#1W3L | #OCQOTD
"pleasure" β
using no more than three sentences, write your character experiencing pleasure. [ be it food, rest, fabrics, sex, etc. ]
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Hashtag
#1w3l
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"This too is a custom somewhere else," Syn'thiel hums as her claws curl the tangerine peel neatly away. The fragance will stick to her fingers and the metal of her rings, outlasting the faint taste of sweet and sour and its fleeting, failing battle against the cold; the fruit itself sits naked in her hand, held up to the even rounder moon in offering. There's no one there, she knows, and that's not the facet that she misses, but it is the closest thing she has to someone to share the Heaven's Turn festivities with.
#1W3L - stealing it from someone else. Prompt was Tangerine, and actually ffxiv this time! Implied EliWoL in the past:
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There's another face in the mirror sometimes. Looking down on him despite being level; it must be that crown of horns, the undiluted jade of the eyes. Only one other face, his lips form, and Dan Heng resists the urge to douse it in cool water. He has to wash his face, wash away that distant, dismissive stare, and keep going forward. He thinks the mirror keeps watch of him as he leaves. ... The coat cannot be said to hang off his shoulders anymore: melted gold thread, ashes of silk and flower petals, all over wounds she watches seam together as he falls into step by her side. It must've been a thing of beauty once, carefully handled and worn with pride. There's no fixing it, but she could get it remade, as she will the man that wears it. His lucid-again red eyes are somehow too concerned with her own, watching her as if she'd draw steel once more, instead of admiration. It's rare she gets to preserve something beautiful, even if she has to do very little of it herself: the wounds are almost all gone now, vivid pink settling into the pallor of old scars. A wash, a toothy smile to fail to scare those eyes away. And a call to that one masterful tailor she didn't have to threaten last time. That should do it.
stealing a #1W3L - 1 word 3 lines except one worked and 1 didn't and also it said ocs but hsr blorbos are not leaving my head-
Prompt was Appearance. idk how many i'll do.
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#mywriting #oc:serene #1w3l
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#Liscanon #1W3L
"K'haraa Miernost's face was described as 'frozen in timeless melancholy', with the solemn set of her eyes and the way her mouth oft sat upon her face. This dour countenance, however, is overstated. It was said her scales gleamed with miniature stars, and her eyes smiled for her."
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For instance:
#Recollect #1W3L
"Crow Locke's jaw tightens as it surveys the Kingdom of Many Screams from its vantage point. The city reaches to the east pierce too high; the overgrown bayous and bruise-colored forests glint in a way plants shouldn't. 'It's for the damn mission,' it grumbles."
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#Liscanon #1W3L
"The Crimson Courts of the Sanguinora ring with laughter and the steps of the faithful upon its colorful tiles. Prayer silks flutter above Qlisaiah's head as she briefly takes her supplicant's pose at the doorway before one of the priests. These halls should not be her battlefield."
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#1W3L : #OCQOTD
"entry" β
using no more than three sentences, write your character experiencing a new location for the first time β be it a room, city, or landscape.
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#1W3L : #OCQOTD
"appearance" β
using no more than three sentences, describe your characters appearance.
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what better time than this listless, liminal space before the new year than to resurrect and reimagine #1W3L β a prompt-based writing exercise meant to encourage people to flex their literary muscle in a fun, constrained way. #OCQOTD meets writing sprints. one word, three lines β the thread.
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#1W3L β’ #oc:nahiev
The moons overlapped one another until he no longer sensed the passage of time. He dropped a gold piece into the offering bowl and knelt before Thal, lowering his gaze to the earth. Bitterness weighed like lead in the back of his throat. "Please," he thought. "Let me find you."
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#1W3L β’ #oc:nahiev
Their figure passes from room to room with muted steps as though they were floating. The phantom reaches him and for a moment, Nahiev wonders whether he will be struck or held. "Haunted?" He hopes, daring to offer them his calloused hands. It sobs: "If only. If only."
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Nerys swore into her palms as Estienien kneaded into her lower back. The ghosts of last night's shooting pains whispered along her legs. "Better to hurt now then later," he told her, pulsing his aether into her overworked muscles.
#allywrites #1W3L
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"Mock velvet," said Redolent Rose as he guided Nerys' hand over the sapphire fabric. "Your client is not rich in funds. We can still make sure he cuts a dashing figure in Ul'dah society."
#allywrites #1W3L
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He drags his scythe behind him, slow and perverse, as though he were mimicking, and failing, to match a human beingβs natural movements. Before his victims realize, he tears into them, ripping them apart like soft bread that awaited filling. Viscera covers his sallow corpus, like paint on a fresh canvas, and his cruel laughter fills the silence.
#1W3L π©Έ
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Beneath his restrained and unshakeable spirit lies a paradox of a man with wounds of self inflicted suffering. He does not believe in his own redemption, only of contrition that is exchanged with his very life. The blood on his hands will never wash clean and part of him hopes they will remain there, if only as a reminder that they ever lived at all.
#1W3L πΏ
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#1W3L
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"Should I call you something new?" Nerys breathed, looking upon their friend as they shown with the power of the king. Pearlescent aether glittered across their wings over the bright orange her friend so loved. "My precious sapling may still call me Feo Ul," said Feo Ul with the same sweet smile they always had.
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