Character update (and also life update, let's be real): Ahtyn has her undercut back. Because I'm growing out my hair IRL. 🧚🏼‍♂️❤️

Christening the new gaming laptop with a benchmark screenshot and the five most beautiful words: "EXTREMELY HIGH on Maximum settings"!

Livvy's #FFXIVWrite 2023 Wrap-Up Post

Hi all! First and foremost, I want to thank everyone who's engaged with the stuff I've written for what is now my FIFTH consecutive year of #FFXIVWrite!

For the past few years, this challenge has been the primary vehicle for the XIV writing things I've always said I'll get around to writing - I went back to check and ten of this year's prompts include interactions or scenarios I've had in my head for multiple years! So as always, thank you SO much to @sea-wolf-coast-to-coast for creating this beautiful event. It's truly become one of my favorite parts of being in this game's community.

I wish I could say I had things I learned about myself, my writing or my characters this time around - but to be honest, the biggest thing I've learned is not to tempt fate by saying "I have completed this challenge in past years in spite of various life crises," because oh my god, y'all. Oh my fucking god. (Everything is fine but I am so tired.)

(Actually, okay, there was one common trend: I wrote way more NSFW material this year than in past years. Which I'm honestly really glad about, because this is an area I've always felt has not been one of my strong suits as a writer!)

So without further ado, below are my prompts for this year in their entirety, organized by character in order of frequency! I've bolded the pieces I'm especially proud or fond of.

If I get a handful of likes on this post, I might post some of my drafts - I had way more this year than in past years, so it'd be fun to share them now and see if folks are interested in me continuing any of them!

Livvy Ahtynwyb

Ashelia Riot

Ashley Rosenheim

Alma Malheur

Ingvald Bloodhound

Hrjt Brotin

Marco

Sappho

Astodan (a character I hope you all will learn more about soon!)

Blackram

Élodie Fiel

Ludo Swiftwind

Lyhe Il

Sigrid Keane

Stella Riot

Tircolas Flow

Tircolas Flow's Baba (whose name I'm 99% sure I know but don't want to reveal in case I decide to retcon it later)

PROMPT #30: Amity

She heard the voice before she saw it: a quiet little lilt giving life to a song about a queen from antiquity. Amid the cloud-filled skies, its origin did not take long to spot, shining amid the trees as they were.

It was a pixie, clad all in blue and flitting from flower to flower as they surveyed each and every petal.

She stood rooted in place, uncertain that this could be anything but a belated midsummer dream - until her courage found her, and her voice followed suit.

"Is that you, my friend?"

They did not scatter, as she had half expected them to. They turned from their task, surveyed her, and very nearly fell out of the air in surprise.

"Lyhe Il!" they exclaimed, and at once found a home upon her sunburnt shoulder. "How long has it been, my sweet flower - one year, or one hundred?"

Her friend, of course, looked exactly the same as they had in her fondest childhood memories.

"Twelve years," she confirmed. "And I'm sorry I haven't returned. I…" Her apologies turned to excuses in her mouth before she could even give them form. Her friend deserved better. The fae themselves deserved better. "…I'm sorry."

But her friend merely shook their silvery head. "Why, you've been busy! Busy becoming a proper lady!"

Lyhe Il could not help but laugh, as she was about as far from proper or a lady as one could get. Most of the palace's residents reminded her of such on a daily basis - albeit through accidental exclusions more often than overt remarks - such that she knew her place among them all too well.

"Besides," they added. "We've been waiting for you, watching for you. Sometimes intervening, sometimes interfering. Only when we deem it fair!"

That, too, she did not doubt: there had been enough cases of soured milk and withered plants and other happenings that had given the more superstitious palace staff a leg up in the daily chores. Tadric had once woken up with his bootlaces tied into nine separate knots and had ranted about it for long enough that anyone listening disregarded anything he he had to say for the remainder of the afternoon.

"In truth," Lyhe Il said, "I've come back because… because I need a friend. Someone who knows the strangest parts of me, and accepts them without reservation."

Her friend nodded and gave her a friendly pat to the back of her ear.

"And I have realized that if being a lady means giving up that which makes me fierce and free… I do not want it." It was such a dangerous thought to speak aloud, to say nothing of how deeply this newfound conviction would hurt her parents.

But she could not keep it hidden for any longer.

"I will join you in the palace whenever you deem me welcome," her friend said, beaming with joy and pride. "You have but to say the words - I know you remember them!"

