, luv,” he explains again. “All I want to know if they’ve snogged yet.” He puts the cigarette back in his mouth. That thing must be disgusting by now. “Or shagged.”

Nate snorts now. “Sara’s got better taste than that,” he says with disgust. “He’s like, 20 years older than her…”

“Good bit less than that, Pretty.”

“And she gained two years in Nanda Parbat, and he lost three in the timestream…”

Zari laughs like she can’t quite hold the humor back. “You...” she says, pointing at Nate, “...have got some weird ideas of good taste.”

Haircut gives her a rather wide-eyed look. “You think Snart’s good looking?” he asks, a bit plaintively. “I mean, I guess he sort of is. If you like that bad-boy type...”

Zari looks thoughtful. “Mm. Those eyes...” she muses. “He’s not my type. But he does have pretty eyes.”

Pretty snorts again. Mick shakes his head. Constantine smirks.

After they’d all beat their hasty retreat from the confrontation on the bridge, collecting down in the rec room without even discussing it, no one had wanted to talk about the elephant in the room at first. Ray had tried to start “Star Wars: Episode I,” nearly gotten booed out of the room, and conceded to skip ahead to Episode IV. (“Time for the prequels later, when we have some booze in us,” Mick had advised him.)

But eventually—maybe it was the Han and Leia banter, maybe it was the fact that the divide of sorts in their team…in their family…was on all their minds—talk turned back to Sara, and Snart, and how things were before (via the two remaining who remembered) and how things were now.

It had been Constantine (of course, Mick thought) who said it.

“One good bottle of whiskey that the two of ‘em are snogging it out right now,” he’d said, feet on the low table in front of one of the sofas, hands folded behind his head, eyes on the TV. “Or better yet, shagging it out.”

Nate sprayed a mouthful of rum and coke over the carpet. “What?”

Constantine had given him a lazy glance. “Seriously, mate? Those sparks? Really? You think you don’t get that kinda…” He waggled a hand. “…back an’ forth…without sexual tension? In spades?”

Haircut had stared at him…and then started nodding. “Ooooh. Ooooh, damn. All those times they were ‘playing cards’…”

“They were playing cards,” Mick cut in. “Not like they weren’t headin’ toward…somethin’…but they weren’t there yet.”

Hell, if Snart was gonna fall for anyone, he’d be happy if it was Blondie. But Mick also knew too much to ever think it’d be easy.

Not that he’d tell Haircut or the rest of ‘em that.

Charlie, who’d been raptly taking in the adventures of Luke & Co., had frowned, turning around in her seat.

“They were going to mate?” she asked Zari, who choked on her iced tea. “Would there not have been hatch…” She thought a moment. “…babies?”

It was hard to hold back a laugh, but Mick did it. He knew that Charlie hated feeling like a fool for questions that seemed perfectly reasonable to her. He’d been there.

Zari (after darting a look at Mick that said someone was going to pay for making her explain the human facts of life to the shapeshifter) started a low-voiced conversation that had Charlie staring at her in amazement.

Haircut, who apparently figured he didn’t want to touch that one with a 10-foot pole, decided to act like he hadn’t heard. (As did Nate, Constantine, and Mick.)

“Ooooh,” he said sadly. “And then Snart died. Um. ‘Died.’” He made air quotes. “And even though he’s back, that’s a lot to unpack.”

Constantine groaned. “It’s not that complicated!”

But it was.

Constantine had stood by his assertion—and his wager: the others could acquire him some quality whiskey if he was correct. Nate had declared that the far greater odds were on Sara kicking the thief off the team—and probably off the ship, possibly while it was still in the timestream. The rest of them (barring Charlie, who took this all in with an expression of great dubiousness) were somewhere in the middle.

Mick, personally, wasn’t sure if Sara, even now, or Snart were...what was the phrase he’d heard Leo use once? emotionally healthy...enough to mend their fences that fast. But then, he supposed that wasn’t really a requirement for what Constantine was talking about. Frankly, he figured, it’d probably do them good to bang and then talk it out.

Which meant it probably wouldn’t happen.

“Sara won’t just kick ‘im off the team,” he said finally. “Not after…everything. An’ Snart’s prob’ly too stubborn to jus’ leave.” He hoped. “Best case, they manage to talk long enough to work some of their shit out. They do that…” He shrugged, then took another drink. “…maybe they hook up. Do ‘em both good.”

Constantine pointed at him. “Need something more concrete for a wager, mate.”

