#ALL THE NORDS DRINK IS ALCOHOL

[otvlanga]

don’t be shy. make your nord woman oc huge. make her 6’1 and absolutely jacked like someone who hauls lumber and hunts and lives in the snow and fights trolls should. she should be able to pick her little mage husband/wife up like a sack of potatoes.

[littlebookoftamriel]

⟡ Happy Heart's Day/Mara's Day/Sanguine's Summoning Day from Little Book of Tamriel! ⟡

Looking for a detailed cultural breakdown on what the holiday means across Tamriel? Look no further - Sugar and Spice are here to give you the information you need to make sure you dont have a major faux pas with Bretons, a spoiled soiree with the Altmer, or a ruined romp with the Nords!

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Altmer society places little importance on the romantic aspect of Heart's Day - public displays of affection are typically frowned upon. Instead, the day focuses on acts dedicated to Mara, as opposed to focusing on one's partner solely. Children are given small sweets, such as sugared nuts and fruits, fresh agricultural produce is a staple for the day's meals, and traditionally, acts of service are performed for the poor, the elderly, and the infirm - although, with the rise of the Thalmor, this tradition has fallen out of favor.

Argonians do not celebrate Heart's Day or Mara's Day, in fact, due to their communal structure there's never been an interest in it - up until the Imperials and Dunmer began entering the region. The only known Argonians who practice religiously and culturally are those who have fully assimilated to foreign cultures such as Breton, Nordic, and Cyrodiillic - with many in Morrowind even converting to celebrate Sanguine's Summoning Day! As the region's culture has gradually shifted due to a slowly rebounding traditionally Argonian population with interspersed dense pockets of foreigners, some Argonians have begun to celebrate a bastardized version of the traditionally Eight-based holiday, instead making the holiday about playing heart-themed games, seeing it as a lucky day to work, and basing entire outfits around reds and gentle pinks.

Bretons, especially the southern Bretons, absolutely adore Heart's Day! Originally introduced by their Imperial ancestors, Heart's Day has morphed into something all about love, love, love! Bretons will save up all year just to purchase the most lavish and expensive gifts for one another - if its not extravagant enough, then the gift-giver is likely to be shunned by acquaintances and even friends, as it is seen as a terrible social blunder. There are multiple feasts, balls, and most marriages happen on Heart’s Day - making it one of the most beloved holidays of the people of High Rock.

Bosmeri culture places a special kind of importance on the holiday, which is commonly known as All-Hearts Day. As with most Bosmeri holidays, they begin their day with a hearty breakfast and alcohol - lots of alcohol! The Bosmer are one of the unique races in that they are forbidden from consuming any plant matter, and rely on a purely meat based diet - additionally, they are one of the last known races to practice cannibalism. This extends into the way they show love... by giving eachother hearts! Any and all relationships will give eachother hearts to consume on All-Hearts Day, feeding the organ to eachother to symbolize their devotion and care for one another.

Dunmer do not celebrate Heart's Day, but rather, celebrate Sanguine's Summoning Day, as the festivals fall on the same dates. Lavish banquets and feasts are held across Morrowind, with almost every Dunmer over the age of majority drinking in excess at these feasts. Many Dunmer find themselves elevated in the ranks of their Houses on this day, depending on what acts of magic or craftsmanship prowess they show off to their tutors - as today is seen as an auspicious day, many schedule their hearings to be on the date!

The first instance of Mara's Day being referred to as Heart's Day comes from an Imperial account. Gifts for romantic partners are carefully considered and vary in price, although a common superstition in Cyrodiil states that if the gift is bought because the price was cheap, the relationship is doomed to fall apart. Handmade trinkets are also a common gift, especially in rural areas, and typically include something belonging to one's partner, such as a lock of hair.

Khajiit do not celebrate Mara's Day. Instead, they have their own festival later in the year dedicated to Nirni, the personification of Nirn. Traditional offerings during this festival include local flowers and herbs, as well as seasonal fish and cicadas.

Nords are the people to party with on Mara's Day - having village and city-wide celebrations. Mara is one of, if not the, most important divine in the Nordic pantheon, and Nords are given the day off from work to reflect this. Children are expected to present their parents with gifts, and this often carries over into adulthood too. Savoury food is nearly impossible to find on Mara's Day, whilst sweetrolls and honey nut treats are abundant. Mara's Day is a particularly auspicious date in the Nordic calendar, marked by rhymes such as:

"The farmer who sews his seeds And the father's child conceived On Mother Mara's blessed day Will reap good fortune along their way"

The Orcs are a very reclusive people, stalwart and rugged - as a result, they have no holidays today, nor do they celebrate Mara's Day or Sanguine's Summoning! Despite efforts to convert the region, Orcs tend to be most similar to Redguards as they would treat today like any other day of the week. Wait until spring, when the Orsinium celebrates with their yearly fertility festival - just be careful, as its not uncommon to find young lovers engaging in various forms of fighting to show off prior to properly celebrating!

Redguards traditionally, like Argonians and Orcs, do not celebrate any form of Mara's Day or Sanguine's Summoning, instead having rejected it and all worship of the Eight during the Great War. Today is just another day for the Redguard - the closest thing to Mara that the Redguard have is Morwha, and her destival is not until later in the year. So, if you're looking for a place that is free from the holiday, try having some goat kebabs in Hammerfell!

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[miraakulous-cloud-district]

With the occasion of @bougainvillea-and-saltwater doing the wip Wednesday challenge now, I'm gonna use this as a perfect excuse to post a little sneak peek of chapter 9 from WYGTYA *and* maybe see what my writer friends are doing 👀

~

After crossing the bridge carefully and walking the distance, the fellowship finally arrived at the Skaal village and was greeted warmly. Upon entrance, they were all given snowberry crowns and a shot of some of the strongest alcohol that has graced Ravonna’s lips. Tradition, the Skaal called it.

“That is absolutely amazing. I would like to know the recipe.” She says, holding the small glass to her heart, tears forming in her eyes from the strength of the drink, while Lucien and Miraak have a cough access.

“You’re going to have to talk to Elmus for that. He’s the one that does the brewing. I’m sure he’s here somewhere.” A Skaal woman says, smiling at them, while an older nord is laughing at Miraak and Lucien’s agony.

“Seeing folks drinking that for the first time never gets old!” the old nord laughs.

“I need water!” Lucien says, his face now as red as a beetroot.

“By the Gods, the All-Maker, and everything else that people believe in these days…” Rumain says, wrinkling his nose after taking the shot.

“I’m already drunk… I think” Inigo says, tilting his head at the empty glass.

Teldryn is trying very hard not to show it, but the strong alcohol impressed him too. It’s left him speechless, even, so he resorts to nodding and giving them a ‘not bad’ look. Miraak, on the other hand, walked up to the nearest house to lean on it.

“You okay?” Ravonna asks him.

“I – uh – I’ve never had anything this strong in my entire life. My throat feels like the way Red Mountain looks!”

~

SHOTS FOR EVERYONE!! It was very hard to choose which fragment from chap.9 to post, because I love them all so much. I was this 🤏close to posting two very big moments, but I gotta keep y'all teasing so you don't gIve up with this clusterfuck of a fic :)))) I'll just say this: they get drunk. Like, all of them.

Tagging @kiir-do-faal-rahhe @thelavenderelf @notoriousbastardlover only if you want to, of course.

[isamajor]

June of Doom : day 16 to 20

Another batch of whump drabbles inspired by @juneofdoom‘s prompts with the Skyrim custom followers ! :D

16 – Concussion / Hammer

The bandit chief swung his waharmmer with force. Lucifer blocked with his shield but the latter breaked into splinters under the shock. The Argonian tottered, watching with horror the hammer be risen again by the Nord. Now without a shield to protect him, the second hit landed on his helmet. A bone-jarring concussion reverberated through his skull, making violentely his teeths bang together, dazing his mind and clouding his vision. The grip on his sword loosened and the weapon fell on the ground. The radiant pain in his head made Lucifer stagger a few steps sideways before collapsing in the grass. (101)

•

17 - « Don't lie to me »

The wound on Gore's leg had been treated and his motor skills had improved greatly. However, a few days later, behind a fake playful smile and a quip between clenched teeth, pain hasn't left his gaze.

"Do you know how pale you look, right now? Are you okay ?" asked Auri.

"I'm fine Auri."

"Don't lie to me. You don't look like a person who is fine. You're awfully pale and sweaty. It's your leg, isn't it ?"

