fics | drabbles

drabbles—

Short things that aren't long enough to get their own post will be thrown in here! List below.

01. Antithesis (Gangrel/Lusamine)
02. Heights (Gangrel/Lusamine)
03. Grubbin (Gangrel/Lusamine)
04. Restart (Jason [Top Dollar] + Yeager)
05. Again and Again (Yeager + Zagi)
06. Execution (Logan + Hero Queen [Hero of Brightwall])
07. Family (Shigure - mentioned: Azura and Subaki)
08. Bloodstained (Henry/Nowi)
09. Thanks (Beruka + Saizo)
10. Kiss Day 1: Memories (Ryuunosuke/Tsukiyama)
11. Kiss Day 2: Hush (Greed/Naki)
12. Kiss Day 3: Victory (Gangrel/Lusamine)
13. Kiss Day 4: Tag (Ginti/Nowi)
14. Kiss Day 5: Speechless (Kamui/Zagi)
15. Follower (One-sided Python/Forsyth)
16. Breathless (Forsyth/Python)
17. Complicated (Forsyth/Python)

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She’s nothing like he is. Refined, poised, trained to respond to every situation precisely as nobility should; she’s more of a typical royal than he could ever be.

He hated that about the Ylissean court; he loves that about her.

But she’s not all perfect manners and statuesque beauty. She takes to flying well and to battle better and before he knows it she can stand beside him in battle (where Aversa once stood) and they can fight together.

She’s prettiest when she loses that poise and grace in battle and becomes a savage beast just like everyone else.

The ground isn’t stable here, she can tell that even from the back of her pegasus. In the four months that have passed since she arrived in Gangrel’s world, Lusamine has learned to read everything from the air. She’s a Dark Flier, a class Gangrel picked out for her after only a few seconds of consideration. He certainly wasn’t wrong, and Lusamine has adapted to her class perfectly.

Unfortunately, her stupid (boyfriend?) friend hasn’t adapted to it. “Gangrel, get on.”

“Absolutely not.” He locates another foothold and balances precariously there, watching her and the pegasus with his eyes narrowed.

“You’re going to fall.”

“I am not.”

Lusamine glances down at where the cliff has begun to give way. It’s a long drop to the bottom of the ravine where the rest of the Risen are. “It will be easiest for me to carry you. Give me your hand.”

“No. Never.” He’s not moving down toward the Risen, he’s just trying to find stable ground so he isn’t staring over the cliff.

It takes her a moment, but finally Lusamine realizes something. “Gangrel… Are you scared of heights?”

“What?” He snaps, sounding offended. She usually doesn’t get him to this point so quickly unless he’s really flustered by what she’s said. “I’m not scared of anything!”

He’s definitely scared of heights. Lusamine rests a hand in front of her mouth while she watches the Trickster find his footing a little further away, where the ground isn’t as likely to give way. “You wouldn’t lie to me, would you?”

It gets him to freeze. It’s an underhanded tactic, but it’s not as though Lusamine’s above those. She smiles sweetly as she guides her pegasus closer to him. “Surely you wouldn’t keep something like that from me.” Her smile is exactly as charming as it should be and his expression is exactly as bitterly resigned as she was expecting.

“Yes, fine. Fine! I’m terrified of heights. Are you happy, woman?” He snaps, resting his hands on his hips.

She doesn’t get long to gloat. The earth shifts and Gangrel loses his balance. Lusamine’s hand shoots out immediately and she angles her pegasus first to help her stabilize Gangrel and then to pull him up onto the beast behind her.

“No, no— Let me off this damned thing!” Gangrel’s voice has soared into a register she hadn’t thought possible and while Lusamine is privately amused at just how terrified he sounds, she doesn’t plan on tormenting him for long.

“It isn’t safe here. I’ll set you down once we’ve found sturdy ground. Until then,” She reaches for his hands and sets them on her hips. “Hold on tightly.” Lusamine smiles, once again with the cloying sweetness that means she’s about to do something he’s really not going to like.

She urges the pegasus to kick off and Gangrel shrieks.

Lusamine has taught him the basics of Pokémon training and battling, but the true test comes in the form of capturing one. Apparently you can’t fight them even with a sword (and the things her face did when he asked her that were worth the stupid question) but she’s handed him a Pokéball and told him to let her know whenever he sees a Pokémon he wants. She’ll help him catch it.

