#specifially i read fangs claws and hearts

[prettyboykatsuki]

im laughing the way u worded it!! yes but bestie there is a very brief d*ddy moment that threw me off at first but it is (to me) done well however if it’s not ur thing i am sorry to expose u to it, the author has many other similar fics their vampire one called Danse Macabre is lovely, but in this one also shouto wears bit of lingerie hope u enjoy 🫨🫶 https://archiveofourown.org/works/36500296?view_adult=true

IM SCREAMING. I WAS LIKE. OH VAMP TODOBAKU? SOUNDS FAMILIAR. I WENT TO THE AUTHORS PAGE AND IVE READ A GOOD CHUNK OF THEIR STUFF. I MUSTVE MISSED THIS ONE DKJFD. THANK U FOR THE LINK!!

linky link for the people

[duraxxor]

Character Sheet: That Damn Trio

Uh oh, it would seem Duraxxor has gotten himself in a lot of trouble this time around! He’s been split into three pieces of his former self! Oh the humanity! Well there’s only one thing to do. What’s that? Well, we go on a wild adventure to put him back together, of course! That’s why I have decided to create character sheet to explain and every one of the fragments and their traits. So without further interruptions, let’s get down to the material! 

Character No. 1

Name: Daev  ( Pronounced just like Dave ) 

Race: Sin’dorei?

Height: 5′ 8″ ( down from the 6′ 4″ that he once stood at. )

Hair Color: Silver Blonde

Eye Color: None, his eyes are as clear as glass

Age:  “ I was only born not that long ago... I jest though... “ 

Physical Traits: When a person comes in contact with Daev, the first thing they may notice as his youthful appearance. Unlike Duraxxor as a whole, Daev has the physical body of a young adult that has suffered from lack of muscle. Despite this, he seems able to stand straight and maintain himself but is unable to physically apply the strength and running speed he once had. The scar that once dominated his features is now shrunken down and appears to have lining that almost reminds some of a stitching, so to speak. Perhaps even mending? The same can be said about the majority of his black attire that decorates his body other than the sleeve that appears to have torn on the right side. A thin trench coat and a pair of black leather britches that are only matched by a pair of boots below. One can also notice the pair of snake bites piercing on his lower lip that seem to have appeared as he no longer bears even a semblance of the elven fangs gene. 

Personality: Quiet and probably the most balanced of his former self. Daev seems to be given the nickname of being the Heart of the Trio. And with good reason considering he is probably the very being that keeps the other two in existence. He is never to quickly jump to violence and seeks to see how people function and feel. Selfless thought and under normal circumstances, kind to those that share a mutual respect for him and his space. Although he is the most attuned to multiple emotions, he has a hard time properly expressing them and it may even come out in a series of riddles. However, he does seem to have something to say for every type of person. 

Abilities: Lack of physical strength, Daev has to rely on his mind and quick thinking if he hopes to manage avoiding being killed off with the help of his familiars. It isn’t known whether he retains much of his weaponry training, other than having a dagger tucked away under his coat that appears to have a significance, or perhaps even symbolic value. Despite his familiars having their own personalities, he seems able to maintain control of them in certain moments and can even call them or dismiss them at will. Daev’s greatest ability is that he has so much untapped potential that is it unpredicted what he may learn in his stay within the Shadowlands. 

Character No. 2 

Name: Randdu ( Ron-doo ) 

Race: Familiar ( Bat ) 

Height: Unspecified, look to his Abilities for details

Hair Color: White

Eye Color: A mixture of Red and Yellow

Age: “ Look, man, give me a break. I only look old. “ 

Physical Traits: You feel a piercing gaze always watching you when you approach Daev with his avian shadow, Randdu. He takes on the appearance of most bats native to Azeroth aside from some defined features that make him appear more like a Fruit Bat from our world, bearing a canine-like snout beneath the leathery wraps that are his lengthy wings. Jagged claws appear to be on both the back legs and wing joints, giving him almost the look a humanoid if not for the fact he lacks thumbs. He is the definition of wild animal with personality. 

Personality: The reckless familiar that is highly regarded ( and prideful of himself ) as the symbol of Duraxxor. Randdu is also the loudest and most immature of the trio. He would rather pick a fight and see who is the strongest than listen to negotiations. He also possesses quite the appetite match this need for combat. However, this doesn’t mean he isn’t self aware when he is in over his head, being the quickest to also panic when he feels outmatched, that is until something goes right, then he will simply mock his foe. Warning: He may curse a lot. 

Abilities: Despite his reckless personality, Randdu is actually quite the powerhouse. He is physically strong and can easily pick up something that is three times his own size, which is only matched by the fact that he is able to grow and shrink his form based on the energy reserves he has obtained through his vampiric aura. The more he fights and succeeds, the stronger Randdu gets. Claws, teeth, and even a mind piercing screech are at his disposal. However, the magical affinity seems to lie more so in the fact he is able to cast a blaze of shadows about his form, giving him enough speed to perform a Wraith Flight, an ability that projects his vampiric aura outward and making mere contact results in the sapping of one’s raw energies. 

