#outer crust and little marvelings | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

captainillogical · 4 years

Text

Distant Lands Ch.2

Stranded on a planet with toxic conditions and nothing but the clothes on your back, your only means of survival lies within the gem that got you here in the first place.

Spinel/Reader

collab with my lovely wife @firstofficertightpants

You wake up with a jolt, gasping for air.

Sitting up, you internally wince. Everything fucking hurts, and your body feels like you got tossed under a 16-wheeler. It’s pretty dark around you, but you can tell that you’re alone.

Once you feel like you can breathe normally again, you begin to look at your surroundings. The air is kind of humid, and smells.. weird. You were.. somewhere. It was hard to tell with how little light there was. Could it be night time already? Were you really knocked out for a whole day? The walls around you are crumbling and falling apart but it doesn’t look like anything from Earth, and you could almost make out some sort of drawings on them. They’re too worn out for you to make anything out of it, though.

You can see lush green plants growing from the cracks in the walls, and they seem strange to you. You’re no expert on plant life, but you haven’t seen plants that look like this ever in your life. Thick, ropey vines were streaming down the surface of the walls, and large bulbous, orange flower-like plants were blooming on them. They looked.. fleshy.

You stand up from your place on the ground, legs wobbly from their lack of use, and realize that half the reason why you feel so weird is that the gravity is heavier? You feel sluggish. You’re definitely not on Earth. Fuck. This is just.. great.

You take one step and groan out loud. Your leg muscles are so sore, and this is taking an immense amount of effort to not go back to curl up in a corner and pretend everything is fine. You start to feel your way around the room, hands trailing against the wall. Slowly making your way northbound, hands running over several vines and one of the flowers hiss - you quickly step away from it. Okay. The fucking flower hissed at you, no big deal.

You keep walking in the direction you were going before, and eventually find an opening in the wall with some moonlight pouring in like a spotlight. You have to bend down to get out, nearly stumbling over the scattered, worn bricks on the ground. Once you steady yourself, you look up to see that yes, it was night time you guess? You don’t see any stars, and the atmosphere is murky with a thick fog. The sky is dark and tinted a soft bright green - unlike anything you’ve ever seen, and a bright, orange moon. Actually.. three moons, what the hell?

Turning your head in both directions, you look around you for any immediate signs of danger. The trees around you are thick like a jungle, and you don’t see an immediate pathway to how exactly you got here.

Swiping your forehead, you wince and remember your flesh wound from earlier. It feels dry, so that’s good, but it also seems to be smeared down your face like someone tried wiping it off. You don’t know how you feel about this, so you try not to think about it.

You eventually spot a crude footpath that looks pretty old and overgrown, like it hasn’t been used in a century you think. You walk slowly along it, body sore and not used to the gravity change - and peer around you at the plantlife. Many of the trees here are tall and droopy, long leaves coming from high arches above. They’re similar to palm trees but also very much not. So many large tree-like bushes that are in various shades of greens and oranges, leaves and color formation very alien to you. It’s all very strange. You don’t seem to see any kind of organic lifeforms around either, except for some type of gnats and other small bugs.

You keep walking along the path you found, and you spot a couple of freshly torn tree branches, so you forge ahead.

Your mind is swimming with thoughts as you slowly regain most of what happened today. A gem you’ve never seen before tried to kill Steven, knocked you out and took you with her to a different planet, as.. what. A bargaining chip? She didn’t outright kill you, which she could’ve done very easily, but didn’t for some reason. You’re positive you came here via warp pad, but you cannot leave alone, as you are human, and humans can’t use the warp pad without at least a gem beside them.

Steven must be so very worried about you, and you hate to make him worry. You hate to make any of them worry. They’ve done so much for you, despite.. certain things. You shake your head to clear your thoughts. Best not to dwell on past mistakes, especially when you’ve got much more prominent things to worry about. Like finding a way off this fucking weird planet.

The path ahead of you turns slightly, and you start to see the beginning of an opening to a clearing. A spark of hope bubbles inside your chest as you pick up the pace. You nearly trip out into the clearing - catching yourself on a nearby tree, and you marvel at the view around you for a second.

There’s a good sized clearing here before a massive line of trees hit the outer edge - it’s probably the size of two football fields you think. The expanse of the horizon is enormous, all three moons in clear view, and you think you see a few scattered stars here and there through the thick atmosphere. There’s a couple large hills in the distance and some large towering rock formations as well from what you can see, and it would take at least a day or two to physically walk over there if you wanted to - but you’d rather eat your own foot than stay here any longer than you have to, curiosity aside. Off to the left of the jungle there seems to be miles upon miles of rocky terrain, huge chasms running through the sides of the crust. You can’t really make out anything around it from here, though.

Your eyes eventually spot the warp pad in the middle of the clearing, and you make a beeline for it. Your heart rate picks up pace too, and you cannot quell the hopeful feelings inside you.

It.. it looks intact. You let out a long, weary breath that you didn’t realize you were holding in, and walk around the warp pad to inspect it.

There isn’t any damage, and it looks usable. This was definitely the one that you came through when you were brought here. You’re unsure if there are any others on this planet, or if this is the only one. Speaking of.. all of this. This was a gem planet, clearly. You have no idea what it was used for, from what you can tell. Actually, from what you can tell, this planet seems pretty intact? Compared to some of the other planets you’ve seen while you’ve adventured with the crystal gems. Why was it abandoned? Aside from you wanting to go home, this place doesn’t seem so bad.

You are so completely lost in thought that you don’t hear someone approaching you from behind.

“Well, what do we have here?” A familiar voice speaks up from a few feet behind you, and you freeze in your tracks.

You feel the hairs on the back of your neck stand up, and your turn to look at her, eyes wide.

“Didja think your little friends were gonna come save ya?” She says with a devilish grin, and takes a threatening step towards you. You take a step back. Your mouth doesn’t work for a few seconds as you regard her appearance, now that she’s not trying to actively chop you to pieces.

Her heart-shaped gem is upside down, and on her chest. Her pink hair is in pigtails, and she’s got streaks down her face, and her attire is strange. You have no idea who she’s supposed to be, and honestly you don’t give a shit. You don’t care about anyone that would dare lay a hand on Steven.

“They still could,” You reply, and try to keep your voice even. “They wouldn’t just abandon me.”

“Aww, that’s cute of you to think.” Her grin gets a little wider. “I hate to say it toots, but they ain’t gonna find us out here.” She takes another step closer to you.

“They’ll find a way,” You back up the same distance, and your heel hits the edge of the warp pad. “They always do, somehow.”

She considers you for a moment, and lets out a low chuckle that sets off your fight or flight. Your feet feel rooted to the ground.

“I seriously doubt that.” She says with a grin, and you watch in dawning horror as she expands her fist, slamming it down on the warp pad behind you with a loud crash. Some pieces of debris hits you, and you stumble, crashing to the ground.

The only half-baked plan you had of escaping just flew out the window. You struggle to get back on your feet, and you hold yourself back from screaming endlessly into the night.

“Why the FUCK would you do that!?” You yell at her, forgoing any rational thought that you had. “That was the EASIEST way for me to get home and you just ruined any chance I had!” She lets out another chuckle before responding.

“Oh, you thought you had a chance. That’s adorable.” She continues to take another step towards you, insistently getting closer. “Ya’ see.. I brought you here with the intention of not letting you go.”

“That makes no fucking sense, you came to kill Steven, like every single other gem.” You reply, unable to move anywhere without tripping on the pieces of the broken warp pad. She’s only a couple feet in front of you.

“I did. Changed my mind, though.”

“Wh..” Too many thoughts are racing through your head. “What do you mean, changed your mind!? Why ME!? I’m not even a gem! You could’ve just killed me and made this easy!!!”

“Now, why would I want to kill my best friend?” She chuckles, darkly. “I just got her.”

“B-best friend.” You reiterate, mind reeling at this. “Excuse me? You are NOT my best friend. You’re far from it.”

Her eyes snap to yours, and you’re immediately filled with unease. She moves closer to you, and gets right up in your space, merely a few inches from you.

You want to bolt.

“Ya wanna repeat that.” She replies calmly and regards your face, blinking once.

“You’re not my best friend, and I don’t even know you!”

Her hand snaps to your face, and she’s gripping your jaw roughly. You can feel her thumb pressing into your cheek, and she forces you to look at her. She grins wide enough that you can see many of her teeth, and it doesn’t reach her eyes at all.

“Sweetcheeks, we can get to know each other. We have.. time.” She ends the last word slowly, and every fiber of your being is telling you to get very, very far away from her. You grip her arm with your hands to try and pull away and she pulls you flush against her, still holding your jaw painfully. She wraps her arm around you to keep you in place.

“Now, just why would you want to leave dear ‘ol Spinel? After everything I’ve done to make sure we’d have a grand time together?” The moonlight above making her eyes look brighter, her irises boring into yours. You can’t look away.

“S-Spinel?” You push on her arm, trying to get some distance between the two of you, but she holds tight. She looks absolutely delighted and practically purrs as you say her name, and you are one hundred percent uncomfortable now. You make another attempt to pull away, but the gem has an iron grip on you.

“Say it again.” She demands, holding you in place. “Say my name.”

You feel like no matter what you do, you’re probably fucked regardless.

“Uh.. Spinel?” You nearly squeak as she presses you uncomfortably tight against her. Her gem pushing against you actually hurts.

“It's.. so nice to hear my name again.” The pink gem smirks, her face so close you can feel the words coming out of her mouth.

You make a silent agreement with yourself to get the fuck out of here as soon as possible, or at least die trying. And as if this moment couldn't get any more uncomfortable, your stomach decides to growl loudly enough for the gem to notice.

Spinel drops her hand from your face and disentangles herself from you, looking at you in mild confusion.

You suddenly notice just how hungry you are as your stomach growls again, and it feels like it’s eating itself. You avoid making eye contact with the strange gem in front of you as you attempt to walk around her, done with this place, done with this gem, and done with everything. You’ll unpack all of your emotional shit later, if you ever get time to yourself.

A hand shoots out and grabs onto your arm, stopping you in your tracks.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Spinel spits out at you with a glare.

“I gotta eat.” You answer curtly, pushing her hand off your arm. Why the fuck is this bitch so touchy?

“Not alone, you aren't.” Her fist finds its way to your arm again, and this time her grip is much tighter than before.

You sigh loudly, extremely annoyed at this point. Not only were you stranded on an alien planet, but you were stranded with this crazy ass gem who couldn't decide if she wanted to kill you or be your best friend. You want to scream.

“Okay, fine. But I need to find something NOW.” You turn from her and walk off, and she follows closely behind you, much to your irritation.

You look briefly around the clearing for anything that looks even remotely edible, and you find nothing. It’s dark out, but there’s enough moonlight to see that there’s really nothing but the now-destroyed warp pad here. Heading back from where you came is probably your best option, considering this area has only one pathway in and out.

On your way back you actually spot a couple bushes in the thick of the trees a few feet out that seem to be bearing some kind of berry. You think you'll take your chances, and meander your way through enough vines to nearly strangle yourself. Spinel is still holding your wrist, and she follows you closely. You wish you could ditch her somehow, because you're worried she'll murder you in your sleep. You think maybe later you can try to find an opportunity to escape her somehow.

The berries on this bush are.. weird. They're a mix of blues and oranges which is kinda wild, but you're so hungry you don't even care. You pick a couple off the bush, and hold them up to your face to sniff them.

"What are those?" The gem next to you asks.

"No idea. Don't care at this point though." You reply, and shovel a couple into your mouth.

They burst in between your teeth, and they taste.. not great, you can't lie. But you're hungry, and they seem alright, so you scarf down enough to placate your stomach. You grab another handful to bring with you to the ruins you woke up in, aka your makeshift shelter. Spinel is watching you with curiosity, and almost looks like she wants to try the berries herself.

You move around her carefully - you don’t want to agitate her again, and you don’t want to give her any indication that you were fine with her as well. Nearly tripping over the heavy foliage, you walk back to the narrow pathway so you can attempt to rest for the night. It’s getting colder, and you only wore long sleeves and jeans today. You quietly curse yourself for not wearing a sweater today like you were going to originally.

“What was that?” The gem asks from behind you.

“Nothing.” You reply. Of course she heard you.

“Are you keeping secrets from me?” She stops, and grips your arm tightly. You turn around to face her.

“No, first of a-” You feel something coming up and slam your hand over your mouth. You hurl against the tree next to you. Christ, it tastes worse coming back up. You empty the contents of your stomach on the ground, gripping the tree for support.