The Nord rolled his eyes in respense, not daring to admit his trouble, like a kid caught in the act.  (104)

•

18 - Fall

The icy path in the Velothi Mountains stretched before them, treacherous and slippery. Each step could lead to a fall and the group was carefully walking in silence, their breath forming a mist in the frigid air. Kaidan stepped on a frozen rock, and the misstep happened. Losing his balance from the top of his imposing build, he fell below, his body hit by the fir trees that adorned the hillside. His schout echoed in the mountain and to this cry answered the cries of all his friends, horrified at his fall. They could see him lying below, a dark figure in the pristine snow. (105)

•

19 - Wound Cleaning

Nebarra gritted his teeth as Taliesin poured the stinging liquid over his wound. The searing pain of the act made him curse and clench his fists. The smell of strong alcohold filled the air, mingling with the heavy scent of blood.

"It's a shame to waste such good alcohol in this way. You would have let me drink it, I would have forgotten my pain."

Taliesin carefully cleaned the deep gash that marked Nebarra's arm. With each pass of the soaked cloth, Nebarra flinched, his body instinctively tensing in discomfort. He glared at Taliesin, who replied with a jaded sigh. (102)

•

20 - “That’s going to be one hell of a scar.” / Scrape

Lydia stumbled as she narrowly avoided a bandit's swinging blade. The edge of the weapon scraped against her arm, leaving a trail of red in its wake, forcing her to drop her shield. Gritting her teeth, she refused to give up the fight.

"That’s going to be one hell of a scar.", Kaidan remarked.

Lydia glanced down at the scrape, her face set in determination. She wouldn't let a mere wound stop her. With a fierce battle cry "For Whiterun !", she launched herself at the bandits, determined to protect her Thane with her unwavering loyalty. (98)

[imogenkol]

The Prodigal Daughter - a Skyrim OC fic

characters: Yrsa Gunnr (oc), Amund Gunnr (oc) word count: 2K rating: General warnings: brief alcohol consumption tags: family drama, wholesome sibling dynamic

Yrsa received the letter one month after Helgen and waited twice as long to reply. Now the arrival of her brother in Whiterun was imminent and she stared at the parchment in her hands as she had many times since the courier delivered it. The taloned grasp of shame and fear clawed at her chest. She glanced up from her seat at Breezehome’s hearth to watch the blank face of her front door, dreading the knock to come. 

With a sigh, Yrsa set the letter aside and reached for a tankard of mead. Sweet fermented honey and spices burned away some of the tightness in her throat, but she still felt a weight. The amulet of Talos stuffed in her pocket hadn’t felt this heavy since she made the choice to abandon the war. Yrsa swore the god’s disappointment was intentionally poured into the symbol gifted by her parents, it’s why she could no longer bear to don it around her neck. Yet she couldn’t bear to part with it either. 

A firm series of knocks pulled Yrsa out of her thoughts. She took another swig from her tankard and pushed herself to her feet to answer the door. 

Amund stood nearly as tall as the door, only a hair taller than Yrsa – though he would argue at least two. Years of hammering anvil caused his broad shoulders to nearly span the entire width of the doorway as well. His exceptionally dark shoulder length hair had been braided back, a few stray wisps resting on his forge-tanned cheeks. Yrsa noticed some subtle streaks of gray through the waves of black, finally showing a bit of age in her older brother. A bright smile split his perfectly sculpted charcoal beard at the sight of Yrsa. She found it surprisingly easy to return and felt the warmth in his glacier colored eyes.

“Oh, look at you!” Amund scooped his younger sister up in his strong arms and swung her around as they laughed, just the way he used to when she was smaller and with the same amount of ease. 

“It’s good to see you too, Amund,” Yrsa chuckled, burying her face in his familiar fur cloak. Her anxieties melted into the smoky scented softness along with the rest of her. She hadn’t realized just how much she missed the embrace of family. 

He plunked her back down. “Did you get taller?” 

She rolled her eyes. “I am as tall as you last saw me.” 

“No.” Amund shook his head and held out a flat hand above her head to compare her size to his. “No, I’m certain there’s been growth. Or you have new boots.”

“I have new boots, but they are actually shorter than my old ones,” Yrsa quipped. Having the same argument over and over about Amund’s denial with her encroaching on his height never got old. He would always be the tallest of the Gunnr children, but Yrsa became a close second, much to everyone’s surprise. She had true Nord stature, her father said. “Now, come inside and share some mead with me.” 

“Ah, yes, I shall never refuse such an offer after a long journey.”  

The fire in the hearth crackled as the two siblings claimed their chairs. Amund eagerly accepted a freshly poured tankard of mead and took a generous swig. For a moment, it felt like Yrsa was back home sharing a drink with her brother after a long day of work. 

“Tell me how Liv is,” Yrsa requested. “And the girls.”

Amund nodded and wiped his beard clean. “They are all good. The girls miss their aunt, though. Eydis is never seen without that little bear carving you made for her. Kara,” he paused to bark out a laugh, “Kara broke Ari’s nose for calling you a traitor. Liv had me scold her, but I’ve never been prouder.” 

Yrsa smiled sadly. Her nephew’s words were true and she felt a fresh flush of guilt. “Sounds like Bo has made up his mind about me.” 

Amund waved a dismissive hand. “Bo has always been jealous of you, I wouldn’t worry. When Ari gets older, he’ll understand that his father allowed himself to be consumed by pettiness.” 

“Perhaps Bo’s anger is justified,” Yrsa said quietly and stared into the flames. 

Her brother paused with the tankard at his lips. A tense moment passed and he leaned forward intently in his seat. “What are you saying?” 

She shrugged. “This is why you came out here, right? To hear the truth about what really happened before Helgen.”

A wooden thunk echoed in the small home as Amund set his tankard down. “I came to check on the well being of my little sister, a task I have always been proud to uphold. Is it so bad if the truth just so happens to be included?”

Slowly, Yrsa forced her gaze from the flames of the fire to the icy colored stare of her brother. “Even if the answers you seek will make you never want to speak to me again?”

“Yrsa,” he said slowly and sincerely, “there is no truth that could cause me to disown you.”

If it had been any of her other siblings, she would have hesitated. If it had been her parents, she would never have believed the words. But this was Amund in front of her, the brother who taught her how to forge from a young age and gifted her a handmade blade to keep her safe in war. Yrsa trusted him always. 

“It is true that I’ve abandoned the Stormcloaks.”

“Do you side with the Empire?” he asked calmly. The flicker of firelight made his stoic expression appear like stone. 

She shook her head. “No, I’ve decided not to take part in any of it anymore. Ulfric only saw me as a weapon.”

“I’m sure that’s not true, Ulfric is a good man. There must have been a misunderstanding, if you return home with me, we could –” 

“No, Amund,” Yrsa chided softly. “Distrust had been growing in my heart for weeks. My ears finally heard the vile words spoken around camp. I saw the frenzied look in the eyes of my fellow soldiers. Like a veil had fallen from my eyes, I truly saw Ulfric for who is. He takes advantage of the fanaticism, fans the flames for his own purposes.”

Now Amund was the one to stare intensely into the hearth. “Did you speak your mind?”

She nodded. “We had a disagreement on the road before the Imperial ambush. I knew Ulfric and his troops would sooner put me in chains than let me walk freely. This war, Amund, it’s full of people with poison in their hearts. They speak of reclaiming our freedom, but that poison is leaking into the soil wherever they step and killing the land we fight for. I have purged it from me.” 

“What of the Empire?” He threw up his hand. “What about Talos? Do you believe we should just yield?”

“I don’t know what should be done. It is not up to me to decide.” 

“But you are Dragonborn, Yrsa! You hold the power to turn the tide – to end this civil war and bring freedom to Skyrim.” 

“If Ulfric was willing to hold me as a prisoner and force me to fight for his cause because I am a werebear, what do you think he would do to keep the Dragonborn at his side?”

“I wouldn’t let that happen,” Amund growled fiercely. 

“You might not have a choice,” she pointed out. “Would you commit treason?”

“For you, I would,” he answered with such conviction, it left Yrsa speechless. “I am loyal to my family before anything. Before my duties as a blacksmith, before Windhelm, before any kings or emperors or even Talos himself. So… if you have chosen this path, Yrsa, I will protect you.”

Her brother may be a smith, but he was the fiercest protector in all her family. It’s something Yrsa has greatly admired about him since she was little. From the first moment she watched him work steel, Be careful of the forge fire, Yrsa, it will burn you right crisp. He once snatched a piece of hot iron from her grasp with his bare hands before it had a chance to leave a mark on her tiny fingers. Yrsa spotted the old scar on the edge of his palm. Amund would brave many burns for her, she had no doubts. 

“I’ve always known I could count on you, Amund.”

“Good.” He nodded in satisfaction, a soft expression returning to his features. “Now, show me around this magnificent home of yours.”

The hint of sarcasm in his tone made her scoff. They could practically see the entire interior of the house from where they sat. “It’s humble, but I like it here. It’s also only temporary until I can purchase some land out near Falkreath. I intend to build my own homestead.” 

