#natty writes :: drabbles & ficlets

[borealtwilight]

solace

summary: not everyone finds it easy to wake up in the morning. it's definitely made easier with the help of a friend, though.

although at this point, is "friend" even the right term to describe one another with? characters: jerome-092, grace hendricks word count: 902 A/N: for @dancing-coyote :P

"You have bedhead."

Jerome reaches up to pat at his curly hair, puzzled. He's surprised that's the first thing he's greeted with, when Grace stumbles into the rec room at 0900. "And you're up late." he retorts, but there's no heat to it, and he smirks at her as he slides a mug of piping hot coffee across the table to her.

Grace flips him the bird, but shoots him a grateful look as she takes a sip. "Whose fault is that?" He knows exactly how she has her coffee: straight black, nice and fresh and strong.

"Hey, I advised you to go to bed, and that Alice, Douglas, and I had it handled, but you didn't listen..." Jerome shrugs innocently, folding his arms and leaning a hip against the table. Her twin, Killian, had gone to bed an hour or even an hour and a half before she had. But Grace had insisted that she remain, that she would be fine, that she could stay and help finish planning their upcoming mission. Now she was paying for it.

Her response is to reach out and thump him in the shoulder with a fist, hard. He dances out of her reach, yelping, and one hand goes to rub the smarting area gingerly.

"Ow, that's still tender!" he chides with a shake of his head, thinking of how much it had hurt yesterday when he'd sprained it. "Dick move."

She says nothing, but her eyes dance with amusement, and her lips are twitching as she takes another swallow of coffee. He knows she doesn't mean anything by it, though, and that really, he kinda had it coming. He knows full well that Grace has a tendency to be... cranky, first thing in the morning, and it may have become an oddly endearing trait of hers, but really, he shouldn't go poking the bear.

( He doesn't think of the fact that he's probably the only one allowed to gently, teasingly provoke Grace while she's still waking up. Never really occurs to him, but it's definitely A Whole Thing that he'd never hear the end of if anyone else realizes it. )

"I'm not the only one with a severe case of bedhead, though." That smirk is back on his face, and he reaches out to coil a lock of her curly hair around a finger. "What's the term your brother likes to use... Oh yeah, you look like you've been dragged backwards through a bush." The polite way of putting it, at any rate. Killian's exact words are usually more along the lines of "your hair appears to have turned into a nest for a family of rats". "Don't worry, I'll fix it."

Grace, still sleepy, hums wordless assent, and Jerome's quick to dart off to her quarters to raid her bathroom for her hair products.

( He doesn't think about the fact that he knows what kind of supplies are needed to help get Grace's hair under control. It's just something that he'd do for another Spartan, he tells himself. Not that he's ever had the chance to; they all keep their hair shoulder length or shorter. )

"Did you at least get some sleep at all?" he asks, as he gently begins to sort out her frizzy mane.

She mumbles her answer into the mug of coffee. "Probably not much more than you did. But then you're a dirty cheat."

He allows himself a chuckle; she does make a fair point. At least it's a topic he doesn't mind making light fun of, on occasion. "I admit it, my augmented physiology renders me a dirty cheater and I can therefore run on less sleep. Still, don't come cryin' to me when you've overtaxed yourself."

"No, I'll just steal your bunk."

"I don't mind sharing."

"You're a blanket hog."

Jerome sputters. "I am not a blanket hog." As a matter of fact, he really didn't need to use blankets all that often. "I think the blanket hog is you, and you just don't want to admit it, so you pass blame to me."

Because sharing bunks is also a thing they do. It's not even something they put stock into; they just... sometimes happen to fall asleep together. Sometimes it's on purpose, though, like when they need to share quarters because they're planetside. Or when one of them can't sleep because their head is too much, and sharing a bed with your co-worker best friend battle buddy fellow soldier is reassuring: you know you're not the only one who has these nightmares, you've got someone right beside you who's been through similar shitty things, physical contact is grounding, it's fine to share space with someone you're familiar with.

It's just habit, that's all.

He doesn't need to see her face to know that Grace is sticking her tongue out at him, and he swats at her playfully. It's easy, this rhythm they've fallen into; it's become a comfort.

( Grace and Killian are really part of Red Team, at this point. They all look out for each other. They're all under Jerome's command. They're his friends, they belong to him, and he would die for any one of them, just as he knows they would give their lives willingly for him. )

( Sure, he has the tendency to spend more time with Grace than any of the others at this point, but it's mere coincidence. Happenstance, that's all. )

[spellcastersjudgement]

For the number thing, possible 1 and 44 for Joey and Kaiba...? O-or 11 and 14 for Ryou and Kaiba, of course you don’t have too

OKAY SO first of all thank you for this!!! second, the reason this took so gosh darn long is because i am a long winded person and though this was supposed to be a drabble/ficlet ask thingy but i think im physically, spiritually, and emotionally incapable of writing anything thats short. please enjoy this 4500 word fluff bomb because i know i sure as hell enjoyed writing it

#1: chocolate + #44: puppy love

 This was a load of horseshit if Seto Kaiba had ever seen it. He’d lived through whatever the fuck happened to his Battle City tournament, that fucker Dartz highjacking his company, the existence of Maximillian Pegasus, and hallucinations of an ancient version of himself subservient to the Pharoah that supposedly lived in Yugi Moto’s necklace, but this—this was what brought him to his knees.