Of course he’s not about to let things be that easy. He’s going to have to learn everything about this world on his own isn’t he? He might as well catch his first Pokémon by himself as well.

(She warns him that he absolutely cannot take a sword to a Pokémon and if he does she’ll have some strong words for him. He’s lucky enough that she’s letting him carry a sword around in the first place!)

They’re making their way through a route to get somewhere (some larger city, from the sound of it) when he sees the Pokémon he wants. “That one!” He points a sharp nail at it, reaching out for Lusamine’s arm to stop her.

She turns a bit and studies the Pokémon in question, then looks at Gangrel in confusion. “That one? A Grubbin?”

The Pokémon in question is probably some kind of grub, yes. It looks like a particularly large, cute beetle of some kind, with large orange pinsirs on the front of its head. “Yes, look at it!” Gangrel continues to point at the bug and the slightly smaller bugs it has gathered around it. “It looks like the leader, doesn’t it?”

Lusamine lets out a small sigh, but she releases Clefable from her Pokéball. “Be careful not to hurt it too badly, dear,” She warns her Pokémon and Clefable nods before preparing her attack.

“No, wait!” He holds out a hand and the Pokémon and trainer turn to him. “I want to catch this on my own!”

“Do you remember what I told you about the sword—”

“I’m not going to stab it!” Gangrel complains and reaches for the Pokéball he’s been wearing on his belt since Lusamine gave it to him. “I’ll handle this without violence!”

The trainer lifts an eyebrow, but she rests a hand in front of her mouth and doesn’t interrupt.

Gangrel takes a step closer to the bugs in their nest and holds out his hands. “Bugs, listen up!” To their credit, the Grubbin all look up at him curiously. “I am Gangrel, former King of Plegia! I intend to capture your leader and reign over you all—”

That’s when one of the bugs launches a Tackle attack at his face. Lusamine gasps as he goes down and Clefable jumps in to take out the bug, but Gangrel’s laughing.

“That’s the spirit! I want that one!” Clefable’s attack has nearly knocked it out and Gangrel tosses his Pokéball at it. It wiggles three times and clicks shut as the other bugs scurry into the bushes to escape.

“Are you alright, dear?” Lusamine asks, holding out a hand to help him up. Gangrel ignores her hand and reaches out to grab the Pokéball instead, looking far too proud of himself.

“I did it! I captured it!”

She looks like she’s going to say something, but eventually she settles on patting him on the head. “Yes, you did. Come, let’s get that little one to the Pokémon Center. You’ll need some ice for that bruise too.”

Jason surges up with a start, his hand going to his chest immediately. Yeager’s tossing something aside and getting to his feet like nothing just happened, so Jason grabs his arm before demanding an explanation. “What the fuck just happened?”

Yeager glances back in the direction of Gauche and Droite (who are currently in the process of finishing off a couple of particularly strong monsters) before looking back down at Jason. “You fainted. I just revived you. It happens to even the best of us!”

“No, I’m fairly sure I just died.” He can feel his heartbeat beneath his hand and he’s never been happier for it. “My heart stopped. I’m damn sure I felt my heart stop.”

The other man shrugs. “Ja, that happens. Life Bottles can bring someone back from the brink of death—”

“Your world has something that can bring the dead back to life.” Jason repeats flatly. “You’ve gotta be shitting me.”

“I’m not!” Yeager replies, just as pleasant and cheerful as always. “We can try it again if you rush into battle like that and get yourself mauled again!” He’s doing that thing with his face where he’s trying very hard to look like he’s not bothered, but the smile isn’t nearly as natural as he likes to think it is.

Jason pulls himself to his feet with a small sigh. “Why didn’t you warn me about this?”

“I thought it’d be more fun for you to experience it first hand!”

He’s shoving Yeager in the way of the next attack for that.

Zagi’s recovery has been remarkable. The doctors Yeager’s employed specifically to treat the man’s injury and subsequent prosthetic surgery have all been astounded by the man’s perseverance and determination to not only adapt to his new arm, but to surpass the limits he’d hit as a human. Sometimes they tell him that he needs to stop pushing himself so hard, but Yeager wouldn’t have spent this much gald if he wasn’t certain it would be worth it.

For all of Zagi’s crazed ramblings about some “Yuri Lowell”, he’s an expert fighter and assassin. He’s a star among the goons Yeager oversees, even if he is the sort to need a tight chain wound around his neck at all times.

