#genfic

Also, as I added to a previous post, I planned on making a google spreadsheet. Well, I did, although I don't think the online version of excel is all that bad. Still, google is free, so here you go. :)

In both spreadsheets, the general fics are still undergoing changes, I am currently in the process of sorting all of them. Please still check them out, there are some really good ones in there.

Also, as I am still going through all of my bookmarked fic recs from other people as well as my own favorited fics, keep in mind this list is not the final product I am still updating it constantly, at least for the time being.

If you have any issues, let me know by either commenting on the google sheet or sending me a message on here. I hope you all enjoy all these fics.

PS. Lately I've been getting into NCIS again so I've been working on a spreadsheet for that fandom, I've got quite a bit of that finished already so be looking for that maybe some time soon.

The tropical sun was bright above the Pacific island owned by the Kaiba brothers. They were well into the first afternoon of their two-day vacation when the group decided they’d had enough swimming and card games for now, and it was time to look for a different kind of fun. When Mokuba informed them that there was a beach volleyball court just a little further up the shore, the choice was obvious.

“I’ll pass,” Kaiba dismissed the idea immediately. He had just settled back onto his sun lounger under the shade of a parasol and was about to reach for his laptop to finally get some work done.

“Come on, Nii-sama!” Mokuba begged. Right beside him, Nyra, Kaiba’s white dragon in human form, had her pleading, icy blue eyes fixed on him, while Yugi, Anzu, and Bakura lined up behind them.

Jounouchi remained in the background, tossing the ball from one hand to the other.

“Y’all just wastin’ time on beggin’ Moneybags if he ain’t wanna play. Besides, it’s better for everybody if he don’t kill the vibe on the court,” he said, but his expression betrayed just how much he wanted to face Kaiba in a volleyball match.

“How about we do three-on-four rotating teams?” Marik suggested as he returned, sipping on a Sex on the Beach and handing another glass to Bakura.

"Well, if we really can't convince Kaiba-kun..." Yugi turned back to his friends with disappointment. The others hummed and nodded in agreement. Nyra, however, kept her eyes on her rider, tucking a saltwater-dampened strand of wavy hair behind her ear.

At that moment, the ball popped out of Jounouchi's hand, and his attempt to catch it only made things worse: he accidentally smacked it, sending it even further away. The volleyball drew a graceful arc in the air, before landing on the top of Seto Kaiba’s head, then rolling across the laptop in his lap and down into the sand.

Most of the crew instinctively looked away, not wanting to see what was about to come. Anzu covered her mouth with her hand.

But much to everyone’s surprise, Kaiba didn’t yell, nor did he leap to his feet to lecture Jounouchi, who stared at him in shock with the faintest trace of guilt in his eyes. Instead, the CEO slowly closed his laptop, set it aside, then stood up with measured movements. He exhaled sharply, the sound loud in the tense silence.

“Should I take that as a challenge, Amateur?” he asked, his voice dangerously calm as his piercing gaze locked on the blond.

Jounouchi blinked in surprise, but a sly grin quickly spread across his face.

“Y-yeah, of course! In case you didn't know, I hit you on purpose, Kaiba! I knew you’d take the bait.”

The brunet chuckled softly with eyes closed, before bending down to pick up the ball.

“As clumsy as you are, I highly doubt that. But you know what? For your sake, Jounouchi, I’ll join in for a round, so I can prove that no matter the game or sport, I’m still leagues above you.”

“Do you mean…?” Yugi’s eyes lit up, while Mokuba and Nyra gave a high-five.

“Exactly.” Kaiba’s eyes burned with the same obsessive fire that they did every time he faced a worthy opponent in a duel. Only this time, it wasn’t about quick thinking, choosing the best strategy or having luck. Now they were going to play volleyball. 

 Without breaking eye contact with the blond, he issued his orders:

“Yugi, take the Amateur and two others; Mokuba, Nyra, and one more, you’re with me. Jounouchi begged for this, and now he’ll get it: I’ll crush him into the sand, once and for all!”

Soon, the teams took their places on the court: Yugi, Jounouchi, Anzu, and Bakura lined up against Kaiba, Mokuba, Nyra, and Marik.

