#guest muse: ardbert.

[flowerwept]

@unblot said:  ✍️ our favorite ghostie aardvark

In recent days, Ardbert has spent most of his time sharpening his axe. Something to pass the time, maybe, maybe it made him feel useful, maybe he could pretend that the encroaching Flood was something he might be able to hit with his axe and send it all rushing back to where it had started. After all, he’d started it with one swing of his axe -- maybe -- maybe. Maybe he just wants to believe in his own power. Or anyone’s really. That there might have been a different outcome than this. That it could go differently if he just started changing his ways now. He sets his axe aside, handle resting against the stump, and puts his head in his hands. WHY DID IT END UP THIS WAY? Maybe if he had thought it through more, maybe if he had cut Cylva down, maybe if he hadn’t set off on his adventures, maybe if he had picked the trade of the Paladin instead, maybe. Maybe maybe maybe.

“I don’t understand, Seto,”  he says to the amaro, whose head raises sleepily upon hearing his name.  “I really don’t. It wasn’t supposed to go like this. Ever. I--how were we supposed to know?”  Seto lets out a rumbly low cry--Ardbert would like to believe Seto understands. He peers at the amaro from where he sits, brow softening. He sets the whetstone down next to him and then the warrior of light -- no, warrior, just warrior, no more light please, no more -- gets to his feet and crosses over to Seto, ruffling the spot behind the amaro’s jaw that he loved having pet so much.  “I’m going to miss you. You better--you better go on some adventures of your own after I’m gone. And--I’ll make sure that someone leaves some food out for you or something. So you better not let those wings of yours go unused. Alright?”  Ardbert smiles -- he’s not really sure how, but he manages it anyways. A hand gives one last firm pat against Seto’s neck. The amaro says ‘gwee’, and Ardbert decides that’s a promise between the two of them.  “Alright.”

[karoiseka]

FFXIVWrite2020 Master List

Welp, I actually did it this year!!  All 30 days ON TIME with something written each day, INCLUDING all 4 bonus days!!  They’re all listed here below the cut, and also on my tag of #FFXIVWrite2020

Thank you @sea-wolf-coast-to-coast​ for hosting and giving such interesting prompts! (even if some of them had me and friends going “Huuuuuuh?” at them! lol)  

Despite lack of sleep this past month, I’m really proud of getting all of this written!  This will all also make it’s way into an AO3 post when I get the chance, probably with some heavy editing on a few of these. ^_^

Total Word count (according to google docs): 17,800

Longest: Ache at 2191

Shortest: Free Day 1 at 86

Favorites:  Sway, Clamor, Ache, Free Day 3, Lucubration, Beam, and Splinter

I’m going to write up a separate post of friends Master lists (probably with much editing to keep adding ones knowing me) here in a couple of days when a bunch of them are posted.

I hope anyone reading this has enjoyed at least some of what I’ve posted, and I thank all of my friends for cheering me on here and on Discord!!  Now… to sleep. Lol

I would say a good half of these are 5.0-5.3 Spoilers abound (and I was gonna try SO HARD not to make most of them that “late” in the game...), so please, tread carefully if you haven’t finished the MSQ!!  List is under the cut, now with patch/expansion it takes place in and notes!

Crux - 3.3, Karo reacts to Ishgard politics.

Sway - 4.0, Karo x Thancred

Muster - 3.0, Not quite feeling being a Hero

Clinch - 4.0, Karo has a little fun with Lyse

Matter of Fact - 5.0, Karo with Ardbert talking about feelings

Free Day 1 - 5.3, sappy sappy shippy nonesense.

Nonagenarian - 5.x?, Karo and Exarch training

Clamor - 5.3, Karo x G’raha silliness

Lush - 5.0, Karo x Thancred emotions

Avail - 4.56, Karo’s pain at what’s happening with the Scions

Ultracrepidarian - 5.3, Enter Kar’azem!! Amaurot timeframe.

Tooth and Nail - 2.0, Karo meets Elidibus for the first time

Free Day 2 - 5.0, Karo x Ardbert

Part - 5.3, Karo says goodbye in her own way

Ache 5.3, literally, expanded from MSQ ending

Lucubration 5.0, Lyse grows up watching the Exarch

Fade - 5.3, Karo introspective with song and stars

Panglossian - 2.0, Haurchefant lifting spirits

Where the Heart Is - 5.3, Poetry?!

