#not to this point yet in longfic

[sesshy380]

How about 'are you even sorry?' and 'jokes on me, right?' for the Bakura Atem thing?

I hope you don't mind, but these prompts are perfect to follow-up the one I did earlier.

Wordcount: 721

Atem stormed his way through the front door of the penthouse. How could he have been so stupid?!

Bakura trailed not far behind, his body now fully restored and covered in something the thief had 'discounted' while walking past an outdoor clothing rack.

"Are you seriously going to stay mad about that?"

Atem quickly whirled around, fist at his sides. "Are you even sorry?! What am I saying…of course you're not. You don't even care. The jokes on me, right? 'Haha, I managed to make the Pharaoh care about me. I actually made him shed tears for me. What a sucker'."

Bakura raised his hands in an apologetic manner. "Okay, okay…I took it too far. I'm sorry. Can we move past this already?"

Atem stared dumbfoundedly. "No. We are not moving ‘past this'. I thought-…” He shook his head in defeat. “You know what…it doesn't matter. I don't even know why I waste my time with you. I don't have eternity to throw around like you do. I don't know why I bothered to indulge in any of your madness in the first place. Get out…and don't you dare come back."

Seeing Bakura’s suddenly pained expression…hurt.

"I really am sorry, Tem. What can I do to make it up to you?" Bakura appeared ominously genuine for a change.

Atem winced at the nickname. Bakura only called him that when he was being honest.

"You let me believe you had actually died. You had the audacity to turn it into a prank. I felt helpless…again…and you thought it was funny. You can't make up for that."

Atem turned away and began to head for his room. A pair of hands snaked their way around his waist and stopped him. A head rested against the top of his.

"Please? Name it, and I'll do it."

Atem shook his head as he tried to remain firm in his decision. “No, Bakura…I can’t. This is exactly what Katrina didn’t want happening. She knew you would do something like this. As much as I hate to admit it, I should have heeded her warning and stayed away.”

The arms around him tightened their grip. “Dammit, Tem…I’m really, really sorry. I fucked up. Please. I promise I won’t do something like that again. Hell, I’ll even shake hands and make a binding contract to prove it. I’ll even let you set the terms of punishment for breaking my promise. What do I have to do? Get on my hands and knees and beg like a good little mutt?”

The arms around him withdrew, and seconds later Bakura was on his knees while staring up at him.

“Bakura, what are you-”

“Proving that I meant it. Do you honestly think I would do something so low as to kneel before you of all people if all this is just another lie?”

Atem brought a hand across his eyes, his will crumbling. “Bakura, please…you’re just making this harder…”

He felt fingers interlace with his free hand.

“I promise, I will never again do something that might hurt you in the way I just did. I’ll never make you mourn me again. No more pranks. No more jokes. I swear on my people, I will never hurt you like that again.”

Atem brought his hand down, pulling his other free from Bakura’s.

“No. I refuse to accept such a promise. I will not ask you to magically bind yourself over something like that.”

Bakura stared questioningly. “So does that mean…?”

“I’m not forgiving you…but you can stay. Don’t you dare do that to me again.”

Bakura nodded slowly, then moved to stand, but stopped while looking up as if asking for permission.

Atem's brow furled in confusion. “What are you doing? I already said you could stay.”

Bakura shrugged dismissively. “I dunno…thought since you currently had the upper hand maybe you might be up to exploring some power-play shit. You know…tell me what to do and I’ll obey and all that.”

Atem scowled. “I’m not about to sleep with you after what you pulled.”

“We could work up to it?”

Atem rolled his eyes and walked away.

“Is that a maybe?” Bakura shouted as Atem rounded the corner back to the living room.

There were many things Atem regretted doing in his life…letting Bakura worm his way into his bed on occasion was one of them.

[youssefguedira]

behold, the product of yesterday's lotr au discussion (for @spacegirlsgang)

Nicolò has not spoken to him in days.

He hasn't spoken to anyone. He walks silently at Yusuf's side, hand always on his sword, eyes always on the horizon. When there are people who need it, he helps, tends wounds and lifts the younger ones onto horses and hands out food. He still does not speak, and Yusuf worries for him.

They have already lost Quynh, and Sebastien. Dizzy and Jay may well be dead by now for all they know, and Nile and Lykon… he does not really want to think about it for long. He only hopes they are alive. And now Andromache, too, is gone, and Nicolò will not speak, and Yusuf cannot help feeling very, very alone without him. It is strange: Yusuf would have thought, just a week or two ago, that he would have been glad never to see Nicolò again. Now, the thought terrifies him.

When they make camp that night, Yusuf takes his place by the fire with his sword across his lap and prepares to keep watch. Nicolò joins him, after a while, but instead of taking a seat and silently watching the horizon as Yusuf has come to expect him to, he speaks.

"You should rest," he says, voice hoarse as if – well, as if he hasn't used it in days. He carries two bowls of stew, one of which he passes to Yusuf.

"So should you," Yusuf responds. He's exhausted, but neither of them have slept much – he's not sure Nicolò has slept at all since they lost Andromache.

"I do not need to sleep like you do," Nicolò says, which almost makes Yusuf laugh.

"Bullshit," he says. "Even you can't go this long without needing to rest."

Nicolò doesn't say anything to that. Doesn't even meet Yusuf's eyes, but Yusuf can tell how tired Nicolò truly is, and suddenly he cannot bear it anymore.

"We cannot keep on like this," Yusuf says. "This is not – if we're all that's left, I cannot do this without you, Nicolò."

Nicolò is quiet, for a while. When he finally speaks, he says, "Try to rest, Yusuf. I will keep watch tonight."

Yusuf waits. Nicolò does not move, nor show any sign of conceding. Just as stubborn as Andromache – well. He doesn't let himself finish that thought.

He waits a little longer, but Nicolò remains silent.

"Wake me for the second watch, then," Yusuf says, finally. Nicolò does not nod, but Yusuf no longer has the strength in him to push. He falls asleep quickly.

When he wakes, it is morning, and Nicolò is nowhere to be seen. Yusuf can only hope he found someone else for the second watch, and that he did not stay awake all night, but he would not be surprised if the latter were true.

During the day, they keep to their regular routine – Nicolò's silence and Yusuf's attempts to find anything to do that isn't think too much – but that night, when Nicolò finds him, he sets his sword down by his side and asks, "Will you wake me for the second shift?"

Yusuf nods quickly, too quickly, and Nicolò smiles, though it is small. It's the first time Yusuf's seen him smile in days.

He wakes Nicolò for the second shift and sleeps after that, and the next night, Yusuf takes the first and Nicolò the second.

It's a start, at the very least.

–

The day after they reach Helm's Deep, Nicolò is the first to see the rider.

He does not realise who it is at first: the figure is too distant. They wear a cloak with the hood pulled low over their face, and lean heavily over their horse, as if injured.

Nicolò's first thought is that it is a scout. His second thought, which he discounts quickly, is that it is Andromache, which. It cannot be. He does not dare imagine it.

When the figure keeps approaching, he shouts a warning to the guards on the walls. Yusuf, who had fallen asleep beside him, his back against the stone, startles awake. "What is it?" he asks, still half-asleep.

"I do not know, yet," Nicolò responds. He gets to his feet. Yusuf follows a moment later.

"I see it, now," Yusuf says, furrowing his brow. Nicolò's hand goes to his bow, just in case. If it is a scout, he will deal with them quickly.

Then, suddenly, Yusuf's eyes go wide, and he curses. Taps Nicolò twice on the shoulder, and runs along the wall, down the stairs, towards the gate, shouting at the guards to open it.

Nicolò looks again, then, and realises what Yusuf has seen. The rider's weapon is just visible over their right shoulder, and Nicolò knows the carvings on its handle, knows them because they are the twin of the carvings on the hilt of his hunting dagger, because both weapons were forged by the same person.

He is moving before he truly has time to process the thought. The gates are opened far too slowly, creaking with the movement, and by the time he can see the rider again she is sitting straighter in the saddle, a wide grin on her face, urging her horse forward. It is only Yusuf's hand on his arm that keeps him from running through the gates to greet her; when Nicolò looks back at him, his smile is bright enough to rival the midday sun.

Andromache.

Finally, she is there, riding through the gates like a king returning to her kingdom, like she had planned this all along, like Nicolò hadn't seen her fall from a cliff only a few days ago. She dismounts easily, before the horse has even fully stopped, and then he is running, and she is meeting him halfway and gathering him into her arms and laughing, even as he thinks he starts crying.

Then Yusuf is there too, and Nicolò has to step back but cannot bring himself to go far, and Andromache hugs him too, while Yusuf laughs, bright and loud.

"Where have you been," he is saying, and "I thought you were dead, Andromache, I thought we had lost you," and she laughs again and cups the back of his neck with one hand and says, "I'm okay, Nico, I'm okay."

"So," Andromache says once Yusuf steps back, too, her grin sharp despite how exhausted she must be. "Tell me what I've missed."

[noahtally-famous]

not me popping back on here with a post after months of semi-inactivity (uni is being a bitch) just to reiterate how much i love writing the pahkitew island cast.

aside from sammy and amy (obviously), literally everyone else can be shipped with one another and it'd make sense to some degree, like it takes skill to create a group of people so inherently shippable (platonically and/or romantically) and ofc the writers didn't know it they just shoved a bunch of random ppl together and dusted their hands off on it but fr tho 😭

(yeah im planning out my leonave 'stranger things inspired' au, and the gears are turning, and i forgot just how much i love writing for this dumbass group)

(i swear im working on the next chapter of a guide to surviving the apocalypse too)

[obseletrix]

every single day i think about the world trigger/narbonic crossover fic that i have 500 words of in my drafts that i really want to write and i sigh and write down a few more plot ideas. I can't figure out how to get from point a to point b but by god the version of it that exists in my head is massively entertaining.

[herearedragons]

Making the song lyric thing (well. and working on The Breach) got me thinking about the four Inquisitor AU I never talk about and. the character dynamics between these 4 would be so good

[puzzlebean]

Sometimes a fic does so shitty that I go like yeah not writing for this ship again. Especially if it's a bigger ship and longer than a drabble.

