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Meme Announcements!

ANNOUNCEMENTS: UPDATED 12/16/2017

Happy Holidays, fellow Kinkmemers! I have returned and have no reasonable excuse for my absence except LIFE. I will be working on updating the archives. If anyone sees anything amiss, please let me know.

I am also hoping to find another Mod and an Archivist.

The more dedicated people we have in this Meme the less chance of it dying. I admit that being the sole keeper of the Meme is not great for the fandom. If something were to happen to me, for good, this place would go the way of the Fallout Kink Meme. Let's not let that happen! If anyone would be interested in Modding/Archiving, please drop me a line. Thanks! <3

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This is a prompt that anyone can fill, I'm only asking for quick, adorable and heartfelt moments between a M!DB and his chosen mate, Vilkas. I don't need a long backstory, nor any 10 chapter stories (but if they get that long, by all means!)

Lets face it, he's rude and curt to strangers. He's a tough guy all around but once he's let you into his heart, you're everything to him. He wears his emotions on his sleeve in DB's presence and will do anything to protect him, and DB the same for Vilkas.

I want to see absolutely anything. Small moments of intimacy between two that love each other very much, Vilkas and his lover fighting, sharing stories over a fire, building their home and raising an orphaned child. I want to see them laugh together, cry together, heal each others wounds.

It could take place at any time, whether their just a flirting pair in Jorvaskkr, or far years down the future when they've been settled into their married life.

No squicks, although OP does prefer Vilkas being the submissive one. VERY into snogging, anal, oral, cuddling, sharing heat.

All are welcome!

Would op be adverse to children/pets?

Whoops I had a dummy moment. I didn't read this all the way through. Just saw Vilkas and I was on it. Regardless, I'm filling it.

This is an adorable prompt. May attempt to fill 0__0

OP says: I am into absolutely anything. Please don't feel overwhelmed I am very easily impressed :)

The only thing I really am looking for is to have Vilkas as in-character as possible. Stubborn, rough around the edges, but a total and absolute sweetheart to his lover. All of his doting "Do you need anything my love"s and cherishing gazes just make me melt.

((This is my first fill in over a year so I am incredibly rusty. I'll be posting much more on this prompt and I promise it'll get better!
current Tags: slash, marriage, fatherhood, fluff, comfort))

It feels like it's been so long since he'd last seen the massive gates of Solitude, his weary mare plodding up the cobblestone path while Guards hailed him in respect, welcoming their most famed thane. It wasn't too far now, he thought to himself, just got to heave these damnable ingots, bits and bobs to plundered treasures in the heavy sack over his back.

Not too much farther to go, now. Gods he was so tired, if it wasn't the bandits on the road it was the sabrecats in the hills- nowhere seemed safe in Skyrim even after an entire two years of his indebtedness to the frozen country. But here he was, hearing the tinkling of glasses from the patrons of the Winking Skeever, the sound of a hammer on heated metal the longer he stumbled to his manor, Proudspire.

The Dragonborn's knees buckled and ached for hours but with the smell of fresh bread cooking and the earthen scents of burning pine awoke what little spark was left in the tired bosmer. Smells like home... but there was nothing that could waken the spirits of the tired mer more than the distant laughter of children, his long ears pricking up to the approaching voices.

“Papa, you're home! Look!” He heard an oh so familiar voice cry out, young and squawking like an excited pup “Hey everyone, my pa's back!” He could see the boy run towards him, sprinting on gangling legs with arms open and suddenly the leather sack across his shoulders weighed nothing. No potion or spell could bring him that kind of invigorating joy.

“Alesan, my boy!” He could hear his own voice had grown ragged from his journeys, a small “oof!” from the impact of his young adopted son crashing into him for a hug, petting his coarse dark hair “Divines, how tall have you grown in just a week?” He could hear the other children calling, their game interrupted

“Not as tall as you. Yet.” The young boy did a double-take at his father and back at the crowd of children playing tag in the twilight. It just seemed to be getting darker by the minute.

“Hey, wanna play tag?”

“Alesan, I-”

“You're it!” He couldn't say no, what was a few minutes of play going to do to his aching knees? With a big sigh of defeat and a smile he leaned his travel bag against the stony walls of Proudspire, giving the pups a head start before beginning the hunt.

“You can't run from me-!” He cried before taking off after the scattering children, his fingertips always just out of reach of a little shoulder, his breath growing harsh from exhaustion as he just couldn't find the energy to grab one-or to stop laughing. Within moments the sun had set, his boy climbing atop a rock and proudly displaying his victory.

“Alesan, leave your old man alone! Can't you see he's exhausted?!” An amused, even more familiar voice could be heard from the alley, the dragonborn's downcast eyes slowly reaching up to see it's source. There at the basement door stood Vilkas, irritation clear on his face as he chastised the boy

“And come inside, dinner's waiting!” Dragonborn's black mer eyes couldn't be more enraptured to see the man at the doorway finally meet painted, steely blues to his. In the nords arm rested a far younger child, a beautiful little girl not past 4 winters asleep against his shoulder, her legs dangling astride his waist.