Free Day 3 5.0, Karo x Ardbert at Amaurot

Foibles 2.0, Karo baby-scion.

Argy-bargy 5.0, Karo x Ardbert argument silliness

Shuffle 4.56, Karo ANGST

Beam 5.3, Reflections on a relationship, Shippy nonsense Karo x G’raha, the “hidden” scene at the end.

Wish 5.0, Exarch musings and reflections

When Pigs Fly 5.0, Karo teasing Alisaie

Free Day 4 4.56, Karo and music and the Scions

Irenic 5.3, Kar’azem end of days

Paternal Pre-2.0, Karo backstory!

Splinter 5.0, Hades MSQ retelling with extra musings (guest appearances by the Turtle Crew!)

[eightlittletalons]

Prompt #9: Lush

Definition of lush 1: growing vigorously, especially with luxuriant foliage 2: opulent, sumptuous 3: (slang) intoxicating liquor : a habitual heavy drinker

My wife: What’s today’s prompt? Lush? You could write something spicy! Me: Haha yeah *proceeds to write about E’andhris making healthy decisions (/s) and drunkenly flirting with the Exarch post-slaying of Amh Araeng’s Lightwarden*

To be fair, it does get a little spicy at the end. On AO3, this will be rated M, for reference. 

The Scions had returned to the Crystarium, the conquering heroes after their latest victory over the Lightwarden in Amh Araeng. Though instead of accompanying his fellows to debrief with the Crystal Exarch and discuss their plans for Kholusia, E’andhris had been sent to bed by Y’shtola like an errant kit. His own mother had doled out similar punishments whenever he’d explored a little too for from home as an actual child. 

He stalked angrily towards the Pendants, feeling frustrated by his lack of control over the Light he carried within him. His pride was likewise scuffed at being treated as though he were fragile by Y’shtola and Ryne, though the concerned look in the young girl’s eyes especially haunted him. He really must be in deep shit this time. Beyond that...Minfilia. 

Seeing his dear, old friend again had ripped open the barely healed wound of losing her to begin with. She’d been among the first of the Scions to make him feel truly welcomed among them. A sister in all but blood, ripped from his grasp thrice over. 

Fuck. He needed a bath and a drink, and he didn’t care in what order they came in. Although...the Wandering Stairs just so happened to be on the way to the Pendants, so technically he wouldn’t be entirely disobeying Y’shtola’s strict orders by making a detour. He swung right, up the stairs, and leaned his elbows against the counter. 

Darlfort took one look at him and gave a sympathetic wince. “You look like shit, lad,” the galdjent said, bending to grab something from beneath the counter. “You’ll be wanting something strong, I’m assuming?” At E’andrhis’ eager nod, Darlfort placed a large bottle down with a clink. The Warrior recognized the label from his early days in Norvrandt, playing delivery boy. 

“Much obliged,” E’andhris replied as cheerfully as he could force. He reached for the liquor, cradling it gingerly in the crook of his arm as he dug into his coin purse. Before he could pull out a single gil, Darlfort snorted and gave the miqo’te a look. Shrugging, E’andhris turned to take his leave. Blast the Crystal Exarch for taking such good care of his special guest that E’andhris couldn’t even pay for his own booze while within the Crystarium’s bounds. 

-----------------------------------

It turned out that E’andhris wasn’t able to enjoy his liquor immediately. He’d returned to Ardbert waiting for him, and then his...condition flared up. He was only glad that he’d managed to get the bottle onto the table before the Light within him bubbled to the surface, bringing him with a cry to his knees. He’d barely registered Ardbert running to his side through the pain. He felt the tingling sensation of the hume’s heavy hand upon his arm and suddenly his vision cleared, and he could draw breath again. The men stared at each other in shock, then Ardbert made a hasty retreat, muttering some nonsense about not being a hero. 