Damned Brit did like his wagers. Mick considered. “Going to say they did talk,” he said finally. Optimism doesn’t come easily to him, far from it, but hell, he’s got Snart back after three years of his partner being dead. Who knows what’s possible. “Things get back to norm….to what they were, once, w’them…I give ‘em a month before they fall into bed with each other.”

Zari cast him an interested look. “What were they?” she asked. “This is the first I’m really hearing of this.”

Mick thought about it a moment. “Friends,” he said eventually. “An’ it’s not like Snart ever had many of those, so that’s sayin’ somethin’ in itself.” He took a drink. “Don’ think I’ve ever seen ‘im take to someone like that before. Not in a long, long time, anyway.”

Anyway, Haircut had agreed that if Sara and Snart would just talk, the odds of something happening were high. Pressed for specifics, he’d decided on three weeks for his deadline. Zari decided to put her wager on five weeks before something—whether shagging, snogging or kicking off the ship—happened. (And cupcakes rather than whiskey if she won.)

Charlie, vaguely horrified and slightly intrigued by human mating habits, had already beat a hasty retreat. Mick didn’t blame her.

Now, however, having watched their way through the entire original trilogy and enough of Episode One to get a buzz on (for some of them, anyway), the others have all wandered off too. Constantine had actually fallen asleep on the sofa, head leaning against the back, snoring, but then woke with a snort, shaken his head and climbed to his feet, winked at Mick, and headed out, presumably to the room he was using as his own. Mick trusted Gideon to let someone know if the warlock decided to try to…interfere with…Sara and Snart.

Even Constantine couldn’t be that stupid.

Mick relishes the relative silence for a few moments, watching the duel of Obi Wan and Qui-Gon and Darth Maul on screen, then turns off the TV.

He sits for a moment, then raises his voice.

“Gideon?”

“Yes, Mr. Rory?” The AI sounds serene. She and Mick get along pretty well these days.

“Jus’…jus’ let me know if I need to referee or get anyone to the medbay, OK? Otherwise, better if they just have it out.” He takes one last drink. “One way or another.”

“Of course, Mr. Rory.”

One of the nice things about being in the timestream is that they generally get to sleep in. Mick, who is not a morning person at the best of times, appreciates that. Yawning the next “morning,” by ship’s time, he saunters down the hallway, barely sparing a moment for the varied considerations of the night before. That’s how he keeps going. You keep moving forward.

Then he turns into the galley.

He knows the minute he claps eyes on them.

Snart’s across the counter from Blondie, but he’s leaning toward her, nearly draped over the surface, hands clasped in front of him and his eyes fixed on the captain. Sara’s on the other side, but she’s watching him in return, and there’s the tiniest of smiles hovering around her lips.

Mick’s never been the best at feelings. Far, far from it. But he’s known Snart for more than 30 years, and he knows what a Leonard Snart who’s gotten laid looks like. (Although given how picky Snart is, it’s been a lot less often than it could have been.)

Bingo.

He’s never been happier to lose a bet.

They both look at him as he pauses in the doorway, and Mick knows immediately that they know he knows. They’re…OK, fuck, he’ll think it, the two people he loves most in this world. How does he handle this?

By pretending nothing’s changed, he figures.

So, after pausing for just a moment, Mick simply grunts, moving into the galley and over toward the replicator. Once he has his coffee, he eyes Sara and Snart a moment, taking a drink.

They’re now wearing almost identical smirks. Mick’s not sure whether to be appalled or amused. Both, he decides. The Brit is going to be insufferable.

Unless…

He regards them; they regard him. Then Mick grunts again.

“British is gonna be really annoying,” he advises. “So…maybe tone it down a bit?”

Sara chuckles, taking a drink of her own coffee. Snart lifts an eyebrow.

“Why, Mick,” he drawls. “To what are you referring?”

And then he actually laughs as Mick gives him a weary look in return

Mick can’t remember the last time he heard Snart laugh. It’s a good sound. But he merely rolls his eyes, watching them.

Snart tilts his head and looks at Sara, who does much the same in response. Whatever they decide in that moment of wordless communion, the captain nods, looking at Mick.

“Nothing’s changed,” she says firmly, taking another drink of coffee.

Mick gives her a look of disbelief. Snart’s smirk grows a little. Sara, catching the expressions, smirks a little too, but then sighs.

“Really,” she says, leaning against the counter. “It’s not…we’re not…” But then she looks at Snart again, and oh damn, they’re back to the eye sex.

The moment stretches, just enough to have Mick wondering if he should leave, but then Sara seems to catch herself, shaking her head. She smiles a little, then looks at him.