[myokk]

✨MASTERLIST✨

(fanart, longfics, oneshots)

Welcome to my blog!!! Here is my masterlist of ALL of my little sketches, artwork, writing, and general brainrot related to Hogwarts Legacy💘

🌿 - Madeleine / Maddy / myokk

🌱 - AO3

🌿 - likes and follows come from my main blog, @oerflink, because this is a sideblog (🥲)

🌱 - Eloise Babbit, my MC and basically the whole reason for this blog🫶 I don’t necessarily view her as the game’s MC, as my fic is quite canon-divergent and she is sweeter than the evil gremlin I played in-game😆💓 [link to her character sheet]

🌿 - my art tag🫶🫶🫶 here you can see basically every drawing I've done since joining the fandom!

Writing:

Before It Felt Like A Sin (AO3 / tumblr - ongoing)

Sebastian Sallow x F!MC, canon divergent, longfic, wip, dual pov Eloise/Sebastian

Summary: Eloise never wanted to be different.

And yet, her differences are what have defined her life up until this point: growing up as a squib in one of the most prominent wizarding families, being exiled to muggle society, and then attending Hogwarts at the age of sixteen.

She finds herself thrust into the life she should have been prepared for from birth but was denied. As she navigates this new life and her new precarious position in her family, she must come to terms with the fact that maybe what she dreamed of her whole life isn't turning out how she ever expected it would.

Tags: slow burn, angst, magical theory, mythology references, pureblood culture, occlumency, legilimency, hurt/comfort, family dynamics, eventual romance, eventual smut, sacrificial magic, blood magic, dark magic rituals, implied/referenced child abuse

[coming soon] - an excerpt from the Ominis longfic I’m working on💘

Oneshots:

clumsy (AO3 / tumblr)

pairing: Sebastian Sallow x f!MC

word count: 9,1k

rating: E

summary: sebastian is clumsy.

or: two stubborn brats make things more difficult than they have to be.

cw: fluff, mutual pining, idiots in love, two really stubborn idiots in love to be exact, sir cadogan guest appearance, anne and imelda are the gremlin best friends every girl needs, smut (18+ ONLY), oral (f. recieving), no y/n

legilimency (AO3 / tumblr)

pairing: Ominis Gaunt x F!MC

word count: 1,7k

rating: m (language)

summary: (His parents and Marvolo insist it’s a gift handed down from Slytherin himself, just like the Parseltongue Ominis despises. It is not. It is a curse.)

or: The Gryffindor student has caught on that Ominis can read her thoughts and decides to get her revenge.

tags: ominis is a natural legilimens, he is entirely too introspective, fluff, no y/n

remembering the snow (AO3 / tumblr)

pairing: Imelda Reyes x Poppy Sweeting

word count: 3,3k

rating: G

summary: Imelda remembers the first time she saw snow.

Her parents always started the story telling her that she cried and cried and cried.

or: a character study on Imelda and how she grew up because I love her & she doesn't get enough appreciation :)

tags: character study, fluff, romance, first kiss, emotional hurt/comfort, I just wanted to write a sweet story & explore Imelda as a character

Illustrated scenes:

(aka where I illustrate little scenes from my longfic and oneshots💓)

🌿 - the summer before Sebastian and Anne’s first year at Hogwarts🥺💓

🌱 - Sebastian hates Eloise’s guts😳

🌿 - Eloise is really, really bad at chess😔 (this scene always makes me laugh SO MUCH)

🌱 - right after the pensieve scene🫶🫶🫶

🌿 - Eloise and Sebastian’s first kiss😇😇😇

🌱 - some angst after their first kiss😇😇😇

🌿 - sebastian overthinks things a lot😔

🌱 - an excerpt from my oneshot, clumsy💘

🌿 - another scene from my clumsy 🫶 I really love writing Sebastian’s pov & this was just so much fun to paint and write😫💓

🌱 - Eloise and her mother😔

🌿 - Eloise is NOT flustered by Sebastian😤

[envysparkler]

so this.  this would be one of the nightwing longfics.  the long, character-driven fic that I wish I had time to write but alas.

the crux of this fic is when Tim goes to ask Dick to return to save Batman from his grief, Dick agrees.

Nightwing coming back to Gotham.  fighting, every day, to keep Bruce from self-destructing in a manor so full of grief that sometimes he sits in empty rooms and cries.  Dick that can’t visit Jason’s grave, it’s too painful, but sometimes he sleeps on the couch in the library and pretends like his little brother is sitting on the other couch and reading.  and Nightwing also needs to deal with this precocious twelve-year-old who might not be Robin but thinks that it is perfectly reasonable to stalk them around Gotham.

it’s hard.  it’s so, so hard.  Dick losing pieces of himself, bit by bit.  he sees hallucinations of Jason and eventually, the hallucinations are the only things he talks to truthfully.  he has to keep Bruce sane while Bruce keeps lashing out at him.  Alfred’s not getting younger.  Barbara’s furious and upset and grieving what happened to her.  Tim has no parental supervision, what the fuck is going on with this kid, Dick needs to watch out for him too.

it’s slow, but the pressure just keeps piling on.

meanwhile, the people he’s helping start to get better.  Bruce notices their baby stalker, figures out Tim’s situation, and puts in immediate paperwork to get temporary guardianship.  (Dick still hasn’t been adopted.  it’s fine.  he doesn’t care.  he doesn’t.)  Barbara recovers and becomes Oracle, a saving grace to the wider caped community.  (she’s so busy.  Dick just wants a friend to talk to.  please.)  Tim is introduced to the Titans and makes fast friends with them.  (the Titans were Dick’s first but they’re gone, all gone, why does everyone keep leaving him.)

and then there’s a mention of a new crime lord on the scene, Red Hood, who’s looking to shake things up.

things build and build and build, Hood taunting them and Bruce’s suspicions and Tim’s stalking, until it reaches a breaking point.

a warehouse.  Batman and Red Hood and Tim and Dick.  everyone is shouting at each other, yelling at each other, accusations flying, emotional barbs thrown.  Dick trying to keep the peace and failing.

maybe someone snaps something that wounds.  maybe Dick just collapses under his own exhaustion.  either way, he gives up.  he walks away.  he can’t do this anymore.

no one notices him leave.

Dick leaves his suit in the Cave and writes a short note explaining that he’s quitting.

he’s done.

this world--Gotham and Batman and all the heroes and villains--has taken too much from him. he’s barely twenty-one and yet he’s lived lifetimes.  he’s shouldered the weight of the entire world on his shoulders for so long he cannot remember what it feels like to fly without a net.

he returns to the first place he called home.  there’s a Flying Grayson at Haley’s Circus again.

[autisticlancemcclain]

fic rec friday 58

hello and welcome to fic rec friday! where, on friday, i rec five of my favourite fics.

The Value of a Moment by @a-fools-errand

When Lance’s previously obsolete skills in language suddenly become very useful, he finds himself wondering why aliens can’t account for the fact that humans, particularly him, need sleep and would prefer linear timelines. (Or: an Arrival AU because I love that movie)

yall OBSESSED does not begin to cover it. i have never read a fic where lance was so goddamn cool. and in like. the insanest of ways?? like of course lance is a polyglot but THIS....this is a whole new level. i havent even finished it fully yet but like god this thing is so fucking cool. if ur looking for a longfic stop looking

2. Rest Stop by @flaming-potato-arsonarson

Lance wasn't like the rest of the world. And he had never had a loving mother tell him it made him stronger for it. So he told himself, gathering up his courage and grit to face a world of winged humanity, when he, in fact, has no wings and turns into a mermaid instead. A world that wants him to die. So he'd keep this secret like a knife in his boot, a sharp weapon until he died on his own terms. Not because of who he was. Except, Team Voltron isn't so sure why Lance is all rough edges and sharp points about showing off his wings. Or acting like a member of the Flock in general. It's clear he cares for them, but he's never shown an intimate part of him. Until he has to.

oh god this has gotta be one of my CLASSIC fics. read it a few dozen times. i read it right when it came out, six ish years ago (goddamn), i can remember curling up in my old bunk bad and eating this up as the hours ticked by. i was HOOKED. my jaw was dropped my eyes were glued. could not get enough. if youre looking for mermaid lance with a twist....brother this is it

3. Looking for Rain by @thewriter2

Like most things, it starts with the little things: his smile, his confidence, his talent. Eventually, all these little things add up to one big thing that threatens to crash over them like a heavy rain. But, maybe that wouldn't be a bad thing. Maybe something beautiful would come from it. A 5+1 (really a 10+1) of Lance and Keith falling in love.

oh god guys..... @thewriter2 knows how to fucking haunt you. if a 10+1 (!!) isnt enough for you, i want you to know this line has been echoing in my head since i first read: "He looks at you like you’re a storm and he’s a desert desperate to drown." UM??? EXCUSE ME???? SIMILE OF ALL TIME ACTUALLY???? keith being so so visibly obviously in love with lance is my actual roman empire shit never leaves my mind

4. Astronauts by @thewriter2

When they entered the Blue Lion, Keith was Lance’s rival--the person Lance was working so hard to surpass. But slowly, Lance found himself thinking of Keith less as a rival and more as something close to a friend. So of course, Lance’s traitor of a heart decided that it would be Lance’s kind of friend that it would fall in love with.

tags to sell you: "keith is a dork but lance loves him anyway" (dorky keith my beloved), "hunk is an a+ friend" (yes he is), "lance is a lovesick fool" (yeah), and "allura is older sister goals" yes yes YES you get it. and like....while keith pov is my favourite to write by far, lances pov as he realises he is in love....that will always hold such a special special place in my heart

5. his own worth by frogsterz

In the middle of the conversation, Lance stops talking and no one notices. It’s not like he had been leading the conversation, for he hadn’t been, but somehow the fact that his lack of input or opinion isn’t noticed tightens the grip loneliness has on his heart. He looks down at his food, his face burning, his throat tightening up.

now usually anything but team as family isnt my deal. im not big on classic langst. but keith as a knight in shining armour.....what can i say i am weak willed. deeply. also " It’s what made it worse. I miss home and I miss being held and the rain, and I loved you. I thought you hated me." got me so bad got me WEAK like i have never recovered from that line and i doubt i ever will

that’s it for today!! i’ll see y’all back next friday for the next fic rec post!!!

[hannie-dul-set]

karma comes in the form of vehicular accidents and designer leather jackets. — [preview].

SYNOPSIS. when you’re nearly run over by a car, and said car happens to be a porsche 918 spyder, your broke ass knows better than to let this one in a million miracle slip by. 