Amund leaned back and let out a low whistle. “Well, well, that’s quite the goal. Color me impressed.” 

She smirked knowingly. “You may be more impressed to hear that I’ve taken up smithing as well. Eorlund Gray-Mane has taken me under his wing at the Skyforge.” 

“The Skyforge?” Yrsa nodded and it looked like Amund nearly toppled from his seat. 

“I’ve taken up work with the Companions. They’ve given me my own Skyforge steel sword.” Yrsa reached for the weapon resting against the back of her chair and unsheathed the blade with a metallic hiss. 

Amund looked like a child about to receive their favorite sweet. He marveled at the craftsmanship passed to his hands. “Incredible... Did you show Eorlund my sword?”

Yrsa gnawed on her lower lip. “Um, I have not, I must confess.” 

For the first time, her brother looked offended. “Why not?”

“I haven’t been wielding it,” she admitted. 

His thick brows knitted together as he placed the sword down. “Is it damaged? Did you lose it?”

“No, it’s under my bed.” 

Amund studied her silently for a long minute. Then he got up, walked up the stairs with a few creaks from the old wood, and retrieved the Nordic sword he had forged special for her. The quicksilver sang more beautifully than any bard as he slowly pulled it free of the scabbard. Amund ran his thumb along the carvings engraved on the flat of the blade and smiled wistfully. “I noticed you aren’t wearing your amulet of Talos either.” 

“I still carry it with me.” 

“You believe you are no longer worthy of these gifts,” he guessed. 

Yrsa tried not to wince. “It is a complicated feeling.” 

“Allow me to uncomplicate it.” Amund sheathed the sword and returned to Yrsa’s side. With a proud grin, he presented it to her in the same way he had when he first gifted it. The hilt and blade tip balanced on his fingers as he knelt before her. “I made this sword so that I would be able to protect you when you are away from home. You would honor me by allowing it to continue its purpose.” He winked. “If only for the opportunity of my blade to taste dragon blood.” 

Yrsa couldn’t stop smiling, not even through her misted eyes. She brushed away a stray tear and accepted her brother’s blessing to use the sword once more. “It will taste Alduin’s blood, my dearest brother. This, I vow.” 

He stood and clapped her shoulder. “That’s all I ask. Now, is there a decent tavern in this town? I crave more mead, a hearty meal, and some music.”  

“There’s one right up the road here.” Yrsa cleared her throat and stood. After attaching the Nordic sword to her belt, where it has always belonged, she motioned for Amund to follow. “Let’s go.” 

“Finally, a proper adventure.”

[sheirukitriesfandom]

(For Rethul!) 🍺 - How does your muse feel about the consumption of alcohol? Do they drink? Are they a heavy drinker, or are they on the lighter side? What's your muse's favorite alcoholic drink?

Back in Cyrodiil, Rethul used to drink far more than he should have—far over his allowance, too. He was very much a bon viveur and lots of fine wine was part of that. Doesn't mean he could hold his alcohol all that well. Better than the average Cyrod but most Nords drink him under the table.

Overall, alcohol consumption was normalized for him from a young age—a small cup of shein as a treat during a banquet, for example—and that trend continues in Skyrim. Good thing Rethul isn't as fond of mead as he is of wine. Moreover, good thing he's fairly broke after his arrival.

His favourite drink in Skyrim was, ironically, one of the imported wines at the Thalmor Embassy—just that whiff of class he needed. Other than that he likes San's spiced wine.

[les-degustations-ugo]

🇫🇷❓❓Hello les amoureux du tire-bouchon. Et vous, aimez-vous les Rosés de Corse ❓❓🇫🇷

🍇🍷IGP Île de Beauté rosé 2022 cuvée A Gallina Rosa du domaine Vecchio 🍇🍷:

🍇 :

100% Sciaccarellu

🏺:

Pressurage direct à froid, fermentation thermorégulée. Issu d’une parcelle orientée Nord sur argiles oranges légères et graves.

💰:

11,00€ / bouteille

👁️ :

Un robe de couleur rose saumonée

👃 :

Un nez sur des notes d'agrumes et acacia.

💋 :

En bouche on a un vin avec une belle fraîcheur, sur des arômes de pamplemousse rose, zeste de citron, mandarine, des notes de fleurs blanches. Une bonne longueur en bouche avec un finale salin est salivante.

📜En résumé📜 :

Un beau rosé Corse qui exprime bien le terroir et la générosité de ses habitants. Une belle découverte.

🧆Dégusté sur du Melon au jambon fumé🧆.

🍷Quelques accords mets et vin possible avec cette cuvée🍷 : grillades, salades et desserts sur fruits rouges et chantilly.

📌N'oubliez pas, boire un canon c'est sauver

un vigneron. Allez voir le site internet du domaine  pour voir toutes les cuvées et promotions du moment📌. 

🔞« L'abus d'alcool est dangereux pour la santé, à consommer avec modération »🔞 La plupart des vins ont était dégustés et recrachés. Dégustation non rémunéré.

#lesdegustationsugo #wine #winelover #vino #winetasting #winetime #winelovers #instawine #redwine #winestagram #winery #beer #wineoclock #vin #sommelier #love #vinho #foodporn #winelife #instagood #whitewine #cocktails #drinks #wein #foodie #wineporn #drink

___________________________________________

🇫🇷🗣️Description du Domaine 🇫🇷🗣️

Notre domaine de plus d’une vingtaine d’hectares produit notamment la Cuvée Antica, l’un des meilleurs vins de la Corse. Nous avons le grand avantage d’avoir des vignes situées en quelques encablures de la mer. Cela nous permet de produire des vins typiques du terroir et appréciés des fins connaisseurs. Que vous soyez amateurs de bons vins, particuliers, ou CHR , nous vous invitons à venir déguster et acheter vos vins dans notre cave. Proposant une vente au domaine, nous vous garantissons le meilleur rapport qualité-prix sur nos produits.

La qualité de nos vins provient d’un choix rigoureux des cépages et des procédés de fabrication propre à notre domaine. Notre production s’attache à la conservation des saveurs grâce à la transformation d’un raisin sain et équilibré. Vous découvrirez à travers nos vins un savoir-faire de viticulteurs bien entretenu depuis plusieurs années. Que vous recherchiez des rouges à fort caractère, des blancs bouquetés ou des rosés naturels, nous vous proposons une grande variété de vins. Nous vous invitons ainsi à visiter notre domaine afin d’aller à la rencontre de quelques-uns des meilleurs vins de la Corse.

___________________________________________

⏬🇫🇷Français dans les commentaires🇫🇷🇮🇹Italiano nei commenti 🇮🇹⏬

🇬🇧❓❓Hello corkscrew lovers.  And you, do you like Rosés from Corsica ❓❓🇬🇧

🍇🍷IGP Île de Beauté rosé 2022 cuvée A Gallina Rosa from the Vecchio estate 🍇🍷:

🍇:

100% Sciaccarellu

🏺:

Direct cold pressing, temperature-controlled fermentation.  From a north-facing plot on light and gravelly orange clays.

💰:

€11.00 / bottle

👁️:

A salmon pink dress

👃:

A nose with citrus and acacia notes.

💋:

In the mouth we have a wine with a nice freshness, on aromas of pink grapefruit, lemon zest, tangerine, notes of white flowers.  A good length in the mouth with a saline finish is salivating.

📜In summary📜:

A beautiful Corsican rosé which expresses well the terroir and the generosity of its inhabitants.  A great discovery.

🧆 Tasted on Melon with smoked ham 🧆.

🍷 Some food and wine pairings possible with this cuvée 🍷: grilled meats, salads and desserts on red fruits and whipped cream.

📌 Don't forget, drinking a cannon is saving a winemaker.  Go see the domain's website to see all the vintages and promotions of the moment 📌.

🔞 "Alcohol abuse is dangerous for your health, to be consumed in moderation"🔞 Most of the wines have been tasted and spat out.  Unpaid tasting.

#lesdegustationsugo #wine #winelover #vino #winetasting #winetime #winelovers #instawine #redwine #winestagram #winery #beer #wineoclock #vin #sommelier #love #vinho #foodporn #winelife #instagood #whitewine #cocktails #drinks #wein #foodie #wineporn #drink

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🇬🇧🗣️Domain Description 🇬🇧🗣️

Our estate of more than twenty hectares produces in particular the Cuvée Antica, one of the best wines of Corsica.  We have the great advantage of having vines located not far from the sea. This allows us to produce wines typical of the region and appreciated by fine connoisseurs.  Whether you are lovers of good wines, individuals, or CHR, we invite you to come and taste and buy your wines in our cellar.  Offering a sale at the estate, we guarantee you the best value for money on our products.

