Prompt Post

[ffxv_kinkmod]

 Welcome to Round One of the FFXV Kink Meme!

CLOSED for prompts | OPEN for fills

Please have a look at the extended rules here.

The important rules in short:

• Post anonymously.
• Negative comments on other people's prompts (kink-shaming, pairing-bashing etc.) and personal attacks of any kind will not be tolerated.
• One prompt per comment. Warnings for common triggers and squicks are encouraged, but not required.
• Prompts should follow the format: Character/character, prompt.
• Keep prompts to a reasonable length; prompts should not be detailed story outlines.
• Fills should have the word "Fill:" at the start of the subject line.
• Otherwise please avoid changing the subject line.

Please direct any questions or report any problems to the Ask a mod post.

Prompt, write, draw, comment, and most importantly have fun!

(You can also check out our Pinboard for Filled or Unfilled prompts)

UPDATE 12/30/16: I'm looking for some help! Details here.  (I'm always looking for more pinners; this is an open invitation.)

I've added/clarified some rules to make life easier to my pinners. Please refrain from changing the subject lines except when filling or updating a fill. It makes it easier for us to keep track of what we've already looked at. Thank you so much!

UPDATE 1/28/17: We've opened up a Drabble Tree post! Go check it out. 

UPDATE 2/21/2017: ROUND ONE IS CLOSED FOR PROMPTS. Please feel free to continue posting fills. Round Two will open for prompts and fills on 3/1/2017.

 

Comments

Fill: Father 4/?

[(Anonymous)]

(AN. Some violence & death in this one)

Noct was fifteen when his father first ordered him to kill a man.

The man in question was a former soldier—a deserter who had been sentenced to death for abandoning his post. By now, Ardyn and Noct had been sparring with real blades for years, but his father had told him (quite reasonably) that he would get nowhere if he didn’t start fighting with people who truly wanted to hurt him.

Not that his father didn’t hurt him, sometimes. Noct had a few scars—on his shoulders, along his neck, one that went straight down his right leg to his heel—that he’d collected for not being fast enough while sparring. Ardyn had been very sorry, of course, and quick to send him to the infirmary, but still. Mistakes happened. His father treated them as learning experiences, and so did Noct.

The man he fought now was about twice his age, equipped with a long, sharp blade and bursting with a sort of anger that felt almost familiar to Noct. It was the same thing he felt, sometimes, like a pressure from nowhere that he couldn’t place, threatening to break free until Noct had to diffuse it.

The deserter struck the first blow. Noct felt the weight of it, the angle of his body, the stance of his feet. Then he swept down, and up, tugging at the soldier’s belly and angling along a path through his lungs. The blood that landed on Noct’s hands and face was hot to the touch. When the deserter’s corpse fell to the ground at his feet, he took a moment to watch as the dirt of the killing ground sucked the man’s blood down.

It had happened so quickly.

He made it all the way to the barracks restroom before he threw up.

His father found him there. He’d lost all of what he’d eaten that day already, and had resorted to retching his lungs dry with his hands pressed to the top of the toilet. He knew his father was there by the sound of his boots on the tile, and closed his eyes as his father drew his hair back from where it hung (already so long) over his eyes.

“It will be easier,” he said, when Noct’s breath began to even out. “Now that you know you can do it.”

“Yes,” Noct said. He closed his eyes against the memory of the blood going dark in the sand. “It will.”

--

At sixteen, Noct was allowed out on excursions that Ardyn discreetly called “not so diplomatic, in nature.” It was almost like a hunt of sorts, where he and his father—or he and one of the mercenaries appointed by his father—would seek out tombs scattered over the countryside and fight daemons, monsters, and even other hunters, on their way to claim the tombs’ power.

“The Kings of Lucis claim birthright to these weapons,” Ardyn had said, the first time Noct had taken one and felt the jolt of the spirit-blade strike his heart. “We are taking that power away from them before they have a chance.”

But it was strange. When Noct used those weapons, they, too, felt right in his hands. Like they were made for him. Which was wrong, because Noct was just a thief, keeping them out of the hands of the evil King who hid behind his barrier in Insomnia.

Soon, word of his presence began to spread. A young man with dark hair and the gift for magic, warping from place to place as he fought? It was bound to draw attention. At first, it was just a few scattered mercenaries, easy to handle.

But then came the Kingsglaive.

Noct had heard of them, heard that they used magic borrowed from the king. But the first time a man slammed his sword onto Noct’s from a distance of 20 feet, knocking him down to one knee in the grass, Noct felt a deep, unsettling disturbance, like a weight in his stomach. The Glaive had looked at him then, almost searching his eyes, and warped back.

“Shit,” the man said. “I think it’s him. Can’t you see?”

“I see it,” said his companion, a woman. She lowered her blade. “Prince Noctis,” she said, in a loud, steady voice. “Do you know who we are?”

How did they know his name? Well, any country had spies, he supposed, but Lucis’ was clearly lacking.

“You obviously don’t know me,” Noct said. “I’m not a prince.”

The two Glaives exchanged looks. “But you’re Noctis,” said the first, their voice hesitant.

“And you serve the King of Lucis,” Noct said, in an almost pleasant, reasonable tone. He smiled. The two soldiers visibly relaxed. Good.

Noct summoned his armiger and warped between them, still smiling, still calm, and felt nothing but disgust as they fell. The legendary human weapons of the King, so easily overcome? He dug in their pockets for written orders, but of course there were none. They bore a crest on their uniforms, though, in webbed silver. Noct turned one of them over to look, and for the first time in a year, felt the urge to be sick creeping up the back of his throat. Something about the crest was wrong, wrong in a way he hadn’t felt since those first confusing days after he’d woken up as a child, looking into the face of a father he didn’t recognize.

He wrenched his hands away from the bodies of the Glaives, and turned his face to the sun. It would be evening soon, and there was another tomb to find. No time for worrying questions about Glaives, or crests, or Princes. Just the search, and at the end of it, the King.

Re: Fill: Father 4/?

[(Anonymous)]

Not The OP Here!
Impressed and a little bit jealous as to how quickly these prompts are filled! Surely a testament to the robust and sturdy wealth of imagination that resides within writers, such as yourself and others. Definitely have come across some prompts to love, but don’t trust myself to due them justice… (ToT)
Well, looking forward to the bonus points and how you’ll weave the rest of them into your story. Really liked the opening, the confusion Noctis was experiencing, and rationalizations he settled on. Though subtle, Ardyn didn’t waste any time or shy away from the Anti-Lucian indoctrination and manipulation. Noctis’ progression reminds me of an apposite “What if…?” scenario like the FF 15 Omen Trailer alluded too. I wish you luck and hope you will find the time to fully finish this fill for the OP, yourself, and the ever present lurkers! :)