“Seto, I know you’ve got nothing better to do tonight.” Mokuba had said, and if it weren’t a phone call Seto had no doubt his little brother would be fixing him with the trademark Kaiba stare, the one he reserved for board meetings and press conferences and had inadvertently passed on to his sibling. “You’re gonna come and you’re gonna be polite and you’re gonna have a drink and you will leave no earlier than ten.”

“I have no interest in hanging out with the dweeb patrol.”

“Seto Kaiba I know where you keep your deck and if you think I won’t hold your cards hostage you are sorely mistaken.”

The CEO stopped typing his reply to the millionth email of the day at that. “Is that a threat, little brother?”

“It’s a promise. You need human interaction and if I have to be the one to socialize you, I will.”

The serious tone of his voice plus firsthand knowledge of how crafty Mokuba could be when he wanted (Seto would never forget the pancake batter in his shampoo incident) made Seto wary to call his bluff. Taking his hands off the computer leaning back in his chair, he breathed out as loudly as possible to communicate that he was not a fan of Mokuba’s demands but that he would do it anyway.

“Good, it’s settled. Remember, you don’t have to be nice, just polite.” There was too much satisfaction in his little brother’s voice and Seto could feel the smug smile through the phone.

“If you’re lucky I might be cordial.” He huffed as Mokuba hung up, his last words to not be late and for the love of god don’t wear that trenchcoat.

Presently, Seto was replaying the conversation as the car slowed to the front of Yugi’s apartment complex. In hindsight, he should’ve just moved his deck and maybe left the country until Mokuba’s annoyance wore off to avoid any pranks that would ensue, changed his phone number so no one could contact him, then reappear in a Blue-Eyes themed blaze of glory with a new tournament or the schematics for a new virtual reality game that would prove his solitude was an asset rather than a detriment.

Socialization. Mokuba and Roland were enough socialization for him, plus there were the other executives and his assistant and he answered all his emails personally. He was very well-adjusted and had plenty of human contact, the fact that most of it was through technological means notwithstanding.

“Call if you need anything, Mr. Kaiba.” Roland waved as Seto stepped out of the car.

“I need you to take me home.” Seto adjusted his tie, looking at his scowling reflection in the car window. He may have not worn the trenchcoat, but he would be damned if he didn’t go out looking like he was ready to crush whatever mere mortal dared speak to him.

“Not until ten.” Roland laughed as Seto glared. Of course he and Mokuba were co-conspirators. Fondly, Seto remembered a time when Roland would shatter under his anger. “It’s three hours, Seto. If you can last through a conference call with Pegasus you can make nice with the nerd herd—” here Roland took his hands off the wheel to emphatically do air-quotes “—long enough to appease Mokuba and maybe even enjoy yourself.”

Scandalized, Seto slammed the car door as loud as he could and whipped around, ignoring the muffled from the car. “You’re fired!” he yelled as Roland drove away, causing a woman walking her dog across the street to turn her head and fix him with a raised eyebrow.

He hadn’t even made it into the party or whatever the fuck this thing was before he felt like strangling the next person that spoke to him. This was a prime example as to why Mokuba’s plan to socialize him like a feral cat fresh from the shelter was ill-conceived and probably a torture method banned by the Genera Convention.

Why hadn’t he just moved his deck and left the country?

Thinking of how this torture would most likely buy him another sixty days of Mokuba not plotting to kill him via friendship, he squared his shoulders and steadied his breathing. Polite. Mokuba said he had to be polite, not nice or friendly and his little brother had certainly not demanded he enjoyed himself. Roland had only said that to get a rise out of him and god damn had it worked.

Apartment B23—god when was the last time he’d even set foot in an apartment? Probably when he visited Mokuba a few months ago. Seto had taken about five steps into the dorm room and promptly decided that the cramped space and plastic mattresses and general lack of anything that would provide privacy deemed it unlivable. How Mokuba lived with a roommate he would never begin to understand.

It wasn’t difficult to find Yugi’s apartment, the too-loud music a veritable death omen. Steeling himself and forcing his face into a neutral expression, he rapped on the door and waited with bated breath.

The door swung open, and Seto saw the spiky, obscenely gelled hair of his sworn rival. “Kaiba!” Yugi’s voice was so cheery and genuinely happy that Seto almost felt bad for writing off this evening as a waste of time.

Almost.

“Come on in!” Stepping out of the way so Seto could enter, Yugi hollered his arrival over the music. “Kaiba’s here, everyone!”

Seto was afraid of who “everyone” was.

“It’s so great that you could come,” Yugi was smiling and Seto found it in him to politely smile back, not a real smile but enough to appease the shorter man. “Mokuba’s already here—let’s get you a drink and join the party!”

“I’m not drinking nasty cheap beer.”

Fuck. That was not polite or cordial.