The quality of our wines comes from a rigorous choice of grape varieties and manufacturing processes specific to our estate.  Our production focuses on preserving flavors through the processing of healthy and balanced grapes.  You will discover through our wines a know-how of winegrowers well maintained for several years.  Whether you are looking for reds with strong character, bouquety whites or natural rosés, we offer a wide variety of wines.  We invite you to visit our estate to meet some of the best wines of Corsica.

___________________________________________

🇮🇹❓❓Ciao amanti dei cavatappi.  E tu, ti piacciono i Rosé della Corsica❓❓🇮🇹

🍇🍷IGP Île de Beauté rosé 2022 cuvée A Gallina Rosa della tenuta Vecchio 🍇🍷:

🍇:

100% Sciaccarellu

🏺:

Pressatura diretta a freddo, fermentazione a temperatura controllata.  Da un appezzamento esposto a nord su argille arancioni chiare e ghiaiose.

💰:

€ 11,00 / bottiglia

👁️:

Un vestito rosa salmone

👃:

Un naso con note di agrumi e acacia.

💋:

In bocca abbiamo un vino con una bella freschezza, su aromi di pompelmo rosa, scorza di limone, mandarino, note di fiori bianchi.  Una buona persistenza in bocca con un finale salino fa venire l'acquolina in bocca.

📜In sintesi📜:

Un bel rosato corso che esprime bene il terroir e la generosità dei suoi abitanti.  Una grande scoperta.

🧆 Degustato su Melone con Prosciutto Affumicato 🧆.

🍷 Alcuni abbinamenti enogastronomici possibili con questa cuvée 🍷: carni alla griglia, insalate e dolci su frutti rossi e panna montata.

📌 Non dimenticare, bere un cannone è salvare un enologo.  Vai a vedere il sito del dominio per vedere tutte le annate e le promozioni del momento 📌.

🔞 "L'abuso di alcol è pericoloso per la salute, da consumare con moderazione"🔞 La maggior parte dei vini sono stati assaggiati e sputati.  Degustazione non pagata.

___________________________________________

🗣️🇮🇹Descrizione i Dominio 🗣️🇮🇹

La nostra tenuta di oltre venti ettari produce in particolare la Cuvée Antica, uno dei migliori vini della Corsica.  Abbiamo il grande vantaggio di avere vigneti situati non lontano dal mare, questo ci permette di produrre vini tipici della regione e apprezzati dai fini intenditori.  Che siate amanti del buon vino, privati ​​o CHR, vi invitiamo a venire a degustare e acquistare i vostri vini nella nostra cantina.  Offrendo una vendita presso la tenuta, ti garantiamo il miglior rapporto qualità-prezzo sui nostri prodotti.

La qualità dei nostri vini deriva da una rigorosa scelta dei vitigni e dei processi di produzione specifici della nostra tenuta.  La nostra produzione si concentra sulla conservazione dei sapori attraverso la lavorazione di uve sane ed equilibrate.  Scoprirete attraverso i nostri vini un know-how di viticoltori ben mantenuto da diversi anni.  Che tu stia cercando rossi dal carattere forte, bianchi profumati o rosati naturali, offriamo un'ampia varietà di vini.  Vi invitiamo a visitare la nostra tenuta per incontrare alcuni dei migliori vini della Corsica.

[liquorkingdom]

From Renowned Whiskeys to Gins, Get Any Liquor Singapore at Liquor Kingdom

Singapore is a country that is visited by many tourists every month. This country has various landscapes and popular spots that are loved by residents and visitors. The Liquor Singapore is also exceptional in taste. There are many liquor shops in Singapore. Liquor Kingdom is one such liquor shop in Singapore. They deliver authentic and branded liquors from all over the world, which gives you their original taste in Singapore. LetÕs discuss it further.

Liquor Kingdom

Liquor Kingdom is your go-to show for quality liquor in Singapore. They have been in the service for many years, and they import quality and branded liquor from all over the world. This is the reason they have a huge collection of liquor of every type and almost every brand. LetÕs look at some of the liquors at Liquor Kingdom.

Whiskey

Liquor Kingdom is also a Whisky Shop Singapore. Whiskey is made mainly from grains and distilled. Afterwards, it is stored in wooden barrels for many years. The older the whiskey, the better the taste, and so the price goes up. Some of the different types of whiskeys are

Amrut

Amrut is a flagship Indian whiskey. This is a single-malt whiskey made. It is made from barley grown in the Himalayas. When it is matured in the casks for years, it gets the spice in its taste and also a sweet taste.

Glenallachie

The Glenallachie Distillery is ScotlandÕs independent distillery. The combined flavors of coca, cherries, wild honey, and many more ingredients make up the exquisite taste of Glenallachie whiskey.

Glendronach

You can even try Glendronach whiskey, as it is indeed very good. This whiskey has a collection of sensational tastes. It has a mix of tastes, like sour and sweet. This is a quality whisky with a great texture.

Springbank

It is a Scottish distillery that produces Springbank whiskey. The use of bourbon and sherry casks adds depth to its flavor. The complex mixture adds a fruity and fresh balance to the taste.

Arran

The quality of water used in the preparation of Arran whiskey is what sets it apart from other whiskeys. This whiskey has a complex and well-balanced mixture of ingredients. That all together makes up a delicious and delightful whiskey.

Rum

The rum in Singapore has a good consistency of ingredients. The rums are available in various renowned brands. The sugar fermentation is characteristic of rum. You can go for a Foursquare rum too. It has a strong taste of raisins. The sweet tastes of vanilla, chocolate, etc adds depth to the flavor.

Gin

Gin is mainly made up of berries and other ingredients. These make up a great alcoholic drink. Kyro gin gets its name from the Kyrö distillery where it is produced and has a good taste. Nordes Gin is known for its quality aroma. But it also has a great taste.

Finally, it can be seen why you should go to Liquor Kingdom to buy quality liquor in Singapore. Liquor delivery in Singapore is also available at Liquor Kingdom. Browse through their user-friendly website at liquorkingdom.com.sg.

[blossom-adventures]

36! <3

Thanks for the suggestion, got a little carried away with this one which will probably escalate into a long one shot that I will work on

Encountering another OC or a favourite NPC for the first time - featuring Teldryn Sero

A little context for anyone who hasn’t read my fic: Teldryn was a very close friend to Jaina’s late father, Tal’theran

Jaina looked around the Retching Netch, Delvin had said it was as much of a dive as the Flagon was, she was inclined to agree.

“What can I get for you Nord?”

“A couple of shots of Sujamma, please” Jaina replied, although she preferred to drink ale, mead or wine, she didn’t mind the harsher and far stronger taste of Sujamma every once in a while. “I was wondering if you could help me find someone?” She continued as she drank both her shots one after another, the tavern keep looked at her for a little too long for Jaina’s liking, “Is there a problem?”

“You don’t work for Mogrul do you? Got enough trouble with his lackeys wanderin’ about”

“I’ve literally just come off a boat from Windhelm, I have no idea who your talking about”

“He’s someone you don’t want to mess with outlander, sorry, who you lookin’ for?”

“Teldryn Sero”

“Looking for the best swordsman in all Morrowind outlander?” Said a voice to Jaina’s right, a figure in a full set of chitin armour was standing there, “blade for hire… for the right price” Jaina turned to look at the man, who straightened up as he looked at her, despite not seeing his face, Jaina assumed he recognised her. “Little Jaina?” He muttered before he pulled off his helmet and scarf. He was an older Dunmer with red tattoos on his face, and his hair was cut in a short mohawk, “you look very like your brother… and your father of course” Teldryn waved her to follow him to a private booth at the back of the Netch.

“I was wondering if you could tell me about him Teldryn, mother only told me so much” Jaina said as she sat down opposite him, he gave her a nod and ordered some lighter alcohol from one of the bar staff

“Where do you want me to start?”

“The beginning”

[saltharakka]

grrrrrRRAAAAAAAAAAGHH

[totally-not-deacon]

WIP Wednesday, baby!

Tagged by @throughtrialbyfire!! Gonna tag some fresh meat I haven't gotten to yet: let's go with... @watchyourdigits @sassenashsworld aaaand @obscene-beans if ya wanna go.

So I'm at a point where there's a LOT of spoiler-y type stuff, so I had to root around a bit. Fortunately my brain refuses to write in order, so I have a fairly long little draft of a scene between Marasa and Inigo planned for a later chapter! Most'll be under the read more:

I’m sorry, I don’t speak ‘knuckle dragger’. Could you repeat that?” Marasa’s chair slammed into the wall behind her as she shot to her feet. If this son of a bitch thought he could pull that on her…

“Easy, now.” Inigo’s hand came to rest on her arm. She glared up at the now smug-looking Nord in question, before she let herself be pulled away. One more word.