PAIRING. shen quanrui x female! reader. GENRE. emotionally-stunted idiots to lovers, implied college! au, rich boy x not-so-rich girl trope but neither of them are normal! they’re both not well adjusted! mc is an actual scammer and ricky’s love language is throwing out exorbitant amounts of cash, romance, humor, angst if you squint but i prefer it when things are stupid, suggestive. WARNINGS. swearing, probably a number of illegal things, dubious medical practices, scamming, gold-digging, mild manipulation, a not very healthy dynamic at first but we’ll get there, more tba. WORD COUNT. teaser: 915 | full fic: est. 15-18k.

RELEASE DATE. within january, maybe. TAGLIST. send an ask/dm/reply to be added.

NOTE. hello riyangi nation i have another insanity-driven wip to offer. hopefully i go crazy again and write 4-5k a day like my last ricky longfic HAHAHHAHAH. this one has a bit more plot, a bit more seriousness, but still on the spectrum of unhinged!!! hope u enjoy.

preview under the cut.

IT’S A DOG EAT DOG WORLD OUT THERE. You’ve learned this lesson time and time again, ever since the early age of six— when your father got kicked out from his own start-up thanks to his greedy cousins, when you got in trouble for punching a classmate in first grade because he lifted up your skirt but the fucker was the grandson of your primary school’s dead, and when your high school scholarship got screwed over because “your parents unfortunately don’t support the school enough,” and you flipped off your home teacher all while calling him an ass-kissing, money-grabbing piece of shit.

Well, you were forced to transfer after that.

At least your new school didn’t base their scholarship grants on fucking PTA donations instead of grades.

From then on, you’ve learned that the only way to survive is to screw people over before getting screwed over yourself. There’s no point being nice. You can’t bother being a doormat to people who don’t even contribute a cent to your rent. You’re not wasting your smiles for people you can’t use.

Maybe it’s how you’ve grown to be so opportunistic, because the moment you and a friend were told that only one of you could get a full ride to Yonsei University— you didn’t think twice to cut him off. You stopped sharing your notes. You stopped studying together because why should you be nice to your competition? He was more well off than you anyway. His future doesn’t rely on handouts like it yours does. 

Bottomline, yes, you’re not the nicest person in the world. Sure, you screwed over some strangers opting to go to the same job interview as you by giving them the wrong directions. Maybe you cut yourself off from your parents the moment you turned legal when their debt started getting to them and they started relying on you to get out of the pitfall instead of pulling their own fucking weigh. Yes, you’re not a good person. You’re fully aware of that.

Which is why you can’t exactly say fuck you to god when karma comes to bite you in the ass via a car accident on your way to your weekend work shift.

The dead and quiet road you usually cross is now filled with noises of panic.

“Oh my god— dude! Call an ambulance!”

Your lungs hit asphalt and your head starts ringing. A pained hiss slips through gritted teeth. Something’s broken, you grunt, or at the very least not how it should be based on the sharp pain you’re feeling on the arm wedged between your body and the rough and dusty road. “Are they dead?!” you hear someone yell, followed by a car door swinging and footsteps running closer, yet your eyes remain squeezed shut from the blinding headlights and the aching of your entire body.

But it’s not the pain you’re dwelling on. No. It’s the hospital bills and the inevitable days off you’d have to take thanks to your god forsaken fucking luck.

The car should’ve just killed you on the spot.

“Are you okay?!”

However when you finally open your eyes and recognize the embodiment of your karma body slamming you into the ground in the form of a freaking Porsche, your worries suddenly get washed away into oblivion.

Holy shit, you’re fully conscious now. You’ve just hit the jackpot.

“O—oh, she’s awake, she’s awake! Gyuvin—”

Whoa.

There’s a person hovering above you. Rather, the person’s gold gilded necklace is dangling in front of your face. This is more than a jackpot. This is better that the fucking lottery.

“What—what do I do?”

“Is she responsive?!”

“U—uhm— are you okay?” Pretty boy that you assume is the one who nearly killed you is flitting his eyes in panic and is unsure with what to do with his hands. His face aside, the guy is decked out in designer clothing. You don’t miss the engravings on his jacket, the shiny glints of gold coiled around his panicked fingers. You’re not letting his chance slip away. You let out a grunt of pain and start folding into yourself. “Ahh, I don’t think she’s okay! What’s the number for 119?!”

Half acting. Half actually fucking hurting because ow. Maybe you did break something.

“I don’t know! Taerae, what’s the number for—”

“Are you two stupid?!”

Well shit. The pain stops paining because if they bring you to a hospital different from the one you have in mind, it’d be a loss for you. So you play it up even more. “A—ah, I think something’s broken,” you wince. Pretty boy drops his phone and tries helping you prop yourself up. 

“Crap. I think it’ll take too long if we call an ambulance,” says one of his companions behind him. “H—hey, do you mind if we just take you to the hospital right now?”

Now, this doesn’t sound safe. Around three men in their early twenties with very evidently no first aid experience delivering an injured woman to the hospital with what you think is a two-seater car is a recipe for disaster. You’re still on the dirty ground, arm definitely broken, with a rich guy looking like he’s about to start crying at any moment very hesitantly trying his best to help you sit up.

They’re waiting for your answer. And the answer is pretty obvious.

“Yes, please. Thank you!”

Because if you get even more injured along the way, that’ll simply be an extra bonus for you.

karma comes in the form of vehicular accidents and designer leather jackets. © hannie-dul-set, 2024.

[vinelark]

ALL timkon recs I BEG

hello hi! here are some of my favs! it got long so putting some under the cut

💄 Lipstick on the glass by @cairoscene read for timkon being soft and goofy and disgustingly in love, set in vague future college-y years with amazing core four dynamics too. cair is one of the funniest people to ever exist and we are so blessed that they decided to write some timkon. (also read for my own greatest contribution to literature, the fictional “jerry the void nexus” meme)

🎢 been a number and a name by @wynterstars i had SO MUCH FUN reading this one, a 90s comics-divergent AU where robin and superboy become friends—and crushes—when superboy is pretty new on the scene. feat. lex luthor being terrible, tim staging a rescue operation that at one point involves platform shoes and a blonde wig, spice girls references, and fantastic action sequences. it’s also a series, with an installment focusing on kon & clark, and a currently updating longfic sequel with SO MANY timkon identity shenanigans (my beloved) and kon feelings (also my beloved).

📸 the surveillance series by @smilebackwards i feel like i rec this all the time but it’s because it’s THAT GOOD. a tim-centric AU where tim joins the family late, but is still involved in bat business without the bats realizing. there’s some fun timkon identity shenanigans at the top, and some of my all-time favorite tim characterization (ruthless! lonely! brilliant!) plus a great tim & bruce arc, too.

🦉 Detours by miyaji_08 this is part 2 of a series and i def recommend reading the whole thing! a reverse robins + joker jr au that has lots of trauma and lots of healing, and in part 2 there’s timkon identity shenanigans that’s simultaneously enemies to lovers + And They Were Roommates. tim sure does run a gauntlet of horrors in this series, but it has so much healing and also one of my fav reverse robins concepts i’ve read so far.

📱 unfurl by @burins tim and kon might be dating, and there’s no kryptonian sex ed handy. bruce, being bruce, makes it his business, which means talking to clark and Realizing some things about his own feelings. superbat are billed first here, but i think timkon steal the show—i laughed out loud like five different times reading this. hilarious and sweet on all sides. (and if you like this, check out their timkon road trip fic!)

🌾 A Saturday Evening by malcyon in which tim visits the kent farm for family dinner with kon, feat. very sweet established relationship timkon and fun superfamily dynamics, and it touches on tim’s past grief over kon’s death (and complicated feelings post-undeath).

🤼‍♂️ Sore Loser by @hearteyeshayley kon learns that tim always let him win while sparring, and has to process that. this was such a fun exploration of tim’s prowess as a fighter—one who regularly has to go up against superpowered friends and foes alike—and also tim as a person who is always doing mental calculations about the people around him (in an endearing way). kon, too, got his time to shine and grow, and the ending was so smart and sweet.

🔮 Ascension by Violet_Witch an AU longfic where tim is a witchling and kon is a fallen angel who has (oops) just lost his wings. tim sets out to help get kon’s wings back, and there’s a ticking clock because angel wings are dangerous in the wrong hands—and tim has a big, horrible secret that’s about to come due. the plot/worldbuilding of this was WILDLY cool, and there was a big ol misunderstanding in the middle that had me clawing my face off (in a good way).

🌌 straight on ’til morning by merils kon vs. the terrifying ordeal of growing up, feat. sweet friends-to-lovers timkon and really thoughtful exploration of some of kon’s canon past relationships and their abusive dynamics. i haven’t finished this one yet but it’s been rec’d multiple times and i’m excited to dive back in (and it's recently complete!)—and what i have read so far gave me an amazing sequence of kon and dick interacting and dick’s big brother mode activating in an instant, which is something i now desperately need more of.

📧 aaaand would it even be a reclist by me if i didn’t include send to all by @cairoscene the absolute moment i find myself feeling down i go reread this and boom. i am instantly laughing again. timkon are just one part of a bat grab-bag here but they are so so funny and cute and in-character. maybe one day i’ll compile the timkon-centric sequel that exists in my head but for now i’ll just go reread this for the zillionth time.

okay yeah!! i’m probably missing so many good fics here because i constantly have like a zillion tabs open that i plan to read someday. also i reserve the right to reblog later like OH I FORGOT— but in the meanwhile, happy timkon reading!

[everythingwasnormalhere]

« Freedom You Said? »

I'm gonna try to avoid big spoilers, as I plan to write longfics about this au sooner than not :3

The main premise is that some people (very few) are born with powers in this au, and there's a big hero organization, named Freedom Pals, trying to get to them as soon as possible, so they can avoid the evil ones doing... evil stuff

There are two main hero teams, that I guess will be interacting at some point (I don't have the whole plot thought just yet), which would be m4 and catg, since Butters is Prof Chaos there'll be more on him specifically too

The leader of the first team would be Mysterion, with the power of immortality. He was born with it, and learnt it was useful to protect his family. FP found him and recruited him, he's one of the few heroes with not only all expenses covered but also a salary, and with permission to see his family. Unlike canonical Kenny (and most Kennys I write), FYS Kenny's immortality is rather a regeneration thing, Deadpool style. As all my Kennys, immortality-caused chronic pain, yet he forces himself to ignore it - the way his suit is pretty tight helps with that a bit, too.