Maybe it was because he hadn’t seen Yugi in a while since Mokuba was the one who was unironically friends with their little group, but he expected the other to give him a disappointed look and lecture him on how he should be nicer and open to friendship and all that. Instead, Yugi simply laughed and beckoned Seto to follow him to the kitchen.

Well alright.

The unmistakable voices of Tristan and Duke grew louder as he ventured deeper into the apartment, which certainly meant Wheeler was lurking around some corner ready to nip at his heels like the annoying mutt he was. He had already been rude to Yugi, and though that had been met with laughter (why were all of his scathing remarks not landing today he wondered) Wheeler would certainly try and fight him—physically and/or verbally. Mokuba would not be happy with him if he couldn’t resist the temptation and Seto knew his little brother would be watching him the whole night.

He couldn’t believe his little brother now doubled as his babysitter.

“Okay, so,” Yugi opened the fridge. “There’s beer in here—obviously Tristan brought the Natty but there’s a variety in there if you want. There’s white wine too, just don’t touch the Riesling, that’s Téa’s. Mai bought some really fancy stuff I can’t pronounce—basically we have everything.”

“Thanks.” Seto said. If Mai was here then there would be at least one person he could tolerate. “You went all out, I see.”

“I had to, it’s Téa and Joey’s welcome back party.” Yugi beamed. “They flew in from New York yesterday and we haven’t seen them in person in so long we had to celebrate.”

A welcome back party? Mokuba had mentioned that Wheeler had left for whatever reason, but Seto had assumed it was a permanent situation. Why on earth would Mokuba require he go to a party in Wheeler’s honor?

“I’ll be in the living room!” Yugi made his exit, leaving Seto alone in the kitchen.

Grabbing a plastic wine glass, which is something he’d never though he’d do ever in his life, Seto went straight for the wine Mai brought as she had an above average taste in pretty much everything. Maybe if he started with the quality alcohol he could stomach drinking the shitty stuff when he got buzzed.

Pouring himself a generous glass, Seto stared at the buttery yellow color of the wine and immediately decided that if he were going to get through this night he needed to get a head start.

He would never admit this even on pain of death, but he shotgunned that wine like a frat boy during hell week, not even bothering to enjoy the taste. He then poured another, more reasonable glass and took great comfort in the fact no one would be the wiser.

“—and then—shut the fuck up Duke you don’t get to tell the story—then this shithead tells me that no open containers in the pit and I’m all ‘if you give me two fucking seconds this drink will be gone’ and he threw me out!”

Seto took a long sip of wine.

“Hey, look who’s here!” Duke cut off a very inebriated Tristan who was still trying to continue the story. “Look at that, Seto Kaiba himself drinking out a plastic glass.”

“Take a picture, Devlin.” Seto quipped.

“I just might—I’ll even tag you in it.” Duke laughed and Seto felt like he’d been robbed once again of engaging in verbal fisticuffs. “Scoot over, asshole—Kaiba you can sit here.”

“So you can spill your drink on him?” Mai said, and Kaiba was relieved to see that there was a spot next to her on the loveseat. “I saved you a spot, Seto.”

“Thank you,” he said, and he truly did mean it.

“Why do you get to call him by his first name?” Tristan took a long sip of that nasty canned shit that was closer to cat piss than beer.

“Because I don’t test his patience like you do,” Mai returned, smiling over the edge of her glass. “And I beta test all the VR technology.”

Seto surveyed the room as they traded banter over who could call him what. Mokuba wasn’t in the room, which was surprising given that there wasn’t a lot of other places to be. It did seem that there was a balcony, and Wheeler’s little sister—god rest that child’s soul for having to share genetic material with that dog—was standing out there, talking to someone he couldn’t see. Tristan, Duke, Yugi, and Bakura were all crammed onto the couch, meaning that Wheeler, Téa, and Mokuba were the only ones unaccounted for.

“I’m glad I’m not the only one that dressed up.” Mai held out her own plastic wine glass for a toast. “Yugi said it was casual but I never learned the meaning of that word.”

Seto tapped his glass against hers, the toast not as satisfying since there was no clink but he wouldn’t say no to drinking more. That first glass he’d downed was starting to make his cheeks heat up but he was not nearly buzzed enough to take the edge off.

“Téa!” Tristan called, and Seto looked over his shoulder to see her emerging from the bathroom. “Can you get me another beer pretty please?”

“I thought this was supposed to be my party.” Téa rolled her eyes in a manner Seto was actually impressed by. He remembered her as the annoying little cheerleader on the sidelines at their duels, somehow getting into every tournament despite never being invited. Maybe her time in New York had shaped her into more than a megaphone for friendship speeches.

“It is, that’s why I need more beer.” Tristan countered, pointing finger guns at her and earning him a laugh. “Thank you Téa, I love you!”

Gross. Seto drank again.

The conversation and music blended into white noise around him. Tristan and Duke were telling another story, cutting each other off every other word and being generally loud. If Seto were inclined to such things he might find it amusing. Yugi and Bakura were laughing and asking questions like their story wasn’t just a retelling of some boneheaded drunken scheme and needed elaboration and explanation. Téa came back with the beer and her own drink before settling down next to Yugi on the already cramped couch, the two of them sharing a smile before Yugi laid his arm around her shoulders and kissed her.