“He’s just some drunk snowback, I could take him down, no problem!” She slurred, easily just as inebriated, while tugging futilely in his grasp. Inigo nodded to Lucien on the way out, sure he’d let the others know where they were off to. So maybe he had a plan in case this happened, even ready to rent rooms elsewhere. They weren’t going to tell her that, of course.

“While I am sure you could, and I might otherwise encourage putting a racist in his place, we are in Windhelm.” He walked them through the crowd and into the frigid night air. “Why don’t we visit that corner club instead, before we end up visiting a cell.”

She deflated, sagging against him. Her breath formed soft clouds in the cold night air. “I hate this city.”

“As do I, but we are only here for the night. These people are not worth sitting in jail over, believe me.” They wound through the ice-slicked alleys, working their way back to the Gray Quarter. Footsteps echoed off the ancient stone walls making up the city, cutting through the silence. He was right, he usually was. He nudged her through the door first, the burst of heat welcome on her chilled skin.

She wasn’t too keen on this Dunmeri alcohol, but she nursed her drink all the same. There wasn’t anything she could think of to say, so she remained silent and scowling at the tabletop.

“How are you doing?”

“I…” The question caught her off guard, eyes meeting his. Her mouth hung open. How was she doing? What she was doing, sure, maybe even why sometimes. She could answer those. But how… “I – I don’t know.”

“You have been through a lot recently. I do not blame you.”

Her frown deepened. How was he always so… understanding? It frustrated her to no end. Just... how did he do it? A tiny part of her wanted to reach out – to crawl from her own throat, thrashing and screaming to the world. She swallowed, feeling it growing.

“It’s just…” She should keep her mouth shut. “A year ago I was just another broke sellsword. Just another someone trying to run from themselves, right? I was alive, but that’s it. I just was. And I was okay with that, I think. But now…” Stop talking.

“Now, what?” He asked gently, encouraging her to finally begin to open up. He knew she needed to, it wasn’t healthy for anyone to bottle their emotions up so, and she was certainly an expert at it.

“I don’t –” She could feel her face heat up, her eyes begin to sting. It didn’t make any sense. Marasa buried her face in her hands. It was ungrateful, undeserving. She wanted it all at arm’s length and a tight embrace. Fingernails bit into her palms. “I don’t know what to do with it all!”

“All I’ve ever done is follow orders.” She continued, her mouth moving before she could think to stop it. “That’s all I’ve ever done – and now this? I’m supposed to be some kind of leader?An icon to a people that would rather see my kind slaughtered wholesale!”

They wanted her to be a hero.

She wasn’t. She never was. “I thought I was getting better. Or at least learning to ignore it…”

“And then…” Her voice wavered. The bite of shackles, the damp stone walls. She rubbed her wrists subconsciously, unable to actually say it aloud. The bruises may have faded, but the wounds inside still lay open and festering. She thought she was going to be sick. “And then everything came back.”

Inigo opened his mouth to respond, but she was on a roll. “But at the same time I have all of you. I have a house – an actual house! I’ve got friends…” More. She choked. “And I don’t feel like I earned a single bit of it.”

I shouldn’t even be here.

“My friend…”

Her voice lowered, alcohol blending the edges of the words together. “Half the reason I don’t go home, y’know. Did you know how proud my father was? When they shipped us off to Auridon… Did you know he congratulated me? Do I look like someone to be proud of? Look at me!”

“It feels like they wanted this, sometimes.” She hugged herself to the point it hurt. “They wanted a hero in the family more than a daughter.”

An arm wrapped around her shoulder, drawing her into a hug. She sighed, letting her head drop froward. “Sorry. Dunno where all that came from…”

“Do not be sorry. Every one deserves to have their voice heard.” Inigo assured her.

“Would you like to know what I see?” Marasa shrugged, no longer trusting her voice. She’d said enough already.

“I don’t see a hero.” Despite her own feelings of the term, it would still somehow sting from anyone else. “And I see that you are very scared. You are scared, and like a cornered animal – sometimes you lash out.”

“Way to cheer a girl up…” she mumbled.

“And I see someone still standing despite it all.” He continued. “I do not see a hero, but I do see a strong, courageous, and incredible friend.”

“So cheesy…” A small smile played on her face and she elbowed him in the side. She sniffed, quickly scrubbing at her eyes.

“No, that would be your pack after visiting the market this morning.”

[tastesoftamriel]

What are the strongest alcohols in Tamriel? I'm planning on doing a tour of the best bars in Tamriel at some point this year and I'm looking for recommendations from someone who's very well travelled

Boozy boozy booze, you'll find it in every corner of Tamriel in every form and flavour there is, but since you asked for the most potent, be sure to pick your poison carefully...these are my top tipples for when you want to wake up naked in a jail cell on a Morndas!

1. Sujamma. The classic Dunmeri drink, which packs a wallop like a daedroth on skooma. Some people love the taste while others hate it, but we can all agree that it's best served in moderation (usually). You can find my recipe for sujamma here!

2. Rotmeth. Probably the most potable of Wood Elf liqueurs, this beastly drink takes years of fermentation to get right. It is also known for getting most of Valenwood particularly rowdy, randy, or otherwise silly. Sip carefully!

3. Nord mead. This isn't the light, floral mead that most of Tamriel associates with. No, the local mead of Skyrim is potent enough to fill your head with bees and is crafted to keep you warm on a cold day. However, Nords usually forget that this tipple isn't for chugging, and most have the audacity to complain about a sore head the next day.

4. Flin. An Imperial whiskey popular among the Dark Elves of Morrowind, this stuff is purported to increase your strength, but also your stupidity. I've seen someone try to take on several Redoran guards after a flask of flin, which was a bad idea.

5. Shein. This delicious comberry wine is a Vvardenfell classic, and is syrupy sweet. Its delightful flavour makes it a dangerous drink to mess with as it slides down smoothly, resulting in many a person indulging in a few too many glasses far too quickly.

6. Jagga. Made from fermented pig's milk, jagga is the less aggressive cousin of rotmeth. It tastes like old socks mixed with cream, but you can forget that once you're a few cups in.

7. Firebrand Wine. This wine lives up to its name. Blended with ginger and honey, this punchy fortified wine is heady enough to leave you feeling wrecked just one bottle in. Proceed with caution!

8. Matze. This Dunmeri saltrice beer is pleasant enough to drink, and generally isn't too potent. However, some clowns like to mix their matze with sujamma for a bit of punch, making it the ideal base drink for a drunken night out.

9. Golden Pear Ale. Hailing from Summerset, this divinely fruity ale packs some serious punch, making it a contender on this list for one of the most deceptively strong beverages on Tamriel.

10. Snail-Gin. Hailing from the depths of Black Marsh, this mistake of a liquor originally killed whoever drank it until a non-lethal blend was developed well into the Second Era. I have no idea if it contains any actual snails, but it'll definitely make you think and move like one.

[miraakulous-cloud-district]

TESCHEER DAY 25!

I had no idea in which day this would fit, so I’m posting it on the free day of @tescheer Have a wholesome little prequel of my main fic.

Summary: Ravonna comes home from the Vivec Mages Guild for the holidays! Also a little flashback with kid Ravonna.

Word count: 1277

Warnings: none

Characters: Ravonna, Hjaldir, Endryn (I’m in oc hell) and Teldryn is mentioned as well!

~

She climbs down from the Silt Strider and takes a moment to take the view in. Blacklight, in all its beauty. Now even more beautiful, decorated with countless colorful lamps and with snowberry everywhere. The sailors must have brought it from Skyrim, as they do every Saturalia. She can’t believe she’s finally here. It’s been a few months since she came home. But these months have been busy at the Mages Guild in Vivec. She didn’t like being away from home for too long, but Vivec has the best guild of mages, and it shows: her magical skills have improved so much, it even amazes her. Sometimes she just can’t believe that she can accomplish so much with her magika. And she has learnt the most fascinating spells and the best party tricks. She simply cannot wait to show it to everyone back home! So she starts running towards the city entrance, smiling all the way down there.

Her cheeks start to hurt from smiling so much, being greeted by townsfolk and passing through the market. The market area is so beautifully decorated and cheerful, with lots of food and drink stalls and people singing songs and greeting other travelers, adventurers or scholars coming back home, just like her, and joy. Pure joy everywhere. This is her favorite celebration, and it always will be.

She opens the door to the tavern and is immediately greeted by the smell of snowberry pie and mulled wine. Hjaldir is playing a Saturalia song, singing and playing the lute. When he spots her, he immediately strums the lute more lively, sing-shouting:

“Weeeell look who just came back hoooome!” he finishes with a few ending chords. “Our favourite girl is back! Ladies and gentlemen, do excuse me, but this demands a break! But worry not! We still have some sweet, sweet instrumental music from our guys!” He looks at the rest of the bards, as if looking for approval. They just smile fondly and nod, and it’s all he needs to run to her and squeeze her in a tight hug, lifting her off the ground.