You feel a hand on the back of your neck, gently grabbing your hair away from your face. You feel fucking awful, but you have enough in you to be pissed that she thinks she can touch you like this. After a few more dry heaves, you feel like it’s stopped enough. Leaning against the tree to steady your breathing, you finally find enough strength to push her hand away from you, and you walk off angrily to the ruins. She’s holding your arm again - of fucking course.

You don’t know if you have any strength in you to continue to find any sort of food source tonight. It might be best for you to rest for a couple hours, and get up when it’s lighter out. The temperature is also rapidly declining, and you worry if you can’t find some source of warmth, you’ll freeze to death before you can even get out of this place.

It only takes you a couple minutes to get back to where you were before you ventured out. You’re miserable, pissy, cold, and you feel like absolute shit. And it doesn’t help that the single being to get you into this entire mess is standing next to you like you should be grateful to her for this. It’s fucking insane.

You head back inside the hole you came out of earlier, but not before grabbing a couple large leaves off the weird palm trees to make yourself a makeshift cot. Maybe you can salvage some kind of warmth for yourself..

“Whatcha doin?” Spinel has the gall to ask beside you. You stare at her.

“I’m going to sleep.” You reply, moodily.

“Why?”

“Because humans need rest to recuperate.” You aggravatedly sigh, and lay a large leaf down in the corner, away from the vines with the hissing flowers. You sit down on it, and Spinel moves to join you.

“Okay uh, can you.. Not. You can sleep over there.” You say, and point to the opposite side of the wall.

“Why would I do that if you’re right here?” She squints at you.

“Personal space?” You glare at her, and shiver from the cold creeping up on you.

“And that is?” She scoffs at you. “Who cares. And besides, you look cold.”

"Yeah, I'm good. I'll be fine right here by myself." You pull up your other two leaves over you to protect yourself. Like somehow she can't just rip these apart and strangle you to death if she wanted. She stares at you for a moment, and then sits down right next to you. Her leg is pressing against yours.

"I'm not going anywhere. I don't want you running away on me." She states, determinedly.

Oh, great. You don't even get to have the private emotional breakdown like you wanted.

Today sucks.

"Whatever. Don't touch me." You huff, and roll over to your side. It's cold, now. Decently cold, actually. It was humid when you woke up some time ago, but in the last half an hour or so it got significantly chilly. You seriously hate this planet. Your abdomen is sore from the violent vomiting before, and your whole body just aches in general. You still feel the pain on the side of your face from your flesh wound from earlier. You haven't felt this shitty in a long time.

You're lost in thought when you feel Spinel slowly wrap an arm around your stomach, and leans against your back. You freeze instantly.

"What did I just say?" You hear yourself say out loud.

"Nothing I have to listen to." She says from behind you, and tightens her arm around your middle.

Well, there goes your other half-baked plan of possibly sneaking away from her.

You sigh in aggravation, and reside yourself to trying to sleep. It's proving to be difficult though, because your mind won't stop swimming with thoughts and unease about the gem against you. You don't know anything about her aside from her name, and that she took you to be her best friend, whatever the fuck that actually means. You still have no idea why she came to kill Steven earlier, or how she knew of him in the first place, considering you've known him half his life and you've never seen her before. Or even mentioned. But somehow, she knows him.

You feel some warmth coming from her, and try not to lean into it. You hate her. Your life was going great before all of this. You miss your bed, you miss your sweater, you miss the food you bought earlier and left on the counter.

You miss your home. You miss the gems.

You miss Steven.

Sighing again out loud, you pull your leaves closer to you. You'll deal with other things in the morning if you don't die in your sleep. Your eyes droop heavily, weariness from the day catching up to you. Sleep comes to you eventually.

#spinel x reader #spinel #su #spinel self insert #Steven Universe #fic #distant lands #vomit warning #my fic

149 notes · View notes

livingatrocitywho · 5 years

Text

Fallout

Kacchako AU

So I’ve had this idea stuck in my head for a real long time and figured I may as well share it with the fandom 🤷🏼‍♀️

This is an AU that centres around Bakugou and Uraraka in a post-nuclear world. A lot of the motivation behind this has come from my hyperfixation with the Fallout series and I believe with a fiery passion that the world deserves a BNHA/Fallout crossover AU.

If you’re interested to see inside my head, here is a wee bit of what I’ve written so far...

The first time he had seen the surface had also been the last time he had seen anyone he loved.

The day was so momentous in itself that it’s gravity had spurned the impetual pendulum of guilt in the back of his analytical mind. In his head, it was the worst day of his life.

Heat had screamed at his back as he ran; arms pumping, lungs aching and throat screaming as billows of smoke rolled from the wreckage behind him, thick streams of it chasing his body down the twisted expanse of rock and dirt in dark colours. He had escaped the vault, but his parents had not, and like a heated iron pressed to skin, the night had seared itself into his memory perfectly, every detail crystal clear for Katsuki to reflect upon.

That day marked his first time seeing the universe’s stars, melancholy with everything else happening. The Old World pictures hung ornately on the Vault’s library walls - hundreds of metres below the surface - were nothing in comparison to the real thing. Ripping his eyes from the beautiful black expanse had been close to impossible. Everything he had seen as a child had been painted metal and polished stone, too small, too cold, and too harsh to ever possibly love. The stars had stolen away his breath and he gazed greedily at the rich splendour laid openly above him. Maybe it had also been the first time he had fallen in love.

With the last steps out of his underground prison, he had felt his innocence stolen away. There was no more sanctuary from the nuclear devastation now, no more false pretences could be fostered about life on the surface, and now there was no more family to guide his steps.

He had taken very few steps out onto the Earth’s outer crust before the picturesque stars above had taken his hand and offered a comfort that he stole away with ardent desperation. He’d been fooled into thinking that maybe it would be okay.

He was free.

But he was also just a boy that could claim to be many things. The only thing claiming him though, was the harsh reality of his utter isolation. Leaving the vault had meant freedom, but faced with that, he felt that the anxiety of an unknown future suffocating him. He was alone, and with no one to tell him it would be okay, Katsuki tried to catch the rough sob in his chest, only to whimper agaisnt the wind.

He wished there had never been any problems, and then he wished there had been more time before all his problems came crashing down around him in large shards of metallic shrapnel. He had cursed the world, and waited for his parents to scold him at the use of such language, then when silence was his only scold, his gut wrenched disgustingly. The lack of reply was all too evident, and he was absolutely alone.

He was so alone.

Time hadn’t allowed him his grief, he had to leave. If the rough tremors that had been shaking the Earth beneath his feet and disrupting his vision meant anything other than the succession of his plan, it meant also that the distance between him and his home, his vault, and his parents, was too little. Black smoke spilt from the entrance he’d left, the sparks of rampant fire silhouetting burning structures on the other side and he knew he wouldn’t make it.

Forcing all the suffocating emotions down, Bakugou had to run. From then on, all he would do was run, because with no plan, he had made himself a slave to the fallout. In a sickening way, Bakugou knew he could never have possibly been free. The day was the start of his end, so with no time to wipe away the salty tears cascading brilliantly down his ashen face, Bakugou Katsuki tore his red eyes from the beautiful night sky and ran for his life.

As he neared the bottom of the artificial hill hiding the civilisation responsible for his upbringing beneath his soles, his world exploded. He ran with everything he possessed, hurtling down the side of the rocky burial grounds of Vault 46, backpack strapped tightly to his spine. And as the explosion caught him, his thoughts drfited to the stars.

Katsuki marveled at their beauty in the never ending night, he was awed at how they weren’t dimming even as the entire world around him became engulfed in the flames of his explosion. Every moment of his existence had been slowly spreading red through his mind, and now all he could do, was stare as the sky above flooded with a red so vibrant it quickly became the only thing he could see.

#idk #My writing #Bakugou Katsuki #Ochako Uraraka #Kacchako #fanfic #Bnha #AU #Fallout #Irradiate my heart #long post #may write more 😂😂

27 notes · View notes

nahrsuada · 6 years

Text

The Heist (Part I)

co-written by @gavonphilips, my ever tolerant RP partner))

Several days passed between the journey from Boralus to docking at the mainland once more, leaving only a day and a half’s ride through Elwynn’s leagues. En route to the cursed former hamlet, Gavon had made a pit stop within the city of Stormwind before they reached the stables. Giving little explanation, he had dashed into one of the more prominent inns and had bid Nahrsuada to wait outside. When he returned, striding out onto the cobbles, he looked more befitting a well-to-do Gilnean bloke - even if the fine, black suit and woolen overcoat appeared a hair too big on his athletic frame.

The bard would quickly come to find he had raided one of Conwulf’s many closets scattered about the residences he owned across the Eastern Kingdoms, and Gavon had done it in such a way that it was clearly not his first time helping himself to his friend’s finer regalia. The short wait had her only admire the coastline whose horizon seldom bore the brunt of tempest’s ire. As he returned, a single brow had quirked, though woefully unsurprised by the shift in attire. With a shake of that crimson crown, she, too, climbed upon her mare to abate fleeting sojourn.

Sunlit borders crossed soon into the grim embrace of Duskwood, storm hailing them soon to the fringe of Darkshire where the scopic estate dwelled just abaft the city limits. A subtle ease took hold of Gavon any time they returned to the mainland. Somewhere he knew as well as the back of his hand. Duskwood was among many areas of the Kingdom that he felt most comfortable, having spent a great deal of time traveling and working through it over the years both before the Gilnean wall went up, and after it came down. His petite counterpart could not have contradicted his respite more; shoulderblades stitched akin to a harpstring tuned and tightened upon ridged spire.

The stoned manor was perhaps of the finest construct the vagabonds had come across, even dwarfing many of the lavish, countryside plantations in Boralus from which they were housed. It surely rivaled the bluest of blood within Gilneas, possessing attributes akin to the Greymane estate edged upon the kingdom’s coast. The homage to the pair’s kindred loyalty would surely have awakened the opulent fantasies, were they not hours from perilous reckoning. Secrets threaded within grandeur would soon bleed from its very seams; expose the host of debauchery ravished with gruesome intent.

The chateau was surely worth marveling; stoned pathway leading up to its obsidian gates narrowed the pair’s steeds to near brush against one another. High-grown shrubs lined the walkway with landscaping tenders already dressing the promenade to the courtyard with elevated lanterns, draped satins to weave upon the fences blockading obscurity from the grand gate. A gothic, stone arch heralded guests beneath the overlooking guard’s and keeper’s quarters.

Peaked, gabled infrastructure piled upon perfectly laid, stoned tiers ribbed with viewing patios overlooking the forested acreage beyond. Archers had perched within their designated towers, spotting the familiar redhead and her suited companion upon matching, raven mares. Beneath a long, cotton skirt, Nahrsuada donned a pair of riding britches to comfortably grip the leathern saddle. Elsewise, a traditional, double-breasted coat fell with a drop-waist tailoring, spanning over each hip. With the woman’s scarlet curls tied into a low, neatened scarlet spiral, a small tophat protected her features from the inevitable misting which ever assaulted travelers as they crossed the sunlit borders from the northern kingdom. With the woman’s fair, porcelain complexion, the deep emerald tailored tightly to a slenderized waistline.

They had been greeted by droves of servants who ushered them to the guest quarters upon parcel’s purlieu. Nahrsuada's demand was to remain as close to the servants as she may, under the justification that she did not feel so honored by her blood, even if the affiliation of her surname was of hauteur dress. Both she and Gavon had stopped and relieved each of the warmblooded mares provided at the Stormwind Stables. Arrayed in a long waistcoat to block out the torrential rain which seemed to shower them immediately upon crossing into Duskwood, she eased off the equine whose withers towered well above her brow, casting a glance toward Gavon as a servant claimed the reins of each steed.

Gavon’s disposition shifted drastically the moment Friesian hooves clomped across the property. He sat straighter upon the saddle with his chin tipped higher, and a hand released from leather reins to make certain his suit appeared as impeccable as it was going to get, even if his shoulders didn’t quite fill it out. The Gilnean was clearly going to put on a show for their heist, and he was going to stay true to whatever character that he had conjured up to better cover up their true intentions for arriving. If it was an upper crust piano player they wanted, that was precisely what they were going to get.