Oh. Gross. Seto finished his wine and tried to forget he’d witnessed that.

“Where’s our other guest of honor?” Seto asked Mai. He wasn’t sure why he was even interested in knowing. He blamed it on the alcohol.

“Outside with Mokuba and Serenity.”

Serenity. That was the sister’s name. Seto tried to remember that in case he had to talk to her later.

As if on cue, the door to the balcony slid open. Mokuba and Serenity came through first, followed by the faint smell of cigarette smoke and then Wheeler.

Holy shit. Was that really Wheeler?

“Kaiba took your spot, Joey.” Tristan said.

“Guess I’m gonna hafta sit on your lap then.” Joey was still loud as ever, with his stupid accent and stupid hair and stupid face.

What was definitely not stupid was how he looked—Seto remembered him as this gangly little fucker that was the only person in the room the same height as him and never knew his place, dressed in jeans and a t-shirt and knockoff sneakers making it look like he’d rolled out of bed seconds before leaving the house. Now, Wheeler was even taller—probably taller than Seto though he was loathe to even think about it—and he was tanned like he’d spent day after day working outside (here Seto glanced down at his hands and was smacked in the face by how pale he was), and his shoulders were broader and his he was much more muscular, the sleeves of his halfway unbuttoned gaudy Hawaiian shirt looking like they could barely contain his biceps.

The fashion could use some work. Wheeler looked like a white suburban dad in his Hawaiian shirt and jeans.

“Mai, you want anythin’ from th’ kitchen?” When the fuck had Wheeler crossed the room? Seto buried his nose in his cup and tried not to think of how he’d been appraising the mutt’s body.

“If you’re offering, you can grab the bottle I brought.” Mai held her cup out to him. “Try it, you might like it.”

“This what you and moneybags are drinkin’?”

Moneybags. Those were fighting words. Seto couldn’t help himself.

“What? Did you expect me to drink the same swill as you, mutt?”

God damn it. Now Mokuba, who had pulled up two chairs for Serenity and him to sit in, would know he’d not been “polite” or “cordial” or any variant thereupon.

The whole room interrupted in cheers and Seto was absolutely fucking floored.

“Take a drink!” Wheeler held up Mai’s wine and downed the rest of the glass, as did everyone else in the room, even Mokuba who looked like he could barely contain his laughter. “’Dere he is, same ol’ Kaiba.”

“What the fuck just happened?” Seto turned to Mai.

“When Joey found out you were coming he said we all drink whenever you call him a dog-themed insult.” Mai didn’t even try to hide her amusement. “So unless you want all of us to be absolutely hammered I would get creative.”

Slumping back into the cushions, Seto was inclined to throw a tantrum. Wheeler was supposed to return fire, not take their verbal sparring and make it into a goddamn drinking game.

Was he in the twilight zone? He had to be. This had to be a hallucination.

When Wheeler returned, he handed the bottle to Mai and made good on his promise to sit on Tristan’s lap. Seto’s head was still spinning as Mai poured him another glass so he didn’t even get to relish in Tristan pushing him onto the floor and pouncing on him, the two of them roughhousing like elementary schoolers.

“Let’s play a game!” Yugi turned down the music.

“Not Duel Monsters, a game we can all play together.” Téa added as Wheeler perked up from where he was pinned under Tristan. “This is my party too, Joey, don’t give me that look.”

“A’right, a’right. What’d you have in mind, T?” Wheeler shoved Tristan off of him and Seto tried not to think of muscles.

He couldn’t decide if he needed to drink more or stop drinking for the rest of his life.

Seto missed the discussion of what game they would play. He vaguely heard their voices but he was mostly focused on his wine and how he would never be able to show his face in public again if he kept these thoughts about Wheeler and his dumb broad shoulders and his dumb biceps and how his dumb hands looked so rough and strong and so unlike his own lily-white smooth ones.

Fuck. Seto drained his wine and set the cup firmly down. He needed to take a break and regain control over himself.

The nerd herd had decided they would play Monopoly. Seto had never played but it surely couldn’t be that difficult. Wheeler was positioned directly across from him, as if purposefully tempting Seto with the exposed skin of his chest—what had possessed that mutt to not button all the way up? Mere minutes after it had started, Seto broke his prohibition on drinking and poured himself another glass.

It was eight now. He only had to survive until ten, then he could call Roland and be spirited away.

Monopoly, as Seto soon discovered, was hell.

“I don’t understand how I’m supposed to win.” He groused. Mai’s wine was long since gone and they’d both had to move on to subpar red wine that only went down because Seto was riding the line between a strong buzz and drunk. “Anyone who gets Boardwalk is guaranteed victory.”

Bakura was the proud owner of a Boardwalk hotel. “Oh surely you can afford it, Kaiba.”

“If this were real money, then yeah, ‘course.” Seto begrudgingly handed over the money and crossed his arms tightly over his chest, well aware he resembled a child rather than the CEO of a multi-billion dollar company.

