Drabble roundup!
You all are awesome. <3
Here's all of them collected for easy perusal. Mostly FFXII, mostly worksafe - I'll mark the ones that aren't. Huge honking spoilers for FFXII all the way to the end of the game.
...and feel free to throw more things at me. It beats writing about the Kitzmiller case.
For laylah:
Basch/Gabranth, dawn. Another chance.
( Gabranth wakes to pain. )
Here's all of them collected for easy perusal. Mostly FFXII, mostly worksafe - I'll mark the ones that aren't. Huge honking spoilers for FFXII all the way to the end of the game.
...and feel free to throw more things at me. It beats writing about the Kitzmiller case.
For laylah:
Basch/Gabranth, dawn. Another chance.
( Gabranth wakes to pain. )
And if you'd really like more prompts, I'm always happy to obey! ♥
Larsa/Penelo: A Very. Bad. Break-up.
Larsa/World Following the Break-up: Emperor of everything he surveys, ruler of nothing he really wants.
Larsa and Drace: Getting girl advice after the events at Bhujerba.
Penelo and her brothers: On growing up.
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And sorry about these drabbles coming in a bit late. The rest should be done soon! Penelo and Larsa's breakup gets a double-drabble, just because.
***
“You sent your men to spy on me!”
Penelo’s aim is as good as ever. The brass pendant strikes Larsa’s forehead, leaving the royal seal of Archades imprinted in vivid red above his brow. The air flees his lungs in shock.
“You go too far,” he hisses, willing his voice not to crack. “How dare you-”
“How dare I?” she echoes, blotches of scarlet rising on her cheeks. “You sent your-your stupid Imperial dogs to sniff out my trail! Vaan and I had to fly through jagd to shake them off, did you know that? We nearly crashed ( ... )
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God. I love you so much for this. ♥
And please feel free to take as long as you'd like for the drabbles-- or disregard them altogether! I don't want to impose on you, though the thought of more thrills me quite a lot. ;) ♥
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***
Larsa no longer sleeps, Basch observes. He scowls out the window with red-rimmed eyes and bellows himself hoarse at his servants.
“I cannot work in this environment!” he explodes one afternoon, knocking over his ink bottle and staining the wrinkled sleeve of his tunic black. Basch peers at it closely; it is the same tunic he wore yesterday, and the day before that. “Do something about this, Gabranth!”
“My lord, if you were to send word to her-”
Larsa stabs his desk savagely with his quill. “I refuse.”
“Then I know not what I can do,” Basch says softly.
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