The pain in his legs vanished when the elder mer came face to face with the Companion, seeing a relieved smile gracing his stubbly lips. Vilkas' free arm soon reached out, coming around the bosmer's sturdy frame “It's so good to see you again, dear.” His voice brought down to a subtle whisper, just for them to hear. Vilkas' eyes shone with genuine affection, and great relief to see his beloved return tired but all in one piece.

Dragonborn couldn't say anything at that moment, seeing all he wanted to right before him. His family and his home, what he'd been dreaming of on the harsh open road. All he could simply do was lean forward to meet Vilkas' forehead against his own, noses touching briefly before sharing a kiss they'd been holding onto for days and days.

They simply stared at each other for a few moments, remembering features and in silent agreement that they'd have plenty of time to catch up soon. Their daughter stirred in his arms, a small drool stain pooling on the Nords shoulder making the other laugh. “Let's put her to bed and get you out of that armor.”

The mer half-climbed half-hobbled up the stony steps to their children's room and Vilkas had the right mind to carry them both up, seeing the way his husband could barely make it to the top step before sweat started to form at his brow. He was so exhausted, it unnerved Vilkas to see him this way, even if he knew it was inevitable. When he lay the baby girl on her bed he could only stand back and watch with crossed arms as his husband knelt beside her. He gave the toddler a kiss on the forehead, lifting a tiny arm to place a cloth doll underneath. He kept that one close, he knew it would make her happy.

“You spoil them rotten, you do..” Vilkas sighed, a warrior father and yet forever stuck learning the ropes. “Did you bring ME anything?” He tried to play coy, feeling rough mer fingers go through his black, cropped hair.

“Of course, an aching back and sore feet for you to rub tonight.”

“Hmph.”

“Oh come now,” the bosmer laughed as they exited to the foyer “I always bring that home for you”

Vilkas grunted in retort, failing to hide the smile Dragonborn always found so handsome “You do, because you know I'm always going to wind up rubbing them.”

“And I love you for it. Now please, get me out of this damned armor!” Vilkas was far more entertained by the thought of this, leading them to their closed bedroom and heaving the shorter mer onto the bed. First the gauntlets went, the boots, belts.. Each item removed earning another pleased sigh from the mer, his brown and wild hair splayed out behind him loose from it's ponytail.

The nord kissed as he went, reuniting his lips to kiss his beaten knuckles, the golden wedding band, his hips and shoulders. The mer's ebony black eyes where hooded and a smile on his weary face as he watched his husband dote on him “What's that look for?” Vilkas' white eyes snapped up from his thoughtful work, his forehead crinkled and his lips set tightly. He was worried.

“Ah, I'm just happy to see that you're home.”

“Mmm. Alright.” Dragonborn had asked that many times before, Vilkas never admitted he was always anxious about his husbands safety. After Kodlak died those 2 years ago he never quite got over the worry of losing someone so dear. Not when the man he married was a warrior like himself.

When he was stripped nude Vilkas was pulled in by his wrist to lay astride the prone mer, cotton clothing separating him from the worse-for-wear bosmer that now wrapped an arm around him. No matter how dirty he got, his husband always smelled of Nirn and incense- Something he indulged in by burying his face into the mess of his dreaded hair.

"Lay with me? Just a little." Vilkas obliged, their hands roaming each other's bodies. Far from sexual, merely relearning and innocent "I wrote a few songs while I was gone.. they're about you."

"Hahh.." Vilkas sighs, "Leave them for later. But for now, rest, my love. And welcome home" Their lips met once again and Vilkas was happy.

(Hope everyone likes this. I'll give you porn in the next fill)

Beautiful, a!a!!!~<3

Passer-by just had to stop and say I loved this :)

Passerby adores this with all that she is <3

((I'm in the process of writing this and I'm not sure how long it'll really be. I hope you enjoy how Vilkas meets his future husband for the first few times
current tags: slash, fluff, friendship, sexual tension, torvar, vilkas, farkas))

Maybe he lacked the passion, or maybe a muse to pine over, but Vilkas could never put the quill to paper and produce beautiful words the way the skalds of old could. It was no secret among the Companions that Vilkas was struck with wanderlust and a hunger for knowledge, a soft spot in his heart for poetry and epic tales. While his brother was busy hunting skeevers and forging steel as a pup, Vilkas hid reclusive under the pines with a book. It had become something of a joke for the older Companions of that time, Kodlak and Skjor fascinated by Vilkas' intelligence while poor Farkas struggled to read even into his late teens.

But try as he might, Vilkas never quite got comfortable enough to write stories of his own, or to sing tales of his own triumph without enough mead to send him to the pot heaving his guts for the rest of his night. It was his job as a warrior to fight, and the bards to record him into history in song and lore, and that was that. He chose to spend his young life in friendship with the solitude of his room and a good tale, silently wondering when it will be the voice of a song maiden singing praises of his battle glory..