“Hi!” she manages to say between chuckles.

“My, my, how I’ve missed you, girl! How was the trip home?” he breaks the hug to look at her.

“Good. A bit windy, but it didn’t bother me. I travelled with a few merchants and mages. Lovely people. They made the time pass so fast.”

“Glad to hear it.”  He smiles down at her. Gods, how glad he is to see her home and safe. It’s weird how close they got. Maybe it’s the strong bond between two poetic souls, two bards, or maybe it’s something more, but he never expected to have this in his life.

***

He remembers first meeting her like it was yesterday. He was a lost soul, with nothing left to lose when he came to this tavern one faithful night, right after leaving the pirate crew for good. He came with the intention to drown himself in alcohol and sorrow, but was greeted by a little girl, squinting her eyes at him.

“Are you a bard?”

“Something like that. This gave it away?” he pointed at his lute strapped to his back.

She nodded.

“Ravonna, leave the man be!” the bartender said softly from behind the counter. “Sorry about her, she tends to be quite talkative. Can I get you anything else?”

“No, thank you. And don’t apologize. She didn’t bother me at all.” He turned to her. “Ravonna, eh? That’s quite the unusual name for a nord girl like you.”

“Well, Endryn gave me this name. Named me after his aunt. She was a mercenary who got to meet the Nerevarine!”

“Now that’s something!”

“What’s your name?”

“Hjaldir. At your service!” He bows to her politely.

“Well, that’s quite the usual name for a nord like you, isn’t it?”

“Ha! I suppose you’re right.”

“You don’t have to be so stiff. Relax, I’m not going to ask you to sing a song.” She sits down next to him and sighs. “I can sense when a person is tired… Sleepy-tired, but also tired of life.”

“How do you know that?” he asks, eyes now getting wider. The kid had more emotional intelligence than he’d have thought.

“You see a lot of shit when you live in a tavern, believe me.” She says, looking truly like a tired adult. “See that guy over there? At first you would think he’s doing fine, but he’s wearing a mask, you know? He’s nervous. He’s got that feeling after eating spicy meat wraps. But not because he actually did that and his tummy hurts. He’s like that because he’s in love with the blacksmith, a bosmer who has lots of tales from Valenwood.”

“What’s wrong with that?”

“Absolutely nothing! Except that he’s married.”

“Oh. Oh.”

“But don’t worry, I won’t pressure you into telling me your life story, although it seems like an interesting one. I hope you’ll stay with us for a bit longer.”

***

“By the Gods, Ravonna, I’m only now seeing the amount of baggage! Let me help you with that!” Hjaldir says, coming back to reality.

“Look, I can explain. I need this stuff for an… experiment.”

“Sounds magical…” he says, and they both burst into laughter. “Well, it’s Endryn’s place. I am but a humble guest and resident bard. He gets to decide if the – the… what is this exactly?”

“It’s… complicated. Essentially, it is a spellmaking enchanter. I get to create my own spells. Finally!”

“Oh, really? And you can make everything you want?”

“I think so. I haven’t tested it yet, but you know what they say at the guild of mages? Magic goes as far as your imagination.”

“So you could… conjure up a lute?”

“I’ve never thought of it, but that is a fantastic idea! I think it’ll be my first project!”

“Glad to be of help. If you need me for anything else, I’m here for you. And Gods am I proud! Look at you! A full, respectable mage!”

“Ah, let’s not get ahead of ourselves…” she says, as they start to head towards her chamber.

“Nonsense! I’ve yet to see anyone match your passion regarding magic!”

“Well, you haven’t been to Vivec then…”

“Aye, but I’ve been! We used to do business in the cisterns. That’s where you buy and sell illegal stuff. So many trinkets I’ve traded there… but, of course, you already know that.”

“Yes, and your bad skooma trip! You haven’t been to the guild of mages in Vivec is what I meant.” she laughs, setting the luggage on the floor of her room.

“Don’t remind me of that! I still get chills when I think about it!” he says, shuddering.

“I would love to know how you ended up on top of the Foreign Quarter.”

“That, I wish to know as well.” He sighs with a smile.

“There she is!” Endryn’s voice can be heard by the door.

“And there he is! Blacklight’s busiest innkeeper!” she laughs, hugging him tightly.

“Oh, don’t even get me started! You know how it is this time of year. But no matter! You’re here now and that’s the most important thing.”

“It’s good to be home.”

“Oh, but you must be starving! The cheese scones are almost ready. Teldryn should be here any minute with the wine supply. And I made you cabbage stew. It’s still your favourite, right? Or did the fancy city of Vivec change your tastes?” he says, without even breathing.

“Endryn! Relax. Everything’s perfect!” she says, taking this all in. Oh, how she missed this place and the people in it!

~

If you’ve made it this far, thank you so much for reading! <3 I hope everyone has the best holidays!

[juleteon]

[ OC x Canon, Light mentions of NS/FW, Drinking ] Anyways what I was thinking earlier about how Ayner would be confronted by Bryn about his feelings towards Vilkas and how their conversation would eventually lead to the following:

"Well, why wouldn't you tell him?" Brynjolf asked, raising his bottle to sip at the newly received stash of Black-Brier Mead.

"Tell him what?! That I'm a blood-sucking monster? That I'm the leader of the Thieves Guild? Or that I can not touch myself without thinking about his face?!"

The frustration in Ayner's voice subsided, returning to his previous low desperation.

"I feel.. (sigh) different about him. Those things don't matter with others, who I am doesn't matter with others.." He paused "But I want to matter to him. And I can't imagine /being/ that when every fiber of my being is contradictory to everything that makes this man himself"

The Nord sitting beside him shook the bottle in his hand, offering it to the Elf. Ayner accepted the offer and emptied the remaining liquid. A gasp leaving his lips as they parted from the glass.

"I feel like a fool, Brynjolf, another guild master losing his grip because of something as ridiculous as a hopeless.. romance… I've seen how Vex glares at me, I don't want to disappoint the cistern. Not after all we've achieved"

"To be fair, Vex glares at everyone" the redhead stopped him, bringing his eyes away from the disappointing lack of alcohol at the table and looked back at his fellow "And, unlike Gallus, you don't have a single back-stabber to worry about" He stuttered for a moment and corrected himself "I-I mean, not a single one that would aim their blade at you, lad" he didn't want to misrepresent the talents of his fellow members after all.

"Delvin has been reluctant to admit it, but since you've joined us, it seems like luck has returned to the Red Flaggon once more. You've been exceedingly successful at growing our abundance and connections across the province and no one is dull enough to deny that" He reassured him. "As for the matters of your heart, that, I'm afraid, I would be as useful as a rusty lockpick" He leaned closer, jokingly nudging at the mer "Mara's priests freak me out, I can't imagine myself stepping into that temple"

Ayner chuckled at his words. They've trusted each other enough for much more than the oath to Nocturnal binding the couple of thieves to intimate closure, and It was not uncommon for the two to keep each others company warm at the occasional night, especially after a well-earned drunken celebration. The mer knew exactly what Brynjolf meant, he was not a man that would be interested in giving away his freedom to a single soul - it was difficult enough for Karliah to convince him to bind himself to one oath, and it was more than enough for the Nord. But he appreciated and treasured the bond and care he received from his dear friend. Trust, was amongst the rarest treasures they've held onto in the Guild.

"Thank you, Bryn" The Altmer pecked at the man's freckled cheek.

"You've proven yourself capable enough to get anything that you've laid your eyes on, friend. You will find a way." The Nord smiled, brushing his hand on the elf's shoulder before picking the empty bottle and taking his leave. "If you need anything, you know where to find me"

[1000fiction]

Day 10: Frottage ft. Brynjolf

Relationship:  Unspecified

Species: Unspecified

Warnings: Alcohol consumption, Sexual Daydreams

Summary: Yet another cause for celebration has attracted quite the crowd to the Flagon, and whilst they’d rather be in each others company in private, a little party isn’t going to stop the Guildmaster from causing some mischief with their second in command. 

The Flagon was alive, truly alive. The alcoves were filled to the brim with trading merchandise, tables had been added to compensate for the sudden influx of patrons. Vekel’s bar had never been so busy, nor had his stocks been filled with such fine goods. The guild in every aspect had its soul back. Not a single member could’ve asked for more.

That was until the Guildmaster returned not a month later, a leather backpack stashing some of the rarest treasure few had laid their eyes upon.

With assistance from Vex, the legendary Crown of Barenziah had been reformed to its mythical glory, and now took pride of place amongst the guilds other keepsakes, right behind the Guildmaster’s desk.

What had once been a gloomy area due to Mercer's consistently foul mood, was now a reminder of what could be achieved. All thanks to the efforts of Brynjolf’s protégé.