Left alone, it was harder to ignore. The panic. E’andhris uncorked the liquor with his teeth as he undressed and filled the small bathtub with steaming water. He spat the cork somewhere on the floor uncaring of where it ended up. He took a large swig of the drink as he stepped into water hot enough to turn his skin red on contact, and he almost coughed at the harsh burn the alcohol left in its wake. It had been far too long since he last imbibed, clearly. The smell alone made him dizzy. Placing the bottle on the floor beside the tub, he sank into the water up to his ears, holding his breath and counting to ten. 

Soon, he thought, Soon they’d travel to Kholusia and Ryne would be able to pinpoint the precise location of the final Lightwarden. Soon, he’d slay the monstrosity, bringing night back to Norvrandt for good, and then...what? The Exarch had the utmost faith in his ability to hold all of the Light within himself, without issue, though that clearly wasn’t the case. Perhaps he would finally die, having cheated death one too many times. His panic clawed its way from his chest, though E’andhris shoved it back down, chasing it with another large mouthful of liquor. Now was not the time to lose it. 

Taking a third sip, he began to furiously scrub at his skin and scalp. Time to focus on what he could control, such as freeing himself of the sand and grit of Amh Araeng. By the time he was finished, his skin burned from the harsh treatment, but the pain had served its purpose of helping him to center himself. Hauling himself out of the now tepid, filthy water, he glanced at his bed. Absolutely not. 

Instead of retiring to bed like he probably should, he dressed in the himation and sarouel he’d been fond of wearing on the Source, and gently folded the robes he’d received from the Night’s Blessed for later laundering. Slipping into his simple leather shoes, he grabbed the liquor once more and fled from the suite into the cool night air. 

-----------------------------------

The Exarch knocked on the door to E’andhris’ chambers and waited more than a little anxiously. He rubbed absently at his crystallized arm at the prolonged silence, and hoped he wouldn’t have to wake the Warrior. When the Scions had come to meet him in the Ocular without E’andhris in their company, his mood had fallen. With the group leaving for Kholusia soon, he’d hoped to spend more time with the tall miqo’te mage, against his better judgement. 

But when Y’shtola and the newly named Ryne made their entrance with worriedly pensive expressions, his heart caught in his throat. As they explained about the Warrior’s struggle to contain the Light after Storge’s defeat, his alarm rose. Every ilm of his body urged him to end the meeting and run the distance between the tower and E’andhris’ room, to throw himself at his feet, and beg for his forgiveness for putting him through such pain. Instead, he kept his face schooled into polite concern. He made excuse after sickening, riddle of an excuse in the face of their worry for their dear friend. 

After all, he would soon fix this fine mess that he’d created of their lives. 

In the present, his sandaled foot tapped an impatient beat on the tiles of the Pendants’ hallway. He decided to knock a little louder, and waited once more. Still no answer. Pressing gently on the door, the Exarch was surprised when it opened with the softest of creaks. He warily stepped into the dark room, glancing this way and that. The Warrior wasn’t here, though signs of him were. The astringent scent of strong alcohol lingered in the air, mixing with the humidity of a hot bath. The flimsy blue, feathered robes that E’andhris had taken to wearing on the First lay folded on the end of his bed, though his shorts and myriad of accessories lay scattered over the floor. 

So come and gone, the Exarch mused. But where would the mage have gone at this late hour? He made a note to ask the staff to ensure that E’andrhis’ robes were gently washed of the grime from the desert, as he left to search for his wayward Warrior. 

-----------------------------------

A bell and a half had passed, and the Exarch grew more frantic in his searching. Surely, E’andhris wouldn’t be so foolish to leave the city in his state, on his own, in the middle of the night. Surely. Perhaps if he told himself that several more times, he’d believe it. For as long as he’d known the Warrior, he had been headstrong and painfully self-sufficient. Ever one to shoulder others’ burdens without a care for his own. 

It was one of the things that first drew him to the man. A true hero. Now it was the cause of his headache. With a great sigh, the Exarch began to make the ascent up the watchtower - his favorite place in the Crystarium when he wished to just exist. His hope was that he’d be able to somehow spot E’andhris if he had indeed made the trek into Lakeland. If not, then to the Ocular he’d go to scry upon the troublesome mage. However the thought was dismissed as he heard faint...singing? 

The Exarch forced his legs to carry him more quickly to the top and paused, breathless from exertion, when he finally found his Warrior. He sat precariously on the edge of the platform with his legs dangling off into the open air. The hooded man let out another sigh - this time of relief - as his feet carried him hurriedly to E’andhris’ side. 