But when that wandering bard of Valenwood came to their halls with a meager iron blade and a helpless little frown looking for work, his heart clenched with an unknown kind of unhappiness. The fires in Jorrvaskr lit up his road-dirtied face, Vilkas giving his usual sneer and once-over from afar of his physique. Bosmer where not built for the frontlines of battle, even if he did seem rather tall and broad for his breed. Perhaps a mutt? It didn't matter. Skjor took one look at the bedraggled wanderer and suggested to him he'd be better off “Playing minstrel to those brats up at Dragonsreach”

He didn't get to see him directly, but he saw the way his gloved hand dragged over his elven face before turning about and leaving into the chilly autumn evening. He didn't care to notice the little bandolier across his back filled with who cares what. All that was left was the breeze that passed over his frame, collecting a scent that the wolf's senses picked up. It was faint, but he smelled spicy yet wild, like frost and pine. Not the smell of a warrior by far.

Good. Another annoyance he won't have to deal with. Vilkas retreated to his quarters, letting the beast within him simmer and growl with an impatient humor.

The Bannered Mare was unusually quiet for a Nord pub, all manner of races seated about chipped and wooden tables looking a mix between sullen and work-weary. Why did everyone always look so dreary in this country? The wandering musician thought as he rested himself on the nearest stool. He was getting the eye from a Nord not 5 paces away, unfriendly and unwelcoming to his kind. He was used to it by now, you've been to one remote village in the mountains, you've been to them all. Hammerfell was no different.

“You let one in, then the rest of them come crawling out of the woodwork.” Great. Another drunk countryman looking to get himself popular. The barmaid seemed passive, offering the stranger a drink before her new customer could be pestered out. He hardly had the coin to enjoy good food and a warm bed tonight, but the Bosmer complied. Whatever, he'd try to make nice. “So, how long have you been open here?”

“About twelve years, actually. I enjoy this work well enough, but-”

“Damn elves.” The voice rose higher, feeling nordic blue eyes on him. “Coming into our city, drinking our mead and getting fresh with our women.” the musician's night-black eyes seemed to go flat as he ignored the attempts for a scuffle, downing the warm mead in a single tilt. He didn't think it would work honestly because he heard wood against wood of a seat being pushed away.

“But I'm ready to retire..” Hulda tried to ignore their most infamous patron. “Hm, retire? Why you're hardly the age, My lady..But if you're customers are all like this, I can understand why.”

That seemed to be the last straw since the Bosmer's mere presence was enough to send the drunken Battleborn farmer staggering up, a calloused hand suddenly on the table and another at the tired mer's shoulder. Well was it, isn't it? “Is this outlander bothering you, Hulda? I'll send him back in pieces!”

“Don't touch me.” He tried to seem careless but stern, only to feel the hand tighten uncomfortably. What the farmer felt under the leather and cloth was hard as ice, too drunk to notice that maybe he wasn't the soft elf most Nords perceived their race to be.

“Leave him alone, Tyr, he's just passing through.” Well, mister Tyr didn't like this strange face, those freaky, inky black eyes that ended in points that just stared- he couldn't tell which way the Mer was looking. He saw himself in their reflection and that was all he needed to shove at the stranger, the bosmer feeling himself tipping off of the stool and his side pressed into the bar, the leather bandolier caught between until with a gentle crackle and snap the contents within shattered.

“I said don't touch me, you drunken fool!” He finally piped up, his surprisingly deep voice had an unplaced accent, thick and foreign. A hand swatted out and pushed the taller Nord away with a heave, those around them at the Inn taking interest in a fight brewing. “Your petty attempt at winning respect just cost me what little I have!” He'd hoped to the gods not everything in his precious parcel was crushed.

Before he could let words of reason reach the staggering fool the first swing had already landed, a nord fist scraping against the Elf's sharp cheekbone, his messy, dreadlocked hair whipping along his shoulders. Within seconds the strap around the Bosmer's body was loosened and his parcel thrown across the ground, shouts of surprise and cheers from everywhere around him.

Nothing else seemed to matter though, the clambering of wooden chairs and feet on creaking floorboards. “Drive that snowback into the ground!” he heard, his sturdy frame ducking and weaving a flurry of angry arms. Others called out for the farmer to beat him to bits, yet the bastard failed to land a second shot. He just couldn't even place where the bosmer ducked to next, everything just seemed to happen so fast.

As quickly as it started, the Farmer found himself with his knees flying over his head, a hard pressure behind his legs and at his collar. He could make out the shape of flying dreads, of green facepaint and a very VERY solid blow to his chest from a wisely placed kick. “Uuurgghh” was the only thing he could say, his world spinning and an iron-toed boot on his stomach.

Nobody even knew exactly what the Bosmer had done, sending a man twice his weight to the ground without a single drop of blood.