Acht-la ormh inn. Indeed she remembered them - thought of them often, even. Lyhe Il smiled and left the cloudy glen, and her friend flitted off to a new bed of flowers, leaving only a trail of sparkling dust along her garments to signal that they had been there at all.

PROMPT #29: Contravention

"It's alright," Ilberd reassured her. "If she starts to get snippy with you, I'll put her in her place."

Stella glared at him. "I don't want that."

"Or," he offered, "I'll call the Grand Steward, and she can recommend a formal censuring." He was clearly enjoying himself now, with a grin on his face the likes of which she rarely saw from him. "I can practically read the report on Raubahn's desk now. Something about cruelty to children."

But this was reassurance of a sort she did not want, and she did not know how to tell him so without possibly seeming ungrateful. "Do you think Morgana will be mad, really?"

"Not if you don't use that gift of yours."

He had taken to calling it that - her "gift" - whenever they were outside of the Undercity. There was always a note of irony to it, as he had held her through enough of her more recent visions to know the pain it so often brought; at the same time, she had once or twice heard his ghost ponder idly how many more souls he might have gathered in the desert with a Heart-Seer's power at his side.

"Go on," he urged her. "Before the chirurgeon comes back and starts asking questions."

That, too, was a scenario she wished to avoid. She opened the infirmary door, her token clutched tight in her sweating hand, and Ilberd held it open fully for her to proceed.

Morgana Arroway lay all the way in the back of the hall, given some measure of privacy through screens that made the room feel to Stella even more like a maze. One of them had been painted with markings that she recognized as Doman calligraphy; she had seen some from Edge's collection of items he'd obtained while in Yanxia and Kugane, but she could not recognize the word or phrase the characters were meant to convey.

"Who's there?" Morgana called from her bed. "I can hear your breathing."

Stella shuffled forward, half expecting Ilberd to follow close behind her and unnerved when he instead lingered by the door. "It's me," she said, and tried not to pay too much attention to the floor. "S-Sorry if I woke you."

Morgana relaxed; her shoulders fell back onto her pillows, and the deep lines around her eyes eased somewhat. "No, it's alright," she replied, and Stella felt the tension release from her own shoulders in kind. "I'm tired of sleeping, but there's precious little else to do while I'm stuck here."

She nodded in understanding.

"Why are you here? Not to stand and gawk at me, I imagine."

Stella felt her face flush. "Sorry," she said again. "I wanted to apologize. For being in the palace when I shouldn't have been, a while back. You were just trying to keep Raubahn safe." Morgana's eyes narrowed anew, and Stella remembered Ilberd's sole warning. "Th-That's what Ashe told me."

There came a rustle from beneath the covers, and Morgana's right arm emerged to beckon her to sit in the chair at her bedside. Stella heeded her without delay, not least of all because she and Ilberd had been on their feet throughout the morning.

"I made you something," she said at last, and held out the token for Morgana to take.

It was smaller than Stella would have liked, as they had not been able to spend much time in Coldhearth, everywhere else was selling the materials for a premium, and she had thought it wisest not to get Neesa involved in this particular instance. All the same, Morgana's eyes widened at the sight of the palm fronds fashioned into the shape of a diamond, no more than a few ilms across - small enough to tuck into a breast pocket.

"A Miriam's cross," she remarked. "I haven't seen one of these in years."

"It's supposed to keep you and your home safe from harm," she explained, though Morgana surely knew its significance far better than she did. "I had the Laurel Sigil bless it with holy water, too, so it'll help keep away the undead."

Sihtric had told her that Morgana was not at all fond of the Undercity, but from the smile on the woman's face, she could guess that the gesture was nonetheless appreciated for what it was. "My thanks, Stella. I'll be certain to keep it on me until I'm well, and until the commander is safe." True to her words, when Morgana stowed the Miriam's cross, she placed it down the front of her hospital gown. "Was there anything else?"

Stella shook her head. "No. But-" She took a moment to consider before taking a leap. "-I'll come back tomorrow with some books."

Before the woman could deny this next gesture of kindness, she ducked out behind the curtain and exited the infirmary, not so much as checking that Ilberd was following behind her.

I love you FFXIVWrite I love you #xivdays I love you FebHyurary and all its spinoffs.

The sheer amount of love and energy people put into these sorts of creative events is always so evident, and it's by far one of my favorite things about this community.

PROMPT #28: Blunt

Hrjt had traveled back to the Orbonne Monastery some few times since her expedition with Ahtyn.

She had never done so under the influence of fogweed.