“Is it really okay if I’m playing against you, Marik-kun?” the white-haired boy asked a little sadly, glancing at his boyfriend standing on the other side of the net, clearly eager to start the match at any moment.

“It’s just a game, Ryou,” the Egyptian waved it off, then did a few shoulder circles as a warmup. “But don't worry, I'll make it up to you after we beat you!” he winked at him.

“You wish!” Anzu shot back. “In case you didn't know, I'm pretty good at any sport.”

“You are a good dancer, I’ll give you that. But you’re no match for Nii-sama when it comes to volleyball!” Mokuba called over, his smug tone eerily similar to his brother’s.

“Not like he's got a choice. He gotta show off his talent, since he’s at a serious disadvantage with two midgets on his team. Especially with her.” Jounouchi jabbed a finger at Nyra, who pouted in response.

“We’ll see about that! Besides, you’ve got a midget in your team too!”

“Hey…!” Yugi began to protest, but Kaiba cut him off.

“Are you going to serve today, or what?” he asked dryly, rolling up the sleeves of his unbuttoned shirt.

With that, the first set began. Anzu delivered a flawless serve, the ball aimed to land right in the gap between the four opponents, had the CEO not jumped two steps forwards to return it. Yugi managed to save it from hitting the ground, though the ball lost momentum halfway, leaving it to Jounouchi to pass it back instead.

It should have been Nyra’s turn to return it next, but when Marik noticed the girl was nowhere near the ball, he acted quickly and helped her out. Bakura passed the ball back with some difficulty, and it successfully landed in the sand barely half a meter from Mokuba's feet.

“One point here!” Jounouchi whooped.

“Sorry, Nii-sama!” Mokuba turned back, but his brother only let out a low, displeased growl. It was obvious to the entire gang that if anyone else had made a similar mistake, they would’ve already gotten an earful.

Anzu served again. This time, Nyra was the first to reach the ball on the other side, and with Mokuba and Marik’s help, they sent it back over. Jounouchi received it with ease, but Kaiba slammed it down hard with a powerful jump, and the ball crashed into the sand right between Yugi and Bakura. He then claimed the right to serve with a smug, triumphant grin. 

The back-and-forth went on for quite some time, during which it became clear that Seto Kaiba wasn't just talking big, he actually had some talent for the game. Perhaps less surprising was that Yugi Mutou proved to be a real threat to him only in Duel Monsters: this time, Jounouchi, or even the perpetual cheerleader, Anzu, presented a much greater challenge for him. Kaiba wasn't exactly happy that it was the Amateur whose moves he had to watch out for the most, yet it didn’t hold him back from spreading his sarcastic remarks. 

“Well, well, I'm impressed! Looks like there is something you're not completely hopeless at,” he scoffed.

"I'd hold my tongue if I were you, Kaiba," Jounouchi snarled. “In case you didn’t notice, we're just one point away from victory."

By the end of the first set, Mokuba finally started to get into it, and among the pair of Marik and Bakura, clearly the Egyptian was the more skilled one. Even so, the white-haired boy kept trying, occasionally scoring points, other times the ball ended up caught in the net.

The clumsiest by far, however, was undoubtedly Nyra, but no one, not even Kaiba held it against her. Except for Anzu, everyone present had already seen the dragon in her true form, and not for a moment did they question that her talent lay elsewhere, not in ball games. Which is why, whenever the volleyball came her way, she either let it land in the sand, screamed, or lunged in a desperate attempt to send it over to the opponent’s side, usually ending in an awkward fall.

The first set was ultimately won by Yugi’s team, while Kaiba’s took the second. Everything came down to the third, which had been intense from the very beginning.

At one point, when Yugi’s team was in the lead, the spiky-haired boy and Anzu — both in the front row — jumped for the ball at the same time: the result was a huge collision, and the ball landed on the ground behind them. Anzu tried to get up, rubbing her achy head, but the weight pressing down on her kept her pinned.

“Yugi…”

When she looked up, she was surprised and increasingly flustered to find Yugi sprawled across her, his bare torso pressing against her tummy. Everyone around them laughed, while her friend sprang to his feet as quickly as he could, his tomato-red face likely visible even from the neighboring island. Nevertheless, to satisfy the already impatient Mokuba, he helped Anzu to her feet and tossed the ball to the boy so he could finally serve.