The farmer didn't get up, he just lay there staring at the vaulted ceiling, blood rushing to his ears in embarassment. The Bosmer tisked and cussed softly to himself, hurriedly opening his bandolier and shifting around the contents. “Oh, simply wonderful.” He said, quite suddenly miserable and holding up what looked like pieces of an earthenware pipe. Hulda apologized profusely, inspecting the damage to the foreigner's cheek from afar. “This was my favorite fife, had it fashioned and glazed by an old friend of mine outside Corinth..” He was heartbroken inside, shaking his head and ignorant to the sounds of praise from around the Inn of his victory. Suddenly a bloated coinpurse was laid out before him, “Here, I know it can't replace your flute, but this is for your trouble. I've been trying to get that man knocked sober for quite a while now. It's two hundred septims, and again I'm so sorry.”

Hulda couldn't help but smile sadly for him, she'd seen strangers come and go but this poor mer had a tougher time than most. He was quite handsome too, a pity a large bruise started forming along his cheek. “You know, you should join the companions. I hear they're looking for new recruits. With skills like yours, I'm sure you'd impress someone.”

“Ah, You see, I've already given them a visit. To be honest I just wandered in without even knowing it was home to a league of warriors. They told me off, but I guess that's what I deserve for being clueless.”

“Well, you have me vouching for you!” Another drunken voice sounded from behind him, this one far more jovial than the last. He turned and brushed two beaded lanyards away from his cheek, seeing an imposingly tall and bearded blonde gesturing towards him, mug in hand. “That was quite a kick, never seen anything like that.” By the nine, he was quite friendly. “And” he burped, it reaked-”Don't you listen to what noooobody says in Jorrvaskr until old Kodlak had a look at you.”

“Kodlak. Balding, missing an eye?” Apparently not, maybe he could earn a meager living in this town once more. The musician was still quite sore over being repeatedly belittled for his race, and he was grouchy enough to test his mettle against those who questioned him.

“Nah, thats Skjor. He don't like nobody. Hey hey, tomorrow you should come back. I'll tell em you got lot of spunk.” Whether the drunk was just hitting on him or being honest to his word he'd have to find out tomorrow. There was no getting to Solitude with the money and armor he's got.

“T-Thank you, friend. I will.”

“Name's uh...uh. Name's..”

“Don't worry. You'll remember.” The charming stranger smiled, defeated yet interested in making a friend- any friend. He'd always been that way. “Have a drink with me?”

“Now I really like you”

The next day the musician entered Jorrvaskr with a little more gusto, and a lot more information. He'd spent a good portion of that night entertaining the blonde he learned to be named Torvar, and in turn being entertained by the way he blindly praised everyone that passed him, even for the littlest of reasons. But if he was true to his word, then the Companions would give him a thorough looking over.

And by Mara, hopefully everything Torvar spewed about their history in Whiterun was at least vaguely correct, or he'd be making a big fool of himself. Jorrvaskr smelled of ash and kindling, Nord and mead. It was definitely the prettiest building he'd seen so far, now that he alone walked in with more ambition to look about the place. He was stared at by unfriendly eyes, none he'd seen before. A pair of severe reds of a Dunmer, cold and nasty hazels from under a warmaiden's helm.
“I'm interested in joining the Companions, I believe Torvar said to speak with a Kodlak?”
“Pft, good luck shorty. Heard about you from Skjor.” She was quite charming, wasn't she? “We don't need any battle drummers, and I hate flute, so-”

“Yes, yes, of course. Anyway, Kodlak? Is he here, or not?” He snapped back, glaring down the bitter warmaiden. Technically, she couldn't kick him out, but oh divines did she want to. It was enough having a snappy, overbearingly prideful Dunmer around.

“Downstairs. Now get outta my sight.”

“It would be my pleasure.” He had to constantly remind himself that this was just a smaller city, he hoped and prayed Solitude would be what he'd read in the history books. A towering city of stone and beaming with music and culture. He's been through this song and dance of earning respect endless times before.. This was just a means to an end.

He'd just opened the door to the underground hallway when he came face to face (well, face to chestplate) with the most staggeringly handsome creature he'd seen since he stepped foot in Skyrim. He was by far not a shy mer, but beautiful words and song washed about in his head like a choir when he looked up to see a surprised yet peaceful face. What a face.. Husky white eyes set deep at the center of his chiseled features, painted black. A pleasant amount of beard, luscious Nord lips curled into a smile and black, oily hair framing his gentle appearance. He was like a tame stallion, shimmering black against a sea of snow. His mouth hung open and silent when his gloved hands came up to politely touch the biceps of the beautiful thing before him, as if to apologize.

“Woops!” It grumbled, The poetry in motion before the Bosmers eyes. He stepped back and to the side, the most polite gesture he'd encountered since entering this mead hall. “You're new. Here to see Kodlak about joining the Companions?” Not a mote of sarcasm could be read, and the Bosmer was very good at reading thoughts.

“Yes...” He sighed, lovestruck. The damnable prose came to mind, having to shove that poetic soul down just enough to gain some sense into him. ”He's here?”

“Just down the hall, at the end. He's talking with my brother, Vilkas.” But what was your name, you angel? He didn't even need to ask. “I'm Farkas. Good luck, maybe I'll be seeing more of you.” And like that the vision in steel walked past him and up the stairs.