He reeked of the same scent he’d caught in the Pendants, and his eyes easily found the culprit clutched in the Warrior’s hand. A bottle of the Wandering Stair’s finest, three-fourths of the way finished. “Oh, E’andhris,” he breathed sadly, settling down beside the thoroughly soused hero with a soft grunt of exertion. 

“Exarch!” the other miqo’te cried, throwing his arms wide in an exuberant greeting. Those arms came around him tightly in a friendly embrace, taking the Exarch by surprise. The Warrior was in a good mood, then. 

E’andhris’ strawberry blonde hair was down, damp yet from his bath. In all his time in Norvrandt, the Warrior had kept it pulled back from his face in a charming little ponytail, with silver pins holding back errant strands. Seeing it loose brought back memories of before. It was...distracting. 

He cleared his throat. “What are you doing all the way up here, E’andhris? Are you all right?” he asked, tamping down the urge to reach out and brush a lock of the Warrior’s hair away from his cheek. His hand made an aborted attempt anyway. Instead, he redirected it to pluck the bottle from E’andhris’ hand and placed it far out of reach. 

“I needed some air,” the Warrior replied blandly, his blue and brown eyes settling more than a little unfocused on what little of the Exarch’s face he could see. He flinched when E’andhris’ now empty hand shot out to trace the crystal curled along his cheek in a decidedly intimate caress. “The Light started hurting again.”

The Exarch took a deep, calming breath and gently wrapped his hand around E’andhris’ wrist to pull his touch away - an act that took no small amount of will. “Does it yet pain you or has it passed?” he asked, a traitorous finger caressing against the skin of the Warrior’s soft palm. E’andhris let out a soft gasp and twisted out of his grasp, instead twining their fingers together. That...wasn’t better. 

“’S better now,” E’andhris replied, slurring his words as he scooted closer to lay his head on top of the Exarch’s cowl. He let his breath out in a hiss through his teeth, urging himself to move away from the display of affection. Instead, he leaned against his friend’s side. E’andhris began to purr in delight, and the sound went straight to the Exarch’s loins. 

“Thank goodness for that. I would not wish to see you suffer,” he whispered, damning himself further as he wrapped his spoken arm around E’andhris’ trim waist to hold him closer. He forced himself to give the speech he had intended to present to the Warrior in his chambers. “You must survive this, no matter what.”

The Warrior nodded, clearly only half listening. He nuzzled against the fabric of the hood beneath his cheek, and the Exarch was never happier in that moment that he kept it enchanted to stay in place. “Exarch...” E’andhris breathed, and he leaned in to listen. “When I kill the last Warden, will your work finally be done?”

“Yes, I believe it will,” the Exarch replied after a short pause. He steeled himself to push through the half-truth. “Once the tyranny of Light is ended, the people of the Crystarium will be safe, and the future that must be shall come to pass.”

E’andhris gave a happy hum, bunting against the Exarch in a move so loving that it brought tears to his crimson eyes. “That will be nice. We should do something fun after everything,” the Warrior said, his gaze somewhere between the hooded man’s nose and chin. “There’s those hot springs our in Lakeland. I bet one word from the Crystal Exarch would see them vacated for a private occasion.” His tone was playful, flirtatious even, and each word twisted the knife in the Exarch’s heart further. 

“I’ll see what I can do,” he found himself promising. “For now, though, we should get you to your bed.” E’andhris gave a sound of dissent, and the Exarch had to drag him to his feet. The tall miqo’te dissolved into giggles when he realized his legs refused to hold himself up reliably. In spite of himself, a fond smile found its way to the Exarch’s lips. 

“You’re very strong,” E’andhris cooed, as he wrapped an arm around the Exarch’s shoulders in an effort to keep himself upright. They began to make their very slow descent from the top of the tower. The caretaker had to grab hold of E’andhris’ waist firmly with both arms to keep him from listing too far one direction or the other. 

“You’re very drunk, E’andhris,” the Exarch responded with a snort. He started as he felt the Warrior’s thumb tip his head up to face his. His friend was looking at his lips, he realized with alarming clarity. 