Bakura passed, Marik returned it, and Jounouchi’s well-aimed shot was barely blocked by Kaiba. Neither team could be certain of victory.

But somehow, Yugi’s side pulled ahead again, and much to the CEO’s dread — who just couldn’t allow Yugi and the Amateur to beat him — the ball soared straight towards Nyra.

He watched with bated breath as his dragon prepared herself to receive it, her hands positioned correctly for once. Regardless, he was ready to jump in at any moment to intervene, even considering pushing her aside if he must. But there was no need for that: Nyra managed to send the ball cleanly over the net, and Bakura failed to catch it.

The dragon girl was so proud of having scored a point that she hardly cared that she staggered from the force of the hit, then promptly tripped over her own feet. Just as she braced for a hard landing on her bum, two strong arms reached under her shoulders, and her back collided with a firm chest. A shiver ran down Nyra’s spine. She didn’t even need to turn around to know who her savior was.

“Clumsy little dragon,” her rider murmured into her ear. Nyra spun around and, without a word, stood on her tiptoes, clutching at his shoulders as she planted a grateful kiss on his cheek.

“Kaiba-kun, did you just…?” Yugi exclaimed in shock, astonished to witness his old rival react just as awkwardly to Nyra’s closeness as he had to Anzu's. Marik laughed heartily at both of them before waving his arm.

“Hey, pass the ball already! Let me serve the winning shot!”

Lia's wounds must have reopened in the escape. She doesn't know when it happened—or, maybe she did, but she assumed it was the same stitch in her side that she always earns running for her life. Maybe it was the wall coming down, or the sprint, or one of those guards got a lucky shot at her before she was out of range. All she knows is that as the rest of them break the boat's tethers, she touches her side and feels sharp pain radiate from that spot, a wave of nausea accompanying it.

Damn cultists. They'd put in the minimum amount of effort needed to keep them alive after torturing them. None of them had been spared even a weak potion or a touch of healing magic, though Lia might have bitten any hand that offered it. They'd torn her open and taken some pleasure in stitching her back together just as painfully while she tried not to run out of curses or to pass out. Her bandages were dirty when they'd wrapped her up, dried dark red by the time they'd dragged her back to the cell and shoved her to the ground. The first thing she remembered after the pain stopped blinding her was Cal crouched around her, between her and the cultists who were already wandering back to their duties.

(The fact that she hadn't been able to stand again without Cal supporting her weight still flushes her body with shame. She should've walked it off, like she is now.)

The bandages are damp with her blood. She reaches under her shirt to check and grimaces. They don't have time to stop; it's a one-way boat out or nothing. She takes a breath and readjusts her corset belt to hide the way her shirt is starting to stain. Later.

Cal grabs her hand. She's been lingering too long, and she only has just enough time to hope that her hand isn't slick with her own blood. "Come on," he calls her, breathless from the excitement and the taste of freedom. She lets him tug her down into the boat. It rocks under her unsteady feet, but Cal draws her to his side as they push off. Not a moment too soon. Lia watches their saviors, the same people who'd come to their aid at the Grove, stay behind to buy them time. That's two she owes them, now. It's getting to be a pattern, but not one she regrets, not when they're finally out of that cell. Cal sighs with relief and slumps against her. She bears her teeth against a grimace as he jostles her wound.

The dank smell of the water should cover up the scent of blood, or if it doesn't, they're all covered in enough of it—old and dried; the cultists didn't leave anyone out of their torture, and they didn't provide anything to wash with—that no one should be able to tell. She'll fix herself up when they get to safety, without Cal finding out. She won't have him guilty about this.

(The cultists had hurt Cal enough, and she could handle the pain in his place. Rolan would have understood.)

She takes labored breaths under the guise of exhaustion. Each one leaves her side throbbing. Her shirt's fabric is growing heavier, damp, clinging at her skin. She elbows Cal to get her arm free.

She undoes the knot of her corset belt with clumsy fingers and tightens the lacing up. The pressure will hold the wound until they're safe.

"Are you sure you should lace it that tight?" Cal asks. She flicks her ears twice like that'll clear up how far away his voice sounds, like she's hearing him through a poorly enchanted sending stone. "You're breathing pretty hard." She elbows him again. Her side spasms.