The blastia was supposed to be exactly that - a chain to keep Zagi put - but Zagi’s moving faster than he should be. Faster than anyone could have possibly anticipated. No one should be capable of recovering from losing an arm and having a new one attached so quickly.

Zagi’s nightly routine is the same: as soon as all the doctors and most of the Leviathan’s Claw guild members have turned in for the night he’ll sneak out the back and wander off into the forest where he fights monsters until he’s exhausted himself. He’s managing to go for two hours every night without needing a break and were he anyone else, Yeager might be worried. Were he anyone else he might have noticed that he’s being tailed. It’s not as though Yeager’s intentionally trying to blend into the foliage and keep his presence quiet, after all.

But Zagi probably wouldn’t care even if he did realize it; all he cares about now is fighting. He cuts down monsters in one hit usually, but when he doesn’t that’s when he loses his composure and drives his knives in again and again and again and again, even long after the monster has died.

He hates feeling helpless, and losing one of his arms has certainly left him useless. Yeager’s seen it before, after all.

So Zagi sneaks out again and again and again. At least until the night where he doesn’t return, but some part of Yeager always knew that was going to happen.

Maybe it’s for the best. No one can truly control a madman like Zagi.

Her eyes had burned with hatred and her decision had been final. The trial was a farce, just as the hearings he used to hold from that same throne. He’d already made up his mind in advance for every one of those, so of course she had already done the same. She didn’t need to hear that Albion would heal faster with his death and she certainly didn’t need to hear that keeping him alive would serve no purpose.

He stopped being her brother months ago, when he ordered her to choose who would live and who would die.

They’ve taken his chestplate and sash, leaving him without any of the trappings of royalty he once enjoyed wearing. The crown has been placed on his sister’s head now; perhaps she really can wear it better than he ever could. It’s a shame he’ll never get a chance to find out.

His hands are bound behind him and he’s pushed forward until he’s standing before the stairs leading up to the doors of the castle. It’s a fitting place for an execution. It’s where he killed Major Swift only two short months ago.

Staring down a firing squad isn’t nearly as terrifying as staring at his sister’s cold, dead eyes.

The days Mother visits are the best days. Sometimes Father comes with her, but lately he’s only been visited by Mother. She always seems so rushed, so worried. But she does her best to smile at him, to hide whatever’s troubling her behind a mask of comfort and love. Some days it works. Other days he can barely look at that smile without being reminded just how painful parting really is.

It’s not as though they’re like the other families in the village. Shigure doesn’t get to see his mother every day. He doesn’t get to train with his father. The only way he can feel close to either of them is by taking in some of their traits and making them his own.

So he rides a pegasus. So he sings.

And sometimes he can convince himself that they love him just as much as the other mothers and fathers in the village love their children.

(But sometimes he can’t, and those are the times when he feels the worst.)

Sometimes they fight in fields full of flowers and when they’re done, the blood paints the flowers red. Sumia and Cordelia say they’re sad when they’re like that, but Nowi’s always found the red spots on white flowers look very pretty.

Henry’s picked her a bouquet of them today, created after specifically killing his enemies in ways to make the blood splatter prettier against the delicate white petals. “Do you like them?” He asks as he carefully weaves the stems into a crown.

“Of course I do!” Nowi laughs. She leans forward and ducks her head so Henry can set the flower crown on her head. “Hey, Henry?”

“Yeah?” He’s still smiling, as he always is. Just like always, his eyes are closed.

“Do you think we’ll remember this moment in a hundred years?”

Henry tips his head a bit at that, then tilts it the other way as he considers her words. “Well, I certainly won’t! Will you remember me in a hundred years?”

Oh... That’s right. Henry’s a human. Sometimes she forgets because he acts so differently from the other humans. Sometimes she forgets because he’s been such a constant in her life since he showed up and joined the Shepards.

Sometimes she forgets because it doesn’t occur to her that humans have such short lifespans. How do they live when they’re only going to die in a few years?

“Nowi?” He asks after a moment, his smile fading. “Are you okay?”

“N-No, not really.” She sniffs, suddenly not sure when the tears started. “Y-You humans… You guys live for such a short time…”

“We do.” Henry agrees. “But that just means we have to do a lot while we’re here! That’s why humans start wars and why we fight and kill and hurt others. Because sometimes the easiest way to leave a legacy is with blood.”

“Blood…” She mumbled, reaching up to touch the flowers on her head.

Henry nods. “That’s right. It’s not nice, but a lot of humans do that.”