“OK,” she says. “So maybe some things have changed. But some of it’s just between us…” She waves a hand between herself and Snart. “…for now. Anything to do with the team…well, we all have to sort out that dynamic.” Her smile grows. “I think it’ll be for the better.”

Well, then. “Damn right,” Mick says softly. Then he holds up his coffee mug, in a sort of wordless toast.

After a moment, Snart and Sara hold up theirs, too, clinking them together before they drink.

And Mick hasn’t been this happy in a long time.

So, of course, that’s when Constantine has to appear in the doorway.

He’s rumpled, as always, though he’s not, for once, wearing his coat. Given that he hates mornings with a passion that surpasses even Mick’s, it’s a little surprising that he’s up and moving. But Constantine’s eyes brighten as he takes in the three of them standing there…and, OK, this should be interesting.

“Ah,” he says happily, strolling into the galley. “So, did you two shag or what?” He claps his hands together and leans against the counter. “Inquiring minds want to know.”

Snart gives him a withering look. Sara lifts an eyebrow.

“Excuse me?” she says mildly.

“You heard me, luv.” The warlock is unrepentant. “I have a wager on this. Tell.”

Sara considers him. Then she shrugs.

“Nothing to tell,” she says, turning away to rinse out her coffee mug. “Now, where were we going next? You said something about werewolves in Victorian London?”

Constantine gives her a disapproving look. Then he transfers his gaze to Snart.

“What about you, handsome?” he asks, leaning toward the other man. “You the type to snog an’ tell?”

Snart considers him, too. Then he shrugs as well.

“Like the lady said,” he drawls. “Nothin’ to tell.”

Constantine actually pouts. Mick keeps his own face empty as the warlock glances at him and then sighs.

“All right, all right,” he says. “But the truth will out.” The pout fades into a bit of a good-natured leer. “So, you both like blonds, eh? Good to know.”

Sara shakes her head at him; Leonard ignores him. The captain gives Mick another quick smile and then steps around the counter, heading for the door.

“John, let me know when you’ve got this particularly juvenile line of inquiry out of your system,” she tosses over her shoulder. “So I can set a course. Mick, Len, I’ll see you later.” And then she’s gone, out into the corridor.

“Len?” Both of Constantine’s eyebrows are up. “Well now, mate, that’s new.”

Snart finishes his own coffee and rises with alacrity to retreat. Mick can’t really blame him.

“Not particularly,” he drawls. “Mick, if you still want me to make the same tweaks to your gun that I made to my new one, I’ll drop by the fabrication room in about an hour.”

Mick nods. Snart casts him another lurking smile, then saunters out. He doesn’t head in the same direction as Blondie, though, which is probably good, because Constantine is watching avidly. (Although maybe he’s just admiring Snart’s ass; Mick can’t quite tell.)

After a moment of silence, the warlock sighs, turning his gaze on Mick, who’s still silently drinking his coffee.

“I will find out,” he promises, then glances upward. “Gideon?”

“Mr. Constantine?” The AI’s voice is wary. Mick can’t blame her.

“This could be so simple, luv. Just tell me? I’m sure I can find some way to make it worth your while.”

If Mick didn’t know better (and maybe he doesn’t, to be honest), he’d swear Constantine was trying to flirt with the AI. Gideon’s pause is longer than usual, and who knows? Maybe it’s working? Mick waits.

Finally, she speaks. “Mr. Constantine, I believe the correct response, in your own vernacular…”

Constantine grins, leaning forward, winking at Mick and listening avidly.

“…is ‘sod off.’”

Mick can’t resist laughing out loud at the look on the warlock’s face. This is, he thinks, going to be interesting.

And he’s just fine with that.

#rebuilding bridges #captain canary #legends of tomorrow #sara lance #leonard snart

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atta651 · 6 years

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The One About the WIPweek IV

Your Most Popular WIP: Turning the Tides.

Fandom/Themes

Rise of the Brave, Tangled Dragons / Harry Potter AU / Friendship / Character study / House Sorting / Ragtag band of misfits.

Summary

Merida, Rapunzel, Jack Frost and Hiccup get to study at Hogwarts. That’s it.

Although it does comes with loads of character exploration and managing to have this group to get together, with the starting premise that they each start in a different Hogwarts House.

The Story behind the story

It was during the time I was still going around mostly on DeviantArt. One of my favourite artists posted a fan art about the group in Hogwarts, with a link to the OP of the Sorting. It made sense and just bundling up these characters together kinda worked in that light.