Escorted inward by the stewards, their own quarters possessed a private door nearest the stables which was all too convenient for their needs. Hardwood and gothic coppers all dressed the hearth and bedposts with the finest filigree. A calm, neutral smile held fast to Gavon’s lips as they were herded to temporary quarters. Had he not been in disguise, he would have whistled at the finery about them, but instead, he appeared steady as a rock and as unimpressed as one would be who had been to many such estates; even if he was secretly scoping out what he could nap before they hightail it out of the place.

Waiting for them inside was a warm spread which the valet continued to lay out with porcelain and silvers decorating a small, two-person rounded table against the wall. Upon his swift departure, the youthful bard glanced toward her paramour, shoulders visibly tense from the moment they crossed the gait. She had never disclosed the depths of why she wished for this particular manor to fall beneath their terror, or why such a heist required pointed intimacy. As strides closed inward, a strained smile contrived her lips. "Thank you for doing this with me, beloved."

Only once the butler had left them to their privacy did he relax, and the cool smile curved back into its usual smarmy grin. Brows wagged with exaggeration as he peered around the room, and finally let loose the low, appreciative whistle he withheld prior. Without a second to pass, he strode right for the prepared platter and procured a piece of cheese that promptly got tossed into his mouth. Chewing, he commented idly, “I could get used to this.”

A hand immediately shot out to snare the girl by the outer seams of her skirt, yanking her the short distance that remained between their bodies. Coiling a sinuous arm about her, he pulled her tight to curl against his stalwart frame. “Don’t thank me yet, luv. Still plenty of time for me to fuck things up,” he quipped with a cheeky grin.

The woman's slender silhouette bent, spine arching with the gesture that pulled her as weight shifted to the balls of her feet. Much akin to the first volta they shared, her malleable frame swerved to greet his own. The strength of the arm which so generously wreathed around her allowed for a moment's rest from tension boiling beneath the surface. The feigned smile primed with gusto as her lips came to meet his own. "If we go down, my love, we do so together. All the same, I will thank you." Typically, the bard was not so grim in her prose, but a dour cloud surely had weighed upon narrow shoulders.

The grip upon her dress, the burning hearth of his flesh beneath the wool never failed to set fire to her veins, nerves lit akin to swift-burning kindle. But just when ease was granted, a jarring knock upon the door flayed her from rest's coaxing vice. As eyes lidded, so, too, did the tepid veil which swept across porcelain visage. Gavon should have known there was going to be a knock on the door. Of course there was going to be a knock on the door. She pried from her lover's welcoming hold to wander toward the door.

(sensitive matter below)

Ethereal in ghostly movements, hemline now dragging upon the marbled floor to crack the door, a free hand rested upon its molding to peer over delicate knuckles. With the wood blocking most of her initial impression, her paramour could witness the immediate tightening harrowing her relaxed disposition. His ears could perhaps even hear the escalation in her fatigued heart's beats. An unamused scowl pulled at his aged features when his lover was forced to leave his side in effort to see to their predictable interruption. At least he had cheese. Watching idly out of the corner of his eyes, he busied himself with picking at the various goodies upon the platter. A man like Gavon was going to take full advantage. It wasn’t every day he got the full treatment.

"My Lord..." she trailed, allowing the hinges to fully flex and reveal the object of her disguised terror. He was tall, dressed in a long, Commander's waistcoat. The former Colonel of the Gilnean navy from many years prior had hardly aged. He would not recall one of the Royale Guard, but he remembered the scarlet-haired siren quite well. Immediately, the woman's spine furled into a rigid, albeit gracious curtsy. "I had not expected to see you until tomorrow," she noted, brow lofting as the door closed behind them. Color blanched subtly from her cheeks, leaving the rose cosmetics to contrast her freckles heavily. Over his shoulder, she peered almost nervously at Gavon.

It wasn’t until the door was opened that he put on airs again, his spine straightening and shoulders rolling back. Taking up one of the small plates, he continued to help himself to the collection of appetizers, albeit with a more dignified grace than previously. He even used one of the silly little forks he could never quite hold right.

Try as he might to remain dismissive and cool, he couldn’t help but cut his stormy hues towards the Colonel taking up the doorway. A subtle quint had his gaze focusing studiously, and he quickly recalled the man even if he himself was not recognizable. Thankfully, the man was nothing if not a professional, and he harnessed his willpower to stow away any rising ire that a man such as the Colonel would come calling upon his young lover.

"And you are the pianist I have heard so much about," intoned he, the liquid rasp and trimmed moustache betraying a cooked, thin-lipped smile upon his features, sporting a Grecian slope to his tawny nose. Grey streaked the man's hair, side-shorn cut peppered with silver. He faced Gavon entirely. "I hope this is not your lover, Nahrsuada. Hearts would break, including my own," he'd murmur, reaching back to lay a balmy palm upon the woman's shoulder, every callous upon his digits gripping her a trice too tightly.

"My wife would adore you all the more seeing as you brought such a handsome man to serenade her ears and fixations as well."

A warm, delighted smile was elicited from the scoundrel, his eyes lightening with feigned interest. Gingerly setting down his plate on the table, he placed the fork quietly atop and then strode over with a sway to his hips towards the door before reaching out in an all too demure manner, almost as a lady might. When he spoke, what came would have been nothing short of hilarious under any other circumstance. A feminine inflection in his words came out with a slight lisp, “Oh, my, yesth, my lord, that would be me. Allow me to introduce mysthelf! I am Henry Von Gutermuth.” A polite bow of his head accompanied his hand being set upon the Colonel, and he could only surmise his little act would deter any notions that the… flaming pianist was a lover of the woman.

Immediately, the Colonel's brow lofted, slowly panning toward Nahrsuada, where his gaze remained to rake over her features, lingering particularly between breasts and hips. Knowing now that the man opposing him was no longer competition, he was ready to renew vestige upon the woman, his palm dragging to splay at the small of the bard's back, pads of his digits easing enough to ride the curve of her backside. For all the slime that crawled beneath her flesh, the woman remained still readily kind.

"Ah, well I hope these accommodations suit you both. Miss Fauste, I would quite like if, after your performance tomorrow evening, I may enjoy our reunion more intimately. My wife will be calling upon me soon," he hinted, seeming to have dismissed the odds that such information would be irregular or even valuable to the queer companion belonging to the object of his affection.

A cheeky, dimpled smile came from the ‘pianist’ as the Colonel encroached further upon the bardlet, and he was quick to excuse himself from their reunion. “Don’t mind me, thilliesth, I’m not here and I’m not hearing a word of this!” He exclaimed with his over the top strut right back to the fancy buffet while making a show of jamming his fingers into his ears. Despite being plugged, keen inhuman senses had him quite aware of every lecherous implication the Colonel was oozing, and with his back turned, Gavon’s teeth grit and he worked his jaw side to side, utterly seething while planning the man’s demise. Even the next cube of cheese was angrily tossed into his mouth and chewed hard.

The Lord turned to square off before her, hands coaxing down to her hips, neck craned in consideration. "I look forward to your gifts again, Nahrsuada." The woman's smile remained painted, neutral and calm even as his invasive grip relished in her lithe frame.

"My Lord Colonel, may I ask how Miss Sabrina is?" She inquired. It was as if good news was going to be delivered with the way that sadistic smile broadened. In fact, his Lordship reflected pure elation at the very query.

"She has had four beautiful children, but I am afraid she is... unavailable this evening, Miss Fauste."

Ginger still, she responded, easing into a lingering curtsy, perhaps in a vein effort to slink away and out of a comfortable proximity. His lips chased her cheek for a savory peck. "I look forward to seeing you both in your prime duality tomorrow, Mister Gutermuth and Miss Fauste. I particularly look forward to some time to chat with you in your full regalia." Daring not to tarry, he near slithered from the room, offering but a nod to each of them.

Nahrsuada neither crumbled nor erupted. She stood, stepping forward to ensure the bolt was quietly eased into position, watching the shadow cast from his boots linger for a few moments before padding off. She continued facing the door, lashes dimmed to a close as if her tendons had frozen into place. Her brow leaned forth, coming to rest upon the lukewarm mahogany.

It spoke to great professionalism and willpower for Gavon to have kept up the charade through witnessing the sleezy Colonel paw upon his own lover in such a way. Patient and calculated as could be, he allowed his facade to remain fully intact all the while his mind was consumed with plotting.

Hearing the door close, and the bolt click, the old scoundrel immediately whipped around to stare hard at the fiery haired bard across the room. Wagging the tiny fork pinched between finger and thumb, he declared openly, “I won’t kill that bastard until after.”

The woman was counting each of her breaths, feeling the instrumental drumming of her heart against her chest. Upon righting herself, she rocked upon her heels, slipping out of the high-ankled riding boots and letting the wool-covered toes drag upon the tiles as she soundlessly traipsed toward the man. Doe-like hues sulked some, both arms reaching to coil about her lover's waist, hoping to sear away the balmy touch of another with his own molten grip.

She said absolutely nothing to the man, tongue still toiling on how to even explain the rapport, the exchange. Proverbial mites continued to crawl beneath her skin, gnawing at her resolve which only caused her arms to inch tighter around his waist. No one entered or dared knock for some time. Perhaps, even, her anguish was well known and a whisper kept amongst the powerless servants who had grown numb to such instances.

There was little that could be said. At least not without making matters worse. Gavon might have often been a fool, but sometimes his wisdom got the better of him. So instead of making any snarky comments, or even attempting to soothe her with words, he simply spoke with his body. Arms slipped firmly around her and pulled her tight and securely to his chest, hoping the warmth against her might help. Occasionally his head would roll downward, and he would bury his lips into her curls, pressing lingering kisses there in effort to make her feel better about the situation.

However, he was still Gavon, and while they lingered there in silence for a time, a hand would sneak back to pluck a piece of cheese from the plate to lob it into his mouth and chew.

The old scoundrel had just snared another cube of cheese and brought it to his mouth. Not quite making it to his lips, he got caught, his own mouth parted and eager to devour the snack. Guilty mirth glimmered in his stormy hues, and he watched her silently demand the cheese instead. In another attempt to cheer up his young lover, his gaze flicked repeatedly back and forth between her lips and the cube pinched between his fingers, as if he was suffering from deep contemplation on whether or not to eat it or give it to her. Breaking into a quick grin, he relented and brought it to her outstretched tongue, dropping the cube directly upon the flat of it.

Only then did he dare utter any words. "It'll be over soon, luv, and don't worry. He won't be able to grab at you ever again when I'm through with him."

She closed her eyes when he finally placed the cube upon her tongue. She quickly gobbled it, knowing he was devious enough to taunt her and immediately snipe the morsel from her jaw. Under normal circumstances, he would have been that much of a dick, but right now his concern was solely focused upon the girl in his arms. Leaning into her touch, his own hands roamed comfortingly, smoothing up along her spine with fingers crooking to ease into her flesh and muscle through her gown. Returning the kiss in kind, he hummed before drawing back and listening to her, while his tongue worked around the inside of his bottom lip.

Finally, she began to chew, savoring the mainland's product from the cattle. "Light I missed cheese not from Boralus," she hummed before considering his later comment. Her palm raised, thumb brushing across his dimpled cheek. Balancing upon her toes, she was able to steal a kiss upon his pout whilst continuing to chew.

"I know. I intend to watch his last breaths. Gavon... While we are here, I have a few tasks. He is... the last on my list. When he goes down, we need to be gone moments later. The woman I asked him about... that woman knew my mother. I have... tracked down some details. She was the one who helped me flee the first time. The Colonel gave her several children. Magically, she hung herself. However, I doubt that is the case."

The details she shared had wheels churning in his mind, and when it was all said and done, he clicked his tongue and murmured gruffly, "I'm making an executive decision. I'm not killing him. I'm going to do far worse than that."

All too casually, he reached back as she did to snag yet another piece of cheese. The hidden beast within apparently had a bottomless pit for a stomach. "I'll tell you what I mean," he remarked before lobbing the cube into his mouth. Starting to chew, his grin only spread and curled higher. Swallowing down with a small gulp, his head sunk downward, until lips dusted across the soft curve of her alabaster cheek, and inched toward her ear. A husky whisper came, one full of tantalizing promise, "If there's enough time, I'm going to introduce parts of the Colonel to what happens when a worgen plays with piano wire."

Within their proximity, her right hand searched his left, letter their digits thread together while the opposing one fell upon his shoulder. It was as if she posed for a waltz, even if her feet did not sway from present purchase. With her ear pressed parallel to his lips, the words stroked an uneasy flame within her, one which flashed with both comfort and the looming anxiety which had tethered blades of her shoulders together.