Humans like the Grimleal. Humans like Walhart. “But not all humans are like that, right?”

“That’s right! Sometimes humans leave their mark on the world through kindness! It’s a lot harder to do that, though.”

Kindness… Like Emmeryn, maybe? Everyone was so sad when she died. Nowi hadn’t known her very well, but she had done everything she could to prevent a war. That seems kind. “What about you, Henry? How are you going to leave your mark?”

That gets the dark mage to pause for a moment. He seems to be looking down at the remaining flowers in his hands, but it’s kind of hard to tell when his eyes are always nearly closed. “Hmm… I wonder…” He says to himself.

Nowi can only patiently wait for three minutes. “So? What’ll it be?”

Henry looks up at her, smiling again. “Maybe I’ll get a dragon to love me. What do you think? That’d keep my memory alive for a long time, wouldn’t it?”

She returns the smile and reaches out for Henry’s hands. “For hundreds and hundreds of years!” For as long as she can remember.

The battlefield’s far more dangerous than any other he’s ever seen. The flames lick higher and he comes to the startling realization that he has nowhere else left to go. How could he be so careless? He can’t exactly serve Lord Ryoma if he’s dead—

But it looks like he’s not going to burn to death today, if a wyvern-riding Nohrian has anything to say about it. Beruka’s much stronger than she looks and when she pulls him up onto her wyvern he fumbles for something to say.

“I didn’t need your help!” Right, because that’s definitely what he should be saying after she saved his life. Why is it so hard to just thank her?

“You’re welcome.” Beruka says, her voice as flat as usual. “Hold on tight.”

There isn’t anywhere to hold on besides her waist and Saizo isn’t about to do that. He scoffs instead and she nudges her heels into her wyvern to move away from the flames. It doesn’t take long for Saizo to reconsider and grab hold of the assassin’s waist.

“Tsukiyama! Tsukiyama, look!”

It’s not uncommon for Ryuunosuke to get incredibly excited about something small, but usually that “something small” is a cactus he grew with his feelings or a flower he’s managed to keep alive for longer than a week. Usually it’s not something so tiny he has to cup it in his hands. Tsukiyama raises an eyebrow and waits for Ryuunosuke to catch up to him.

The thing between Ryuunosuke’s hands is one of the petals from the tree. This is the first time Ryuunosuke’s ever been excited about the petal, so whatever memory it contains must be something interesting. Perhaps one of his kills he’s so proud of?

The memory that starts playing as soon as Tsukiyama leans over to get a look at it is a familiar one, though. They’re up in the tree the petal fell from and Ryuunosuke leans in and—

“Oh,” Tsukiyama says blankly. “I don’t know what I was expecting.”

Ryuunosuke pouts. “It’s our first kiss! And it’s been imprinted on the petal so we can look at it forever!”

“That’s a little creepy.”

“I think it’s romantic.” Ryuunosuke huffs and pulls the petal back.

He looks a little put-out now so Tsukiyama reaches out to brush his fingers over his boyfriend’s cheek. “I was only teasing, amore.”

Ryuunosuke starts to protest, but Tsukiyama leans in then and presses a quick kiss against the corner of his mouth. “Another one for the memory petals.”

His boyfriend’s bright red now and bobbing his head enthusiastically. Tsukiyama counts it as a victory.

It’s not often Greed finds himself wishing Naki would shut up, but sometimes his boyfriend really is prone to running his mouth and Greed finds himself without any hope of escaping the one-sided conversation. Today’s topic: cake.

“So I told him if he tries to charge me any more I’ll take his head off! Well, I would. If I was still a ghoul. I’d rip him apart! How dare he charge me that much more for cake! I’m his most loyal customer! Probably. Who else buys as much cake as I do!?”

Honestly, Greed had tuned him out quite some time ago: the moment Naki started getting angry about cake (which would have been about twenty minutes ago). As much as he loves his boyfriend, Naki’s sometimes just a little… much.

“I’ll send my Malamars at him! That’ll teach him! You don’t cross me or you fucking die!”

Usually he sounds like he’s nearing the end of his rant by now which is why Greed was fine tuning him out for awhile just to get it out of his system, but it sounds like Naki’s just getting fired up again. So Greed decides to opt for a better solution than letting the man scream for another twenty minutes - he leans forward and rests one hand on Naki’s shoulder before pulling him in for a kiss.