The title of protégé had long been swept aside, however, as many would argue the new Guildmaster had far succeeded their second in command in skill - Brynjolf being one of few to disputed such a statement - but none could deny their shared title of lovers, for it seemed neither made an effort to disguise their relationship.

Not ones to miss a celebration down in the sewers, the thief of the hour and their second in command were in attendance at the central table, the Guildmaster nested in Brynjolf’s lap, bottle held loosely in their grip, and an easy smile upon their face as their free fingers stroked idly through fiery red hair.

“Never dared to dream the guild would come this far love,” he voiced, head rested against their shoulder as he sat in quiet contemplation, his slightly inebriated mind drifting through the feats and foes the pair had faced together “couldn’t have done any of this without you. Though I suppose I deserve some credit for finding you in the first place.” The Nord chuckled, hand idly running across his companion’s thigh.

“Very funny, lad.” They jested, poorly executing his accent as they ruffled his hair. “Though I suppose you’re right, I’d still be picking pockets and roaming free without you.” A pinch to their rear silenced them rather quickly. “Fine, fine, I’d be nothing without you, the guild would be nothing without you, you’re a hell of a man.”

“Oh, say that last part again, I think I like it.” He chuckled, nuzzling into the soft skin of their neck.

“You’re a hell of a man, Brynjolf, my man, to be exact.” Their tone dropped, sultry and smooth and their fingers trailed down to graze over the fine hairs at the back of his neck, using the leverage to pull themselves against him, strategically rubbing against his crotch.

His eyes widened as he looked them over incredulously, gaze flicking to the company they were surrounded by. He took note rather quickly that none were at all interested in the love birds, not when they had the choice to watch Delvin attempt to drag Vex onto a table for a dance. Though, perhaps they were all waiting for the fight that was likely to ensue.

The thoughts and fears of wondering eyes were swiftly cast aside, however, as his lover spun in his lap, resting their elbows on the table, thus slotting his already stiffening cock snugly between their buttocks.

He tested his grip and their hip, tugging and releasing in time with steady rocks back and forth. Attempting to look nonchalant, he looked towards Delvin’s drunken performance, though that was exceptionally difficult given the rising tightness in his leathers.

The Guildmaster on the other hand, seemed to be coping just fine – to his annoyance – as they had now begun conversing with Vipir and Cynric who neighboured them at the table. Though he barely registered what they said, his lover’s words must have been truly enthralling for neither of the lower members noticed the slow gyration of the Guildmaster’s hips, an action strikingly similar to ones performed between the lovers in the privacy of Honeyside. They had both been naked those times – he thought, bitterly – and as he recalled, his cock had also been buried in them, his name rolling off their tongue in amorous euphoria.

It was that moment he realised he would not be receiving such sounds. No words of praise, no unbridled cry of his name at their climax. It was torture.

Delicious, torture.

The groan he let out was intentional. Honest.

Vekel seemed to be the only one that noticed the strange occurrence, and in a shockingly quick moment of genius, Brynjolf snatched up his companion’s now empty bottle.

“Another round of your finest Vekel, for the finest thief in the guild, and for the finest thieves in all of Tamriel!” The flagon erupted in cheers, despite his hopes of distracting the revelers with alcohol, Brynjolf now felt far too many eyes on him.

“To the guild, to nocturnal, and most importantly, to getting drunk blind!” The Guildmaster leaned back into him, taking the new beverage from the passing barkeep, and raising it in toast, expertly covered his now prominent bulge with their rear in the process. All around took a swig of their drink before going back to enjoying the festivities.

Not long after did Delvin dive headfirst from his stage, giving the pair the perfect distraction, one the Guildmaster in its entirety.

Hands on his knees and feet firm to the ground, they bounced on the straining bulge of his cock, the contact sending torturous shockwaves through his aching shaft. He moaned again, though he was smart enough to muffle it, his face buried in their neck as stray strands of his hair tickled their cheek. They laughed merrily; any who happened to glance over would surely mistake their lustful disposition as an alcohol-fuelled daze. He felt them clench, his hands straying to their ass to feel the muscles tighten and release. By the nine he wished for nothing more than to take them there and then, bent face-first into the table, onlookers be damned.

They’d fucked several times in risky places, including the cistern, but never had he entertained the idea of having people intentionally see them. He surprised himself by finding the thought obnoxiously appealing.

He could imagine it now, his cock balls deep inside them, his hand at the back of their neck pressing them into their desk, their moans and gasps echoing around the cistern with each of his thrusts. Niruin would miss every shot at his target, Thrynn would miss every swing at the training dummy, and Cynric would no doubt break several lockpicks as he desperately tried to focus on his practice chests. All others that occupied the space would have to bury themselves in their beds, or watch.

It would certainly stop the lecherous gazes some of the newer recruits dared to throw at his lover, as all would finally be able to see how good he made them feel. And how no one would be able to stand up to such a performance.

Such thoughts swam in his mind for Gods only knew how long, and without his consent, his fingers dug harder into their hips, and he began rocking up into them. Thankfully, his conscious hadn’t left him entirely, for he didn’t move with the intensity he would usually use to chase his release. His lover helped him further – thank the Gods! – by clutching their stomach in theatrical laughter, the way their body rocked and quaked causing delicious friction against his oversensitive cock.

Brynjolf came hard.

Were it not for the quality of the Guildmaster uniform, he would’ve ripped holes where his fingers clung to them, their leathers bunched in his fingers as he slowly came down from his high, his mind still racing with unsavoury thoughts, and blood beading at his bottom lip from how hard he’d bit into it.

He felt them shift, felt his cum smearing against his softened cock within his own breeches, and felt the warmth of their side once again resting against his chest as it had been before this encounter.

“You’re lucky Vex finally decided to start a fight, otherwise someone surely would’ve noticed how dazed you’d become. I would’ve assumed you’d plain of existence, were it not for the way you desperately attempted to rut into me without someone noticing.” Their breath fanned his skin, cool against his burning cheeks. They lay a kiss to the flushed skin, gently smoothing back his stray hairs from his eyes. “What were you thinking about?”

“Can’t tell you I’m afraid, after the stunt you just pulled, I don’t want to go putting ideas in your head.” He chuckled, pulling them in for a sparingly chaste kiss.

With an arm wrapped securely around their waist, he was finally able to lurch forward and take his own renewed tankard from the table, clinking the metal gently against their bottle.

“But I do have a mind full of ways to punish you for all this. So long as you have a plan to get me out of here without everyone seeing I’ve soiled myself.”

[harrenhalyuri]

for us, the wounds kissed long before the lips

23rd of Sun's Dawn, 1E 461, Alessian Empire.

During the coronation of Emperor Gorieus, the Hortator and the head of House Dagoth steal a moment for themselves.

tags: drinking & talking; angst; one-sided relationship; attempt at worldbuilding

ao3 version here

They stumbled forward laughing and shushing one another as the heavy oak doors closed behind them - the warmth and merry of the coronation feast left behind as the two stepped out into the garden.

Nerevar recalled walking the streets of Nirnbuldihr - the cyan glow of the giant mushrooms reflecting on the windows of several shops. One in particular caught his eye, and he crossed the cobblestone sidewalk to inspect it more closely. Blown glass sculptures, colorful and intricate in the way the dwemer favored.

His favorite had been a piece hidden in the back of the window, as if outshined by more complex, elaborate pieces upfront. It had been a white glass diorama, depicting a cottage surrounded by trees swaying in the breeze - the sort of simplicity the dwemer had no interest in.

The garden reminded him of that diorama - covered in a blanket of snow, completely undisturbed by the world around it.

Voryn pulled him under the arches that covered the path to the guest wing, but the Hortator held him back.

“No, let us stay for a bit.” He answered, arm still draped around the back of his friend’s neck as he stepped on the soft snow. Voryn sighed, yet allowed Nerevar to lead him.

“Frolicking amidst the cold? Do you plan on inviting the Nords to join us?” The head of House Dagoth said snidely as he crossed his arms to warm himself.

Nerevar laughed and shoved him away.

“The snow never belonged to those s’wits, you’re simply thin-blooded from living under the shadow of a volcano.”

“Perhaps, and rightly so.”

The snow softly crunched under their boots as they wandered near a tree - now completely stripped of leaves, its gnarled branches seemed to reach towards the sky.

“It always snows in Akamora.” Nerevar inhaled deeply, enjoying how his lungs burned as he took in the crisp, cool air. “In the mountains, at least. The paths are sharp and winding, and it freezes over during winter. No caravans may come or go, not until Sun’s Dawn.”  

The Hortator grabbed a handful of snow, the ice leeching the warmth of his skin through the kagouti leather gloves. Absent-mindedly he shaped it until a white sphere rested on his palm. Secunda and Masser bore down on them - the moon glow glinting on the high windows of Skingrad’s castle.