It also included a very nice line of dialog that we could say acted as a THE prompt.

Now, it might have been because I wasn’t exactly on the best platforms for that (most people was already moving to AO3 from the FF.net) but, for some reason, despite how HUGE the fandom was at the time, with all the pretty art, the number of headcanons and stories produced… none of them ended up capturing the sheer potential I saw on them. Or maybe just exploring the stuff I wanted to explore. Dunno really, because I had also A LOT to do with how living in Hogwarts was handled on the majority of fanfiction.

It is worthy of note that it’s only my ‘Most Popular WIP’ by virtue of being posted both in DA and the FF, with one of the rewrites on AO3 as well. Plus, since the RoBTD was so big at a time, I participated in a few (one) art contests and produced some art for it as well that drew a bit more of attention to it.

What was the intention? / What do I like about it?

One of those first headcannon posts was a timeline that actually fit well with my idea, so I went from then and combined it with another aborted attempt at an HP fic. That one, in particular, was about following the story main story from the POV of a different (non-Gryffindor) student trying to get an education when all the shit kept constantly going around The Boy Who Lived.

Most importantly, I wanted to keep the ‘Saving the World’ part out of it. And here’s where I could insert a whole rant about how despite Voldemort being framed as ‘extraordinary circumstances’ the teachers react as shit like that is commonplace in Hogwarts… and a bit of my grudge against Hogwarts life fanfiction at the time.

(Somewhere along here I’m not sure I’m actually expressing what I want)

It was fun adapting all of the characters to the Potterverse (like, the Original one. The story was set up eight or nine years after DH minus epilogue). Putting together the starting points of the crossover characters and how it would modify their character arcs… and then it got out of hand (Has anyone been reading my WIPweek? You might realize it happens far too often). There’s somewhere around in my computer a timeline spamming all seven years that includes most of the events of each of the movies.

Still working on it?

Kinda…? I’ve been stuck on it for a while in a spot that seems far too preachy but I actually have gone back to it quite frequently, though not after I moved.

Why is still on WIP?

It grew too much.

To be fair, I really enjoy this project and it’s one of the things that act as some kind of comfort one. It’s fun but at the same time, I don’t seem to put the stakes up in the set up for it to be more than a collection of day to day happenings.

Also, even though the fandom is still going around, it’s not necessary strong anymore. Plus, it’s adopted far too many characters at this point… it’s not necessarily bad, depending on the take, but it does keep changing the core dynamics a lot (not to mention the ship wars .:shudder.:).

Verdict?

Comfort project. I’m more focused on creating snapshots of ‘normal’ life in Hogwarts or the Magic World day to day than to build a story per se, even if I actually have the climax and resolution plotted.

#atta blogs #the writing stuff #wip week #on a challenge #rotbtd #hogwarts au #hiccup #merida #jack frost #rapunzel

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thestuckylibrary · 7 years

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Mods’ Reads: June 2017

New mods, new features!

We know we are very behind on our recs, so by the suggestion of a lovely anon, we’ve decided to compile a list of fics we’ve read this month. This fandom always gives us amazing stories to gush about, which we are very thankful for :D

From new fics to old ones, our picks are under the cut:

Mod Karin

And we’ll be slow, honey lovers (‘til the clocks go forward again) by stellam_ignem

But he knows he wants to stay, because he can’t stand not hearing Steve’s voice, or not seeing that smile on that face, or that solemn look of kindness whenever he hands over a few dollars to the homeless veteran on the side of the street. He can’t stand not making Steve laugh. He loves the the subtle smirk in his dares and the snark in his jokes, and the jerk in his brow when he’s lost in thought, or the way he smiles whenever they kiss and thumbs across Bucky’s lower back. Bucky chokes a little, on air, and gently wraps his arms back around Steve’s neck to kiss him.

or: bucky’s a boxer/writer and steve’s the english teacher who walks in on his life.

Fortunate Resolutions of In-Field Complications a.k.a. Dumb Luck by Katharoses, Lasenby_Heathcote

The mission was simple. The mission wasn’t anything at all. We didn’t have to fight, we didn’t have to break in or steal anything or blow anything up - or at least nothing specific. The mission was simply to create a lot of bluster in the wrong direction. But then, the mission doesn’t always go according to plan.

If They Haven’t Learned Your Name by silentwalrus

Steve gets out of the hospital in two days, but just barely. “I’m fine,” he tells Sam, Nurse Eunjung and the phalanx of doctors assigned to make sure Captain America didn’t bleed out and die and get bad PR all over their nice clean hospital. “I have an advanced healing factor. It’s fine. See? I’m standing.”