It shuts Naki up, anyway. Though Greed probably should have realized that he’d just get Naki whining about people who aren't as awesome as his boyfriend.

Lusamine drives her spear through the last of the Risen and pulls it out in one swift movement. Anyone unfamiliar with her would assume she belonged right here in Plegia from the way she fought. She fought so fiercely, so elegantly, so perfectly. She really did have all the grace and composure required for a warrior queen.

Gangrel laughs breathlessly as her pegasus lands and she dismounts. “Wonderful! Simply wonderful, my dear! You’re going to put me out of a job at this rate!”

“Don’t be silly,” Lusamine flicks a few stray strands of hair out of her face. Her smile is bright though; she’s clearly pleased with the praise. “I still have much to learn. It’ll be quite some time before I can hope to compare to you.”

He doesn’t bother with words - though he could, if he really felt like it - and instead pulls her in for a victory kiss. Lusamine’s hands find the sides of his face and his find her hips and it’s almost like they’re not surrounded by the dissipating corpses of the dead brought back to life through dark magic.

“Gintiiiiii,” The whine catches his attention long before Nowi does, but it’s not really surprising to see her hanging upside-down from a tree just outside of the Pokémart. She’s quick to flip back up so she’s sitting on the branch properly where she can kick her legs. Now that she’s got his attention (maybe he should have ignored her) she pouts and whines loudly, “How come you’re always so busy and ignoring me?”

“Because some of us have work,” He replies easily, shouldering his jacket. “Didn’t I tell you not to go out in this kind of weather without a coat?”

She wrinkles her nose. “It’s not that cold.”

“You’re from a desert.”

“I’m not from the desert! Probably.”

Ginti approaches the tree with a sigh and holds out his arms. Nowi’s eyes light up immediately and she drops from the branch without prompting. She lands easily in his arms and even though she’s heavier than she looks, he manages to keep a hold on her. “You’re heavy,” He grunts.

“It’s rude to call a lady heavy, you know!”

“I’ll keep that in mind for the next time I talk to a lady.”

“Gintiiiii,” Nowi whines again, kicking her legs but making no move to wriggle free of his grip, “you’re so mean!”

“Yeah, the meanest, right?”

“The meanest.”

He grunts and moves to drop her, but she’s a little faster. Nowi presses a kiss to his cheek before jumping from his arms to land on her feet. She darts away giggling while he stands there dumbfounded.

“Come on, Ginti! You’re going to have to catch me if you want another one!” She calls over her shoulder.

Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to play tag for a little bit today, he thinks.

Zagi doesn’t worry. He has no reason to worry about anything, ever. Sure he winds up in dangerous places with Kamui sometimes, but there’s no reason to worry about that. He’s the strongest fighter he knows (after Kamui, that is) and he can handle himself.

But sometimes he wonders if Kamui’s going to get hurt. It’s weird to think about and it makes him feel things. So he doesn’t think about it often.

But sometimes (like today) Kamui gets in a fight with someone who actually looks like he could take the vampire (like this guy). He’s a big guy who could probably snap Kamui in half if he felt like it (and if Kamui weren’t a vampire), but Zagi knows better than anyone that size isn’t everything. Still, some part of him wonders if Kamui’s going to come out of it okay.

He ends up having to use his claws and he grabs Zagi’s wrist to pull him out in the ensuing chaos. Zagi’s used to this, perhaps even more used to this than he is to fighting on his own anymore.

(And boy is that weird to think about. So he doesn’t think about it.)

He shifts his hand a bit in Kamui’s grip so he can properly hold it as they escape. It’s only once they’re safe that Kamui tries to let go, but Zagi doesn’t let him. When the vampire looks at him curiously, Zagi’s forced to speak up.

“It’s good that…” No, that’s not right. “I’m glad…” No, not that either.

Words are difficult. Words can’t express what he needs to express quickly, so Zagi makes a frustrated noise and leans forward to press a quick kiss to Kamui’s cheek.

It’s not thanks for staying alive and it’s not because he’s happy Kamui is still alive. It’s just a kiss. That’s all it needs to be.

Peace and quiet are hard to find in the hideout. With Terrors roaming the halls and Desaix’s men constantly searching for the Deliverance, breaks are rare for Python. It’s not like he minds usually, but any chance to take a nap is a good chance for him.

Of course, it isn’t that easy with Forsyth around. “Python, there you are!” His friend bellows loudly enough to wake the dead and Python yawns and stretches.

“Mornin’,” He greets his friend languidly.