Toolshed would be in Kenny's team. He was recruited after a very bad accident (or was it?), which would have killed him on the spot had FP not done anything. He was one of those already superpowered people, with a slight ability to control metal, nothing too big or useful. Yet, FP had him on their lists before the accident happened, so they rebuilt his body, enhanced his powers, turned him into a weapon. All of his prosthetics are in materials he can control, which is very useful in fights. Another of these is placed on his heart, which he has to consciciosly make beat (or connect to a device at night in order to sleep), as if he stops FP will control it remotely, which is extremely painful to him.

Kite arrived to Earth nobody is quite sure when. He can use his voice to speak most human languages, but he's not the best at learning them, nor can he pronounce many things the way it's done (aka heavy alien accent). As soon as he got to this planet, FP were there to take him with them. He has a FP-assigned family, therefore he can meet up with them relatively often. Oxygen is extremely toxic to him, so he uses an air mask to breathe Earth air.

Cartman is from FP himself. Liane works for them, principally cleaning and making rooms comfortable. She needed money and badly, so she offered to do a little extra job, letting them create her a hybrid child. Cartman was the first successful hybrid by FP, which, combined with the whole superhero mentality, gave him a huge ego. He's quite an ass to his teammates and even some random people, but deep deep down, he's a good guy. He wishes to go by Coon, but his teammates don't allow him to, he goes by Raccoon instead. He's the youngest current hero.

Now onto the others!!!

Craig was also born with superpowers, in a relatively normal family. He wasn't aware of them until he turned sixteen however, having to take part in some weird family prophecy. Soon, FP was onto him. He's very much against being a superhero, he'd rather keep his nice and boring life but he has no other choice. His powers include shooting red energy out of his eyes ("they're not lasers!") and hands, super strenght, and short-distance flying. He despises all of it.

Tweek's powers were between an accident and not. He got struck by lightning, yet was left with no physical mark, and that got attention from FP. After several experiments and drugs, they not only made him immune (CANDY IF YOU SEE THIS THANKS FOR GIVING ME THE WORD YOU SAVED MY LIFE) to electricity, but gave him all storm-related powers. He's, however, not the best at controlling them just yet, and this whole thing increased his already tendency to panic about every little thing. His skin is so cold it burns to the touch, too; between this and plain comfort, his superhero costume is simply an slightly oversized sweater.

Mosquito was the one who inspired FP to keep experimenting with hybrids, which would later on cause Cartman's whole existence. At twelve, he was bitten by - typical - an infected mosquito, which caused his powers to appear. He has mosquito wings that allow him to fly however he wishes (it took him a long time to get there), and he sucks blood with two fangs he has, which he needs to survive. Other physical changes too, but these were the main ones. The FP doctors know damn well he has h-EDS, but they're unsure on whether it was caused by the infection or it was a preexisting condition - they won't let him know about this, though: he thinks it is normal.

[I haven't finished developing Fastpass nor Tupperware just yet, but I will share their info as soon as I do]

People out of these teams now!!!

Scott would be four years older than Mosquito, and he used to be his team captain. They were very close, both as friends and as student - teacher. He has diabetes type 1, and also superstrenght, which FP hasn't found any relationship between - yet he believes they are connected. Deceased.

CallGirl was experimented and given powers by a secret organization, making her a soldier since she was a little kid. FP rescued her, and finding her technology control powers useful, they made her a spy, having her find anyone with powers and get them into FP. She was Stan's girlfriend, and also the one to find out about his powers. They broke up after the accident, though. Stan is still the only one who exclusively calls her Wendy, even knowing about her identity as CallGirl.

Timmy has a similar background as CallGirl, but instead of technology control he received telekinesis and telepathy. FP is unsure on whether he's disabled because of the experiments, or because he was born disabled, nor Timmy wishes to answer. He can technically communicate mentally, but he much prefers to use an AAC device - will only communicate by TP, and reclutantly so, if it's strictly necessary. Such as Wendy, he works as a spy-informant. [Might be changed in the future, as I'm not sure I'm entirely comfortable with playing into this whole character trope]

Chaos is a villain, therefore, not part of FP, nor he wishes to be. He has had electric powers since he was born, shooting lightning out of his hands. His parents, afraid of and for him, had him locked in a closed room for his whole childhood, until he ran away - killing them in the process - when he was fifteen. He began recruiting Chaos Minions at sixteen, by suggestion of General Disarray, and now he has a quite big army. His electricity used to burn his hands, so now he has low mobility and control in them. He developed a pair of gloves he uses to increase his control over his powers and decrease their negative effects on his body. He got his eye injury from Raccoon, he covers it with an eye patch so the low vision he has in that eye doesn't distract him.

General Disarray joined Chaos soon after he became a villain. He lacks powers, yet he's extremely intelligent in all areas, principally technology. He built the virtual walls around the few Chaos things online, which not even CallGirl can tresspass. He helps Chaos make plans more often than not.

I think that's it lol :3 ask me any questions you have ✨✨

(was asked for this by @l-lawliets-pussy @northernparkservices @fleatomatosauce)

[runawaymun]

I'm sure you'll get/have gotten other asks about this same thing, but I would love, love, love to know more about your ideas for a messy kidnap fam fic. :)

(also, accidently unfollowed when trying to hit the ask button. it's finally happened)

Ask me about my not-yet-written-fics from this list

The Messy Kidnap Fam Longfic

Under a cut for length

It all starts with Mae and Mags finding Elrond and Elros in Elwing's wardrobe post-oath-induced-rage fugue.

Elros and Elrond put up a hell of a fight to Not Get Taken and are absolutely convinced that a) Elwing has been murdered and b) they're also about to get murdered.

Maedhros gets bitten by Elros >:3

Mae and Mags have a debate about What To Do With them. I feel like maybe Mae initially is like "Put Those Back Where They Came From or So Help Me" at Mags, but the only idea they come up with is maybe leaving the twins at the edge of what's left of Sirion in the hopes that they'll be found (because if they tried to drop off the twins in person they'd get attacked on sight by Gil Galad and Cirdan). But Mae can't stop worrying that they'll die of exposure that way (he still feels awful about what happened to Elured and Elurin at Doriath).

They both realize at the exact same time that Elwing and Earendil Might Want Their Kids Back and Might Be Willing to Do A Lot to get them back, and so Elrond and Elros would be excellent hostages who could potentially be ransomed for a Silmaril.

So Elrond and Elros are very much hostages at this point. Mae and Mags do not really interact with them at all (save for Mags poking around in their minds to try and get some information out of them. Which Mae disapproves of but doesn't care enough about to stop him. He's in a bad way rn. Like his last other baby brother save Mags just died and he himself just participated in a massacre and he doesn't feel particularly good about it. They didn't even get a Silmaril and their own forces are fragmented post Sirion. My boy is barely keeping things together. They're together with duct tape and string at this point).

The twins are carted along the road back to Amon Ereb but kept under too heavy guard for them to be able to escape.

Also absolutely nobody in camp understands how to look after Peredhil. The twins do not get enough food to start with and they probably get sick from the elements, and this does go unnoticed for a WHILE.

They get back to Amon Ereb and are promptly put in a horrible little white room with a lock on the door. Again, Mae and Mags are not much interested with interacting with them at this point. Mags is a bit more interested but that's mostly because the twins remind him of Ambarussa and he's also emotionally unstable.

Mae sends ransom demands to Elwing, Earendil, and Gil-Galad, and they wait.

The twins are still hungry and sick, and convinced that they're gonna die. Also Mags keeps interacting with them and it's scary.

(They do get a window because keeping elves or elf adjacent beings away from view of the stars is unthinkably cruel, even for Mae and Mags. But they also still continue to be pretty neglected, and there is really nothing to do in that room. Elrond goes pretty catatonic at this point and Elros starts trying to tear holes through the drywall).

At some point it occurs to Mags and Mae that the twins are in poor condition and that's not really good when it comes to trying to ransom them.

They don't really know what to do though and so they consult some humans in their service, who are understandably like "uhhhhhhhhh they need more food and some medicine probably boss. Also it's kind of cold for them actually like sure it's fine for an elf but these are actual half-human babies).

Cue the twins finally getting some basic help. I have a vague idea that they bond with a human nurse that's sent in to look after them because Mae and Mags just cannot be bothered to Think About It.

Mae especially is pointedly staying away because it's too painful to be around the twins because a) they remind him of his brothers and b) they remind him of everything awful he's ever done and he can't handle that guilt.

Things continue to be Bad For A While.

Also I forgot to mention that Elrond and Elros have a poor grasp of Quenya at best, and so they really don't understand anything being said around them. They're picking it up fast though. Especially Elrond.

Finally a rejection of the ransom demands comes back.

What the fuck.

Mae absolutely goes into a rage over this because he literally does not know what else he can do. Because apparently Earendil and Elwing are on a boat somewhere with his father's Silmaril.

"What are we doing with the twins?"

Elrond and Elros are more convinced than ever that they're gonna get killed.

It's agreed that the twins should be dropped off somewhere to be found by Gil-Galad, and that trip begins. They likely send a letter to Gil-Galad announcing that they're returning the twins.

Gil-Galad has absolutely no reason to believe that the twins are alive and smells a trap. He does not come to pick up the twins.

Mae and Mags do watch (or have someone else watch) from a distance to make sure the twins are collected. The twins are not collected. The day wanes on into night. It gets really cold. The twins start bawling because they really think they're going to die now.

Mae really can't bear that and also at this point he's mad at everyone and everything.

They recollect the twins and decide that they're just going to have to look after them now until they're old enough to go back to Gil on their own.

Cue a very long tiptoe process of Mags getting attached to the twins and Mae refusing to (he's actually a big softie though so eventually he does).

I have way more ideas about later stages but this is already getting ridiculously long, sorry.

TLDR: (but I can elaborate more if people want me to): Mae and Mags finally start to get a grasp on Peredhil needs but wow is the damage done.

Elrond and Elros are veeeery slow to trust.

Super codependant relationship forms, with Elrond especially terrified of being left again because Mae and Mags are the only people who seem to want them now. Elrond starts emotionally regulating Mae and Mags just as much (if not more) than he used to for Elwing.

Mae and Mags get very attached to the twins and use them to cling to the last remnants of their personhood. This is not a good thing.

There's obviously more here I've thought this out very thoroughly.

Love grew between them but it was fucked from the start, essentially.