“I can only hope that I will be” He blurted before Farkas could venture beyond earshot, seeing him look over his shoulder and smile just that agonizing little bit. The Bosmer's previously emptied hope of finding beauty and inspiration in this city was wonderfully sated, for now.

The name Farkas danced along his tongue as he treasured it, entertained thoughts of what kind of man lay behind the face. What was he like? Was there a hundred poems and lyrics to sing in his honor?

All those thoughts came to a crushing end when he idled into something of a serious conversation. For what he saw before him made the mer eat his words- Farkas wasn't kidding when he was talking about a brother. The twin rivaled him tit for tat in dark, sensuous beauty. Seated with legs astride, gloved, long fingers at his padded knees, was this Vilkas. Lean and long, his body seemed a fraction of the weight his brother carried. His black hair was well-kept and even, his face identical to the one he'd seen before. But yet, it looked so different.

He couldn't help but eavesdrop. “But I still hear the call of the blood..” Vilkas' expression was callous and serious, not a shred of innocence and the Bosmer could already write volumes about him. No, he was nothing like his brother. It didn't take much to see that.

“Ah, a wanderer comes to our halls..”

Whatever Kodlak saw in this stranger, Vilkas saw none of it. He wasn't impressed from afar when he saw the man yesterday, and this didn't change a bit. The old bear saw promise in those otherworldly black eyes- eyes that made the wolf inside Vilkas feel uncomfortable and unhappy. They where utterly unreadable, a dark teal paint etched around his eyes and contouring his bruised face and downturned lips.

The wolf inside him roiled in an unplaced anger. “Why have you come to Skyrim, stranger?” He had to ask, keeping calm yet anyone could see he wasn't happy with this strange new mer at their doorstep.

((I'm sorry if this is kinda dragging on but I'm just very rusty. I promise you'll get more Vilkas once I set up this damn thing.
Here's a picture of the bosmer: http://fc08.deviantart.net/fs70/f/2013/001/7/1/bosmeri_by_sparklyfarts-d5q4c46.jpg ))

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With his brother already purified, Vilkas yearns to cure himself of his cursed beastblood with the help of his Harbinger and future husband. On their quest, Vilkas finally realizes something he's been denying for months.