It had been Fran's idea, as plenty of the plant had returned with the Dalmascan Resistance from the expedition to Camp Broken Glass. ("I have long appreciated Eorzeans' knack for provisioning," she had commented.) And in truth, the dangers in their survey were quite diminished. Yet even removed from the High Seraph's influence, the ancient aether combined with the remnants of eras past provided countless opportunities for something malevolent to linger and feed. If anything, a bit of fogweed provided a greater sense of identifying corners within the monastery where things felt "off."

"Do you hear that?" Hrjt whispered.

Fran's eyelids were already heavy and the whites of her eyes were shot through with pink, but her ears twitched to sounds that Hrjt's could no longer detect in full. "A ghost," she murmured. "But it cannot seem to decide whether to manifest."

"Then we wait for it to do so."

Fran nodded her agreement. As she passed beneath the towering portrait of Saint Ajora with impeccable confidence, Hrjt - far less sure-footed than she had been only a few bells ago - readied her staff just in case and tried to follow close behind.

PROMPT #27: Sole

Rosenheim had only traveled so far south on one prior occasion, and the circumstances had not permitted him time for socialization. The dry air tasted as he remembered it from Ashelia's memories, and all the bitterness she associated with it came to the fore of his own emotions; then, not so far from the entrance, two women's laughter cut through the quiet.

He found Gundobald further from where he usually took up guard, cleaning his pike of peiste guts at the southern entrance. The man glanced up as Rosenheim made his humble approach.

"Can I help you, traveler?"

For the first time in longer than he could remember, Rosenheim hesitated.

"I wanted to speak with you directly," he began. "And in private."

"If this is about safe passage home," Gundobald replied, "I'll have to connect you via mail with Bertliana, our representative on the new council. She's facilitating as many relocations as she's been able, with priority going to the most needy."

"Thank you," said Rosenheim, "but I've just come from the Ala Mhigan capital."

For the first time, suspicion crossed over the old bear's wrinkled face.

"I've owed you a meeting for quite some time," he continued. "From one soldier to another-" Here he looked around, the better to determine that they were not being overheard. "-I've wanted to thank you for taking care of my daughter."

Gundobald's hand stilled. He set down his pike upon the desert earth and stood to take his full measure of Rosenheim. For the first time, too, he saw the man as Ashe likely saw him.

"Riot," he breathed.

Ashe had warned him plenty of times that their surname was not popular in the refugee camps, as too many of the others' loved ones had been disappeared during the Mad King's purges. To hear Gundobald speak it so softly put that understanding into perspective. All the same, he nodded.

"It is no less than I would have done for any child," Gundobald began. He opened his mouth as if to continue that line of explanation, then shook his head. "I owed it to your sister. To Alma. She saved my life and the lives of my men during the king's reign."

Try as he might, Rosenheim could not recall any incident like this from his memory or his daughter's.

Gundobald's mustaches fluttered as he let out a heavy breath, staring out across the same lifeless stretch of the Sagolii that he had surely seen for more than twenty years. "I led a group of us from the Saltery to the city gates. We gathered more and more people along the road until we became a mob. Perhaps we thought ourselves the mob that would storm the palace, even." He shook his head to indicate the foolishness of that notion. "And Alma was on duty at the city gate to meet us. By protocol, she should have called for more of the city guard to surround us then and there. But she, barely out of girlhood and scarcely taller than five fulms, locked eyes with me. And she pleaded for us to turn around."

He had read the reports at the time, mostly with an eye for anything in her behavior that might have been deemed incriminating or sympathetic to the rebels. To hear them from one who had been there, so many years removed, brought tears to his eyes that he could not entirely attribute to the desert air. "She's alive, in case you didn't know. Continuing to root out imperials in Dalmasca."

"Ashelia's told me some in her letters. I'm glad of it. As I am glad of her mother's recovery."

Gundobald had not looked at him for some time, and Rosenheim followed his line of sight out toward a horizon that glistened with heat. "She was not an easy child," he conceded.

"No," the old bear laughed, wiping at his eyes. "She was not. And I cannot claim we always gave her the care she needed."

"But you, in particular - you were the only one who always had a place for her, no matter what." It was not his place to broach her tenure in the Corpse Brigade by name, and yet somehow, he knew Gundobald understood. "I see her exhibit that same grace as a leader of a new Ala Mhigo, and I know she did not learn it from me."

They sat together in as long of a silence as Rosenheim could stand, until the first hints of gold began to tinge the horizon and they might well have mistaken the canyon walls all around them for those of Gyr Abania.

PROMPT #26: Last

DON'T FORGET:

YOU ARE HERE TO RECOVER THE PRIMAL KILLER.