Also um something something the twins losing their Sindarin and not being raised in their Sindarin culture and essentially getting unintentionally completely colonized by Mae and Mags :/ icky and unavoidable.

[drabbles-mc]

Desperate

Jax Teller & OC Claire Morrow

For @narcosfandomdiscord Book of In Urgent Need of Assistance: "One day I'll wake up and it won't hurt so much." and Desperate

Warnings: 18+, language, angst, smoking/weed, mentions of injury/violence, Jax Slander

Word Count: 3k

A/N: Claire Morrow IS my Roman Empire. i think about her constantly. i have yet to come up with a longfic plot for her, so for now i just keep putting her in angsty little one-shots and calling it a day

By the time they had gotten back to her apartment, Claire hadn't been expecting Jax to wait around for her. It would be far from the first time that he stormed out of her place before they got the chance to talk about everything that was going on. Sometimes she wondered if it was a purposeful move on his part—a way to avoid having to tell her things that he didn’t want her knowing, or hearing about things that he wanted no part of. Other times she simply didn't believe that her brother was that smart.

But there he was, sitting at the tiny table that was in her kitchen. He heard her as she entered the room, but he didn’t turn to look at her. It wasn’t until she was sitting on the chair kitty-corner to his that he deemed to look at her at all. It was the first time in a long time that she had seen anything resembling sympathy on his face, more specifically sympathy that was meant for her. Must've been the bruises littered across her cheek that was catching the light.

She pulled one leg up so that her foot was resting on the edge of the seat of her chair. Wrapping her arms around her bent leg, she rested her chin on top of her knee. There were plenty of things that she wanted to say, but past experiences with everyone in her family had taught her that the second she opened her mouth, their tirades would come. So now, she waited.

“What the fuck were you thinking?” Jax finally asked, taking his baseball cap off and tossing it onto her table as he did.

Claire didn’t answer right away, feeling like the question was more rhetorical than anything, like Jax was just coming out of the gate with that to tee himself up nicely for the rest of his rant about what exactly he thought she had been thinking. She sat silently, not breaking eye contact with him even as she reached for the joint and lighter that were on her kitchen table.

Jax raised his eyebrows. “Nothing? You got nothin' to say for yourself?”

“Oh, sorry,” she said, sarcasm etched deep into her tone as she placed the joint between her lips. Flicking the lighter, she spoke around it, words muffled but still plenty clear enough for Jax to hear what she was saying. “Didn’t sound like a question you really wanted my answer to.”

“I can't wrap my head around it. So please,” he held his arms out slightly, “explain.”

Claire nodded but she didn’t get around to answering his question right away. She inhaled deeply off the joint in her hand, letting it crawl down the column of her throat and linger there for a few long seconds before allowing it to slip out as smoke between her lips. For a brief moment she contemplated extending it in an offer to Jax, but thought better of it quickly and kept it for herself.

“It's been an absolute shitshow on set,” she told him, making a point not to look him in the eyes as she did.

“Since when do you care what happens at the fucking porn studio?”

She gestured towards the door angrily with her hand that was holding the joint. “Since Luann asked me for some fucking help!”

He scoffed. “So you thought—”

“I thought,” she cut him off, “that I would help out since all anyone in the club ever does is show up to gawk at the girls. I helped her shoot. I helped her edit. Then all this shit with Georgie started popping off and all the girls started freaking the fuck out.”

“We took care of that.” Jax said it like it was a declaration.

Claire laughed in his face before taking another drag. “Yeah, and then Lyla came in with her nose nearly broken. So, you know,” smoke came out in tendrils with each word she said, “Luann started to think that maybe whatever you did, didn't work.”

“So she asked you?”

“No. She didn’t ask anyone, but I knew that she really didn’t want to ask you again.” She saw the way that indignant confusion went across Jax's face. “Come on, Jax. You guys have been treating her like absolute shit throughout this whole thing. And then you act like you're doing her a favor.” She shook her head, tone dropping to a mutter. “Par for the fucking course.”

“What's your fucking problem?”

She shook her head, kicking off with a lie before getting to the truth. “I don’t have a problem. And now, thanks to me, you and Luann and all the fucking girls at Cara Cara have one less to deal with too.” She stood up. “You're welcome.” She turned and headed for the fridge.

Jax watched from the table as she dug around in her refrigerator. When she popped back up into view again, she had a box of takeout in her hand. Swinging the door shut, she grabbed a fork from the drawer. She tucked into her food without even bothering to heat it up. Even if the day had been a better one, she wouldn't have put that minimal amount of time into prepping the food for herself. She paid no mind to the way that her brother was looking at her as she shoveled one forkful of rice after another into her mouth. Now that her adrenaline had runs its course, all those pesky little sensations like hunger and exhaustion and pain were starting to creep back in.

Silence settled between them again as Claire stood and leaned back against her counter while Jax stayed seated at her table. As Jax watched her, he couldn’t quite remember the last time it was just the two of them existing alone together like this. One of them was always traveling with a crowd—usually Jax. And, more often than not, wherever Claire was, Clay or Gemma wasn't far. It was never just them, and as Jax continued to sit and watch her, he didn’t know what to make of any of it.

He fussed with his cap that was still on top of her table. He knew that there were things that he wanted to say to her, but now it all just came through like static on the radio, one thought not discernible from the next.

“Do you realize,” Claire spoke up, some rice still tucked in her cheek as she spoke, “that everyone just is doing shit to try and keep you happy? Or,” she scoffed, “the closest thing to it?”

Jax shook his head. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

“Right now, specifically, I'm talking about Luann and the girls. They've been losing it but didn’t want to tell you because they didn’t want you getting upset again. They all feel like they owe you. And you,” she paused, looking at the container of food in front of her, unable to look him in the eye as she said, “you eat that type of shit right up.” She pushed rice around with her fork. “You always have.”

He shook his head, working overtime to not consider the fact that his sister was absolutely correct in everything that she was saying. He didn’t want his world put off-kilter so much. “You're insane.”

Claire scoffed, finally looking at him again. “Yeah, it's in the fucking genes.” She took another bite, granting herself a brief reprieve before asking, “You really going to sit there and pretend you don't know what I'm talking about?”

Jax had no problem lying, to anyone really, but especially to Claire. He'd done it outright and by omission their entire lives. The levels of success varied, but it never stopped him from trying. But now, for some reason, he found himself having a hard time faking genuine denial with her. Maybe it was because for the first time in a long time she was being honest with him too. Real honesty, not the type she usually doled out that was cloaked by layer after layer of sarcasm and well-timed jokes.

He rapped his knuckles lightly against the top of the table as he tried to figure out what he wanted to say. “I don't—"

“Forget about Luann and the girls. What,” she huffed, setting her food on the counter and going back to where she'd been sitting before, “what about me?”

He shook his head in confusion. “What about you?”

She jerked her thumb over her shoulder towards the door. “I'm the one who went and took care of shit tonight, Jax. I'm the one who rolled up to Georgie's fucking house with a crowbar and—”

“A fucking crowbar? Jesus Christ, Claire—”

She continued on like he hadn't spoken. “And you still haven't asked me if I'm okay.”

He gestured to her face. “I can see the answer to that.”

She shook her head, disgust on her face. “Don't do that.”

“What?”

“You know what.” She let that statement hang in the air. “They do all that shit to try and keep you happy. Mom does, the club does. And, as much as I hate it, so do I.”

Jax laughed before he could stop himself. She almost had him. Until those last three words, he was taking everything that she was throwing at him. But that was just a tad too far for him to believe. For as long as he could remember, she'd been a thorn in his side and she loved every second of it. He'd chalked some of it up to typical younger sibling things, the kind of stuff that Thomas probably would've done too if he'd gotten the chance. But then the rest of it? It felt like jealousy, maybe, or even just a desire to nettle him for pure enjoyment on her end. Sometimes he chalked it up to the crazy she must've inherited from Gemma.

But in that moment, the look in her eyes almost seemed heartfelt. If he'd been anyone else he would've taken her at her word but he knew better. He'd watched her grow up, seen the way that she was always so easily able to get what she wanted from Clay and Gemma. Jax and his happiness were the furthest things from her mind.

“You've never given a shit about that.”

Propping her elbows harshly on the table, she raked her fingers back through her hair. It still wasn't completely dry from the shower and left a traces of residue between her fingers. “I've never been able to figure out how to do it, but that doesn't mean that I've never given a shit.” Looking at him, she felt the familiar burn of tears growing in her eyes. “For a long time I tried so hard to just get you…get you to fucking like me. When we were kids I tried so hard. And then I stopped because it wasn't working and you were so mean. I stopped and I tried not to care anymore and I tried to give up. I just kept telling myself, ‘One day I'll wake up and it won’t hurt so much.’ But it never happened. It still does.” She shook her head, just as much at herself and the emotions welling in her chest as at Jax. “And when Luann asked me for my help at the studio, I thought that maybe that would do it, you know? And maybe if I took care of Georgie and you saw that I can pull my weight, then maybe you'd get around to caring about me.”

“It's not—”

“You know how much it sucks, how…how fucking pathetic it feels, that some days I’m trying as hard as those fucking Crow Eaters to get you to give a shit about me? You know how sad and desperate that makes me feel? You talk all that shit about family with the guys in the club, those people you call brother just because they have the same piece of leather on their backs. But then, when it comes to your real actual family…this is all you have left for me? Those guys might be in your club but you're my brother.”

He could tell by the tremble in her fingertips that those were words she had been sitting on for a long time. They'd burrowed and made a home deep down in her chest and she had been content to leave them in hibernation indefinitely. He felt bad, angry too. It wasn't the first or the last time that she made him feel like an idiot, either.

Claire couldn’t make herself look at him. Real vulnerability was something that was so hard to come by in their family, and now that she felt the sinking pit in her stomach she started to understand why. There was a tiny part of her that wanted to take it all back, but it was too late now—she was probably better for it.

He'd never given much thought to whether or not Claire cared about being liked, by him or by anyone else. She certainly never acted like it was a concern of hers. Plus, in his mind, when it came to family it didn't really matter how much someone liked you, because at the end of the day they loved you and that would always outweigh everything else. That's how their family always ended up back in the same messes—no matter the anger, they would always show up at the eleventh hour. What else mattered?

Claire sniffled quietly as she tried to wipe at her face as casually as possible. “Now look who has nothing to say,” she forced out. Leaning back in her chair, she said, “Next time, just fucking say thank you and ask if I'm okay. It's a, a decent place to start.”