Tags; relationship: slash, character: farkas, vilkas, m!db race: bosmer kinks: hurt and comfort, flirting, fluff, angst

~~~~

Farkas told him it was like waking from a horrible dream, like stepping out into the sunlight after being trapped in a dark cave for so long you forgot the smell of the pines and the taste of the open road. His larger brother surprised him when he'd left at the break of day with their Harbinger, going to set things right with his soul at Ysgramors tomb. To finally rid himself of the curse that had plagued them both for so many dark years. It surprised him that Farkas would have taken that initiative, and even more so that their Harbinger so eagerly accompanied him.

The very same Harbinger that came to him during his darkest times, who filled his fiery heart with lust and such confusion. The Bosmer with wild hair and a musical soul- one he'd never thought would reach the ranks he has in the Companions and in Vilkas' own heart as a friend. The wolf in him snarled wickedly with jealousy at the idea of the mer alone with his brother- that's when he knew it was time. The wolf had taken control of his emotions, made him wild and angry at everything it could. Kodlak had taught him this lifestyle wasn't right, they wouldn't make it to Sovngarde with Hircine's curse and he couldn't stand the idea of lashing out at his brother-his own flesh and blood- for the sake of the wolf's coveting eye.

It wasn't a surprise to Vilkas that he couldn't bring himself to ask the Harbinger for the same. Ever since that night he cried, came undone and fell asleep all in the mer's arms, it seemed damned impossible for him to think straight whenever the mer was around. He never took himself to be a shy man but he always found himself staring when he walked by, at a loss for words when they chatted over dinner. It was infuriating, embarrassing, everything he didn't want... and worst of all, the Bosmer knew of these feelings. It worried the Nord to think that he may have let this friendship grow too deep- but seeing him now exit Jorvasskr to rest under the Gildergreen, he knew he needed the Bosmer's help.

So he followed. Vilkas gulped and rised from his seat, glancing over at Farkas who seemed so comfortably free in his purity. He wanted the same, and Farkas kept alluding to his edgy brother to finally make the trip. He peeked out from the front doors, as if worried the mer would be right there waiting for him. But no, he saw the strapping elf with his back against the thick trunk of the blossoming tree, a quill in hand with the feather tickling at his lips while he pondered.

His heart was already pounding when the Bosmer looked up to him, that blasted smile on his face that was so contagious already showing. “Vilkas!” He put the scroll and quill aside, standing to greet him only for Vilkas to quickly ask him to stop, watching the lithe Nord sit down before him. “Are you here for a visit?” He joked, seeing a smile flash over Vilkas' stubbled lips before something changed- he suddenly got dark, and worried.

“Aye, I have.” Well, here it goes, Vilkas. He didn't want to make this any more difficult for him with idle chatter. “But.. There is a very personal task ahead of me.” The bosmer's smile faded, seeing him lean in. There was a tickle in the mer's mind and already he knew what Vilkas wanted- it was just a matter of time. “What troubles you?”

“It was...” Vilkas looked away, eyes scanning over the skyforge in the distance- he didn't like talking to him about Kodlak. “Kodlak's final teaching. I think he was right about the beastblood and Sovngarde. I wish to cleanse myself that I might know glory in the afterlife.” The way he said that, the pain laden in Vilkas' voice made the bosmer's heart sting. He found it beautiful how Vilkas prized honor and glory the way the Nords of old did in the tales.

“The sleepless nights, the unwanted thoughts of the hunt, I fear that I may soon become more a beast than Nord. I saw how you helped my brother and I-”

Gah, where's the rest?! Don't leave me hanging!

Are you gonna leave it there??!! Yikes!!! Come on give me some more!!! Please???

“Of course I will help you cure yourself.” The Bosmer whispered, leaning forward. “How could I resist a man in need?”

Vilkas flushed under the tree's shade, it brought the elf back to his far younger days and he couldn't help but laugh... Wooing shy, curious elves to the shade of the Valenwood canopy.

"then we leave tomorrow, as soon as the sun rises" Vilkas did a doubletake, his mind racing with the realization that this was really happening-and so soon! He could feel a pressure building up immediately behind his eyes, seeing the Bosmer take out his quill and jot something into a ragged book from his pouch.

"T-tomorrow? Very well, I'll see to it that the rest of the Companions will know of our excursion." He got a faint nod from the mer, Vilkas pushing himself to stand and seeing the artist smiling up to him with a tilted head. He was quite happy to realize that he'd be able to close another dark chapter in the knight's life.

But as they slept in their separate quarters that night, prepared for the morn, each had their nagging doubts. What if the beastblood was what drew the Mer so much to Vilkas? what if his fire extinguished in his soul and that exotic darkness inside him is gone? He wouldn't let those doubts get in the way of saving the poor man's life, but it would be a terrible shame..

And Vilkas fretted over his safety tomorrow, what if something went wrong? What if Ysgramor won't see him worthy? Vilkas didn't sleep a wink that night, eyes open and staring blankly as his thoughts drifted to the mer. Gods, he was a wreck right now. He could only hope tomorrow will leave them safe and for the better.

dawn broke. Paint was fresh on Vilkas' face and plumes of vapor puffed from each breath as the two climbed onto the saddles and rode north. Past sparse fields, past empty tundra dotted with nothing more than starving wolves and bandits alike.

Ysgramor's tomb was no short ride, but the day was young and there where no steeds swifter than the Companion's. Vilkas and his harbinger rode side by side, in uncomfortable silence with Vilkas' nervous mind refusing to calm. Hours went by with no more words than a few idle remarks, the Bosmer's sporadic jokes, an occasional response from the Nord. The stress was clear on his face and it only seemed to deepen the later it got. They rode past Dawnstar until with a curse the Bosmer looked up, scrunching his nose "Shit, looks like a snowstorm. We can't go very far in this, Vilkas. We're going to need to stop for the night in Winterhold."