“C’mon moneybags, you can pull off the upset.” Wheeler chided him, laughing as he drank his Blue Moon, which was weirdly high quality for him. “If ya’ can’t what’ll ya’ shareholders think?”

“It’s not the same, Wheeler.” Seto had wisely refrained from dog-themed insults.

“Okay, I seriously have to pee.” Duke interrupted. “Let’s take five and then we can go back to humiliating Kaiba.”

A break sounded like a good idea. Seto regretted wearing business casual, as between the alcohol and the long sleeves he was sweltering. Extricating himself from the loveseat and gingerly stepping over Yugi and Téa, who were sitting next to each other and holding hands under the coffee table and being generally gross and affectionate, he made his way to the balcony. His legs were a bit wobbly from sitting down so long, the alcohol not helping, but he kept himself relatively composed as he slid the door open and stepped out.

It was blessedly cool outside. He closed the door behind him and stepped to the railing, leaning on it and enjoying the feeling of the night air. The last time he’d looked at the clock it was eight, and as he pulled out his phone to check it he was surprised it was a quarter to ten.

Huh. That hadn’t felt like almost two hours.

Behind him, the door opened and shut. Seto turned around to see Wheeler holding two plates, an unlit cigarette hanging out of his mouth.

Oh god.

“Yain’t eaten all night, rich boy. Here, have some cake.” Wheeler put a plate on the railing in front of him and pulled out a lighter.

“What the hell is this?”

“Never seen cake before?” Wheeler puffed on his cigarette and stabbed the cake with a plastic fork. Did Yugi not believe in real flatware?

“Of course I’ve seen cake before.” Seto contained the mutt at the end of his sentence. “Why did you bring me some? And since when the hell did you smoke?”

“I only smoke when I drink. Nothin’ compliments a night of drinkin’ like a nicotine buzz.” Wheeler smiled though a mouthful of cake and Seto wanted to reprimand him for being so uncouth but his alcohol-addled mind could only think of how disgustingly cute he looked with frosting on the corner of his mouth. “An’ to answer ya’ other question, I brought ya’ some because you and Mai been guzzling drinks all night and neither one of ya’s eaten. I ain’t cleanin’ up vomit at my own party, moneybags. Plus, Téa makes the best chocolate cake.”

Seto looked down at the confection precariously placed on the railing, eyeing it with suspicion. Had Wheeler actually done something nice for him? Now that he was looking at food, he realized he actually hadn’t eaten since breakfast this morning and it would be a good idea to eat. No other reason.

Silence fell over the balcony as Wheeler smoked his cancer stick and they ate their cake. Seto was pleasantly surprised. Wheeler hadn’t been lying about Téa’s baking abilities. Unlike Wheeler, who had shoveled in the cake like he was a prisoner on death row and it was his last meal, Seto exercised some restraint, eating in neat, careful bites.

It was strange how quiet Wheeler was being. Seto had never been within a hundred feet of the guy without the two of them berating each other, which would culminate in a duel that Seto would win and Wheeler would vow to win the next one. It was their ritual and Seto didn’t know what to make of this amicable silence between them.

Just as Seto was beginning to feel comfortable with the silence, Wheeler spoke.

“Would ya’ believe me if I said I missed ya’?”

Seto choked.

“’M gonna take that as a no.” Wheeler thumped his back and Seto tried not to think of how big the mutt’s hands were as they rested between his shoulder blades. “’Das my fault rich boy, didn’t mean t’ make ya’ choke.”

“Then what did you mean to do? Give me a heart attack perhaps?” Seto spat, violently ignoring how heat, blush heat not alcohol heat, was in his cheeks and how Wheeler’s big dumb stupid warm hand was still on his back.

“I apologized, Kaiba. Didn’t know ya’d react like that.” Wheeler was smiling, his eyes holding an indiscernible look. Seto remembered there used to be only anger when Wheeler looked his way and desperately wished this was all a cosmic joke because there were too many new variables. Seto Kaiba had two emotions: disappointment and rage. When it came to Mokuba there were more, but Wheeler was not Mokuba and he didn’t get the benefit of Seto’s emotional range. Wheeler wasn’t angry though. If Seto had to put a name to what he saw in Wheeler’s eyes it would have to be fondness.

Disgusting. The mutt couldn’t just look at him like that.

Seto thought back to how this party was a violation of the Geneva Convention.

“It’s true, though.” Wheeler continued, moving his hand to Seto’s shoulder and suddenly the night air wasn’t so cool anymore. “I did miss ya’ Kaiba.”

Did Wheeler think this was some Nicolas Sparks novel? Did Wheeler expect him to say he missed him too?

“Why are you telling me this?” Seto asked, his gut twisting, the chocolate cake threatening to come back up. What. The. Fuck. He hadn’t seen Wheeler in forever and now because he’d come back with sunkissed skin and broad shoulders and thick muscles and Seto’s emotions were threatening to get the better of him? Un-fucking-believable. It had to the be the alcohol.