“And you’re incredibly pretty. Has anyone ever told you that, o’ Crystal Exarch?”

The Exarch quickened their pace as they reached the ground. He needed to get his inebriated hero to bed, and not in the way his lower half was desiring. He felt a lecherous old man, that he even found E’andhris appealing in such a state. “I may have heard it once or twice in my many years,” he gritted out. He forced himself to ignore E’andhris’ increasingly wandering hands as they made their way towards the Pendants. He only hoped the manager wasn’t there to witness whatever was happening between the two of them. 

The gods must have finally decided to smile upon him for the first time that night, for the lobby was empty when they arrived. E’andhris began to fumble for his key, and the Exarch rolled his saccharine eyes from beneath the gloom of his hood. “There’s no need for that. You left your room unlocked in your grand escape,” he grumped. The Warrior had the decency to look mildly ashamed at that, at least. He dragged the taller man into the room and dumped him on the bed, intending to make a quick getaway, when the mage grabbed his crystal wrist and pulled. 

The Exarch stumbled, thrown off balance, and braced himself on the bed hovering over top of the Warrior who grinned like a lovestruck fool. “You could stay,” he whispered in a tone the Exarch had never thought to hear with his own ears. E’andhris stretched out beneath him in a way that send levin straight to his already hardened cock. Seven hells. 

“No,” he gasped forcefully, scrambling to his feet and putting several fulms between them. He should leave. He should leave right now. Then E’andhris pouted, and the Exarch opened his mouth to comfort him, to his complete horror. “I would not have our first time be one that you forget.” 

He clapped crystal hand over his mouth hard, likely bruising his lip in the process. E’andhris gazed up at him, surprised and obviously equally interested. The Exarch turned and rushed from the room before he could hear whatever witty retort his inspiration could come up with to convince him to set aside his rapidly deteriorating defenses. He could only hope that E’andrhis truly did forget this come morning light. 

[storms-path]

Day 28 – Bow

“We need to talk.”

Alisaie’s voice brooked no argument as she stood in front of Sanda, arms firmly crossed. Sanda looked up from her polishing, motioning for Alisaie to sit beside her. This was all the encouragement the young elezen needed as she flung herself with gusto into the offered chair. “I assume this is about my wayward sister,” said Sanda once she was certain Alisaie was good and settled.

“Well of course it is!” exclaimed Alisaie in a furious outburst. “Honestly, does she have NO sense of self-preservation whatsoever? You’d think she’d at least have enough awareness to not charge directly into danger without some support!” Sanda quietly swallowed the comment she was going to make regarding Alisaie’s own lack of forethought. “Ugh, how are we supposed to protect her when she’s malms ahead of us all!”

There was more to that final sentence than just physical distance, Sanda sensed. Most of the Scions had quietly accepted that Arashi was on a different level in terms of sheer might, but Alisaie, of course, took it as a challenge. A challenge she might have eventually met, had Arashi not rejoined with Ardbert and grown stronger still. To say nothing of the fact that she may be some reincarnation of Azeyma herself. It was all rather unfair, to say the least.

“And you want to know the worst thing?” Alisaie was still speaking, unheeding of Sanda’s musings. “The worst thing is, she’s just so bloody humble about it!” Alisaie was out of the chair now, pacing to and fro with uncontainable energy. “’Oh, sorry Alisaie! I’ll do better next time, Alisaie! I didn’t realise I was bleeding from a hundred bloody places, Alisaie!’ UGH!” Alisaie threw herself back into the chair with a huff. Sanda put her bow to one side. While she sympathised with Alisaie’s frustrations regarding Arashi’s headlong tendencies, there didn’t seem to be much point complaining about it to the Warrior of Light’s already-beleaguered sister.

“I know, I know, I should talk to her about this instead of bothering you.” Alisaie apparently could read Sanda’s mind now. “But every time I try and bring it up, she manages to change the subject on me! Did you know she and Lyse went and got married, or did she ‘forget’ to tell you too?” Sanda nodded non-committally, deciding to keep quiet the fact that she was the only guest at said wedding, nor that it had lasted all of five minutes before Lyse had carried her new wife away. Definitely shouldn’t mention I was the one who egged her on so much.