"Shut up, Cal." She's fine. She'll breathe through it. Every rock of the boat sends new splinters of pain through her body, but the pressure is helping somewhat. She should be bleeding slower. She's got a lot of it to lose, if being tortured by those cultists taught her anything.

She's had worse. She got jumped during their stint in Avernus. Clawed up. Bitten. Anything that could go wrong, did. Her head swims as she remembers Rolan throwing an imp meters away with one overwhelming shockwave of power, just because it had torn out some of her hair. She chuckles. That clump still hasn't grown back all the way. Cal puts his arm around her, and she lets her mind wander—strung between painful rhythm of the boat, rising, falling, rising again, and her brother rubbing her arm like he's afraid she'll disappear if he stops.

Landfall jolts her to vicious awareness. Her head rings so loudly that she can't hear what anyone's saying. It's like the knives are back, freshly tearing her open, and Lia gulps down air-

"I told you not to lace it that tight," Cal says. He tries to undo it, and she slaps his hand.

His flinch stings. Sorry, she wants to say, but the word is stuck somewhere in her lungs, tossed about by every difficult inhale she manages.

"Let's- Let's just find Rolan, okay?" Cal says, carefully, and it's hard to tell if he's acting like she's fragile or volatile. Both, maybe. She often feels like both; anger's just more useful than fear, she's always known that. Elturel made it clearer, and she wouldn't let the Absolute's bastards drag anything out of her but rage.

She needs to snap at him to leave her alone so she can patch herself up, but the shock in his eyes when she slapped him, the confusion that gasped out of him, and Lia can't tell her brother no when he looks at her like that.

A few more minutes. They'll find Rolan. Deal with Rolan. She won't let Rolan find out she's hurt either. He'd make a scene about it. She can do all of that, so long as she can stand up. She tests her legs, and they're weak enough that she trips getting out of the boat. She falls into Cal, and the world keeps tumbling for a few moments longer.

"Never got my sea legs," she manages to joke. Cal steadies her. He looks… worried. That's not part of the plan. She has to be fine. She can show him, straightening her back and carefully watching her steps. One foot after another, that's it. She doesn't have room to think about anything more than that, so she's glad Cal takes the lead.

And her hand. He didn't let go after she stumbled. If he needs it, she'll let him hold on. She wraps her other arm around herself, pinning it close over her wound to keep more pressure on it.

She's freezing. She expected the inside of the inn to be warm, but the hearth must not have been fed enough.

Rolan yells.

That's familiar. That's almost comfortable. It's easy to meet him there, to be angry at him for playing the fool and running off into the shadows to save them like she was told he tried to while he's angry they were captured in the first place. She can't feel the pain as sharply when they're going at each other.

"Lia," Cal tries to interrupt.

Lia ignores him, leaning towards Rolan with her teeth bared. He's giving in, the argument's over barely after it's started, but she needs the fight. It's keeping her grounded. It explains why she's shaking so much, if she's furious. Gods, why is it so fucking cold! Couldn't this place be any warmer than a dungeon? And dim, too; she thought this place was safe from the shadow curse, so why is it getting so dark?

Does she say that all out loud? She's not sure. Words fill her mouth up like bile.

Rolan's making a stupid face at her.

And then, all of a sudden, she's not looking at Rolan's face. She's pressed facefirst against Rolan's shoulder with his arms around her.

"Lia!" Cal shouts as she tries to get her bearings. She grabs at Rolan's robes haphazardly in an attempt to haul herself back up, but her arms are numb and weak, her fingers barely able to cling to anything she reaches for. Rolan readjusts his grip.

"What happened?" she hears him say. "Why is she-"

"She's bleeding." One of them pulls her corset belt away from her wounded side. Lia hisses out a warning, but whoever it is lets go because of the burble of blood that follows the pressure being let up. Her shirt is too soaked to take it. It spills warm down her waist as her she struggles to think. It's almost like she's falling asleep, little by little; first her limbs, then her mind shutting off thought by thought, until her eyelids are too heavy to keep open.

"Get help," Rolan says, "now!"

Her legs give after that. Rolan can't hold her up.