“I dunno actually. I just wanted ya’ to know. Back in th’ day we’d be at each other’s throats and I missed you and ya’ snarky attitude and ya’ dumbass trenchcoat and that godawful dragon jet. There ain’t nobody quite like you Seto Kaiba.” Wheeler squeezed his shoulder and smiled and Seto felt like he was staring into the sun. Seto fought to keep his face neutral and thought about how he was going to shave Mokuba’s head in his sleep for making him come to this stupid party and making him see stupid Wheeler and have stupid fucking emotions he never should’ve had in the first place.

“Ya’ don’ have to say anythin’ back. Just wanted ya’ to know that and that I’m glad ya’ could come tonight. You’re a sight for sore eyes, Kaiba.” Wheeler dropped his hand from Seto’s shoulder and Seto desperately wished that he didn’t want to grab it and put it back. The mutt gathered their empty plates and fixed Seto with another smile. “C’mon, we got a game to finish.”

“I’ll be inside in a minute.” Seto said, angry he lacked the normal acerbic edge to his voice.

Wheeler closed the door behind him and Seto could hear muffled voices welcoming his return. What the ever loving fuck had just happened?

His phone buzzing shocked him out of his reverie. Roland was calling.

Placing the phone to his ear and leaning heavily on the balcony, Seto answered. “What?” he spat, still not happy with the man from his earlier quip.

“It’s five past ten Mr. Kaiba. You ready for me to come pick you up?”

Retrospectively, Seto should’ve known that’s what Roland was calling about. He looked over his shoulder into Yugi’s apartment, and could see they were all talking and laughing and Wheeler had Yugi in a headlock and they all looked happy. Maybe it was because of the alcohol, maybe because there seemed to be no more bad blood from days long past, maybe it was because Seto Kaiba really had nothing better to do tonight, but he wanted to go back in to Yugi’s quaint little apartment and maybe have a few more drinks and maybe try to win that godforsaken Monopoly game.

“Actually, Roland, I think I’ll stay a bit longer. You might say I’m enjoying myself.”

[borealtwilight]

Ashala, what little things does Malavai do to make you smile? What are the little things you do to make him smile?

(post-Baras, pre-SoR/KOTXX Ashala)

“I couldn’t say if I really noticed the things he did that made me smile.” She glances down where her hands are clasped in her lap, shrugs. “Not at first. Over time— I realized it was the way he looked first thing in the morning. A... strange notion, you would think, but it was such a far cry to the Malavai that most others saw. It wasn’t just the way he looked — dark hair falling across his face, eyes showing various stages of sleepiness, the way he spoke, voice rough with sleep..."

A pause, as she recollects herself, having apparently gotten off track.

“It’s all very human. Very raw, natural. And when he noticed me smiling at him when he was like that, despite myself... Well, he began to linger in bed. Not rushing off to get up for the day, to become the perfect Imperial officer. I gradually came to realize that he was doing it deliberately, and I just... It’s something I’ve come to love about him, really.”

There’s another pause, then, something like a frown upon her face.

“As for things I’ve done on purpose to make him smile...” Another shrug. “I don’t think I could say. It can be hard to tell, sometimes. I know he’s— he’s very enamoured with me. He smiles more readily at me, than I him. I’m too used to smirking or not smiling at all, I suppose.” She huffs what might be a laugh, faint and tinged with something like regret. “I’d like to say I know I’ve done things — that I do things — to make him smile on purpose, but... I mean, perhaps... I think I’ve noticed him smiling at me when I’m victorious on the battlefield against a particularly skilled adversary. Just this— this small, private, barely there thing. One you can see more in his eyes, because he doesn’t want anyone to notice...”

[borealtwilight]

“What do you do,” she asked, “When you fear you have nothing left to fight for? When you fight because it’s all you know, because it’s instinct? I know Spartans are only soldiers, that we can’t have anything but the war, only...”

“Something happened, didn’t it?” Kurt’s face softened; there was an air of knowing to his countenance. He glanced, for a moment, down at the MJOLNIR helmet in his hands, before his eyes travelled back to her. “It’s shaken you.”

Artemis drew in a breath. He needed to know, but how could she break it to him? It had struck Jorge so deeply — and while he’d had the luxury of being born there, all Spartan-IIs had come to call Reach home. It was not an easy thing to tell. “The Covenant have...” The words stuck in her throat, and she tore her gaze away. “Reach has fallen. There’s nothing left. And, skies, so many Spartans died. But it wasn’t enough.”

Sadness flickered in Kurt’s eyes, but his expression remained otherwise stoic. “You believe that we’ve lost the war. That there’s no hope left.” he guessed. “That you can’t see an end to this fight.”

“Yes,” Artemis whispered, and shut her eyes. I know we’re losing, Kat had said, another lifetime ago, I want to know if we’ve lost. “Yes, I fear that we have lost.”

—a future excerpt from amaranthine

( gif source credit, in order: one // two // three // four // five ) 

[borealtwilight]

24 ARTHORNE CUDDLING

BISH

“I don’t want to get up.”

“Then don’t.”

That’s bait. That’s bait, and I’m not gonna fall for it.

“Alright, I won’t.”