"There is a part of me that is so used to handling these things alone, and I can only look to the wreckage we may cause. I fear it," she confessed, her quiet appeal reaching for ear's shell. "It is strange having someone, for no profit, no benefit, no obligation, feel as you do."

Nudging his lips closer, he pressed a warm, lingering kiss upon her slender ear while he took in her concerns. She would feel his lips brush and press harder against her sensitive flesh as he grinned against it, and then spoke further, sharing words as if he were spilling lecherous things, "There's plenty of benefit and profit to be had, luv, but no, that isn't why. I can't go explaining it, but know that you're in good hands. I have caused a lot of bloody wreckage in my day, and this? This is nothing. We'll be fine, but I don't want to drag you down that road if you don't wanna go. I can do it myself. 'Cause there's no goin' back."

Drawing back once more so that he could look upon her, their eyes met to grant a firm, assuring nod. Her throat folded, allowing each kiss shape each nuanced movement where his lips met flesh. For now, each thistle within the layers of her skin had ebbed. She feared their initial touch, worried it would forever taint his caress.

Relief allowed her muscles to chase each graze against her, molding flush against her. The dream that was his shield held her eyes closed for the duration of his whispers, a pregnant pause lingering between them. "I believe you," the finite confession came. "But there is no going back, for either of us. Nothing in this world will pull me from you, Gavon. Each of the servants you have seen, they all wear pendants. They cannot remove them on their own, and they cannot be removed by another wearing them. Mine is still in this estate. So is my mother's."

Never one to take things seriously for too long, she would feel the creep of his fingers winding down along the arch of her back, and further, until his palms openly claimed hold of her backside. A confident smirk assured her, even as he gave a possessive squeeze to pull her ever tighter against him. It wasn't without purpose, however, as he remarked stupidly, "It's a bloody good thing I'm great with my hands, innit?"

Then his nose went higher into the air with a jerk of his head. "Or thould I sthay, Henry Von Gutermuth isth incredible. Jutht look at histh fingersth! All that piano playing!"

She had forgotten entirely from the earlier shock of the colonel's presence that the ever lascivious, foul-mouthed mercenary had donned the persona of one far more outlandish in the showboated sexuality. And with that, both palms swatted at his chest, a nasal snort catching her inhale as she continued to bump her brow against his sternum.

"Gutermuth..." She heaved through another audible snort brimming with still tense giggles. She may not unwind fully within the presence of this particular estate, but he certainly granted her some respite. "The lisp and that name... I think I've gone dry for the next month."

All it took was the clap of her palms against his chest to send him into a fit of laughter. The snorts only made matters worse, especially since he was trying to keep it down lest someone overhear them through the walls or door. Giving her ass one last playful squeeze, his hands smoothed up along her sides before coiling his arms tight about her shoulderblades to embrace her fully. Still quaking with residual chuckles, he murmured gruffly, "Hey, it worked, didn't it?"

She had to forcibly bury her lips within his pectoral to mute the further erupting giggles which were well beyond her control. "Yesth, Misther Gutermuth... Take me to your bed," She managed, near biting the breast of his coat to muffle even still. Eyes dimmed, breaths finally coming to settle within her lungs, apace with measured normalcy. Pressing her cheek now upon the fine fabric, and continued to mash her petite frame against his.

"I could not be luckier than I am right this moment."

"EW!" came a high pitched, feminine reply. "Dithgusthing. Henry Von Gutermuth doesth not lay with women, thank youuu." Despite his words, she would suddenly be swept into his arms with supernatural ease, a display of his often hidden strength drawing her up and draping her across as if she were but a bride being carried cross a threshold.

Stalking over towards the grand bed, he couldn't seem to stop the endless chuckles rumbling up from the depths of his chest. "Yeah, me either," he quipped honestly and looked down at the elven beauty in arms, giving her an appreciative wink. Once they reached the tall mattress, he simply turned, leaned over, and draped her down across it.

Hoisted as if she weighed nothing, both arms readily draped around the back of his neck, peppering a small barrage of kisses upon his jaw before they arrived at the mattress. She valued this closeness, his ability to turn a night which had haunted her longing for years into one that seemed... Palatable, the adoration he never failed to show.

Now stretched across the mattress, her fingers slipped from their webbing at the nape of his neck to secure both cheeks upon cool palms. If allowed, she'd coax their lips together. "I need you always," confessed the petite little poet who so daintily stretched upon the down comforter.

Though they both still wore their clothing, it didn't stop Gavon from crawling atop the beauty after lowering her down onto the enormous, plush bed. Draping himself across her, he hummed pleasantly as their lips met once more, nudging his own in an enduring kiss. "And I'm never leavin' you, luv. Except when I have to go to the bathroom."

@holtandthornetradingco @thegrimoirewra

#the heist first volume wra rp wow rp alliance

12 notes · View notes

ask-jaghatai-khan · 7 years

Text

Primarch Comfort Foods

In which I speculate on some of the foods the primarchs would have eaten back on their home planets. These tend to fall in line with my ethnicity/culture-expy theories about each of the primarchs. I’ve included some general foods, as well as popular alcoholic drinks.

Hope you enjoy! No promises all of them are going to be necessarily pleasant...

Lion El’Johnson

Simple porridge, sometimes with orchard fruit (apples). Small amount of basic bread. Roasted or stewed meat from various livestock (cow, sheep, chicken), or fish. Bread-ale often drunk (sometimes in lieu of water), and on special occasions, wine.

Calibanite cuisine is based around sedentary food sourcing, and almost never included game meats. Due to the taint that lurked within the forests, what land was good for farming was fiercely defended.

Fulgrim

Salad of small fruits or vegetables (berries, olives, etc.). Small birds and wild rodents delicately roasted in sweet bastes. Hard Chemosian moonshine diluted into more tasty cocktails. Wine drunk at special events.

Before the Phoenix’s full reforms of Chemos, the natives had to make due with what little wild sustenance they could forage. However, under the primarch’s guidance, such tiny morsels became delicacies fit for people of taste.

Perturabo

Stuffed pita or börek filled with meat (mountain goat), hearty vegetables, and herbs (mountain tubers, olives, etc.). Occasional fruits. Rationed beer or harder dark liquor. Wine only if it was taken from lowland peasants. Salted, processed meat and veg made for field rations.

Due to Olympia’s mountainous terrain, arable land was in fierce contention. Natives had to make due with what hardy fauna and shrubs managed to exist at such altitudes. Beer was often made in preparation for sieges. Stronger drinks were in high demand from beleaguered soldiers.

Jaghatai Khan

Inside-out-roasted traditional khorkhog (either Chogoran horse or sheep). Served with aaruul (dried cheese curd), milk, and heavy cream. Occasionally wild tubers cooked alongside. Kumis (milk beer) or horse blood served as drink.

The savages of Mundus Planus rarely ate more than dry cheese and jerky. When they feasted, they used every one of the few ingredients they had available: meat and dairy, from the very steeds they rode.

Leman Russ

Roasted beast (ox, deer, mammoth?) over a roaring fire pit. Fish and sea-life, when the ice permitted it. Sometimes served in stew of rich roots (potatoes, carrots, sour berries). Veg often pickled to last the winter, and meat salted/dried. The juice is mopped up by tough bread, and washed down with gallons of Mjød (mead).

The Fenrisians ate hearty, for who knew how tough the winter would be? Rich foods were popular, though dry bread and heavily-preserved meat meant everything had to be followed by plenty of drink.

Rogal Dorn

Blubbery sausage from the meat of sea-mammals and huge land beasts (caribou, bear). Fish was often pickled to last longer, or made into vorschmack. Occasionally tough vegetables could be found under the permafrost. Eggs and berries might be foraged, made into stew, or eaten by themselves. Beer often served warm.

The Inwit tribes were proud people, though their options were few. No matter what was made, it was often soaked in fat from numerous ingredient, so as to keep the body warm and well-fed in the face of constant ice and cold.

Konrad Curze

Cheap patties or homogenized sausages made from dubious meats (dog, rat, or pigeon - if you were lucky) The closest things to vegetables or fruits would be processed food-bars. Cheap mass-produced beer and liquor used to wash away sorrows. Konrad himself often had to subsist on wild vermin and scraps.

Nostramo was ruled by exploitation and horror. If high fat and alcohol content could give the locals some temporary reprieve from their awful lives, they would overlook the otherwise horrible tastes.

Sanguinius

Mixed-grain flatbread, cracker-like. Occasionally leavened if a tribe settled down for a while. Butter and milk was common (from sheep equivalents), but slaughtering an animal was saved for special ceremonies. Wine was also drunk at these times, or the blood of the animal, in honor of the creature.

Wild game on Baal Secundus could not be trusted, and might often kill you before you could kill it. Eating involved strict ceremonies of cleanliness, and herds were more valuable than gold, being under threat of mutant raiders.

Ferrus Manus

Thick gruel, served hot or cold, though often bland. Easy to mass-produce and portable goods like sausage or jerky were common. Scarce vegetables were preserved (tubers, gourds, cabbage). Both meat and veg might be rendered down to thick mash that was then canned. Medusan liquor could double as cheap engine-fuel.

On a world as polluted and unforgiving as Medusa, every drop of nutrition had to be squeezed from foodstuffs, while making sure they lasted. Such foods weren’t the most delicious, but they were efficient.

Angron Thal’kyr

Pudding or hash made from tough grains (rye, barley) mixed with blood (often from animals, but sometimes from gladiators). Cheap beer might be given out, especially to those slated to die. Hard liquor often awarded to victors in small quantities.

Though the lords of Nuceria ate the finest fare, gladiator food had to be cheap and filling. Only the most entertaining could be allotted “treats”. For some of the more deranged warriors, stealing someones food or drink was grounds to become a meal yourself.

Roboute Guilliman

Veritable feasts of fish and livestock (pork, veal, chicken), or sometimes served as small meals to be eaten with company. Rich porridge of vegetables or fruit were common, served with glassy-crusted loaves of bread. Everything was paired with honey, butter, or both. Dilute wine provided taste and calmed nerves, while not clouding the senses.

The marvels of civilization brought even the peasants of Macragge a decent meal. Variety and freshness were tantamount, and most every meal was meant to be eaten during business - financial transactions, visits from guests, or even during the morning trip to the baths.

Mortarion

Thick, fatty stew of meat (pork, freshwater fish) and heady vegetables (onions, potatoes). Made with dark beer and strong-smelling seasonings (garlic, more onions), and served with tough, leavened bread. Horrible but rich beer served alongside.

The only land fit for agriculture lay far below the noxious clouds of Barbarus. Anything that wasn’t pulled from the deepest earth, or drank from the lowest stream, might be polluted by the high air. Heady seasonings helped mask the smell of the rot that quickly set in.

Magnus the Red

Rich, heavily-seasoned meats (all kinds) served as kebab. Accompanied by creamy sauces and small vegetables and fruits (olives, dates, figs, peppers). Small cakes and candied fruits for a treat. Meals often served with flatbread to allow for eating without dirtying fingers. Dilute wine for flavor while not slowing the mind.

Every fruit was always in season on Prospero. A thousand meats, vegetables, and sweet treats were prepared with ease by enchanted kitchens. The only limitation was ease of eating - one did not want to stain book pages with sauce or wine!

Horus

Game barbecue (mutant stag, rabbit), seasoned with spare liquor/beer and foraged spices. Processed goods might still be found in the ruins, though only the brave dared to eat them. Fruit and veg could be stolen from sedentary gangs or peasants. Grey-liquor (mixed alcohol) common drink to consolidate bottles.

In the ruins of Cthonia, even the most powerful gangs were only afforded so much luxury. Maybe you preserve your food only for someone to steal it, or maybe you eat it now at the risk of going hungry later.

Lorgar Aurelian

Fine stew made of any combination of fish, meat (sometimes sausage), vegetables, and hundreds of strong spices. Served hot or cold. Simpler meals could still be found with ease, and were no less delicious. Monastic beer and blessed wine were the main alcoholic drinks, and seldom used for leisure.

Ingredients on Colchis were plentiful and varied, and the Colchisians were fond of experimentation. The tastes of heaven could be found in both simplicity and complexity, and ingredients often changed as different fasts were observed throughout the year.

Vulkan

Giant reptile barbeque, roasted over open flame or in earthenware ovens. Ground-meat wat was also enjoyed alongside sweet and spongy bread. Meat was often seasoned with intense spices that would make lesser humans’ eyes water; though sweet volcanic yams made for a good pairing. Harsh but flavorful liquor might be enjoyed, or even used for fire-breathing displays!