“That is not standing,” Sam tells him.

“You’re bending the IV stand,” Nurse Eunjung adds pointedly. “Let go and sit down, they don’t grow on trees.”

aka Steve and Bucky’s Global Honeymoon Revenge World Tour.

Pieces Were Stolen From Me by perfect_plan

Steve Rogers is drawn to the mysterious man who has started to frequent his gallery but has no idea how is life is about to change just by being his friend.

Werewolf? There Wolf by leveragehunters (Monkeygreen)

After the car accident that cost him his arm and the endless rehabilitation that got him his shiny metal Stark Industries replacement, Bucky’s happy for a break from people. The house in the forest is peaceful, town’s a fair distance away, and he’s got no neighbours…except maybe a blue-eyed wolf and possibly a naked guy named Steve.

(PS: Steve is the wolf.)

Mod Blue I (re)read a lot so I’m just going to list them without their summaries or we’ll all be scrolling forever.

The Way Out Is The Way Down by Speranza

Coming and Going by Speranza

20th Century Limited by Speranza

What We Asked For From Each Other by Speranza

Goodbye Piccadilly, Farewell Leicester Square by Speranza

All The Angels and The Saints by Speranza

Captain Rogers and Sergeant Barnes by Speranza

Coming Out Party by Speranza

the nightmare from which I am trying to awake by Speranza

Dishonor On Your Cow by mandarou

The Avengers Hate Club by notebooksandlaptops

Nietzsche is Dead by mambo

Kiss the Cook by mambo

half awake in a fake empire by idrilka

Behind closed doors: collected oral histories of queer community in New York, 1930-1945. doi 10.1999/journal.amhistqstud.32557038 by wobblyheadeddollcaper

back seat drive by silentwalrus

Workplace Hazards by AggressiveWhenStartled

Mod Julia

broken people (living under loaded gun) by obsessivereader, Slaughter_Me

“It’s him, Nat.”

“He may look like Steve, but that’s not Steve.” Distress mars her calm, professional mask, a sign of how shaken she is. “You saw how many men he killed, the way he did it. That’s not Steve.”

Until You Wear a Groove in the World by rohkeutta

Steve saves him.

In a way, Bucky wishes he hadn’t, because at least then Bucky could’ve pretended that those letters from Spokane and Tucson and Philadelphia never arrived. Bucky could’ve died imagining that Steve was safely in Brooklyn, clinging to life with the skin of his teeth, maybe taking Rebecca and Alice out dancing.

And Shadows Will Fall Behind byleveragehunters

The world was full of things no one could have expected.

Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes never expected to fall from a train into decades of torture and killing.

HYDRA never expected their perfect Winter Soldier’s programming to shatter.

And Bucky, who’d once been the Winter Soldier, who was now an auxiliary to the Avengers, never expected to look down from a rooftop in New York City, where he was keeping watch over the world’s most ineffectual aspirant supervillains, and see a tiny ball of angry sunshine. Fierce and fearless, he loosed feelings in Bucky that he’d thought were gone forever.

we are the things that we do for fun by Nonymos

Going to a professional Dom may be one of the weirdest things Bucky’s ever done. Especially since this skinny Steve Rogers guy doesn’t really look the part.

But hey, they might just find a way to make this work.

let’s see where we wake up tomorrow by kblaze2

Steve’s gone on his second tour. Bucky gets a dog. There is no correlation. Really. Shut up, Nat.

Feeling I’ll Forget, I’m In Love Now by smithsonianstucky

Five years after the events in D.C., Steve and Bucky are living in Brooklyn and working through Bucky’s last stage of recovery: refamiliarizing himself with touch. At the suggestion of his therapist, they adopt a cat and wonder what changes the pet will make in their lives.

a trip to the grope zoo by mwestbelle

Bucky spends some quality time with Steve’s quality tits.

The Joy of Little Things by obsessivereader, Sealcat

or, how Steve ends up working for a dragon with a very odd sense of humor

Korpimaan kutsu by Feanor_in_leather_pants, rohkeutta

The Wise Man teaches him sometimes if he catches Steve puttering around the woods: how to read the trees and the moss, when to listen to the birds and when it’s better to leave their advice untaken. He teaches Steve about the bears and why you’re never supposed to call them by their real name; tells him grittier and truer stories about the woodsfolk than the old ladies in the village.