Idiot.

Artemis heaved a sigh, albeit one that was more directed at herself than at her boyfriend. She could have gotten up. She technically should have. But at that point in time, the only thing she wanted in the entire galaxy was to keep lying there, snuggled securely in Gabriel’s embrace, face buried in the crook of his neck. It was incredibly self-indulgent, but she didn’t care.

His voice was a low rumble in her ear, one of his legs was a solid weight wrapped around her hips and pressing into the small of her back, and one of his hands was playing with her hair. And he was warm and solid and so stars damned comfortable. So, yeah, she really wasn’t keen on getting out of bed.

“But, you were planning on running some Fours through the War Games, including Majestic, and I for one would very much enjoy seeing you hand their asses to them.”

She raised her head to glare at him. “I hate you.” He had a point, and he knew she knew that he was correct.

His answering grin was all too smug. “You love me.”

Reaching for the pillow beneath his head, she thumped it in his face.

“Denial is a river in Egypt.” Gabriel teased.

“Shut up.”

[borealtwilight]

For the writing meme: 🌻🍓

🌻: I’m gonna go ahead and answer N/A for this one, solely because I don’t think I have any funny quotes in any of my works. I have some amusing moments, sure, but humour in general is difficult for me to write because I’m a very literal sort of person.

My own sense of humour is *wibbles hand* different, you could say.

🍓: I don’t know if I’d go so far as to say this is poetic, but it’s close enough, and I’m proud of it, so it counts, I suppose.

“Do you know what I see, when I look at you?” Carter stepped forward, closing the gap between them, holding her face between his palms. “I see a wolf. I see a Spartan. I see the woman who nursed me back to health, despite the fact that she didn’t have to. I see a warrior. I see a survivor. I see the face of the person I want to wake up to every morning. I see the body I want to curl up beside as I go to sleep every night. I see my future, with you. Stars’ end, Artemis, never have I wanted anyone as badly as I want you.”

( from this ask list )

[borealtwilight]

Last Line Tag

Rules: Write the latest line from your WIP ( or post where you last left off in your art ) and tag as many people as there are words in the line. Make a new post, don’t reblog.

Tagged by: @davidoodles

Tagging: Steal it, I CBA to tag anyone tbh

“Not unless you want your kukri shoved in a very uncomfortable location.” At his alarmed look, the Lieutenant Commander shook her head. “Didn’t think so.”

origin: my rewrite of Canis Lupus

[borealtwilight]

WIP Whenever

tagged by: @davidoodles​ ( thank u <3 ) no pressure tags: @dancing-coyote, @sith-shenanigans, @antsyserpentine, & @echoanimates​ :3c 

“Six, you’re out here with me, pushing back the attack on SWORD Base. We’re now Noble Strike.” TEAMCOM crackled to life, the Commander quick to issue orders for the mission ahead. “Jorge, Emile— you’re next, get prepped.”

The moment the word was given, Six unslung her DMR and leaped from the Falcon in one smooth, flowing motion; she waited and watched for a beat as Carter disembarked from Kilo 34, before her sights were turned to the battle that lay ahead. Just beyond a covered walkway was a cluster of Grunts, two of them clambering up and over munitions crates as they accompanied their fellows into the courtyard. Even above the din of the firefight in the courtyard from whence they had come, she could hear their barking and squeaking as they chattered amongst themselves; an Ultra issuing orders to a pair of Minors and a Major.

Easy.

“Let’s find out what we’re dealing with. Stay sharp.” the Commander told her, even as his own DMR barked out its first report.

Rolling her eyes, she muttered a sarcastic yessir, and gently squeezed the trigger the moment the Major was in her sights. She watched in satisfaction as a spray of bright blue blood erupted from its head. The creature toppled to the ground, lifeless, and the two Minors squawked in alarm. As soon as they began to panic, it made her job so much simpler — she pinged them with one shot each, before they even had the chance to scamper out of her line of sight.

That left the white-armoured Ultra. 

As she panned her rifle sideways, lining it up in her sights, she grunted in surprise as it suddenly crumpled in a heap, writhing and jerking. Odd— she hadn’t heard a report from the Commander’s DMR beside her, and she hadn’t had the chance to fire a shot of her own. She glanced to her right and saw Carter looking at her; he tipped his head towards a cluster of Army Troopers, one of whom clutched a still-smoking AR like it was their lifeline.

[borealtwilight]

"What d'you call a group of Clones? A flock?" Fives muses thoughtfully, pecking away at his datapad.

"...A squabble, is more like it," Ahsoka says under her breath, and beside her, Jesse snorts.

"Not too inaccurate." he remarks.

"Huh!" Rex grunts, crosses his arms over his chest. "Only thanks to lack of unit cohesion. Should be a better name, like a... like a batch, or something. Why'd you want to know, anyway?"

Fives rolls his eyes. "A 'batch'?" he parrots. "Come on, that's unoriginal! I thought you were more creative than that."

"Only when he wants to be." Ahsoka chimes in smugly, and Rex chokes, his cheeks darkening with embarrassment.