They've tried before. Cal can carry her or Rolan, if he has to, but when she'd picked Rolan up once, she'd dropped him on his arse, and Rolan hadn't even attempted lifting her.

He tries very hard to this time. She doesn't hit the ground. She just meets it, slowly.

She groans into Rolan's shoulder as her side burns with pain. It's the only heat left in her entire body.

"You knew, didn't you?" Rolan says. She can hear him, and she can feel the words rumbling from his chest. Her eyelids droop. "Damn you, Lia." There's a dull pressure against one of her horns that she can't place, and then Rolan's hand slides over her side to the source of her pain. "Hold still."

Rolan's magic patters over her skin like rain, and it sneaks into her mouth, warm and sweet like cinnamon, even though Rolan always flushes and insists his magic isn't something she can taste. He's wrong, though. It's home, wherever they go. Rolan is murmuring at her, and she can't catch the words, just the strain in his voice as he focuses through them.

The pain lightens. Lia exhales and lets her eyes slide shut all the way. 

Rolan jostles her rudely. "No, that was just to make it stop hurting. You need to stay awake until Cal gets someone who can heal you." Lia grumbles. "Stay awake," Rolan orders.

"Piss off," she says into his robes. His magic is sweet, but he smells awful, like he's been drinking and hasn't cleaned himself up with that cantrip he always uses to get out of doing real work. 

That's not like him. Lia frowns.

"Lia, don't you dare ignore me," he says, voice growing tighter.

"You're scared," she slurs to tease him, struggling to get the words out. "Thought great wizards don't get scared."

"Most wizards don't have you for a sister." Lia fists his robes. She tries to hold on as tight as she can, like it'll keep her conscious so long as she doesn't let him go. He might smell like he's been drunk, but she smells like blood, and dirt, and piss. It was a small cell. Not a lot of privacy.

"I want a bath," Lia says. "Warm bath. Rolan."

"I'll heat a bath for you, if you promise not to fall asleep." She nods. She can do that. "What happened to you?"

"Me or Cal." Words roll around in her mouth like wads of cotton, leaving her tongue dry and thick in their wake. "Pissed them off, so it'd be me." She blinks with great effort to keep her eyes open. Rolan needs her awake. Rolan's an arse. She's so tired, she can't feel her legs.

"Of course you did." Rolan sighs.

So would I, is what she chooses to hear, and she smirks.

Slowly, so slowly, her eyes slide shut again. Some part of her remembers she's not supposed to let that happen, Rolan needs her to- To do something, for some reason, for- A little rest won't hurt. He won't even notice if she curls up so that he can't see her face.

"Lia," she hears, too far away to care.

"Lia!" She fights. Rolan needs her. She can't pry her eyes open, no matter how much she struggles. The shadows are reaching for her, hungry for-

"Thank the Gods," Rolan breathes. She can only hear him. The other voices are nothing but meaningless sound. A hand curls around her as if to tug her away from Rolan.

"No," Lia whines into the dark behind her closed eyelids, "no, let go. Rolan!"

"Let her see your wound." She relaxes. He's still there. "It's scarier when you're listening to me. Will she be alright?"

He must get an answer. There's a gentle coolness against the injury, nothing like the cold that's been creeping into Lia's body. It soothes her like Rolan's magic did, even if it's nowhere near as familiar.

"He's better at magic than you," Lia tells… someone, proudly. She's pretty sure they start laughing. Or maybe Rolan starts laughing.

"She's alright." Cal. Everyone's safe, then. "She'll love being reminded that she said that."

Distantly, she remembers that she was trying not to make them worry about her. She'll probably care about that later. Right now, it's nice that Cal's holding her hand again, and Rolan's letting her lay on him. It can't be comfortable. She's almost certain her horns are digging into him somewhere.

"Thank you," Cal tells someone. Her healer, she assumes. It's nice to not be bleeding out anymore, even if her whole body still feels weighted with lead.

"Now you can go to sleep," Rolan says. She's almost certain it's his fingers in her hair, combing through the dirty tangles. Lia nods as best she can. There's only warmth to fall back into now—no shadows, no numbness, no fear. She lets it embrace her, and into her dreams, she only brings the fuzzy echo of her brothers' voices.