Dark Lights of Brooklyn by jwdish98

Steve Rogers is a private investigator who is barely skating by. He spends more time in his office than his apartment, and he continues to watch all his friends live out their lives while he sits on the sidelines.

However, when a case falls into his lap that dredges up past mistakes Steve’s life starts to veer off course- in a good way. Probably.

(He’s not entirely sure yet.)

Send Nudes! by DizzyRedhead, TrishArgh

When Steve decided to cosplay Captain America, one of his favorite TV characters, at a convention, he didn’t expect to meet a Winter Soldier cosplayer who looks like he stepped right off the screen (and has a great ass). He didn’t expect to hook up with Bucky, or to find out that they live in the same part of Brooklyn. He definitely didn’t expect the sexting, or the continued hooking up, or the dinner dates.

Steve didn’t expect any of this. Especially not the feelings.

Magic Fingers by lillupon

Steve is just a simple hairdresser.

The Only Familiar Thing by brideofquiet

Steve takes a breath, steels himself, and asks, “Where are we going, Buck?”

Bucky raises an eyebrow. “You’re the one driving, Steve.”

so pop the hood, see what’s good by Bellakitse, ravyn_ashling

While celebrating his birthday Steve meets a charming guy with beautiful blue eyes and an easy smile, going home with him for the night should be the end of it. Instead it’s only the start when his boss and friend hires him as his new mechanic.

Mod Dee

Someone get this boy a drink by fingersnapstothat

Sam recommends Steve get a Tinder. He does. It proves to be the best and worst idea ever.

An Idiot’s Romance by captainsthve

So. Steve’s not the smoothest person.

Which is why he’s currently knocking on Sam Wilson’s door and groaning, “Sam, I’m hopeless.” as soon as the door swings open.

Sam just rolls his eyes and lets Steve in. “That is not new information. What happened?”

So Steve recounts the events of the morning with Sam listening patiently and only teasing a little bit. “You know Steve, I’m going to write a biography about you one day and I’m gonna make millions because no one will believe that Captain America is so hopelessly in love with his best friend that he turns into a middle schooler with a crush.”

aka the one where Steve realizes he’s in love and also realizes he’s horribly bad at flirting.

only one my arms will ever hold by wearing_tearing

Like most stories about Bucky Barnes and his questionable and sometimes terrible life choices, this one starts because he decides not to listen to Natasha’s cryptic and mostly annoying advice.

He decides not to listen, and he hunts down and kills a deer during that month’s full moon run with his pack and leaves its dead body on Steve Rogers’s front step.

Steve, the man Bucky kind-of-possibly-maybe-absolutely is in love with.

Bucky would try to smother himself after that one, but he’s learned that werewolves are hard to kill.

Or: the four stages of courting Steve Rogers.

Dishonor On Your Cow by mandarou

“Sergeant Barnes?”

“Oh, hell no, don’t call him that, man,” Sam warned.

“Captain Fuck Off!” Barnes shouted over him. “Fight me!”

Steve didn’t know whether to laugh or just slink away. He managed to combine the two by pacing two steps and snorting instead. Like a bull.

“I’m gonna need you to calm your ass, Barnes,” Sam said as he went limp again, obstructing Barnes’s struggling under him. “This is so undignified. That is Captain goddamn America.”

“Captain goddamn America!” Barnes repeated, louder. And angrier.

Steve cleared his throat again. “I’ve been looking for you,” he told Barnes.

“I hope you brought lube this time!” Barnes shouted.

perhaps it is to avoid some great sadness by onibi

Steve: I took an online quiz and it told me I’d be a cup of black coffee. It says that my good qualities are that I’m friendly, adaptable, and low maintenance.

Bucky: and what did it say you were at your worst a lazy jerk who harasses his boyfriend with inane bullshit online instead of coming in and talking to him face to face

or: in which steve gets really into online personality quizzes, everybody suffers, and steve is a huge sap about how much he loves his boyfriend

I love you like rlb by tolieawake

I love you like rlb has become a well-known, accepted and valuable component of American vernacular. The meaning of the letters 'rlb’ is unknown, but is uniformly considered to be a statement of a great romantic love, commitment and sacrifice.

It was Dernier as first said it. Steve never imagined that something like that could have survived the war and all the years in between.

In which Tony goes insane trying to figure out why that phrase affects the Cap so much, Bucky teases the press, and Steve and Bucky love each other like rlb.