Though the people of Nocturne enjoyed sweet stuffs, their fetish for the flames of their homeworld was mirrored in their spice-heavy cooking. Visitors should always have a bottle on hand, or some sweet bread or yams, before they indulge in any meat dishes.

Corvus Corax

Before the Liberation, meals were often simple mash (potatoes and cabbage), gruel, and maybe some meat scraps or weak alcohol. After the capture of Kiavahr, richer stews of tubers, grain (rye, corn), and fruits (berries, apples) were enjoyed. Roast fowl or fish stuffed with nuts and berries was common, as well as hearty bread, and rich beer.

When the slaves of Lycaeus regained access to the forests of Kiavahr, a bounty was available to them. The peasant meals they were once forced to eat were remade into richer versions fit for hard workers.

Alpharius

??? Space-pirate grog and scavenged xenos-beast meat?

Many tales were told of the mysterious twins. Some say Alpharius spent his days trapped on a dead world before his salvation. Others, that he was a scourge of the outer space-ways. Some say he never was lost to begin with. Who can say?

#primarchs #warhammer 40k #horus heresy #food

180 notes · View notes

rhotdornn · 7 years

Text

[Bloodbrine]

[Concerning Archipelagoes]

Aerslaent had never lusted for golden-dusted shores, for shimmering blankets of sand draped upon its outskirts--for palms wrapped in the comfort of thick, smooth crusts and crowned with a plethora of green wings--nurturing rounder spoils yet underneath their mighty branches. During seasons of merriment, its very waters rejoiced, too--the Sea shone vivaciously with a sterling sheen, as its calm waves drank in the essence of the sun, with no blot of mire to stain its glassy surface nor scorn to rile its tides. The archipelago truly never wanted too direly for any climate yet.

Nor did it hunger for the draught of blood.

Puzzled together by broken belts rising proudly from the harrowing waters stood the Archipelago. Leagues and leagues to no end would those of daring fates and dastardly ambitions suffer journeying Northwards from the realm of Eorzea, were they keen on encountering the Firstland. ‘Twas no innocent nor simple endeavor--for the chain of isles fed into a greater expanse around them--and far were the situated northwards, with no land bordering their colony reachable by any vessel--not without a proper rationing worth the while of many-a-sennight, of course.

A drafted guide--a handwritten journal of a young Sea Wolf once upon time hinted at a great deal of information about the composition of the islands. Now, however, it has long been retrieved, safely stowed away from the clutches of any Eorzean audacious enough to embark on this ghastly quest.

Some islands were small. Others, greater so. Some curved around like a sickle cradling smaller, inhabited reefs--much and more reminiscent of the likeness which Limsa Lominsa bears to date. Other specimen, however, were far more reserved from the main belt--cast upon the outermost layers, mapping the lay of the land and waters alike. Their names never truly clung to the minds and tongues of the locals--some carried meaning, others were branded after their most notable features, noteworthy citizens, impressive landmarks--nothing far too complex or difficult on the mind to remember. It provided interwoven trade betwixt the masses of land a breeze, after all. Even the smaller islands enjoyed a colorful palette of reputations, reserved to their residents, their wildlife, their histories and leading figures of rank that governed them...

Such an island had been The West, as its most common name had taken root in the common tongue. Closest to the sharp brine of Sharlayan did its own waters come, and its name held no complexity nor subtlety to its laurel--it was the westernmost line of defense encircling Aerslaent, and served many archaic galleys and swift, battle-hardened vessels with port, trade, furnishing and resupplying services--be they sunk in the territory of spice-trade, dipped into the exotic pools of luxuriant food arrays, and even dabbling in the questionable waters of gun and explosive powder trafficking.

Yet, with such prospects of services and frequent trading posts, the competition long planted into any Sea Wolf’s thundering heart was given way to sup upon greed, gluttony, and from them stemmed envy, and from envy yielded jealousy--and from jealousy, the fires of conflict would usher.

[Of Wolves and the Sea]

Sulfurous standards of blackened smoke climbed from the distant horizon, planted into the scorched hull of a battered galley--one all too poorly prepared for that which it did not avoid--a hearty fodder of canon artillery sunk into its snapped planks.

The waters played host to a solitary duel--a score now on the verge of settling betwixt two contestants--a broad frigate, crammed to its teeth with lethal necks of canons strapped all across its decks, some thirty it must’ve been--and a colossal man-o-war ship, a beauty in its own, heavenscraping right. The former spread its triad of masts with the stifling color of black--and the latter proudly put on garments of vibrant, bloody reds. Ear-twisting drumming came from the unloading canons bombarding the calamitous Sea with a felt fervor--this was a personal matter, and one heavily invested into bringing its opposition to its heel.

Outcries of staggering crewhands dotted the land as the assault saw no cease--where it could be applied, insult would marry injury in any form fathomable. From the larger man-o-war hurled a leaden orb, its course true and aim unwavering. It flung itself through the stem which nurtured the mast of its opponent, instantly clipping the monumental pole like it was but a twig, brittle and swayed by some ginger, seductive whisper of the wind ripping it asunder. Splinters burst from the cavity left in the wake of the canon, and seconding it came the dreadful blow to any crew’s morale--the foremost standard of their ship swept crashing down in an ardent blaze, with whatever outlook stationed above it clinging onto dear life in the aftermath of its crippling fall.

Coup de grâce.

Save that no mercy would see the light of day, extorted from the hands of the smaller vessel’s crumbling, ruinous defeat. It may’ve boasted an impressive battalion of canons to crush any ship on par with its own stamina--but this vessel had been exclusive to but one person, renowned for its assault of aggression and decimating pace. Waves roared, their teeth baring fangs of white foam, spilling and spewing across deck and mast of the harmed frigate. The final act would not tarry on, into tomorrow--such the piracy code decreed, but to such only adhered those wishing to retain some formality to their barbaric spiels of slaughter.

No. More motives lingered to this carnage. This was personal, for all its intents and purposes.

Riddled with gaps and holes devoid of sentient survivors, the frigate yielded to the roaring waves, ceasing course. This permitted the conquering vessel to flank its right wing, lured in by the scent wafting of victory. Pressing against its battered side, bridges, ropes and hooks all flew en masse ‘cross hull and aftcastle. The prey was netted--and now diligently being reeled in.

“Jetblack! Jetblaaack, come! Live and lighten up a little! Join our merry company with your glaring presence!” The dominant vessel offered not only physical, but likewise verbal ailments. As tradition ordained it, the acting Captain of each vessel had to step to the plate--and make themselves known to their adversary. Yet from the frigate no thread of voice came, no semblance of sentience dwelling within its more esteemed ranks--if any of such folds could be labeled as esteemed.

“Very well then, as you will it...” The winds howled in the wake of a blade cutting through the lulling currents--a scimitar hied from its scabbard, surpassing the verge of the deck’s railings--pointed towards the offended, injured prey. A simplistic, yet firm imperative--an order to mount the captured vessel and seize its brigade of seamen. A howling wall mounted the crossing planks from the gargantuan vessel, packs of eager, roaring Sea Wolves hurling into the bosom of the reeled ship. The song of steel screeched and chirped out in the heat of the instance, the siege approaching its zenith point. The Captain was the first to herald the charge, leading by example with a confident, heavy pounce from the boards of the temporary bridges, and unto the shriveled planks now specked with particles of carried dust, wafting from the depression of a nearby crater, no doubt.

The crewmates received no vocal plea for mercy--no. None did he have to spare, either. Not today, and today only.

The sparring was swift to arise, yet by culture, the Captain took no part in it--no, not yet. Having assumed conquered ground atop the foreign deck, with his men pushing its safe boundaries ever on, the male Roegadyn bid his time in wait, both of his palms collected calmly atop the butt of his blade, with its razor grinding chips and dents with meager twists into the soiled, salt-swept planks below. Sanguine-reminiscent orbs patiently burned their vigil into the remnants of a door that undoubtedly served as the main access point to the lower decks--but no response yielded from the neck of the passage. In its stead, he began perusing the split well of stairs that ran up its side--the section of the ship from where the Captain’s wheel commanded the steering of his ship.

Just as he had contemplated mounting the folders of steps would the door kick open, one weary, trembling palm clasping at its outer rim. Mistake was there none--no fear induced such quivering and shivering of distress. No, it was the venom of anger that compelled one to respond to the previous alacrity with seething fury. A grizzled Sea Wolf took center stage before the door--flesh brandishing a sickly green hue, strong features framing his countenance, a lengthy, impressive beard of raven black in turn matching the tint of his inky hair, though strings of white were mustered within the ranks of dark, alluding to his age--no cordiality would he offer the pearl-pale Sea Wolf before him, rightfully so.

“That a proper manner in which to greet an old friend?” The crimson-maned Wolf chimed in, the symphony of his tranquil voice comprised of strings of comfort, confidence and snide alike played in marvelous unison for the other’s ears.

“You...” The greener Wolf planted one foot firmly before the other, his trembling arm making for the hilt of his curved cutlass. As his fingers found purchase around the leather wrap, the entire blade began to sing in a clatter of metal--the unnerved motion had ordered it to, after all.

“What... Do you want? I’un got no breath t’ waste with the likes o’ ye... Have ye been sittin’ upon yer fockin’ ears?” At length the barking of the Wolves would add an additional flavor of bloodthirst to the repast of the carnage above deck. Raw emotions were presented to the platter, and consumed accordingly would they be.

“Me? Why, to visit an old accomplice, aye. You never did vocally answer my request...” The pale Wolf’s attire bespoke no aristocracy, yet it held little common ground with common buccaneers, at that. Fine leathers coveted his ebony jacket, and criss-crossed was the bounty of belts that ran across his chest. His armaments contradicted his albino complexion--a play of light pitted against a husk of dark.

“I’ve got nothing t’ say to ye, boy! Sooner will I piss my bounty down the depths o’ the swivelin’ Sea than share words with one o’ ye. Ye’re from that fockin’ Shark’s get, thrice-damned bastards with their bastard children.” Bloodshot did his surveying, hazel pupils grow, and his fingers would finally find their courage-- his blade sprang form its sheath, dancing in a rhythm of chilled steel.

“I see you still keep my paps in high esteem. That is well.” A radiant smirk tortured the Captain fallen from grace, now playing mirages on the pale Wolf’s lips. His own scimitar sprang aloft from the tattered wood and blunted planks, his visage growing exponentially dire in rapid succession. “Family must-needs keep firm bonds if it means to stick together. Blood runs thicker than water... And yours I will shed across the rippling waves of the tide, the Sea as my witness.”

“Family?! Why, ye lil’ bastard runt...” His feet pressed on an advance, charging sabre-first into the bosom of the fellow Wolf--his blade, however, was met with swift opposition, a cross-parry maneuver singing praise to the younger Captain’s affection for blade-dancing. “Ye ain’t blood t’ me... An’ lis’en ye closely, ye shite-eatin’, pathetic ‘scuse fer a landlubber...” His teeth gritted together to the point of popping his jawline, his frame leaned against the resisting, defensive stance of the male o’ fiery tresses. Each pause conveyed a thrust of his entire weight upon the younger Wolf, and each sentiment echoed out greater, bubbling resentment steaming both rage and anguish within the sizzling kettle of a man. “This... Is how yer fockin’... Story ends... I’m goin’ t’ rip yer gut out... Stuff yer maw with slimy eels... Slice it from yer damned shoulderblades... An’ send it back ‘ome t’ yer whore mo’her an’ swine o’ a father that they might... Know wha’ befalls those who cross Cap’n Blackrim’s bounty hunt... I knew I recognized that accursed ship from somewh’re...” Each subsequent thrust steeled and steered the man further into the Wolf’s own personal abode, striking quite direly against his comfort zone. “We are not...” Another, forceful push saw steel screech against steel, and strength wage assault against tenacity. “An’ will never be...” At this his own rage snapped from its deepest recesses of loathing and scorn, for no greater venom was there for a Sea Wolf to partake than that of wounded--if not decimated--pride. Blackrim reserved himself back with but a single step, but not long would he tarry in such retrospection--his lunge cut swiftly, and his vacant palm flicked against the streaks of sunlight the ebony coating of a swift dagger, hurled against his opposing party. The throat-intended dagger tattooed scratches not against the sweaty, pale hide of the Wolf--but the steel of his blade it would confide in with a chilling screech. Whacking such an inferior razor had worried the assaulter the least--his mind fled to the main course, his sabre--and in a swift swoop arched over his head would he initiate a slash--one more adept at seeking out its prey.

