#nononovember

[escherstrange]

1. Permission

During No Novel November I used some prompts to write FFXIV fanfic, mostly between Escher and an NPC. The title is the prompt.

Warning: m/m, sex.

Ser Aymeric de Borel is the politest man in Ishgard you know; so much so you ask him for permission for every matter.

"May I call you Aymeric?" "May I spend the night with you?"

Aymeric lets you - he always does. You wonder if he's simply being polite. So you start pushing. Just a nudge. Starting small pays handsomely later.

"May I kiss you?" "May I touch you...here?"

His consent emboldens you. His words dissolve into soft moans seeping into his skin. He radiates warmth and you hold him close to stay the Ishgardian snowstorms.

"Shall I continue?" "Could you look me in the eye?" "Could you bend over?"

The Lord Commander of the Temple Knights prostrates like a common whore before the Warrior of Light, as he should - as they all should - but the rest don't matter; he does. You rake your nails down his back as you take him; his back arches sharply. He bleeds consent from every pore - every breath, every thrust, every time he groans "yes" - and you continue.

There is one last request, but Aymeric is the politest man you know. This you whisper into his ear, for only he alone can grant this favour.

"Aymeric, you may cry my name."

[pyracantha14]

Hey guys I’m doing the NoNovelNovember challenge from @itwondersme & the Write Stuff! Feel free to follow along in the hashtags. I’ll be doing 250 words or less microfiction every day of November. ❤️

[escherstrange]

4. Nothing

During No Novel November I used some prompts to write FFXIV fanfic, mostly between Escher and an NPC. The title is the prompt. Warning: Shadowbringers 5.0 Spoilers

"Who are you? No one. Nothing."

When your guts twist inside out, you're not sure if it's the Light or Emet-Selch's words that did it. He thinks you fall to your knees from the Light but his disdain hurts much more.

/He's an Ascian, you can't trust their words/

Repeat it all you want but he's been honest since you met. His history, his despair, his plans - all laid out plain as the Light-soaked sky.

There's no lie - you're just weak. A broken husk, nothing more.

But you ARE something. You're a fighter. You're sad and *angry*.

You know where to aim. You want to show where his words broke you, left you hollow where you saved a place for him. You don't expect it to be so huge, to sunder him like it almost did you.

You nod when he asks you to remember him and his, but say nothing. Like hell you will - He abandoned you when you needed him most. What was there to remember? The pain? You have plenty, thank you very much.

Who was the Ascian Emet-Selch anyway?

No one. Nothing.

[pyracantha14]

#6-#11 prompts for NoNovelNovember

I have fallen down on the daily job and I’ll be back to it today. I challenged myself to get all five prompts into one story as well as to use them in the order they were issued. I did miss the second on because I swapped 10 & 11.

Here they are in order: address jump season blanket delicious farmhouse

Pete pulls up to the address on the scrap of paper that Ben handed him this morning. It doesn’t look like much, a bit too unkempt, too abandoned looking if he’s being honest. He promised Ben that he would look at it though. Just look.

The relator knocks on the window and he jumps. He knew Sam, the realtor, was there, of course he did, but it’s irritating that he was taken by surprise.

“Yes, yes I’m coming.” he grumps at Sam as he exits the car.

A warm wind ruffles his hair reminding him that the season is about to change. Chilly spring mornings morphing into sticky sweat summer days. This place is almost an hour out of the city and the country silence of it, the peacefulness settles over him like a blanket. A sense of calm as he finds he can just make out the sound of the sea, a susurrus, barely heard but steady as a heartbeat.

“Ready to take a look inside now Pete?” Sam is eager to pull him towards the porch.

“Yep let’s see this old thing.” he replies.

As they walk through the front door he can see at once that though the farmhouse has seen better days it has “good bones” as they say. He likes the solid feel of it. He can imagine Ben here, with his saltsweet skin, kissing him in that hungry way he has. Pete is distracted now by the thought, remembering the taste of Ben’s mouth, delicious, sweet, open, waiting.

Sam clears his throat, “You OK?”

Pete snaps out of his revery, blushes slightly and responds.

“Oh yes! Sorry, not sure where my mind went.”

Sam smiles and turns towards the stairs.

“Let me show you the rest of the place!”

Pete turns smiling quietly to himself. Ben was right. We could definitely make this place a home.

[set2zero]

#Nonovelnovember No. 1: Permission

The Lord Commander of the Temple Knights prostrates like a common whore before you, the Warrior of Light. You rake your nails down his back; he arches with a sharp gasp. He bleeds consent from every pore - every breath, every thrust, every time he groans "yes". Ser Aymeric is the politest man in Ishgard you know; so much so you constantly ask him for permission.  "May I just call you Aymeric?"  "May I spend the night with you?" 

Aymeric lets you - he always does. You wonder if he's simply being polite. So you start pushing. Not too hard, just a nudge. Starting small pays handsomely later. 

"Can I kiss you?" "Can I kiss you...here?"

His consent emboldens you. His words dissolve into soft moans. He radiates warmth and you hold him closer to stay the Ishgardian cold raging outside.

"Shall I continue?" "Could you look at me?" "Could you bend over?"

The Lord Commander of the Temple Knights prostrates like a common whore before you, the Warrior of Light. You rake your nails down his back; he arches with a sharp gasp. He bleeds consent from every pore - every breath, every thrust, every time he groans "yes". Yet there is one last thing and Aymeric is the politest man you know, so you ask for permission. "Aymeric, may I hear you cry in pain?"

[pyracantha14]

#4 - nothing & #5 - pickle

I watch your broad fingers flex against the pickled white table top as you struggle to regain your composure. We had refinished this table together. Laughing as we got in each other's way, shoulders bumping, stopping every now and then to kiss softly. Humming quietly in satisfaction when it was done. Glasses of wine forgotten on the top when we couldn't keep our hands to ourselves any longer. Now I see stains bloom as my tears drop to the surface. You huff a breath and finally manage to make your voice level. "I just can't do this...anymore." You breathe again to keep it together. I am choking on all the things I cannot say. My throat catches in a sob. "Well then." You scrape the chair back and stand. I want to stop time so I can have a second chance to pull myself out of this nosedive, this inability to speak. I try again but nothing comes. The only sound I hear is the squeak of your shoe as you turn on your heel and walk out of our apartment.

[pyracantha14]

cw: blood, self harm - #2 - Hidden

Jane turns more and more nervously around her kitchen. She feels for the tiny bump again. Her scar from that time when she was 10 and she ran her hand into the fence. It had bled a lot for such a small cut she remembered.

“I remember!” she mutters to herself.

Slowly she breathes in, straining for calm. She steadies her hand on the counter and picks up the box cutter. She pushes the nausea down as she brings the blade to her skin. The wrongness clangs in her head as she presses down just enough. A bright cherry bead of blood wells and she slides the blade in a bit farther. A slick something pops out of the cut, skittering down her arm, leaving a smear across the counter. The blade forgotten, the cut dripping red across the floor, she picks up a metal spoon and smashes the small gore covered dot.

Abruptly static hisses in Daniel’s ears.

“Damnit!”

He calls across the room tiredly, “Guys, we lost another one.” He rises to mark a white board with the number 52,412. Sighing he sits back down and tunes to the next channel.