#mod picks

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thespace-dragon · 7 years

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Hi Mogi! Are there any Klance fics that you would recommend? Thanks :)

Oh good golly gosh, here goes my afternoon, because youre about to get a shit ton. xD

If you want to peruse my bookmarks feel free. the link has been filtered down to only klance fics, enjoy your time sifting through 150+ fics ^^; (i have no self control) And then theres any of my stuff here because i need validation and have no shame with self plugs, but ill put the focus on the other fics for right now. ^^

But here are the ones i reallllyyyy recommend outside of the big name fics that literally the whole fandom knows about.:

Make Me Your Home by Reader115

Summary: “Oh my god, Keeeith,” Lance wheezed. “Keith you’re the best drunk space cadet I’ve ever seen.”“Space cadet,” Keith mumbled. He repeated the words again although his eyes had zeroed in on Lance’s hands and Lance offered no resistance when Keith picked one of them up and pulled it possessively towards his lap. He began to gently trace over Lance’s fingers, sending shivers up Lance’s arm and down his spine. “You have looong fingers,” Keith murmured after a few moments.Keith’s face perked up then, as if he’d just had a brilliant idea, and Lance could almost not wait to hear what new obscure thought had entered Keith’s pretty head. He was prepared to laugh, and instead found himself shivering again as Keith leaned far into his personal bubble, lips practically touching Lance’s ear when he spoke next.“I bet you could reach all kinds of things, Lance.”Update: Now with ART by suitboxers!!WC: 38169 (6/6)General Notes: just, omg? this fic has like it all, and it all fits into s2?? yes please?? i could not get enough of this fic and talking with the author, there is a rumor that they might write an epilogue and i like high key died. 10/10

Today, anew by MemeKonVLD

Summary: “Lance.”Lance’s eyebrows furrow in concern for a second before his whole face goes gentle and open.“Hey buddy, everything okay?”Keith nods. Then shakes his head, then opens his mouth to let out a noisy sob before he’s hugging the air out of Lance, grip vise tight.Lance hugs him back. That’s one of the great things about him— he doesn’t— he doesn’t need explanations for things like this. He doesn’t make Keith jump through hoops, the way other people might— he’s just— he just knows what Keith needs in times like this. No façades, no posturing.(Or: the one where Keith is trapped in a time loop. A time loop from hell.)WC: 5910 (6/6 chapters)General Notes: this was interesting to say the least, and one of my latest reads. I really enjoyed, told from Keiths pov and he’s stuck in a time loop. Angsty, but has a happy ending. 8/10

Voltron Cafe by PinkHitman

Summary: Lance is the number one butler at a maid cafe, and his number one customer? Just his old High School rival Keith.WC: 66422 (14/?)General Notes: This is really funny and quirky. Lance is adorable in all his dorky glory. The whole team is there and i cant count the times ive had to stifle laughter reading it because it was 3am and i really needed to sleep but, hey what are you going to do xD theres also a blog @voltron-cafe and the art is just as quirky as the fic and i love it to all get out. 9/10

a truth in the blood by angstinspace

Summary: “I’m Galra, Lance.”It’s the first time he’s said those words out loud––and to Lance of all people. He should feel horrified at himself but somehow, he doesn’t. In fact, an eerie calmness has settled over him. Everything comes sharply into focus as he stands there, still holding Lance’s wrist, breathing in and out, waiting for a response. A post “Blade of Marmora” fix-it fic. Mostly broganes & klance bonding.WC: 7489General Notes: So theres a little bit of angst in this, but it does a really good job of filling in the blanks of what could have happened between ep8 and ep9 of s2. I really liked it, has some Broganes in there and Klance bonding. 8/10

Starlight by epiproctan

Summary: For once, Lance tries to be responsible for something. Namely, his feelings. Needless to say it doesn’t go well.WC: 7719General Notes: Lance pov, honestly this boy tries so hard to keep the team dynamic the same, but it never goes well. goes with the trope that EVERYONE knows about mutual pining klance, but goes a different direction just for the hell of it. i loved it. 9/10

He Who Fights Monsters by magisterpavus

Summary: In a world where monstrous dragons terrorize humanity daily, the Garrison trains valiant Knights to slay the evil beasts and defend Earth. But when Knight cadet Lance Espinosa is kidnapped by a strange red dragon who kills its own kind, certain truths are revealed…and so are the true monsters. WC: 64888 (13/13)General Notes: holy fuck do i love this fic, cuz like, wow. Im a sucker for dragons and i loved the way the author inocrporated them into this fic and made it freaking work. A+++. Lots of action, drama-rama and Lance learns a thing or two about hs feelings along the way. 10/10