Two bladearms proved greater than one in this particular encounter, if the track record were anything to set sail by. The seaweed-painted Wolf would carve every ounce of strength and dexterity into a sundering strike, to which his sparring mate responded in kind--yet, having to juggle two blades making for his noggin proved no childish feat. His sword was deployed before his right eye, shielding a portion of it from what could’ve accounted for a desperate blow. The upper portion of the sabre partook of a larger spill of sanguine--it feasted on blood as lavish and succulent as the mane of its owner--atop the brow of the Wolf a humble offering of scarlet trickled past, and the steel imprinted within shallowly, toiled ever on, ripping flesh from fellow tissue, cell by cell. The only restriction it chanced to encounter sprang in the form of the defiant blade barring it permission of passage--and a stalwart adversary it’d stand as most certainly.

Blackrim’s blade-dancing was not an art drafted by infantile maneuvers and blunt strikes--no, he fought with energy, strength and sunk his strikes with precision. To this end he pursued victory--his gripping palm, latched onto the main saber, gave way to no thrust onto his adversary--but rather, it tilted lower, commanding the upper edge of the blade to relinquish the marred flesh, and in turn did its lower counterpart, that which sat by the hilt, rock lower--immediately, akin to a scale, tipping its edge against the Roegadyn’s cheekbone, and in the drive of an instant scolding it with the brash kiss of a blade. A jolt of pain soared through the Rainlander’s nerves, and crippling it had become, mingled with the minty taste of unprepared shock. Just enough brute force could he amass to drive back against his rotten kinsman, pledging himself to the saving grace that was his swift, tactical thinking--the muscles of his arms mustered against both hilt and razor of his own blade, shoving and shuffling off the attacker with one firm press of his being. This, however, was not met in kind countenance of the older Captain--his foot heeded a call backwards, only to betray all expectant notions--and slam with bubbling fervor and lacking ceremony into the gut of the bleeding Wolf, imparting unto him a rowdy, spine-shattering kick.

“Blood. Ye’re nothin’ but a maggot playin’ jester in an adult’s game--we’ll ne’er be family, ya shitegrin-wearin’ wharf rat!” The would-be victor cheered with poisonous confidence, his hissing breath permeating through the cracks and nooks of his bared fangs.

Blood. His half-gloved palm that secured grip over his right eye... Infested with his own, clotting essence, running amok--squeezed past nail and digit, hardening against the ebony textures of his glove in swift rivulets. His soul hung on by a whim to consciousness, his breath dispensing it alabaster from the flaring den of his nostrils. He’d get up. And he’d see this through, fates be damned. He did not wish to account the victory and thus solely reserve it to the nautical dominance of his broader vessel and keener wit in maneuvering against his prey in the open waters... No, this would mark a wholesome victory, even if it stood against all and every odd.

And get up he did. His legs bespoke greater tenacity steeling their muscles, and a greater testament yet to the same would the following lunge give praise to. His anger was no longer sheltered. His reverie, broken. Silence, extinguished. Cordial playfulness...

Sated. Slaked.

Another cross parry chimed from the marriage of their blades, and flock of sparks bounced from the gleaming weaponry. The sun’s image now veiled by the chaffing covers o’ black that bloomed from the inflicted dents upon the ship, and the waves billowed harshly against the trampled ship.

“You... When will you... Come to see, useless old Aldgoat... I do not, and will never lack nor need your permission, nor any other thing of your belonging... Save for the one thing... The one... Thing... You kept at bay from me... With the ignorant, barbaric promise of death which your hand saw finished... And your wretched heart saw justification to...” His palm was long removed from shielding his marred eye. Blood freely spun webs o’ scarlet across the right half of his visage, and fury fled from his expression--the bottled anger of his flaring rubies only rose to match the tint of blood that smeared across his bleeding flesh. Each pause within his speech gave formidable path to the male carving a path inwards, his blade reinforced with an unquenchable fire--and his mind not yet lost to vengeance. No, if such were to corrupt him, swiftly would he come to find his skull ridden from his shoulders, and riddled with many-a-myrriad of cuts and slices.

“So wha’? This is wha’ it’s all ‘bout...? This is what ye saw fittin’ t’ ruin me booty an’ strip me o’ my career with!? Yer petty lil’ dov--” As if something went aflare with instant ignition did the younger Wolf relent and retract one fist off his blade’s handle, and ere the surplus of strength from the other would topple and crash against his blade did he seek to strike--his knuckles ripped through the air, and with a firm, fastened fist did they score a jaw-breaking violation of the rowdier Captain’s mug, disrupting his cognitive reasoning--and with the rapidity of another swing would he dispatch a yet hardier punch against Blackrim’s cheek this time. The older Wolf held barely any semblance of composure to his form, and his enemy would forge such unwariness of prompt reaction into a timely death--his hunched opponent would feel the burrowing sting of a blade yield to his internal organs, absolutely decimating and rending the flesh of his gut to bleeding, mushy paste--drunk with the essence truly none other than his own.. His aged eyes went agape with a stifling choke to mirror his dwindling shock. At death’s door he suddenly felt himself kneeling, and it ruffled his feathers--oh how it did so--the very idea of being brought low by one such as the young Wolf, out of all fathomable adversaries.

“This is what your death... Is all about. Where I had devoted ‘it’ mine own life, to ‘it’ do I now bequeath your death. Very slow... Very painful... I am wholly aware. Long I did for this day’s dawn... And longer yet did I want for it--grooming mine own husk to stand toe to toe with your accursed, damned being. And now we arrive... To the great battle of our time.” The ginger’s head lured itself closer, his breathy whisper pillaging the downed Captain’s ears with infuriating reminders; his own blood dripping through his vermilion beard, blessing the wilting Sea Wolf’s shoulder with his sanguine.

“...And then I ask you again, like so many years ago I had failed to, father-in-law. Ah, but that title does spring back unnecessary phantoms of the past... Well...” And such scorn it would most truly invoke--if any more willpower rested in the ravenous Blackrim, it would have thrived in the form of an expelled spittle, aimed down the alley of the fellow Wolf.

“I did uphold my word... I did impart a warning upon you that day. Were you but counting days, bells, the trickling sand in the hourglass...? It matters not. I am come... My cherished in-law... To ask o’ ye the one thing your own sabre took from me and everyone else in this life. I am come on a march for...”

Volatile and cruel was the tug of his blade, sending the felled Rainlander into a writhing frenzy--his throat ripped to shreds as the blade exited his wound, and his orbs swelled with fatigue and the belated drain of adrenaline intoxicating his body in an alcohol of painkillers. Yet, no feeble concoct could serve to comfort his ailments at this stage, no remedy fitting to degrade his wound’s laments at this degree. The only thing he played host to was the indignant kick of a boot cast against his shoulder, sending his mortal coil in a launch through the broken grating of the ship’s deck. The last vestige of resistance was found in the meek clutch against the ship’s splintered edge, with the redhead towering tall and proud--and through the cast shadows, stolen from the sun’s warming caress stood a visage dreadful and dire--his was the exterior embodying vengeance itself, and his deeds would rise to match his convictions--his boot lifted remorselessly from the blackened lumber, and its metal-padded heel sunk right into the hopeful, clutching digits--every strand of rage mingled with grief dissipated from Blackrim’s expression, as if he had just now come to terms with the severity of the condition in which he resided in. A shuddering yell cursed the ears of a hundred sailors as the desecrated Captain had been cast off into his demise, and the last words he’d hear ushered into the clearing streams of brisk wind belonged to none other than his newborn bane.

“...the hand o’ your daughter, Blackrim.”

...Sunlight. Radiant tethers amassed in toppling brilliance as beams of light suddenly polished the growing, dreadful perfume of dust and ash piling from below. The smoke’s wings were swiftly topped in but an hour from when the hungering brine partook of the generous spill that inked its surface in deep blots of red with another sacrifice yielded to its depths... Such had the decree been of the bloodbrine, after all. Above the broken railing did he stand... A man once broken--and perhaps, never quite to be pieced together. Irony enriched his tale, he’d often smirk at himself in the resonance of his own self-pity... Were it not for the drive planted within him from that loathed day would he have never picked up the arts of fencing and bladeweaving... The expertise of smithing and reinforcing armaments and weaponry... And now that his heart invited some solace into itself with this last act of retribution... He could take up a new mantle. The mantle of the Bladereaver, on of the Sundering Shark--bane of Sharlayan and Aerslantean tides and pirate renowned.

But that’d wait. First... He had a lent warship to relinquish and return to its rightful owner. And just as the thought had come to fruition did his bloodied, stinging gaze unravel an approach of two more frigates--from their masts curled and billowed the proud standard dipped in red--and upon its fabrics an imprint of a banner was bestowed. A crimson leaf swept ablaze by a tangerine, bloody flame--yet it had not been scorched, nor jaded by it. It wore the inferno like a cloak, draped in signified pride for all of its opponents to behold.

As he clutched onto the remnants of his cut, a petite hiss would elicit from his ashen-pallored lips. He knew full-well whom the war-vessel belonged to... And who was likely aboard one of those marching frigates.

“Ah, bloody Seven Hells and back...”

#ffxiv #The Echo #Rhotdornn Hyrtfyrsyn #RP #IC #Story #Roegadyn #Sea Wolf #An insight to Rhotdornn's past and how he got the scar over his right eye essentially #Writing #Aerslaent #My god this took me apart

20 notes · View notes

sashthesloth · 7 years

Text

rules: answer all questions, add one question of your own and tag as many people as there are questions. Tagged by @iblamebioware honestly I saw this now and what's what's a better way to spend your 3am while jetlagged than by answering questions 1. coke or pepsi: no soft drinks for me no sir 2. disney or dreamworks: Dissnneeyy sorry dreamworks I love you too but I grew up with Disney more 3. coffee or tea: I STAY AWAKE OUT OF SHEER WILL neither 4. books or movies: ummm books. Lot more things in terms of different stories 5. windows or mac: windows most definitely 6. dc or marvel: DC solely because of the batfam 7. xbox or playstation: never owned an xbox while I had both ps1 and ps4 so yeah 8. dragon age or mass effect: fuuuuck I love dragon age so much but like I've only played inquisitor I can't believe I'm saying this Mass Effect 9. night owl or early riser: both. Hello 3 hours of sleep 10. cards or chess: cards. (I will crush my family at monopoly deal) 11. chocolate or vanilla: chocolate is love. Chocolate is life 12: vans or converse: as much as I love my pizza vans… converse is my fave 13. lavellan, trevelyan, cadash, or adaar: daaaamn I love lavellan but holy crap adaaaarrrr ♡ 14. fluff or angst: give me both I wasn't doing fine anyway 15. beach or forest: forest. Sand is ugh 16. dogs or cats: dogs dogs dogs. I've never had a cat so I wouldn't know 17. clear skies or rain: depends how hard it's raining but rain yes as long as it's not the *rains while the sun is out so everything is hot and no one can breathe* thing 18. cooking or eating out: I cannot cook. Eat out 19. spicy food or mild food: I'm trash at eating spicy things so mild 20. halloween/samhain or solstice/yule/christmas: don't celebrate Halloween that much here… christtmasss 21. would you rather be a little too cold or a little too hot: I am always a little too hot thanks to being near the equator and I hate it. So I'd rather be a little too cold 22. if you could have a superpower, what would it be: ohhh shapeshifting would be fun 23. animation or live action: depends on the animation and depends on the live action 24. paragon or renegade: I haven't actually gone on a paragon run yet so renegade. Even though I die a little 25. baths or showers: showers 26. team cap or team iron man: I didn't like either side tbh 27. fantasy or sci-fi: FANTASY SCI FI 28. do you have three or four favorite quotes? yes. Do I have to say them? Most of them are night Vale quotes. “mostly void. Partially stars” and others 29. youtube or netflix: YouTube. 30. harry potter or percy jackson: oh man that's hard cause Percy Jackson was the first book series I read. Percy. 31. when you feel accomplished: WHEN I FINISHED DEFENDING MY THESIS PROPOSAL 32. star wars or star trek: can't I pick both 33. paperback books or hardback books: paperback. Hardbound are too costly 34. handwriting or type: handwriting. 35. velvet or satin: velvet? 36. video games or movies: V I D E O G A M E S 37. would you rather be the dragon or own the dragon: I've read eragon and watched httyd too many times give me a best friend buddy dragon 38. learning chinese or learning spanish: I've tried learning both in school aND SCREW MANDARIN 6 YEARS OF IT AND ALL I KNOW IS HOW TO ASK FOR YOUR NAME AND HOW TO SING HAPPY BIRTHDAY I'll take Spanish class any day 39. what is the best concert you’ve been to? I've been to two. Idina Menzel and All Time Low. They're very different. 40. Would you rather be able to speak every language or be able to talk to animals? Every language anD THAT INCLUDES ANIMALS 41. be front row for your favorite artist and not meet them, or meet them but have lawn seats: meet them no doubt 42. city or countryside: countryside 43. would you rather be a mutant, jedi, or wizard? Do we have to live in that universe too? Um then a jedi 44. fried pickles or mozzarella sticks? Mozza 45. vampires or werewolves? I'm not particular to either 46. pizza or pasta? Pizza with stuffed cheese crust. Or lasagne 47. watching a movie at the cinema with the excitement of its night premiere or wait a few days and watch it later more relaxed? Relaxed 48. What is your favorite band or singer? You can't possibly make me pick. It's probably hozier 49. What is your favorite fruit? MANGOOES 50. underwater or outer space? outer space. There's so much we need to know and I've been influenced too much by mass effect but I've always loved studying the stars. HOWEVER I love marine life. 51. what’s the best gift you’ve ever gotten? My child the love of my life my laptop. 52: Do you prefer trucks or cars? Cars 53. give up chocolate or give up the internet? HOW?? I just…. I need the Internet to get through everyday. I'll find another source of sweets. 54. Ubisoft or EA? EA I guess. Solely because of bioware and the sims but I love AC so much Umm and I guess…. 55. Sweet or sour? And I'll tag some people then…. @nonbinarygirlscout @clararogersgallagher and who ever else