“You’ve been slacking off again, haven’t you? You’re supposed to be patrolling out front!”

“Am I?” It must be later than he thought it was. “Oops.” It’s an honest mistake and not work he was intentionally avoiding.

Forsyth sighs loudly and presses a hand to his forehead. “You can’t slack off like this, you know! We need every able-bodied man to protect the hideout!”

“Yeah, I know. Can’t let the Deliverance fall apart now, right?”

“That’s right! Now hurry up, I’ll accompany you on your patrol.”

“Awfully nice of you.” He knows Forsyth’s doing it to keep an eye on him, but it’s not like he really minds. Python’s only here because of his friend, after all. He can’t imagine where he’d be without Forsyth’s influence. It’s a bit strange to think about, so he doesn’t allow himself time to think about it and instead stands and shoulders his bow.

The Terrors roaming the halls aren’t particularly difficult for them to defeat together, but they usually don’t stray close enough to the hideout to bother killing them. It means a lot of idle standing around and the occasional stroll down the hall to investigate any odd noises. Python’s never minded it; it’s better than being out in the field, anyway.

Forsyth can’t seem to sit still though and with him around it’s patroling instead of standing guard. “You really could stand to relax,” Python remarks when Forsyth picks up his spear to start wandering the halls again.

“Hah! I’m not surprised to hear that coming from you!” Forsyth doesn’t wait for Python to join him, he starts walking with the expectation that the archer will follow. Python sighs, but he does follow, just as he always has. Forsyth speaks up again, “It only stands to reason that I’m on edge. With Lukas gone, we’re out one of our most valued men!”

“You don’t think he’s coming back?”

Forsyth’s eyes narrow and his brows furrow. He looks lost in thought, but Python knows better to believe that his guard is down. “It’s important that we don’t rely on his return.” The words are carefully chosen, slower than Forsyth usually speaks. “Just in case, of course.”

“Of course,” Python echoes. He’s not sure he believes Lukas will come back with Sir Mycen in tow, but it feels wrong to plan for the worst.

They patrol in silence for a little while longer, reaching the end of the hall and then returning to their starting point before Forsyth seems satisfied, for the moment anyway. Python takes a seat on a nearby box as the knight stands with his arms folded.

“Do you regret it?” Python asks suddenly. When he doesn’t get an answer he elaborates, “Deciding to join the Deliverance. There’s a very real chance that we’ll die here.”

“I know.” Forsyth says. “But I have no regrets. I’ve always wanted to be a knight, after all.” His stance is firm and his words are steady. Most people wouldn’t be able to tell that he’s afraid.

Python knows him better than most. He doesn’t call Forsyth on it though, instead he hums quietly. “I’ll follow you wherever you go. As long as you don’t plan on leaving, neither do I.”

That gets Forsyth to look over and for a moment Python’s convinced he’s going to get onto him about his work ethic - he’s hardly the ideal knight and if he wants to remain in the Deliverance he should work harder - but instead Forsyth’s face is split by a large, pleased grin. “Thank you, Python.”

“Eh, don’t mention it.” He waves a hand as if to dismiss it. He’s never been one for sappy moments, after all.

“I truly am lucky to have such a great friend.” Forsyth says anyway.

A friend. Yeah. That’s what they are, what they have been since they were little kids and Forsyth was just a fool with a pointless dream. Python ignores the strange sinking feeling in his chest at Forsyth’s words and instead he hops off the box and tips his head to indicate Forsyth should lead the way.

He doesn’t like patrolling, but he prefers it over thinking about whatever strange feelings Forsyth’s words have given him.

The final battle against Rigel looms over their heads like the castle they can see in the distance. According to their scouts it will take them a couple of hours to march to the castle’s gates and from there, the battle will begin. They have the night to themselves and they’ll march first thing in the morning, but it seems like no one can relax.

Well, no one except Python, who once again doesn’t seem bothered by anything that’s happening. He’s sprawled out in the tent he shares with Forsyth when the knight goes looking for him, already dozing off despite the sun’s position in the sky. Were it even a little later Forsyth could understand sleeping early, but this is too early. “Wake up, Python!” He kicks lightly at the archer’s feet to rouse him from his bedroll. “There’s no reason to be asleep this early! We still have dinner to prepare and supplies to pack - you can’t afford to sleep now!”