Burning Love by TeaAndKittens

Summary: An injury sustained on the job for firefighter Keith means an extended medical leave that makes him feel useless and angry. He’s so desperate to get back to his crew at Station 5 that he’s almost willing to try anything - except yoga. Especially after Hunk calls this friend of his that owns a yoga studio and Keith gets supporting evidence for his claim that only crazy people practice yoga.Somehow, despite all of that, Hunk and Shiro manage to bully him into at least trying it. He shows up for that first class expecting to hate it. What he’s not expecting is for Hunk’s friend to be hot like the fire of a thousand suns. Or even more insane in person.Or: Keith’s life. So Hard.WC: 7017 (2/?)General Notes: Firefighter Keith and yoga instructor lance,,, um yes please! this fic is just getting started but i really love it so far. 8/10

Sharps and Accidentals by Zizzani

Summary: Keith is a talented up and coming violin virtuoso. Lance hates him immediately.Or an AU in which Lance and Keith both attend the same music university. Keith is deaf. Lance is Trying™.WC: 39528 (9/?)General Notes: ok, so i just really love this a lot. im a band nerd so music is like my thing, and this is honestly great. Deaf keith, and lance… poor lance, hes trying ok? Im a couple updates behind, but i really love it a lot. 9/10

bouncing off exit signs by steelthighsvoideyesSummary:

Summary: This is the story of two absolute idiots who keep searching for what they’ve already found. WC: 40147 (yes on chap xD)General Notes: this is like one of those comfort fics for me, i binged it one night, and it was amazing. Based off the song Closer by The Chainsmokers. honeslty, well done. 10/10

Duly Noted by TeaAndKittens

Summary: Keith has a box full of scraps of paper, a lovingly archived collection of all the notes Lance has written him so far in their relationship. Their son has a box just like it, and soon their newly adopted daughter will too.Or: 5 (-ish) notes Lance wrote to Keith, beginning with the one that started it all, and 1 Keith wrote backWC: 4913General Notes: this was so fucking cute that i really couldnt stop smiling the whole way through. lance leaving notes everywhere is just so him. 10/10

The Quiet by MilkTeaMiku

Summary: Does he not realise he’s dead?Keith can see ghosts. As a part of his Garrison training, he’s sent to a hospital to do one year of medical clerkship - it’s there that he meets a charmingly irritating ghost who definitely needs to learn what boundaries are.WC: 38000 (19/?)General Notes: Stop reading this list and fucking read this oh my gawd. It is that good, go on, shoo 10/10

Flirting with Death by drippingpen

Summary: Keith commits the ultimate taboo as a grim reaper: he saves a life.More specifically, he saves Lance’s life.Now they are forever linked, unable to survive without the other. Keith must protect Lance from the forces that are trying to right Keith’s wrong and kill Lance.WC: 29346 (9/?)General Notes: yoooo, my friend is reading this, and she is doing such a great job with it. Grim Reaper Keith and lance is high key supposed to be dead, and its awesome. Pidge is as nosey as ever and Hunk is pure™. give it a read, really. 10/10

Days Like Today by literal_trashbaby

Summary: For all Lance’s snarking and posturing, all that easy, cheery confidence, for all his charm and his pretty, pretty smiles (which absolutely did not make Keith a little weak in the knees, no sir). Just every now and then, Keith thought his smile would go just a tiny bit tight around the edges, and he’d go just a little quiet… well, quiet for Lance. And on the days when Lance was just that little bit… Not-Lance, like a force of nature he would, without fail, pull one side of his lower lip into his mouth and just chew on it, destroying those poor, perfect lips. Days like today.OR: Lance is Having a Day and Keith is somehow the only person to notice.WC: 3159General Notes: I love it when people write Keith picking up on Lance’s tendencies, its so freaking cute and my heart cannot handle. 9/10

so why don’t we fall by akinghtley

Summary: Five times Lance used a pet name for Keith, and one time Keith used one for Lance.Keith has no basis for having a relationship with someone, so he’s trying to follow Lance’s lead.WC: 8218General Notes: NSFW saying that now. but i love pet names, and this was all so cute. Touch of angst, but it makes up for it with fluff. I love it. 9/10

I think tht does it for fic recs rn, i could literally go through all of my bookmarks and list every one of them, but lets face it that would take forever.

Hope you enjoy all that fics!

#klance #voltron #fic recs #first time ive done one of these #i tried to touch a little bit of everything #but like #theres a lot of angst in my ao3 #like whoops #hahah #lxncekogane #dragon answers

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