Thank the gods, Vilkas thought. He spent the entire ride steeling himself for now, he didn't think he would have been ready given the time. When they rode in to Winterhold, the snow whited out all but the southern walls of the wasting city. Snow froze solid to the tips of the bosmer's dreads, dripping immediately as they stabled the horses and kicked their boots against the doorframe of The Frozen Hearth. Vilkas' nose crinkled when an odd stench passed his nostrils, making his head throb in discomfort.

“We'll stay here for the night, so why don't you make yourself comfortable?” It's been a while since he stayed at an inn, and even longer since he'd been treated to dinner. The elf bought him a stiff drink and the most expensive food- he almost felt too overwhelmed to even eat. “You really do not have to go through all this trouble, Harbinger. I'm happy enough for you just accompanying me.”

“Nonsense, Vilkas. The Bosmer's genuine smile made the worried Nord lean back in his chair, relaxing his back. “I would go far beyond just dinner and drinks to ease your mind. Perhaps I can write you a sonnet? A massage?” He heard Vilkas scoff and roll his eyes, bringing the ale to his lips. He really was sexy without even trying, and the gentle teasing seemed to make the young man unwind.

“I mean it! Let's take off those boots, I'll rub your feet for you.” He lent forward, hands reaching out to the Nord's sexy legs, only to see him tuck them under his own chair and something of a chuckle passed his lips. “Oh, come off it!” Vilkas laughed, pushing the mer's arms away “

“I do” He chirped, enjoying the red at Vilkas' ears as firelight lit up his impressive jawline. “But I also want another drink..”

((edit: at the very end I forgot to add Vilkas' quote “...pushing the mer's arms away. “You just want a touch.””))

The Mer had water droplets trailing along the floor both when he left and returned with two frothing mugs of dark ale. “Here you are,” Vilkas took it even if he was full and distending in his armor “This is quite a big night for you, but I don't want to bring up what's obvious.” Oh please, Vilkas hoped he wasn't going to go so far into it.. he was just starting to gain an iota of comfort amidst the tension.

“But I say we should make a toast..” He hopes this will raise the mans spirits, seeing him reluctantly raise his mug “to your final night as one of the damned.” Somehow hearing it that way made Vilkas' stomach tight. He didn't know what to say..

But the artist leaned in, his elven features striking and his smile alluringly playful. “Here's to hoping you keep that animal passion within you.” His adams apple bobbed with a heavy pull of his ale, and Vilkas felt weak, and stammered “Ah...I- ah.” The artist truly hopes he doesn't lose that part of him.

Whatever snide remark the Bosmer was expecting from the Nord didn't come, for the tall man merely took another swig and stood, eyes on their shared inn room. “I really don't think I should be drinking any more if we are serious about this. Let's just call it a night so I can try to prepare my soul again.” He really didn't want any more weighing on his mind, he just wanted it over with.

Their room was small with one two-person bed, large cabinets and chests for the men while they silently undid their armor, cleaned their weapons of beast gore. They did so one at a time, the Bosmer seated on the bed to give the Nord enough space to remove his pauldrons, slip out of the cuisse and placard. The bosmer really didn't know what to say, seeing that Vilkas had forfeit their playful flirting to brood once again. The poor man.

Thoughts raced through Vilkas' mind until he was stripped down to his smalls, his hairy chest exposed and milky skin seemingly absorbing candle light. These nord men always covered their bodies, skin virgin to the touch of the sun. With a nod the younger man sat on their shared bed, nervously eyeing the Bosmer and his bronze skin, the tattoos burned into his body in what books had described as a barbarian jungle ritual. But even sights like this could not break his mind away from the pressure of what awaited them the moment the snow settled..

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Re: Purity art fill

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EHEHE~ Needz more, wonderful A!A!!

More, please!

Not sure how to post art fills on here, but here's the Artist and Vilkas getting a little shovey and playful.

sparklyfarts.deviantart DOT com/art/Flirtation-360843145

"Papa's home! Daddy, wake up!"

Vilkas groaned and rolled over to see the bright, exuberant face of his eldest daughter, Lucia. Still in bare feet and sleeping clothes, she was bouncing up and down excitedly, beaming from ear to ear.

"Alright, firefly, I'm coming," conceded the bed-rumpled warrior, chuckling despite his abrupt awakening. Downstairs, he could hear Blaise eagerly demanding the details of his other father's latest adventure. Pulling on a linen over-shirt, Vilkas ran a hand through his dark, messy hair and trudged sleepily to the small bedroom at the other end of the loft before going downstairs to greet his husband. He poked his head inside to check on the smallest member of the family. In her little bed, three-year-old Rovena slept soundly, her tiny thumb stuck securely in her mouth. Deciding to let the baby sleep a little longer, Vilkas quietly shut the door and made his way down the loft stairs.

"Welcome back, Anuin," said Vilkas warmly, stepping towards the hearth and tilting his head up slightly to give his tall Bosmer husband a chaste kiss. "Glad to see you made it back in one piece."

"It's good to be back," sighed Anuin wearily. "Going to Solitude and back isn't my favorite journey. I bagged some good game on the way home, though."

"Good. We were running low on dried meat," nodded Vilkas.

"I thought so. Is the little one still sleeping?"

"--Papa said he had a surprise for us," Lucia suddenly interrupted impatiently. Curious, Vilkas cocked his head at Anuin in question. The Wood Elf grinned and said, "I have a surprise for the whole family, actually. Why don't we get Rovena up, and then we'll all go outside."

Vilkas gave Anuin a slightly suspicious look, which he returned with an innocent smile, before returning upstairs to fetch their daughter.

By now, Rovena was beginning to stir. Gently, Vilkas stroked the toddler's soft, orange hair to rouse her from her sleep. Rovena blinked her large, black eyes blearily and rubbed them with her pudgy fists. Her pointed ears twitched in a rabbit-like manner, and she yawned widely.