Nerevar recalled the moon glow glinting on the tip of ice spikes, sharp enough to be spears, at the highest peak of Akamora.

Azura had come to him then, for the first time, to bestow Moon-and-Star upon the captain - his fingers had been so stiff from the cold that he could barely feel them anymore, the goddess’s touch as foreign as the ring she had slipped on his finger.

When he came down from the mountain, the first ashlanders had hailed him Hortator, and it had felt just as foreign as the ring on his finger.  

“It must be rather grim.” Voryn commented, the cyrodilic brandy swirling inside the bottle as he brought it to his lips. The distaste in his face was plain to see - it couldn’t hold a candle to the Dagoth brandy.  

Nerevar smiled, his short-lived melancholia forgotten.

“How can you say that? Short-tempered caravan masters, cheap mazte and all the comforts of a straw bed...” The captain delighted at Voryn’s growing distaste as he spoke. The head of House Dagoth was a creature of comfort and status, something that had made the duo different as the sun and the moon.    

"Lovely, I'm sure." Voryn replied with a sour expression. Nerevar laughed.

"For a researcher, you spent far too much time cocooned up in Kogoruhn." The Hortator recalled several jars containing fungi species and creatures preserved in a strong alcoholic solution, one more outlandish than the other. In his curiosity, the captain had pestered Voryn with questions until he nearly dropped one of the jars. The head of House Dagoth had snapped at him to stop before he accidentally unleashed a deadly plague and got them both killed.

That had been many years ago, before the war, when Nerevar was still seeking support from the great houses. The somber, willowy lord that had greeted him in Kogoruhn had been the first to join him - his support had been won easily, but his friendship had not.  

"And due to that, couriers are eternally indebted to House Dagoth. Why would I waste my precious time wandering through mud in a thrice-damned swamp?” The councilor huffed, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand.

Nerevar laughed, the corners of his eyes crinkling in amusement.

“And what if your Hortator commanded you to?”

The previous distaste vanished in a second as the sharp, haughty aristocratic features softened; the ruby-colored gaze meeting his, warm as the liquor sloshing inside the bottle.

“I’d wander until time itself ceased to be if Muthsera willed so.” Despite the devotion, the lord councilor had steel in his voice; unwavering as the very core of Nirn.

Nerevar let the snow sphere fall to the ground, the reverence in those words overwhelming as he broke his gaze away, before joining the councilor on the stone bench. The orange glow of a candle reflected on the windows above; a small flickering flame moving as a servant crossed the corridor. The former captain followed it until the speckle of light vanished behind stone walls.

“I miss it.” He blurted out, seized by a deep longing as the world seemed to be reduced into that snow-covered, unperturbed garden; as if its two occupants were the only souls in Nirn.

“By the Three, how I miss it! To Oblivion with those titles and thrones and crowns; I miss the road, I miss the ache after a long day’s march and falling on the straw at night too tired to think.” Nerevar leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and covering his face with his hands. Azura had blessed him with the strength to carry the title of Hortator, yet he craved the simplicity of being nothing more than a captain, with no past nor future beyond the next town.

The Hortator missed walking through the crowded streets of the bazaars; the cramped food stalls with ill-tempered merchants that served meals with enough spices to burn his tongue; the shady cornerclubs where you had to watch both your tongue and your coin purse.  

Now he signed papers, spoke with lords, and followed the proper etiquette befitting his rank; he watched the streets through the high windows of his palace, as if his brethren were tiny ants. The former captain pulled his hands away and felt a tear roll down the bridge of his nose; the liquor was truly getting to his head. He placed a hand on his councilor’s knee; the several layers of red wool soft under his glove.

“Let’s leave - just the two of us and the road ahead, like it was before the war. We’ll name ourselves whatever we wish, we’ll sleep under the stars and chew on marshmerrow pieces as we travel.”

“Where shall we go, sweet Nerevar?” The young lord played along; his voice soft as a whisper, as if afraid to disturb the stillness around them.

“Wherever you desire - do you still wonder about Hammerfell? I’ll take you to see the dunes that stretch as far as the sun, you’ll study their beetles and giant scorpions for as long as you wish, then we can drink qishr and break bread with the nomads.” Nerevar found himself smiling as he recalled the heat of the desert and the loose, colorful fabrics the natives wore.

He turned around and reached for the bottle, fingers brushing against his confidant’s. Only then, Nerevar realized his councilor had forgotten his gloves inside the hall; the golden skin contrasting against the snow, the long, elegant fingers trembling with the cold.

“Oh, Voryn.” The former captain frowned, quickly pulling his own gloves off and taking hold of the other’s wrist; the scarlet nails vanishing into the supple leather as he adjusted the glove.

“Remember when you fell sick, five days after we departed Kogoruhn? We had to-” The sentence fell on deaf ears, vanishing under the branches heavy with snow as lips met his, swallowing his words with hunger. A hand connected with his chest, closing into a fist as Voryn pulled him closer; as if it weren’t enough.

Distant and haughty Voryn, who ate sparingly and never smudged the red paint he wore on his lips, bit the Hortator’s lower lip before pulling back; eyes half-lidded as he brushed the tip of his nose against Nerevar’s in a silent plea.

The ink-colored hair contrasted against the pale golden skin; the black fur collar brushing against the captain’s chin; a pale pink blooming on his cheeks, either from cold, the brandy, or something else-

Heart hammering against his ribcage, blood drumming on his ears; it was the slightest tilt of his face that thrice-damned him as Voryn’s lips smashed against his; a devotion he was unworthy of every time their tongues met; muffled prayers in form of sighs and whimpers.  

Unworthy, unworthy, unworthy. A voice whispered in his mind, taunting him; in his mind’s eye he saw peach-colored lips curled in derision, teeth bared like a wolf’s. Almalexia’s snarl.

Somewhere, a door groaned open and the sounds of the feast reached the garden, shattering their sanctuary; the weight of being Hortator came crashing down on his shoulders. Nerevar pulled back as if he had been burned, his palm on the young lord’s shoulder firmly holding the other back. He looked down, unable to face the confusion, the longing. Too much, it was too much. His hair was disheveled, pale strands falling against his face and he felt grateful for the cover.

“Nerevar-” The head of House Dagoth began, voice hoarse and breathless.

“Forgive me.”

“There’s nothing to forgive, I’ve wanted-”

“It was a mistake.”

“Oh.” Voryn inhaled sharply as if his lungs had suddenly been emptied.

“I’ve...I drank more than I should have. We both have.” His words feel hollow, and he can no longer tell if the bitter taste on his tongue belonged to the brandy, or the shame. The silence stretched; neither dared to move.

“I see.” His voice is flat, devoid of emotion; the usual aloofness reserved for others. Out of the corner of his eye, Nerevar watched him straighten his posture; the dark hair falling like a curtain, obscuring half of his face.  

Other guests left the feast; their chatter and laughter permeated the garden as they walked down the path to the other wing of the castle. Nerevar felt the red gaze pinned to his back, yet no words left his lips. He watched the snow under his boots; watery and muddy as it mixed with the dirt below.

At last, he heard the rustling of fabric as Voryn rose to his feet; impeccable posture as he towered over the Hortator.

“May this servant be excused, Muthsera?” The words rolled easily off his tongue; the sharp formality of it made Nerevar wince.

The Hortator forced himself to lift his head and face his long-time friend; clad in red wool and black fur, the snowflakes melting on the long, inky hair; the blank expression betraying nothing, except for his lips; the red paint had been smudged, contorting their shape.

“Yes.”

From the cradle, the heir of House Dagoth had been taught the games of persuasion and deceit; a master in concealing his thoughts behind a mask.

Nerevar took a hollow, cowardly comfort in it.

Voryn Dagoth bowed before him, as etiquette mandated, before vanishing into the corridor; the sound of his footsteps hammering inside the Hortator’s head until they vanished, leaving him with nothing but a headache and the cold.

After finishing the bottle by himself, the former captain laid in bed, watching the moons slowly crossing the sky through the windows; his dreams haunted by both his closest friend and his wife; one seeming to shift into the other as they pinned him against the sheets; ever-hungry as they sought out his lips.

It was late morning when he rose; mouth dry and head throbbing like it had been split open with an axe. The hearth had been tended to recently, the fire crackling as it consumed the logs. He turned in bed, still wrapped around the sheets.

Voryn will understand, he understands the importance of duty better than anyone. He reasoned with himself.

A single kagouti glove on the floor, as if someone had pushed it under the door.

Across the hallway, a lord painted his lips red; immaculately framing the natural shape of his lips. His unbalanced emotions shattered the mirror into a thousand pieces when his fingers trembled for a second and a smudge appeared.

Duty, he’s devoted to duty, the lord repeated mentally, as he collected the shards.