Python groans and runs the back of his hand across his eyes. How long was the archer asleep? Forsyth isn’t sure he wants to know. “Yeah, yeah, whatever you say.” He’s obviously trying to placate Forsyth, which he usually doesn’t bother to do until after he’s teased him a little. That’s odd. Forsyth doesn’t have time to give it much thought though, and he holds out a hand for the archer to take so he can pull him up.

Once Python’s on his feet, Forsyth lets go of his hand and motions for him to follow. “We’ve been tasked with packing up the weapons. Keep an eye out for anything that’s in poor shape and needs to be discarded!”

“Uh huh,” Python nods, but as usual he seems completely bored with the task they’ve been given. He’ll never show any interest in their duties in the Deliverance, will he? It’s frustrating to see his best friend’s lack of drive, but Python’s always been this way, just as Forsyth’s always been dedicated and determined.

They sort through the weapons easily enough; Python does a surprisingly good job and he doesn’t even take forever to do it, which is also strange. Forsyth’s about to ask him about it when Python speaks up, “Tomorrow really is the final battle, huh.”

Forsyth stares at him in silence for a moment, his head cocked to the side like he’s not sure what to make of Python’s words. “You’re only just now realizing that?”

Python shakes his head. “No, I knew that. It’s just finally sinking in, I guess.”

The knight sighs heavily and rests his chin on his hand. “You’re prepared, aren’t you? There’s no turning back now.”

“I know that.” The words are snapped and for a brief moment Python almost looks agitated. The moment’s over quickly though, and Python’s back to looking sort of bored as usual. “I wouldn’t leave now anyway.”

“Oh?” Forsyth questions. “I would’ve thought you’d prefer to sneak off somewhere to nap.”

“Well, yeah,” Python says like it’s the most obvious thing in the world, “but I’m not going to leave you guys in a bind when you might need me.”

There’s a moment of silence while Forsyth takes that in (and finds it sort of touching, maybe) and Python considers his words. Then he speaks up again, “Don’t you dare die on me.”

Forsyth isn’t sure how to respond. It’s the first time Python’s ever expressed a sentiment so serious even if it is worded like that. Even when they first joined the Deliverance Python never asked him to be careful. It’s strange that he would now. “Python…”

The archer leans forward then; he’s faster than Forsyth and the kiss lasts only a brief, fleeting moment before suddenly Python’s standing and picking up some of the weapons they’re getting rid of. “For luck.” He says with a cheeky grin, then he’s raising his hand in farewell before leaving.

He finds himself sitting there with a hand raised to his lips. He’s probably bright red. He doesn’t really care.

He won’t die in this battle. He can’t disappoint Python, now can he?

(And maybe he wants to repay that over and over and over again, until they’re both breathless.)

“Love” is a complicated concept. It’s not easy and it’s not simple, so why bother with it? Python doesn’t like to deal with complicated things. Love is one of the many things he doesn’t like, simply because it’s far too complex for his chosen lifestyle.

He tried it, once. A long time ago he admitted his feelings for his best friend. They’d been stupid teenagers at the time - incredibly stupid teenagers in Python’s case. They’d finally taken a break from training that day and he’d been flopped in the grass with Python sitting next to Forsyth. He still remembers the way the setting sun haloed his best friend’s green hair and the words had slipped out of his mouth before he could think to stop them.

I love you.

He could have died of embarrassment right then and there, but Forsyth had laughed, reached out a hand to ruffle his hair (it had all been black back then) and replied, I love you too.

Python could have punched him and some part of him wanted to. Forsyth really could be the densest person, sometimes.

He’s learned his lesson from that stupid mistake all those years ago. He won’t ever make that mistake again. So when he does get up the nerve to try kissing Forsyth, it’s with a smirk and all the confident swagger he can muster. Because he’s not afraid anymore and he’s certainly not worried about those stupid little words.

I love you, Forsyth tells him one day. I’ve always loved you.

He does punch Forsyth then, but it doesn’t bother the knight any and Python has to shake his hand out afterwards.

Yeah, well, maybe I love you too.

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drabbles—

ANTITHESIS

HEIGHTS

GRUBBIN

RESTART

AGAIN AND AGAIN

EXECUTION

FAMILY

BLOODSTAINED

THANKS

KISS DAY 1 - MEMORIES

KISS DAY 2 - HUSH

KISS DAY 3 - VICTORY

KISS DAY 4 - TAG

KISS DAY 5 - SPEECHLESS

FOLLOWER

BREATHLESS

COMPLICATED