[borealtwilight]

Yeet, more Fett Clan Archives fic!!

(do not tag as r//ex//so//ka because it’s not; this is strictly platonic)

[borealtwilight]

Her hair floats, pieces of it twisting and twining this way and that, each time she moves her head.

Fives is too tired to deal with this.

Rex is, too, judging by his quiet sigh, and weary posture. Still, the Captain stands loosely at attention, hands resting on the deecees stored safely in their hilts at his hips. He's wary, but he's far from a trigger happy shiny. He won't draw his deecees unless he feels there's a viable threat.

And there isn't one — yet. Not as far as they can tell.

"A Captain outranks a Commander, in the UNSC Naval command structure," she states, and kriffing hells, her eyes cool from fiery orange to oceanic blue as she speaks. Fives is eerily reminded of what both Anakin and Ahsoka had told him of Sith eyes, and he has to suppress a shudder. This woman is no Force user, surely.

[borealtwilight]

Another Star Wars fic!

This time, featuring baby Clones!! :D

[borealtwilight]

Despite the fact that they should be focused on the battle, it's hard not to tear their eyes away from the Spartan. She moves fluidly, all grace and power and speed, and it's absolutely mesmerizing to watch.

Fives can't stop watching, even if he really needs to concentrate. He knows better, he damn well does, because he's an ARC, for crying out loud — in fact, he's known better than to get distracted for a long time, but ARC training really drilled it into him. And yet, and yet... It's a bit like a speeder wreck. Can't bring yourself to look, yet you can't force yourself to look away, at the same time. He's never seen anything like it. Hell, none of them have.

The Jedi are fluid, powerful, badass, in their own right. But not like this.

This woman, this Spartan, is a one-woman army, and she's not even using weapons. Not even using her powers, which are oddly like the Force, and yet so very different. She's ferocious: ruthless, lethal, merciless. Damn near unstoppable.

And he wonders — he wonders — just who these Spartans really are.

[borealtwilight]

I made a Clone Wars fixit oneshot, y’all! Read and enjoy :D

mild spoilers for the first arc of Season 7

[borealtwilight]

Rex takes a step forward, trying to hold the line, and staggers. It’s worse than he originally thought, and he has to pause to brace himself, wrapping an arm around his ribs. Not that it’ll do much good for the bleeding, but it helps keep him stable.

He glances beside him, hears a voice echoing in his ears. Recognizes, belatedly, the orange sunbonnet attached to white bucket, the yellow-orange markings adorning the battered plastoid. Cody, he wants to say, but his tongue feels too thick in his mouth, and his head’s throbbing.

It’s so much worse than what he originally thought.

“—ex? Rex?” It’s Cody that’s talking to him, trying to catch his attention, trying to make sure if he’s okay.

It’s all he can do to nod, firing only one of his twin DC-17s, the other still in its holster at his hip. He doesn’t want to use the arm that’s wrapped around his torso, and he’s not sure if he should, anyway, if the burning sensations crawling around that shoulder are any indicator. He’s a wreck, and he’s on his last legs, and he knows it. But he can’t give up the fight.

He won’t. 

A hand settles onto his shoulder, and he jumps in surprise, aim wavering. Something hisses, a sound of decompressing air, and in the next second, he feels a crawling sensation in the wound in his chest.

“What—?” he tries to bite out, but can’t form a coherent thought, even as the pain of his wound lessens momentarily.

“Biofoam,” a voice rumbles from somewhere else beside him. He turns his head, sees the Captain standing there with pistols in each hand, stance braced and ready for the next wave. “It’ll hold you together until this firefight is over and we can get you looked at.”

He’s not sure who said that. It wasn’t her, because her mouth is shut in a grim line, and it wasn’t Cody, because they don’t have biofoam, and he doesn’t even know what it is. A figure moves back, dropping past his flank to cover his six, and he recognizes the Commander.

The military ranks being same-yet-different here is still something he has to adjust to.

Cody steps up beside him, grasps his shoulder, then steps away again to fire his rifle into a storm of oncoming... what where they again? Grunts? Then, he questions, “Holding up, vod?”

Rex pauses for a moment, then nods. “I think I’ll live.”

It’ll take some getting used to.

[borealtwilight]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types Rating: General Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: CC-2224 | Cody & CT-7567 | Rex Characters: CT-7567 | Rex, CC-2224 | Cody, CT-6116 | Kix, okay so he's only MENTIONED but still Additional Tags: Brothers, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Feels, Brother Feels, Brotherly Love, Brotherly Affection, Post-Canon, Post-Order 66, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Fuck Canon I Do What I Want, Family Feels, Sibling Love, rex will forever look out for his brothers, ALL his brothers, cody is tired and needs so many hugs, cody is not doing so well after order 66, but!!!! rex is supportive and there for him Series: Part 2 of Fett Clan Archives Summary:

It’s been three weeks since Utapau, three weeks since Order Sixty-Six, when he’s finally found. And it’s not the Empire that finds him.

Or: Rex goes hunting for his brothers after the Republic has fallen and the Empire has taken its place. He won't always like what he finds, but he'll never abandon them in their time of need.