1 note · View note

metamorphesque · 1 year

Text

Bridal Couture Spring-Summer 2022, Vivienne Westwood

#i love this 😍#i need to stop looking at wedding dresses #outer crust and little marvelings #fashion #vivienne westwood #bridal couture #wedding dress

891 notes · View notes

seriouslyhooked · 7 years

Text

Just a Taste (A CS AU) Part 4/10

AU where Emma and Killian are contestants on the Great American Baking Show and all twelve contestants hail from Storybrooke Maine. In this AU Emma is a book editor by day, while Killian is an architect who just moved to town a few months prior. Expect baked goods, flirtatious interactions, a little drama and a whole lot of fluff with a guaranteed HEA for Captain Swan. Rated M.

Part One Here, Part Two Here, Part Three Here

A/N: Week Four means dessert week for the characters of ‘Just a Taste’, but it also means something fun and light for us readers – a Halloween special that pits all our characters in costumes and by extension, into momentary alter egos. Expect lots of CS fluff and interactions with Emma and her friends that are cute and fun.

To say that the production team had gone over the top for this week’s segment was an understatement, and Emma could do nothing but marvel at the intricacies of the decorations within the big white tent this beautiful Saturday.

All of the foliage and beauty adorning the world outside was brought to life in the contest space as well and then supplemented with tons of festive paraphernalia. Though it was still technically a week before Halloween, the network had decided to highlight the thematic elements and everything was reflecting the holiday right down to the contestants themselves. That’s right - today Emma and the others weren’t just baking… they were baking in costume.

“To have been a fly on the wall during the meeting where they assigned us all these outfits.” Belle’s words reached Emma’s ears as they were all filing into their opening spots for the first shot of the day. Emma had to agree, that the thought process on most of these costumes was bizarre, but she at least had gotten lucky with her getup, some of the other’s hadn’t been as lucky.

“I don’t remember any Disney Princesses having a red dress,” Belle added as she looked Emma over and Emma informed her that she was Princess Buttercup from The Princess Bride. Both Belle’s and Mary Margaret’s faces showed understanding then and they glanced over Emma’s shoulder to Killian.

“That would make our friend Killian a Dread Pirate named Westley.”

Emma nodded, and couldn’t help the bit of a blush that washed across her face. This was another way for production to make it about the two of them being an item, but Emma and Killian could manage. Besides, this was one of Emma’s favorite movies, and Killian looked really good as a pirate. He’d also decided to hijack the costume a little bit in an attempt to remove some of the blatant couple-ness. He’d somehow managed to swipe a hook, presumably from a Peter Pan themed costume in the back, and was wearing a black leather jacket that added a kind of modern edge. All in all, it was working spectacularly well, and every time Emma cast a glance his way, she was thrust into some very dirty fantasies, cameras and lights be damned.

“What is it about me in particular that screams ‘vampire seductress?’” Mary Margaret asked, genuinely curious and expressing a bit of discomfort at her day’s outfit. She looked great, very cool and otherworldly, but it was a strange choice, Emma had to agree.

“Probably the same thing that tells people I would ever want to be a Victorian Era zombie slayer.” Emma muffled her laughter as she looked once more at Belle’s outfit. It’s not that her friend looked bad per se, she just looked so frilly and yet was expected to wield some sort of revolver thing to kill the undead. “I mean how are we supposed to move around in these. At least it’s a baking show and not like a physical race. But still, these sleeves are a fire hazard.”

“How do you think Regina will like Robin’s get up?” Emma asked and the three friends lacked any sort of discretion as they turned to the man in question and acknowledged the biker costume he was currently rocking. It was the complete opposite of his usual single dad, good guy clothes, and honestly, Emma highly suspected their famous female judge would approve.

“Alright everyone, the judges are making their entrances. We of course want honest reactions but…” Tink pushed her glasses further up her nose and fidgeted slightly on her feet.

“But don’t poke too much fun or the Golden Goose’s ego will get tarnished. We know, Tink, no worries. My new Victorian Era alter ego is very aware of how to repress, repress, repress.”

Emma bit back another giggle at Belle’s seemingly never ending sass when under this white tent and Tink smiled, looking a little relieved that it was Belle specifically who said that. With the assurance, the small woman was able to set things in motion for Liam and the judges were brought in donning some really entertaining outfits as well that were no doubt contractually obligated. Granny was currently Sherlock Holmes, Gold was dressed in his usual clothes, but had zombie makeup on (much to Belle’s satisfaction, who whispered something about her first twenty first century zombie kill) and Regina was a fifties girl, with a baby pink sweater, a poodle skirt, and pigtails.

“Oh my God, do you think they did that on purpose?” Mary Margaret whispered about Robin and Regina’s costumes, but Emma shook her head. She doubted that Liam would dare to alienate a judge who was contracted to the show long term for the possible intrigue. It could be really bad for the show if people thought there was something going on between a judge and a contestant during the competition. Besides, why bother more people than his little brother and the woman who loved him?

There’s that word again, Emma thought as she shot a quick look to Killian who merely nodded and gave her a grin. God, that cocky look with the outfit was really going to be trouble for Emma. All of their work to keep their attraction away from the cameras (which wasn’t really working great, since most of the audience was still ‘shipping’ them, whatever that meant) was possibly going to be undone by this outfit alone. If Emma could keep her hands off of that leather, she would deserve a serious reward.

“Bakers, welcome to week Four of our Bake Off which as you know is Dessert week. As you’ve no doubt gathered we’re changing things up. Some shows are going green, but we’ve gone scream.” The terrible pun from Graham got a load of groans from contestants and judges alike that was probably exactly what the writer’s had wanted. Still, it was Ruby’s reaction, scripted or otherwise, that took the cake. She patted him gently on the arm, a little condescending, something that was only amplified since she was rocking a killer Wonder Woman costume.

“Alright honey, no need to hurt yourself. You, me, and the American public can all agree, I say the punch lines and you keep looking pretty…” And boy did he ever. Graham looked less like the lumberjack that he was attempting to be and more like a 3-D version of some hot male model from those calendars that killed with housewives. “Now let’s get to it. Today’s starter challenge is to make a molten dessert, however you may like. All that you need to have is a baked outer crust and something ooey and gooey in the center. The rest we leave to you.”

“Bakers, if you will please man your stations,” Graham instructed.

They all made their way swiftly to their spots, and when they did, Ruby and Graham gave the official count down setting them all off on their way to creating their first Halloween treat of the day. For Emma, this first round was an old faithful, one that always served her well in the past – triple chocolate molten brownies. She was only making one notable change to the recipe, and that was to temper her own white chocolate so she could color it orange. That counted as Halloween themed right? It would have to.

The morning’s bake went by pretty well with no noticed sabotages from a more subdued Catherine (who was dressed as what Emma was guessing was a drunk starlet or a spring breaker who had seen better days). Still, when the group stood in front of the judges, tensions were high. Melted centers were not an easy thing to come by, and a baker ran all sorts of risks when they tried to make one. The sauce could melt into the cake or cookie base itself if cooked too long or at too high a temperature (as it had with Lance’s blackberry filled vanilla cake), but could also stay too thick to be considered melted (like with David’s caramel confection). Today, both outcomes were unacceptable.

“I thought the hosts made it pretty clear that we were looking for a melted substance, Mr. Nolan, not a pudding. Do you know the difference?” Gold spat out.

David bristled only slightly at the words before grinning at Gold and giving a joking reply that if a lawyer knew how to do anything it was spin. Maybe he hadn’t achieved the objectives of the challenge, but he’d challenge anyone to go against him on taste. When Granny and Regina sided with him on that, Emma could have sworn Gold went red, even if it wasn’t visible from underneath the crazy costume makeup he was wearing.

The judges moved on, taking note of all the remaining bakes, and while Emma’s was definitely a hit, it was Belle’s mini monster skillet cookies that stole the show. Filled with peanut butter sauce, and composed of a dough base that incorporated oats, chocolate chunks, m&ms and about another dozen treats, they were delicious, and definitely on Halloween theme. Emma had managed to steal one of the left over cookies and was mid mind-blowing bite when Killian came up beside her.

“Seems I’ve missed out on the morning’s favorite.”

The gravel in his voice only further fueled the charge between them and shot straight to Emma’s heart. The lilt in his voice had her whole body reverberating with warmth. She did something that he didn’t expect though and smiled, offering to share her mini skillet with him. Handing him an extra spoon, she invited him to try a bit, and though she was glad he liked it, she was a little jealous at the sound that came past his lips when he tasted the treat. She kind of only wanted him to make that noise for her baking, or her in general.

“That good, huh?” Killian licked his lips playfully but then pulled closer, so close that his whispered words left a warm air tickling Emma’s ear and setting another flutter coursing through her.

“Everything tastes this good to a starving man, and I have neither had the spoils of your baking, or my hands on you this morning. I am by all definition’s, starving.”

Emma thought back to last night, and regretted the second part of his statement. She had missed him, but they’d decided to cool it, if just for one night since the town’s influx of tourists were watching eagerly to see if they were or were not a couple. The whole town knew of course, but thanks to their loyalty, it hadn’t leaked to the larger public, at least not yet. Honestly, though, Emma didn’t give a damn if they did find out, it wasn’t worth spending her nights away from Killian.

“I think the drought should end, don’t you?” Emma grinned wickedly and the hope in Killian’s eyes was so apparent it almost made Emma feel bad for reaching past and offering him one of her brownies. The way his face fell had Emma wanting to reach out and kiss him, but instead she played with the hook on his hand. That was innocent enough right? Then, sure that there were no cameras trained on her face she whispered: “Tonight, my house.”

With that, Killian made another sound of vigorous approval of Emma’s brownies and was off, back to his own station, leaving Emma alone once more for only a moment until the hosts were speaking to them once more and instructing them on what today’s test would be.

Their task this week was a tiramisu cake from Regina that required not only precision in the face of all of the redacted instruction, but also working with chocolate to design suitable Halloween inspired adornments. When the bell rang for them to get started, Emma immediately moved through the parts of the recipe she knew. She’d made this treat before a few times, and while she wasn’t an expert, some things she definitely remembered, like how the slices of cake needed to be extremely thin, and how they all needed to be soaked in the coffee/espresso mix.

“You know, Emma, if they decide to hand out extra points at the end of all this for the person who gets the least mess on their costume, you just might win.” Ruby’s compliment as she made her way to Emma’s station with Graham and a cameraman made Emma smile a bit and then look down at her red dress. It was in fact, still pristine, and without the assistance of an apron or anything. Quickly, Emma took a look around to the others, and realized that the same couldn’t be said for many of the others. Lance and Belle in particular both seemed to be struggling with that objective.

“I hardly think they’d take that into account, but here’s hoping right?”