The discomfort that was burning a trail down the back of Jax's neck was telling him that this was one of those times when he should be apologizing, but that type of thing had never been his strong suit. This was one of the few times that he wished he was a little better at it.

“This isn't the kinda shit you should be handling on your own,” he told her, voice gentler than it'd been so far as he nodded towards the bruises on her face.

Claire could see it on his face that he was trying. And if she had been less exhausted, if she'd been in a more forgiving mood, she would've given him credit for that. But the Morrow in her was getting the best of her and she wasn’t about to hand him any kind of participation trophy after everything that had happened.

“You're telling me that if I'd called, you wouldn't have sent me to voicemail?”

He sank back in his chair as though her words had physically pushed him away. “This what you're always thinking about whenever you call me?”

She shrugged. “I don't know. Usually it doesn't…” she trailed off, wanting to find the right words. “The stakes felt higher this time, I guess.”

Quiet washed over them again. Claire switched back and forth between looking at the tabletop, and looking at her brother. She was fairly positive that Jax hadn't ever let her go this long uninterrupted. It felt like the first time she was ever able to lead a conversation with him. She had no idea what good it would do, if any, but it was something at least. Part of her was still just stuck on the fact that he had stayed and waited. It wasn't necessarily any great feat, but for Jax it was something close.

“I'm glad you're alright,” he said with a nod. When Claire nodded back at him in response, a small smirk crossed his face as he said, “I'm glad you beat Georgie's ass, too.”

Claire didn’t want to, but she found herself laughing with him for the moment. It helped shed some of the weight that had been crushing her chest. “It felt kinda good. Lyla's busted nose is nothing compared to what his looks like now.”

Jax chuckled and for a moment they seemed like a pair of teenagers, talking to each other about the things they could never tell their parents. It was the kind of moment they never had when they were actual teenagers. It was refreshing in its own way, even if they were still avoiding the gaping wound of a problem between them.

“Did you tell Luann?”

Claire shook her head. “No. Did you tell Clay or—”

“Hell no,” he stopped her sentence short. “Neither of us would hear the end of it. I'd lay low ‘til those fade.”

She grazed her fingers over the slightly raised skin of her cheek. “Right.”

The exhaustion of the evening was starting to hit Jax, too. It felt useless to ask, but he still did. “Need anything?”

She shook her head. “I'm good.”

“You sure? I can stay.”

She laughed, and the sound was as humorous as it was sad. “Don't. It's fine.”

Jax frowned but he didn’t fight her on it. Reaching to grab his baseball cap of her table, he spoke as he pulled it down onto his head. “Alright. I'm gonna head out, then.”

Claire nodded, watching him as he walked around the table. “Night.”

“Night.” He rested his hand on her shoulder for a moment as he walked by. “Call me tomorrow, let me know how shit goes at the studio.”

“Sounds good.”

Jax paused when he was halfway out the door of her apartment. “Claire?”

She raised her eyebrows, and Jax saw every ounce of tiredness that she was weighing on her. “Yeah?”

“Thanks, and…” he trailed off, knowing how he should end the sentence and still not able to say it.

There would be time for more fights about it another day, so Claire let this one go for the sake of her own sanity. “Yeah. I'll call you tomorrow.”

She wasn't able to fully slump back in her chair until she heard Jax's bike start up and then fade into the distance. Once it was silent in her apartment and on the lot again, she all but melted into the seat of her chair, wanting nothing more than to go to bed and disappear under the covers, but feeling like she couldn’t make the last of the trek to do so.

(divider by @thecutestgrotto 💞)

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[aquamarixx]

breaking the internet

chapter three part 1 Miss Journalist follows the day-in-the-life of Bastard München for the midseason promos, unexpectedly bringing her closer to Hiori in ways she didn’t anticipate. blue lock longfic series pairing hiori yo x reader contains slow slow slow burn, post blue lock timeskip, afab!reader, angst, fluff, bastard munchen boys being goofy af, hiori oggling at reader's thighs (i said what i said) masterlist next chapter

In a mid-season matchup, Bastard München shocked league leaders PXG with a performance that defied all expectations. PXG’s powerhouse lineup included Julian Loki, Itoshi Rin, and Charles Chevalier who dominated the early game, pressing forward with relentless aggression. The fierce pace they set had everyone expecting that Bastard München would struggle.

Bastard München appeared oddly passive, seeming to react more than attack. Both teams were known for their aggressive style, yet here was the German club, letting PXG press forward.

However, as the match wore on, a shift began. Just when it seemed PXG was in full control, they launched a well-timed counterattack in the second half. They managed to score two quick goals, pulling the game into a nail-biting tie. 

At the heart of it, Hiori and Ness continue to orchestrate high-level plays too fast even for the French Prodigy himself. When PXG tried to pressure Isagi and Yukimiya up front, Hiori, along with Kiyora and Ness, wove a quick, dazzling exchange of passes that bypassed their opponents completely.

And in the final seconds, Hiori spotted a fleeting gap and threaded a perfect pass to Ness, who slipped past Tokimitsu and Chapa. Facing Renoir, PXG’s goalie, Ness feinted, then fired the ball into the net. The stadium erupted as Bastard München claimed an unexpected, hard-earned victory.

Loud, thunderous cheers filled the stadium, the energy rippling through the stands like electric current. Even you couldn’t resist joining in, swept up in the crowd’s infectious excitement. Bouncing on the balls of your feet, shouting at the top of your lungs, not minding how loud you were. 

This was a monumental win for Bastard München, a showcase of their hard work that proved they could stand toe-to-toe with the league’s front-runners despite having a rocky start. Ideas for a feature story whirled in your mind, framing this victory as a turning point for Bastard München who had seemed lost earlier this season.

Assigned to cover the post-match interviews, you knew this was your chance to draw out good insights and get juicy details for your next cover story. Despite hours of preparation, your nerves betrayed you, your fingers picking at your nails in a futile attempt to calm the jittery energy inside you. 

It had been weeks since you and Hiori followed each other on Winstagram. No messages exchanged — not that you had expected any — but the prospect of seeing him in person stirred a flicker of nervous excitement you couldn’t quite shake off. 

One thing’s for sure, whatever admiration you harbored, it had to stay buried. That’s one thing for sure. No hint of favoritism should slip through.

The team members filed into the interview room, still visibly exhilarated and glistening with sweat from their hard-fought victory. The quiet murmurs buzzing died down as everyone watched the players settle down. You adjusted your posture, hoping to blend seamlessly among the other reporters. Your hair and makeup were styled just enough to appear polished yet casual—a calculated effort to project professionalism.

As your eyes roamed the room, they unintentionally locked with Hiori’s. His expression shifted briefly, a flicker of surprise softening into a small smile. “Hey,” he mouthed silently, unmistakably directed to you. 

Your heart skipped a beat, the sudden rush of adrenaline making your heart hammer in your chest. “Hi,” you mouthed back, barely above a whisper.

Ah, shit. Never mind. Only a small moment of weakness. Reset, reset!

You exhaled sharply, shaking your head as if trying to dislodge the tangle of nerves and excitement clouding your thoughts. Refocusing, you watched the other reporters take their turns, their questions almost the same recycled ones — focused on the team’s redemption arc after a string of disappointing performances.

With a pen in hand, you quickly scratched out questions already asked, jotting down alternatives that might elicit more candid responses. If you could pull it off, this could be another story that could go viral if you’re lucky enough. Enough to satisfy your editor.

Still, you avoided looking in Hiori’s direction. The fear of locking eyes again was too much; instead, you busied yourself with your notes, flipping pages unnecessarily to appear absorbed.

When your turn finally came, you felt the weight of Hiori’s gaze, sharp and steady, as if daring you to look at him..

“Congratulations on the win, Coach Noa and team,” you began, your voice steadier than you expected. “Bastard München’s strategy tonight was a bold departure from what we've seen earlier this season. Was this a calculated risk, or do you believe this adaptability is what defines the team’s identity?”

Coach Noa nodded, his composed demeanor radiating authority. “Thank you. Logic has always been a cornerstone of our philosophy at Bastard München. And it was only logical for us to adapt. Tonight’s strategy was indeed calculated, but it wasn’t without its risks.”

“We’ve been refining our approach over the past few matches, focusing on how we can leverage each player’s unique strengths. The team executed the plan brilliantly, especially in high-pressure moments.”

He paused briefly, then added, “Speaking of adaptability, Ness exemplified that tonight. His ability to shift between supporting roles and taking decisive actions — like that last goal — speaks volumes about the trust and synergy within the team.”

You nodded, scribbling down his answer before firing another question. 

“Tonight’s performance highlighted a blend of individual brilliance and collective effort. How does the team balance showcasing individual skills while maintaining a cohesive game plan?”

Coach Noa leaned forward slightly, his tone thoughtful. “I think it all comes down to trust and understanding. We know each other’s strengths and weaknesses, and that allows us to play in a way where everyone can shine without losing sight of the team’s overall goals.

“For example, Hiori’s ability to read the game helps him create opportunities for the rest of us. And players like Isagi or Kunigami can take those chances and turn them into game-changing moments. We’re all working toward the same goal, so it’s not just about standing out individually — it’s about contributing in a way that benefits the whole team. When we play with that mindset, it creates moments where individual brilliance and teamwork naturally come together.”

She scanned her list of questions again, frustration mounting as most had already been asked. Only one remained, a question directed at Hiori. The thought of asking him made her throat dry.

Quick, something, anything!

Thinking fast, she pivoted smoothly, directing the question to the star player instead. “The winning goal was amazing, Ness. Everyone’s so used to seeing you excel in a supportive role that it felt surprising — but no less impressive — to see you take the spotlight this time. Would you say the recent changes within the team have influenced this proactive shift in your playstyle?”

Ness’s expression stayed composed, but the tension in his jaw and a slight twitch in his eye showed a flicker of irritation. His voice, measured but edged with sharpness, made it clear he caught the subtext.

“I wouldn’t say it’s any one thing. It’s about adapting to what the team needs at the moment,” he said, the words clipped and deliberate. 

“Honestly, I’d commend having a reliable team — Mensah and Gagamaru have been incredible in keeping our defense solid. And, well, Hiori deserves a lot of credit too. He has this way of creating opportunities that make my job easier.”

It was deflection, plain and simple. His tone hinted at a pointed effort to steer the conversation away, and she knew he’d just handed her a firm yellow card for even brushing up against anything Kaiser-related.