"Good morning, precious," cooed Vilkas, scooping her up in his thickly-muscled arms. "Papa's home from his trip, love."

The tiny Bosmer grinned widely and chirped happily, "Ata!"

"Yes, that's right. Ata's home," said Vilkas, chuckling at the little girl's use of the Bosmeri word for father. Once downstairs, Vilkas handed Rovena over to Anuin, who immediately peppered her face with kisses, making the toddler giggle and squeal.

"There's my sleeping princess," said Anuin happily. "Were you good for Daddy while I was gone?"

Rovena nodded eagerly and snuggled her face into the leather chest plate of Anuin's armor.

"What's the surprise, Papa?" asked Blaise excitedly. He and Lucia had gotten dressed while Vilkas was upstairs, and were now waiting for their promised treat. Anuin looked at Vilkas and said a bit sheepishly, "Um, don't hate me, hun, okay?"

"That sounds… ominous…" answered Vilkas slowly.

Handing Rovena back to Vilkas, Anuin walked over to the door and opened it. On the front steps of Breezehome was a large, grey dog.

"Alright, boy, come on in," said the Bosmer, patting his leg to beckon the shaggy dog inside. Lucia screamed and began jumping up and down, while Blaise shouted, "Awesome!"

"This is Meeko," introduced Anuin, leaning down to scratch the dog's head affectionately. "He needed a home, so I brought him here."

"Doggy!" announced Rovena, squirming in her father's arms to be let down.

"You're sure he's friendly, right?" asked Vilkas seriously, holding firm to the toddler. Anuin nodded. "I brought him to Solitude with me when I was done with my job, and the kids there were playing with him for hours. He never growled or snapped at them once, even when the littlest ones were pulling at his tail. He's really well-trained, too. Follows every command I give him. Meeko, sit."

Meeko sat. His tail thumped happily and his tongue lolled from his mouth.

"Meeko, speak."

Again, Meeko obeyed. He also demonstrated "stay," "roll over," and "follow." Reassured, Vilkas nodded. He bent and patted the dog on the head. "Well, welcome to the family, Meeko."

* * *

After scanning through the other fills, I realized how popular M!Bosmer/Vilkas seems to be. Ah, well...

Anuin relaxed obviously, and Lucia and Blaise surged forward to pet and greet their new companion. Cautiously, Vilkas knelt down and let Rovena stroke Meeko's fur. In response, Meeko wagged his tail and licked the Wood Elf's chubby face. Only then did Vilkas let her down all the way. While the children were sufficiently distracted, Anuin and Vilkas went and sat at the table.

"You're not mad, are you?" asked Anuin, biting his lip. Chuckling, Vilkas shook his head.

"No, just surprised. We've been talking about getting a dog for awhile now, so it's not like this is completely out of the blue. He seems like a good dog."

"I'm glad," said the Wood Elf, placing his hand over his husband's. "I was worried you'd be angry for not talking about it first, but I sort of just came across the poor guy, so I couldn't exactly do that."

"Where did you find him, anyway?"

"In the woods near Solitude," answered Anuin, then he lowered his voice a bit. "I came across this little cabin, so I went to see if whoever lived there wanted to trade for some of the pelts or meat I collected that day. The owner was inside, but he was dead in his cot."

"Murdered?" frowned Vilkas. Anuin shook his head.

"Rockjoint. He had a journal next to him. The last entry mentioned leaving behind someone named 'Meeko' to take care of himself when he died, but I didn't know what it meant at the time. I took a few hours to bury the poor fellow and seal up his house in case any relatives came by. That's why I'm a day late, by the way. While I was digging, Meeko showed up, and I realized that was who the diary was talking about. I felt bad for him, and I couldn't just leave him there alone, so I took him with me to Solitude. I kind of got a bit attached somewhere along the way."

"You're such a softie," accused Vilkas, smiling as he shook his head. "Big, scary Dragonborn getting all gooey over an orphaned dog. It's kind of cute."

"It's one of my many charms," replied Anuin flippantly, preening. Vilkas barked with laughter. "Gods, I love you, you foppish twit."

"Hey, Dad?" called Blaise before Anuin could retort.

"Yes?" answered both men in unison.

"Can we take Meeko to show Uncle Farkas and Aunt Lydia?"

"Breakfast first," answered Vilkas. "Then you can."

Suffice to say, breakfast was a short, hurried affair. After wolfing down their bread and cheese, the two eldest children practically raced out the door. However, Vilkas managed to corner the two before they left. He handed Lucia a wrapped meat pie to give to their aunt and uncle, and instructed Blaise to keep an eye on Meeko and make sure he didn't jump up on Lydia. Anuin and Vilkas agreed that they would follow after Rovena had finished her breakfast and Anuin had a chance to put away his gear. Lydia was nearing the end of her pregnancy, so they liked to check up on the couple as often as they could. In fact, now that Anuin was back from his latest job for the Companions, both he and Vilkas planned to stay in Whiterun until after the baby was born.

At the table, Rovena burbled happily as she ate her diced-up pieces of venison. She still wouldn't touch anything but meat, but Anuin assured Vilkas that this was normal and healthy for a young Bosmer, and that soon they would be able to introduce her to fruits and vegetables. Vilkas was just glad his husband was such an excellent hunter; for such a little thing, Rovena could sure eat a lot.

OP: I'm so glad I got a post! I absolutely love this, it's honest and sweet, and exactly what I was expecting. It's nice you explored the extended family too, I enjoy seeing the dragonborn integrate himself.
And don't worry about vilkas/bosmer, i think its just coincidence... plus it's just a race. What matters is the man who marries Vilkas, isnt it?

Very much love this, hope you give me more insight to their relationship <3

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Slices of life with your husband, Vilkas (M/M)

Possible a!a

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Welcome Home 1/2 (Vilkas M/M)

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Muses and Mead 1 (Vilkas M/M)

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Purity 1 (M!DB/Vilkas)

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Purity 2

Purity 3a

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Art Fill

A Growing Family (1/?)

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