“Speaking of costumes, you are the iconic Princess Buttercup from The Princess Bride. Are you a fan of the story?” Emma bit her lip at Graham’s comment but nodded and responded that she was. “For those of our viewers who might not know, the story centers on a princess and a stable-boy turned pirate who fall in love.”

“Well there’s a lot more to the story than that, but yeah that’s a big part of it.”

“Funny that one of our other characters then is dressed like the pirate from that story.” Emma felt a blush creep to her cheeks but then looked past the judges to Killian and tried to put forth a jesting vibe.

“Really, I think that’s a pretty loose interpretation of Westley.” Ruby, who had tensed up a bit at Graham’s question chimed in.

“Yeah, I mean really what we’re looking at is a hot Captain Hook. If there were no perms and waxed mustaches, and a new found affinity for leather of course.” Emma grinned at that and looked back to Graham.

“Can’t really argue with that assessment, and since there is no hot Captain Hook in The Princess Bride…” Emma trailed off.

“You both realize that all I’d have to do is steal that hook from Killian, and your argument would be out the window,” Graham professed and Emma and Ruby looked at each other and both shrugged.

“You could try that, but if I know anything about our town’s newest citizen, it’s that he’s not likely to let a pretty boy lumberjack like yourself steal anything of his.”

Before either of them could understand fully what was happening though, Graham made a sprint to Killian’s table as if to get the item in question, but with grace and poise, Killian picked up the hook from it’s spot on his table and quickly put it back on.

“Ah, Graham, you should know better than to mess with a man’s hook.” Graham was a little out of breath but he smirked back.

“To be fair, you’re an architect, so I wasn’t anticipating you’d have such a sense of pirate duty.”

“And that, my friend, is why you’ve come up short.”

Emma could hear the interaction between the two of them and was standing with Ruby, holding back laughter but this was the last straw. Both women were now giggling, and even though Emma should really be working on her bake, she couldn’t seem to care. That lack of desire to retreat only increased when Killian turned to Emma and winked.

“Something new to add to the ‘things I didn’t know about myself’ list…” Ruby began, “I am weirdly into Captain Hook.”

Emma shook her head and laughed once more before forcibly removing Ruby from her station so she could get back to her bake. As it was, the distraction didn’t take too much time away form Emma’s ability to present something to the judges, but still, there was no denying that the scene that had just unraveled would be heavily featured on the next episode. Emma intended for that to be the only bit of ‘will they / won’t they’ footage this weekend, so she threw herself back into the competition head first, only coming back up for air when the timer buzzed once more.

“Alright everyone, time is up, time is up! Bring your bakes forward and await your fate. Muahahaha.” Ruby’s evil laugh was something Emma had heard once or twice before, but clearly very few of the others ever had, including Graham, who for a moment was nearly paralyzed with a mixture of shock and fear.

“Remind me not to cross Ruby, because I would happily live the rest of my days never hearing that again.” Killian’s comment pulled a smug grin from Ruby who then flipped her hair.

“My favorite’s her wolf howl,” Mary Margaret said with a smile on her face. “It sends chills down your spine it’s so real.”

“Perhaps another time, I think Graham’s scared enough as it is.” David’s comment had all the contestants and Ruby alike looking to their other host, who was indeed a little paler than he had been a moment before.

“Right – well… we’re kind of on a schedule here people, so let’s get going.” Graham’s not so graceful segue was still humorous, but everyone had mercy and kept from laughing and soon enough the desire to do so was gone as one by one the judges filed in. On the plates before them there was a real assortment of styles for a tiramisu, some were far and away better than others (like Tiana’s that not only had perfectly even layers, but amazing skeleton chocolate work) while others lacked any sort of cohesion.

“This one looks like it was hit by a truck and then someone attempted to put it back together.”

Gold’s harsh censure was over the top because it didn’t look that bad, but tiramisu was actually drooping all through the middle, and there was some excess liquid leaking out on the side. Lance though seemed pretty indifferent to the scrutiny. Maybe it was his background as a sheriff’s deputy, but Emma gathered it was more his personality.

Lance Knight was a force to be reckoned with, sure of himself in a kind and quiet way and Emma had heard him openly dislike very few people. Gold though, was one of those few, and when Emma ran into Lance during the past week, he’d called the man big headed and cold hearted. To Lance, owning a successful baking restaurant empire meant nothing if Gold was a bad guy. Though Emma couldn’t say for certain, she would bet that Lance was thinking along similar lines right now and that was why he didn’t care about the criticism.

“I think this cake suffers from a lack of uniformity, though I would say the tastes are there. People underestimate the difficulty of layering a cake like this. It’s not for the faint of heart.” Regina’s words though not complimentary were also understanding and far warmer than gold’s while Granny simply shook her head looking at the sight before her.

“Maybe they do things differently outside of Storybrooke, but around here, if someone brought that to a party, we’d all still eat it. Don’t matter the look of a thing. It smells good, tastes good, and someone worked hard to make it for us. That’s enough for me.”

On and on they went down the line, until finally ranking the bakes. Unsurprisingly Tiana came in first with Emma and Mary Margaret close behind, while the bottom of the bunch included Lance, David and Catherine. Once the judging had commenced, the cameras were shut off, the production for the day broken down some and all of the contestants were allowed to finally take off their costumes.

Emma had never been so glad to take of an outfit in her life as she was with this dress, but there was something niggling at the back of her mind. She would have really, truly enjoyed getting to take the hot pirate costume off of Killian. She couldn’t put her finger on why, all she knew was that Killian in all black with a little more edge and a dab more danger was really working for her. Needless to say then, that when she left the confines of the big white tent for the day and found Killian wearing black jeans, a black tee and that same leather jacket, with his hair ruffled from the slight breeze and that glimmer of desire in his eyes, Emma was very excited.

“You cut quite the figure in that dress today, Swan.” Killian said as he took her hand in his and Emma leaned into it, coming to stand closer with him.

“You didn’t look so bad yourself.” He chuckled at that and brought his other hand to her hip, pulling her closer so she was flush against him.

“Come now love. There are no secrets between us. You and I both know you rather liked the look of me as a pirate.” Emma gulped, her throat suddenly dry and her body practically pulsating with need.

“I more than liked it actually. I’ve had ideas of your potential pirate tendencies since week one, if you remember.” Her words hung between them as she brought her own hand up to trace the place where his open jacket met the thin cotton beneath and she watched his muscles tense under the perusal of her fingertips.

“Emma, love, I highly recommend that you let me take you home, for try as I might, I hardly think I can resist you much longer.” Emma pressed her lips to his ever so softly and just as he was about to deepen the kiss she pulled back, smiling.

“Then lead the way, Captain.”

The low growl that came from Killian as he made their way back to his car filled Emma with a rush of emotions that made her almost dizzy. In this moment she felt both incredibly turned on and undeniably happy, something that always seemed to come hand in hand when she was with Killian. It was this divine swirl of emotions that had that small internal voice whispering about love once more, and though she didn’t say the words, she truly did feel that she loved Killian, most ardently.

………………

The next night, after another full day of filming, Emma and Killian were together once more, this time with some of their friends, trying to decompress after a long day. Their Sunday had been anything but relaxing, and among those in attendance at tonight’s impromptu gathering was Lance, the person who the judges had decided to send home. Where others in the past had been saddened or disappointed though, Lance was only relieved. Though he couldn’t tell anyone his fate until after the episode aired, he seemed eager to let everyone know.

“The guys at work have been teasing me mercilessly, and in all honesty, I wasn’t cut out for a world where everyone knows my business. Besides, now I’ll never have to see Gold aside from the finals, and God willing he won’t come anywhere near those of us who were disqualified.” They all raised a glass to that, for it would definitely be a positive of leaving this race early.

“I really did think Robin was going to punch him in the face earlier though.” Mary Margaret’s comment was agreed to across the room, for in the final moments of judging, Gold had made a tasteless remark about Regina when she complimented Robin’s donut display, and Robin had all but spit out a cutting remark about good manners and how to speak to a lady.

“Can you imagine a fight breaking out under that tent today though? They made the challenge ‘Dawn of the Doughnuts’ and if Robin had thrown that punch, you know all hell would have broken loose.” Emma looked at Belle and smiled.

“And by ‘all hell,’ you mean you would have been chucking doughnuts, loving the excuse for a food fight.” Belle considered for a moment and then nodded.

“Yeah, that’s exactly what I mean.”

The others laughed, and Emma appreciated the way that their long, grueling day was ebbing away through the laughter and banter of her friends. Equally helpful though was that she was currently wrapped up with Killian on the couch, his arm around her waist, and her head tucked into his chest. She felt warm and happy and safe and that was definitely something to be thankful for.

“I’m just glad that the whole costume element is behind us,” David said and Emma could understand that.

While yesterday’s football player ensemble had been easy enough, David had been selected for the part of Prince Charming on today’s set. While he’d looked dapper, and Emma had noticed the appreciative glances of Mary Margaret to him more than once, it also looked pretty stiff, and as soon as the cameras were away (and even a little before) David had been adamant that the outfit was itchy. He now had the red scratches along his arms and legs to prove it too.

“No worries, knowing my brother there are bound to be more forms of torture in store.”

Emma felt Killian tense even as he made the joke to the others. While their friends laughed, Emma could tell Killian was a bit sensitive about his brother’s actions during the filming. Killian originally believed that Liam would be sticking to the no-drama, limited personal expose feel of the original franchise. With each passing week, that hope was tarnished more and more and when the episodes themselves aired, it was clear that the focus was on getting people invested in contestants instead of in the show and the food. Still, while that was frustrating, it was workable, and in a few more weeks, this would all be behind them. For now though, Emma ran her thumb across Killian’s knuckles as a gesture of support and he bent down to kiss her on the crown of her head.

“I still can’t believe he stole six of Emma’s left over donuts! I wanted one, they were fantastic.” As she said the words, Ruby looked as if Liam had made the gravest of offenses by grabbing the remaining half dozen of Emma’s ‘Charlie Brown Sugar and Great Pumpkin’ doughnuts. Maybe if Ruby had been denied a doughnut, Emma would understand, but Ruby had eaten three of the treats herself.

“They were so good! I couldn’t believe you didn’t win star baker.”

Lance’s words were touching, for as someone who didn’t often eat the baked goods Emma made, he was almost an untested pallet. In the end though, Emma had been thwarted for the top spot by Tiana and that was more than okay with her. Tiana had grand ideas of opening her own café some day, and winning this could make all the difference for her. For Emma, it would just be a display dish in her home. There would be no quitting the day job she loved to bake full time.

“Emma will rally, make no mistake of that.” Emma shoved playfully at Killian’s arm for his comment but still smiled. When their eyes caught once more, the teasing fizzled out and was replaced by a spark of attraction that set in her chest and wouldn’t let go.

“That’s probably true. But not tonight, I’m beat.” It was easily the most transparent excuse to get out of there so she could be alone with Killian, but Emma stuck to her guns, and rose from her seat. Not a second passed and Killian was rising with her.

“Allow me to escort you home, love.” The silky smooth tone of his words made Emma shiver even as she heard Ruby’s muttered joke.

“I think it went without saying that he was taking her home.”

Belle nearly spit out her drink and Emma barely bit back her own laughter. In the past something like that might have embarrassed her, but with Killian it really didn’t, for even if she didn’t want all of America knowing about their relationship, she definitely wanted to tell their own little world of people. Quickly Emma bent down to her friend and whispered back.

“You’re just jealous you don’t have your own pirate… but I bet if you called a certain lumberjack, he wouldn’t mind taking you home either.”

Ruby turned the same shade as her namesake and Emma knew she had stumbled upon a budding attraction. What Ruby would or wouldn’t do about it, was up to her friend. For Emma, the path was clear – always follow your heart, and by extension, always follow the love. So she did just that, and it led her, unsurprisingly into Killian’s waiting arms.

Post-Note: So, I toyed with the idea of having the story earn its M rating this week and then opted to save it for a later date. I have an emotional trajectory for the story (trust me, it stays fluffy) and earning the M makes sense about two chapters from now. Until then, hope you guys are satisfied with the plethora of desserts and the banter back and forth of our characters this week. I also want to thank you guys so much for your continued support and enthusiasm for the story. It means a lot that so many people are responding to the fic, and I hope you all continue to enjoy! Until next time!

#captain swan #captain swan au #captain swan fic #cs fic #cs ff #cs au #cs fluff #emma swan #killian jones #mary margaret blanchard #david nolan #belle french #ruby lucas #graham #everyone else #just a taste fic #just a taste 4 #seriouslyhooked repost

15 notes · View notes