Without waiting for a follow-up, Ness passed the mic to Hiori, his grip still tight on the handle.

Hiori tilted his head slightly, his eyes locking onto hers as he took the mic. His gaze didn’t waver as he spoke.

“I think Ness’s goal reflects how we’re evolvin' as a team. We’re startin’ to read the game better and step up when it really counts. Ness isn’t just a playmaker — he’s capable of scoring when it counts, and tonight proved that.

“We’re learnin' to trust each other more, adapt on the fly, and capitalize on everyone’s strengths. That’s been the focus lately: findin' ways to be unpredictable and versatile.”

“Than—” she began, only to be cut off.

“But whatcha think, Miss Y/N?” Hiori asked, his tone casual, though his eyes glimmered with teasing intent. “I’d love to hear yer thoughts on our new playstyle. Yer no stranger to covering the big moments, right?

“Watchin' it up close, d'ya think it’s just a fluke from an overrated team? Or does this performance prove we’re a team to watch this season?”

The room fell silent. All eyes turned to her as Hiori leaned forward, propping his chin on his hands. His unwavering focus carried a warmth that made her feel small in her chair, her voice caught in her throat.

Her heart pounded as she tried to collect herself. 

“I, uhm...” The murmurs of nearby reporters didn’t help. From the corner of her eye, she caught Coach Noa watching with amused curiosity. Even the team exchanged wide-eyed glances, as if surprised by Hiori’s uncharacteristic boldness.

Clearing her throat, she pushed through the tension. Letting the dead air linger would only make things worse.

“Speaking as a journalist — and as a fan of the sport — I believe this iteration of Bastard München is definitely a work in progress, but it’s one worth keeping an eye on.”

She hesitated, her voice softening but steady as she held Hiori’s gaze. “Some may not be fond of the new team dynamic, but rest assured, there’s always someone here, cheering for you. No matter what.”

The room stilled, her words hanging like an unspoken promise. For a moment, no one moved.

Hiori hummed, the corner of his mouth lifting into a satisfied smirk. Before anyone could react, Coach Noa stepped in to wrap up the interview.

Still dazed from the exchange, she gathered her things, her cheeks burning. Her mind buzzed with confusion and a flurry of emotions, but one thing was certain—Hiori’s teasing smirk was burned into her memory.

A few weeks later, you find yourself standing outside Bastard München’s training facility, your nerves jangling like loose wires. The midday sun casts a warm glow over the meticulously maintained grounds, and the scent of fresh cut grass fills the air.

You adjust the strap of your camera bag, feeling the weight of responsibility as two videographers from the features team set up behind you.

Your editor has assigned you to the JFA Midseason promotions. Normally, a rookie sidecourt reporter like you wouldn’t have such opportunities, but after your viral moment with Bastard München, your editor is fast-tracking your career with high-profile assignments.

Virality sure does wonders.

The team manager approaches, offering a firm handshake. Before you can respond, Coach Noa himself strides up, leading you toward the field. His authoritative presence is softened by a faint smirk, as if amused by your visible nervousness.

On the field, players are scattered across the pitch. Some jogging, others deeply engaged in drills. The rhythmic thuds of soccer balls being kicked reverberate through the air. You spot a few familiar faces among the group but immediately notice someone is missing.

Hiori isn’t here. Strange.

Coach Noa blows his whistle sharply, commanding attention. The players jog over, forming a loose semicircle around you. Noa gestures with a nod, and suddenly, all eyes are on you.

“Like I mentioned earlier, the JFA team will be shadowing us today,” he says, his tone brisk yet professional. He steps back, expecting you to take the floor.

Clearing your throat, you muster your most confident smile.

“Hello, everyone. I’m Y/N L/N from ABZ Media, here to represent JFA for their midseason promotions. I’ll be asking you a few casual questions as you go about your routines. So please don’t feel pressured to act a certain way—just, uh, be yourselves. The fans love to see your natural charisma.”

A faint tremor betrays your nerves as you bow slightly, clutching your notebook like a lifeline. The players exchange glances before a chorus of “We’ll be in your care” echoes around the field, lightening the mood. Coach Noa steps forward again, efficiently dismissing the team to resume their drills.

The morning flies by as you make rounds, introducing players to the camera and coaxing them into lighthearted conversations. It’s surprisingly easy to chat with them, perhaps because your admiration for their talent is genuine. Or maybe it’s the way their easygoing banter puts you at ease.

In the gym, you find Raichi and Igarashi being as boisterous as ever. Raichi flexes dramatically for the camera, ripping off his sleeveless shirt in a comical display of bravado.

“Ladies, please!” he cries, striking a pose like a bodybuilder. “Cheer for us too!”

Sachs groans from the back of the gym, his exasperation cutting through the laughter. “Raichi, put your damn shirt back on. You’re embarrassing all of us!”

You quickly step in front of the camera, shielding Raichi’s topless antics as you stifle a laugh. “Okay, let’s move along before this turns into a modeling gig,” you say, guiding the cameraman toward the exit.

As you wander through the facility, a mouthwatering aroma draws you to the kitchen. Around the kitchen island, Kiyora, Yukimiya, and Ali are huddled together, watching match clips on a tablet while snacking on protein shakes and chips.

Behind them stands Gagamaru, tending to a sizzling pan. The rich smell of vegetables and pork simmering under the heat fills the room.

“Whatcha cooking, Gagamaru-san?” you ask, unable to hide the eagerness in your voice as you breathe in the delicious scent.

“Pork and vegetable pot stickers,” he replies without missing a beat, flipping one expertly with his chopsticks. “Ali-san’s been craving them, so I’m making a huge batch. Want to try? I made extras.”

Before you can respond, he gestures toward a plate of freshly made dumplings on the counter. Your eyes light up, and you move to grab one, but Gagamaru beats you to it. Picking one up with his chopsticks, he feeds it to you without hesitation.

Caught off guard but too hungry to resist, you take a bite. The dumpling is crispy on the outside, with a juicy, flavorful filling that melts in your mouth. 

“Oh wow, this is amazing!” you say, covering your mouth as you chew.

“He likes feeding people, so don’t feel weird about it,” Kiyora says, munching on his own dumpling.

“I only wish it was a woman feeding me,” Ali chimes in with a dramatic sigh, leaning against the counter. “But beggars can’t be choosers, L/N-san. Especially not me.”

You can’t help but laugh as he continues to rant, his over-the-top lamentations earning a good-natured eyeroll from Yukimiya. Meanwhile, Gagamaru simply shrugs, his focus already back on the next batch.

Back on the field, the drills continue under the midday sun. You spot Hiori jogging with a group that includes Isagi, Kurona, Ndiaye, and Schneider. You’re about to approach when you notice Hiori glancing in your direction.

Or was it through you?

Curious, you glance over your shoulder, wondering what’s caught his attention. But when you look back, he’s still focused—intently—somewhere in your direction.

“Dude, you’re staring,” Isagi teases, matching Hiori’s pace with a sly smirk.

“Am not,” Hiori mutters, his ears turning a shade pinker.

“You totally are,” Ndiaye chimes in from behind, grinning.

“Am not. Just, uh... admirin’ the view,”

“And by ‘view,’ you mean her...uh, thunder thighs?” Schneider laughs, clapping Hiori on the shoulder.

You were dressed in a loose, boxy white shirt that skimmed just below your hips, the fabric shifting with your movements. Paired with black leggings that hugged your figure and highlighted your toned yet thick thighs, it wasn’t really helping Hiori's case.

“Shut up,” Hiori grumbles, speeding up to escape their teasing, his ears now practically glowing red.

As the players finish their laps, you pick up a stray soccer ball and try your hand at dribbling. It quickly becomes apparent that your coordination is... not good. The ball skids off-course, rolling toward the group.

Before you can retrieve it, Hiori intercepts, trapping it with ease. “Mind being my drill partner for a bit?” he asks, his tone casual but his gaze intent.

“Me? Are you sure? I don’t want to, uh, mess up your practice.”

“You’ll be fine. Besides,” he adds with a small smile, “it’d be a shame to leave my biggest fan hangin'.”

Your face heats up at his words, and Isagi’s passing comment— “Don’t leave him hanging, Y/N-san!” —doesn’t help.

I am so not surviving this day.

Hiori walks you through basic dribbling drills, his movements precise and fluid. He places the ball at your feet and gestures for you to follow his lead.

“Stay close to the ball, but don’t smother it,” he says, watching as you fumble with your first attempt. “It’s all about control, so ya can keep it in yer range without overcommittin'.”

You try again, but the ball bounces awkwardly off your foot. “Kind of like... balancing offense and defense?” you suggest, struggling to find the right frame of reference.

“Exactly,” Hiori says, nodding. “Ya need to be ready to adjust at any moment. Small, controlled touches will keep ya agile and in control.”

You tilt your head, thinking it over. “It’s almost like... keeping your distance while tracking a monster’s movements in Monster Hunter, waiting for the right moment to act.”

Hiori’s eyes brighten. “Oh, ya play Monster Hunter?”

“Obsessively,” you reply with a grin.

“Then this’ll click,” he says, stepping back to demonstrate with the ball. “Dribblin' s'like positionin' yerself during a hunt. Keep the ball close, like keepin' yer stamina up while dodgin' and maneuverin'. Don’t let it get too far away, or you’ll lose control—kind of like trippin' or gettin' staggered.”

You watch, captivated by the way he moves with the ball, his footwork smooth and deliberate, like a hunter circling their target. When it’s your turn, you give it a try, mimicking his movements. It’s clumsy at first, but you feel yourself improving.

“Now trappin',” he says, passing the ball lightly toward you. “Think of it as bracin' for an attack or timin' a dodge. Ya stop the ball’s momentum and keep it close to yer strike zone. Use the inside of yer foot to absorb the impact.”

You miss the first attempt but manage to trap it on the second try. “Got it!” you exclaim, the small victory filling you with pride.

“Nice! Then chain it into yrr next move. So, like, followin' up with combos after staggerin' a monster,” he adds, his tone encouraging.

You laugh, finding comfort in the familiar gaming metaphor. “I guess this really is like a co-op training mission.”

As you practice, the conversation naturally drifts to your shared love of Monster Hunter. Hiori recounts his favorite hunts, while you share stories of late-night battles against Elder Dragons and the frantic scramble for resources mid-fight. The drills become less intimidating, more like swapping strategies with a fellow gamer during a long session.