“So, let me guess, you wanted me to bring it up with her?” Sanda chose a much less inflammatory path of action, finally giving Alisaie the push she so desperately needed. They’d be here all day if she didn’t.

“Could you?” All of Alisaie’s anger was gone in a flash, visibly deflating the young woman. “I just can’t get her to see reason, and…” I don’t want her to get herself killed. The unspoken words hung in the air between them, darkening the already dingy room. Sanda nodded.

“I don’t know if I can get through to her, but I’ll try.” She tried not to sound like the hypocrite she was when she said it. Alisaie’s face immediately brightened, so the words had their intended effect at least.

“Thank you so much,” she said, showing a rare bit of humility. “I owe you one for this. Anything you need, just say the word. A Levellieur stands by her debts.” There were times that Sanda could barely tell Alphinaud and Alisaie were related from their actions, but that heartfelt sincerity shone through them both like a lighthouse in the dark. Sanda was reminded of the Scions’ stories of Louisoix, how his strength and ironclad determination saw Eorzea through its darkest hour. It was a humbling thing, to be subjected to that kind of earnestness.

So of course the best thing to do was to get recompense immediately and not have such a weight on her shoulders. “You want to repay me, you say?” Alisaie’s radiant smile dimmed a little as she realised she may have bitten off more than she could chew. Sanda smiled in turn, handing her the barely-worked bow and unfletched arrows. “Give me a hand with maintaining these, would you?”

It was worth accepting such an impossible task, Sanda thought, if it meant seeing the look of incredulity on Alisaie’s face. Sanda could see the protests forming on her lips, the exclamations that she didn’t know the first thing about bow maintenance, that she couldn’t work with wood to save her life, that surely there could be some other favour she could perform. But to her credit, no words passed from Alisaie’s tightly shut lips.

Sanda couldn’t help but laugh at the forced calm that Alisaie was desperately trying to project. “Don’t worry, I’ll show you the ropes.” Alisaie breathed a visible sigh of relief, looking much more ready to tackle the task at hand. “After all,” Sanda continued. “I’d like to make sure my arrows don’t wind up feathering my sister instead of my enemies.”

The look on Alisaie’s face was a picture Sanda would treasure for the rest of her life. It was well worth the furious rant she received in retaliation.

[flowerwept]

@antipyre said: ✍️  + WAIT can you do ardbert too would you be mad

On the Source things feel so normal. And were it not for the circumstances that brought them here, Ardbert might say he’s enjoying himself. Remembering why he started this in the first place. There’s an indescribable joy at seeing new places and meeting new people. But that burden knocks on the underside of his skull always, and a little bit of guilt presses into his fingers every time Ardbert picks up his axe again / again / again / forge ahead, always -- till the bitter end, and with their luck it would certainly leave a bad taste in everyone’s mouth.

The snow crunches underneath his heels. Ishgard reminds Ardbert of Voeburt--he knows if even he can make this connection, then Branden must be especially struggling and attempting to reconcile his own experiences back home with this new land. Corruption: always a moment away. Never any time to rest. But here they are villains, not heroes, and it is not their job to clean up the mess.

“Elf names are said so strangely here,”  and Ardbert’s shoulder knocks Nyelbert’s as he passes the mage, attempting to wrestle some banter back into the day.  “Wouldn’t you say so, Naillebert?”  Nyelbert shoots him a look from underneath the wide-brimmed hat, and Ardbert could swear things were okay. Maybe if I close my eyes, I can pretend we’re back home -- maybe when I open them --

“’Tis a better alias than ‘Arbert,’“  the mage retorts, arms crossing in front of him crossly.

“That, I cannot deny,”  Ardbert laughs and his cheeks dimple, spread of freckles catching the harsh winter sun. A hand rubs at his neck.  “Call it panic. Or stupidity.”

“Or both,”  Renda-Rae chimes in, and it’s Ardbert’s turn to shoot a look / but he can’t play the villain all the way through, and the glare falls short just a moment too soon before it can have any real weight to it -- falling short seems to be a talent of his.

“Alright, alright. In my defense, coming up with a name is a difficult endeavor!”  He’d already done it once with Ardbert and he wouldn’t be assed to try it again any time soon.  “But point taken.”