At one point, Hiori surprises you with a compliment. “The article ya wrote? It was good. Particularly the part where ya basically say 'it ain’t over till it’s over'” he says, stopping mid-drill to look at you.

“Really?” you ask, startled by his sincerity.

“Yeah. Got me hyped for the next game” he admits, nudging the ball back toward you.

“And the video? I hope it wasn’t too...cringe.”

He smirks, shaking his head. “Nah. It was cute,” he says, his tone genuine. “Kinda cool knowin' someone’s a fan.”

“I’m not the only one, right? Surely you have a ton of fans?”

“Some, I guess,” he shrugs, a teasing glint in his eye. “But none of them are cute journalists.”

Your heart skips a beat, and you sputter, “Stop teasing me, Hiori-san!”

“Am not,” he replies smoothly, clearly enjoying your flustered reaction.

By the time the drills wrap up, you find yourself more at ease, caught up in the camaraderie of the team and Hiori’s unexpected warmth. His ability to make soccer feel like second nature and connect it to something you love made it fun. Maybe this assignment might be more enjoyable than you thought.

The dribbling and passing drills end after an hour. You decide to take a break with the other cameraman shadowing you. It’s midday, and despite observing most of the team, Ness is still nowhere to be found.

As lunch rolls around, you finally catch a glimpse of him in a hallway, his unmistakable gait giving him away. Before you can call out, his eyes meet yours, and he immediately turns on his heel.

He’s avoiding me?!

You don’t think; you just act. Gesturing for the cameraman to stay put, you dash after the elusive midfielder. Ness quickens his pace, heading toward what looks like a conference room, but you manage to catch him by the hem of his training jersey.

“Ness-san,” you pant, out of breath, gripping the fabric tightly. “Wait… Just… give me a minute…”

He sighs sharply, clearly displeased, but doesn’t shake you off. “Fine. Just… let go already,” he mutters, ushering you inside the empty room.

You follow, shutting the door behind you before collapsing into a nearby chair, wiping sweat from your forehead. Ness, seated on the couch, watches you with an unreadable expression.

“I know why you’re here,” he says flatly.

“You do?” You’re still catching your breath.

“They gave me a heads-up.” He leans back, arms crossed. “Not that it matters. I wasn’t planning to talk.”

You blink, startled. “Why not?”

“I don’t want to give you or anyone else a chance to villainize Kaiser. Even after what happened.”

His words hit you like a ton of bricks. The idea that these players, often portrayed as larger-than-life, are just people navigating their own struggles makes your stomach churn with guilt.

“You, uh, don’t have to say anything,” you manage, voice softer now. “I’m sorry if I came off like a pushy paparazzi. I didn’t mean to.”

Slowly, you remove your lapel mic, setting it deliberately on your lap. “But I can lend an ear if you need someone to talk to. Or…”

You hesitate. “Or I can leave. Just say the word. I’ll sit here for a few minutes, so they at least think I tried my best to convince you.”

You give him a sheepish smile, hoping it doesn’t look as awkward as it feels. Ness stares at you for a beat, then shrugs, his attention shifting to his phone. The silence is heavy, save for the soft hum of the air conditioning. You fidget in your seat, picking nervously at the skin around your nails, not daring to look at him directly.

Finally, he speaks.

“It wasn’t the first time he told me to fuck off,” Ness says quietly, his voice carrying a bitter edge. 

“Back in the Neo Egoist League, he told me to stop following him. It.. it hurt, you know. To suddenly feel unwanted. Useless.”

You straighten in your chair, angling your body toward him, giving him your full attention.

“But he stayed on the team,” Ness continues, his fingers tracing absent patterns on his phone screen.

“So, I told myself it was fine. I could deal with it. That is until a few months ago, when Re Al gave him that ultimatum offer. He told me we needed to talk, and… for the first time, he let me down gently. He said it was time for me to find my own path. I knew he meant it kindly, but it felt like my world collapsed.”

Ness’s voice wavers, and he exhales sharply, as if trying to compose himself.

“I supported him because it gave me purpose. Even if people thought our relationship was weird, it didn’t matter. Being in his orbit was everything to me. I knew how he treated me, but it didn’t matter. He was my magic.”

His voice cracks on the word "magic," and your chest tightens painfully.

“I thought if he stayed, things could change. That I could fix it somehow. But then he left, and…” Ness trails off, his words swallowed by a wave of despair. When he speaks again, his voice is raw, each word dripping with agony.

“I just don’t want the magic to end. Not like this.”

The room falls into a suffocating silence, and you realize hot tears are streaming down your face. You quickly cover your mouth, trying to hold back a sob, but Ness notices.

“You’re, uh… crying,” he says awkwardly, his brows knitting together.

“Sorry,” you choke out, your voice trembling. “It’s just… I know how that feels.” You pause, wiping at your eyes. “Is it okay if I… hug you?”

He looks surprised but gives a small smile. “Yeah, I think we both need it.”

You lean forward, throwing your arms around him in an embrace that feels as clumsy as it is heartfelt. Ness hesitates before hugging you back, and for a brief moment, you feel his trembling hands.

The pain he carries feels too familiar, too close to home. You want, more than anything, to take it from him, to convince him he’s enough. Because the "you" who feels the same would want someone to take the pain away too.

“Sometimes, you won’t be enough for others,” you whisper. “And it has nothing to do with you.”

Ness doesn’t reply right away, but you feel him exhale against your shoulder, the tension in his frame easing ever so slightly.

“Thanks, L/N-san,” he says softly, pulling back after a moment. “I guess I’ll see you around.”

He squeezes your shoulder briefly before leaving the room, his movements steady despite the weight you know he’s carrying. You don’t follow him, knowing better than to intrude further.

Instead, you sit there, alone with the ache in your chest, wishing you could have done more.

You try to compose yourself as memories flood your mind.

What good are you if you can’t be useful to us?

And this is how you repay me?

The words echo relentlessly, leaving a knot in your chest. Your spiraling thoughts are abruptly cut off when you softly bump into someone while stepping out of the room.

“Y/N-san?”

Startled, you quickly wipe at your face and look up to find Hiori standing in front of you, his expression shifting from surprise to quiet concern.

“H-Hiori-san,” you stammer, trying to sound normal, but your voice cracks, betraying the turmoil inside.

“You okay?” he asks gently, his tone careful, his eyes searching yours.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” you reply too quickly, your voice tight. You try to avoid his gaze, your fingers twisting the hem of your sleeve as if the fabric could anchor you. “I’m just… Lot of thoughts in my mind. That’s all.”

Hiori doesn’t look convinced, but he doesn’t push either. “Ya sure?” he asks again, softer this time.

You nod, blinking rapidly to shake the lingering haze of emotion. “Yes. Really. Thank you for your hard work today,” you mumble, your words coming out in a rush as if to change the subject.

“Ah... you too,” he says, though his tone is distracted. His gaze lingers on you, like he’s trying to figure out what’s left unsaid.

For a moment, the air between you feels heavy. You shift awkwardly, breaking the silence.

“So, um… I should probably go,” you say, your voice wavering slightly as you gesture vaguely down the hallway.

“Right, yeah. Of course,” he says, his words tumbling over yours as he steps back. “I, uh… should get back too.”

The exchange feels clumsy, both of you retreating into the safety of polite distance.  You turn to leave, feeling like an awkward mess. 

Hiori watches you walk away, his brow furrowed, his thoughts racing. That expression you wore just moments ago — a fragile mix of pain and vulnerability — it reminds him of himself.

He knows that look. He’s seen it in the mirror before, felt that same weight pressing down on his chest. The kind of loneliness that makes you feel invisible, even when someone’s right there in front of you.

He wants to say something, to reach out, to let you know you’re not alone. But the words get stuck in his throat, and instead, he stays rooted in place.

It’s moments like these that unsettle him the most. He feels like he’s seen a glimpse of something in you that mirrors himself — raw, unguarded, and all too familiar.

And for a fleeting moment, he wonders if the two of you might share more than he ever realized.

amari's notes: uwaaaah! i know it's so long and i blame myself for being an indecisive lil shit. kinda changed the story trajectory but here we are folks! i hope you guys enjoy and lemme know what you think so far?

[cinnamontails-ff]

Magistrate Astarion Week - Day 1

*Magistrate Astarion fandom event rolls around*

*me with my Magistrate Astarion longfic that's currently sitting at 150k words* This is my moment to shine!

Day 1: Appearance

By the time she reached his office, she held her head high and hardly even glanced at the golden sign next to the door, proudly proclaiming the owner of these rooms to be Astarion Ancunin, Magistrate of Baldur’s Gate. Because she was fine. And perhaps she really was, right until the moment she opened the door and … there he sat. Feet up on his desk and head thrown back with his eyes closed, silver curls pushed back by the wet towel he pressed to his forehead. “Not yet!” he proclaimed, somehow managing to sound regal and cranky at the same time. “Court shall be in session just as soon as I can evict whatever creatures are currently using the inside of my skull as a practice ground for their heavy infantry.” “Good morning, Astarion.” His eyes flew open and his body straightened, the wet towel landing on the floor carelessly as he rose from his chair. “Oh, what a good morning it is indeed.” The sound of his voice alone, so close to her, not muffled through classroom chattering or the pattering of boots in the hallway, sent an almost physical jolt through her. Astarion rounded the desk leisurely and leaned against it, his chest pushed out in a way that seemed too practiced to be casual. “Zoraya Naelgrath in the flesh,” he drawled. “They told me you were coming, of course, but I wouldn’t believe it until I saw it for myself. Come here, darling. Let me have a proper look at you.” Zoraya willed herself to maintain eye contact as she approached the desk. Up close, Astarion was even more beautiful than in those fleeting glances she had stolen around law school and the courthouse. He had always been attractive, but as a boy, he used to have an almost angelic presence, full of soft cheeks and sweet smiles. At some point during his teenage years, that had sharpened. Like a steel blade being honed to perfection. The kind of beauty that was scary for what it could get people to do for him. She stopped two steps away from him, trying to take comfort in the fact that in her high heels she was a few inches taller than him. If Astarion was bothered — as most men tended to be — he didn’t let it show. He remained in his comfortable slouch, golden eyes raking over her body as if he intended to draw her from memory as soon as she left. Possibly naked.

(adapted from chapter 2 of "Magistrate's Advocate"; tiny bit of backstory left out to maintain focus on his appearance in compliance with the prompt)