Character No. 3 

Name: Sphula ( Sph-ooluh ) 

Race: Familiar ( Serpent ) 

Height: 15′ 07″ in length 

Hair Color: “ Crimson Scales, you uneducated pig. “ 

Eye Color: Onyx 

Age: “ To old for you to know. “ 

Physical Traits: While Randdu is regarded to be the visible lurker, Sphula sticks to remaining hidden into his time is most appropriate. The lengthy serpent bears a strange familiarity to the Arcane Serpents of Northrend, but with many more rows of teeth and definitive fangs. He also lacks the ethereal skin until certain abilities are applied. Scales, bladed fings, and circular markings that are akin to chains, this crimson familiar seems to be the most colorful of the trio. 

Personality: Calm until provoked, Sphula recognizes his own intellect and will exercise it when it is most necessary. More often than naught, he is seen wrapped around Daev, whispering into his ear while chastising Randdu. For once to gain conference with Sphula would mean that you either have earned his respect or there is something of worth about you or upon you that he would sooner have you align yourself to their cause. Unlike the other trio, Sphula is not above breaking the rules in his favor. For he believes logic is more important in the case of survivability in the cruel world of a snake. There is one he deems the most worthy of his time: The Lady in the Red @sanguinesorceress​ . 

Abilities:  Not as physically strong as Randdu, Sphula is also a constrictor and has no issue wrapping his long tail around his foes or even applying it in a flailing motion to dispatch someone from approaching Daev. And speaking of which, did you know that snakes can actually jump three times their length? Not just this one, but he can also slip his entire length through objects much like a pocket space just to come out in a near forty yard radius. Sphula is also the strongest when it comes to the use of magic and intellect. He is able to conjure geomancy, hemomancy, umbramancy, and in some cases, cryomancy and pyromancy. But what would a snake be without his bite? Twin fangs possess a potent cytotoxin, which is a toxin that induces tissue necrosis. Keep your hands away from this snakes mouth!

OOC Information Station 

Rp Style:  When interacting with this blog or even the in-game character, I cannot always guarantee that you will interact with all three of them, just as I also cannot guarantee that one of the other’s won’t squeeze themselves into the RP. Otherwise, I am generally laid back and always up to most themes, including the dark and twisted. I am an adult writer and in most cases, I am not so easily triggered and easy to speak with. Please, don’t hesitate to ask questions as I may have an actual answer for them. I also would like to remind everyone that I have been roleplaying in World of Warcraft for nearly ten years. All I ever ask is your undying patience and kindness in return. 

Platforms: Tumblr, Discord, and In-game (Planned) 

If you have made it this far, congratulations. Now to get to the nitty, gritty disclaimer warnings and rules.

1. Roleplaying with The Trio means you have agreed to not knowing the original character Duraxxor is the true identity of these characters without the proper knowledge or permission. Should you regard him as Duraxxor, Alphus, Lord Daevara, Myotis, or any other former alias, it will be ignored in-character. Should this become a continuing habit, I will ask you personally to please stop trying to ruin the mystery of the characters. Let’s make this a fun plot for all, old and new. 

2. If you are seeking to fix the problem as quick as possible, then you have come to the wrong player. I am wanting this particular plot device to go longer than a few weeks or even months as the Shadowlands is going to obviously take longer than a single year itself. There’s going to be hurdles to make evolve these characters over time. You are welcome to speak about being a part of the plot where he attempts to fix himself though!

3. When addressing particular character questions, please specify who you are addressing to unless it is all the above or the mun. This makes my life so much easier and more engaging. 

4. Do not god mod my characters as I would not god mod yours. All of them have their own individual strengths and weaknesses and should be considered only through natural interaction. 

5. More importantly, be respectful and patient. This is a brand new concept I am playing with and I really wish to see it through to the very end and want those involved to have fun. 

Thank you all for taking the time to read this and I do hope that everything is clear! I look forward to roleplaying with everyone and enjoying the Shadowlands storyline! Happy Writing everyone! 

And if you have not read Chapter 1 to the Shadowlands storyline, here is a link to the story is here

[spiritus-sonne]

Being Blutpir

It occurred to me after reading parts from my past vampirekin and monstrosity writings that I have never written a more straight-forward piece about what it is like for me to be vampirekin and that’s something I want to do (so thus this writing). Specifically, I refer to my vampire ‘type as a “blutpir” since that’s the ‘species’ name I’ve chosen for it and my original concept of fictional vampires that it aligns with. They are, in essence, fictional humanoid vampires that have a notable amount of ‘animality’ to them mentally and behaviorally. There are various renditions of vampires that I connect to in some sense but none I’ve yet come across align as well as my concept of blutpirs that I had been slowly developing starting about a decade prior to consciously realizing I am vampirekin. Blutpirs are kind of cat-like, mildly shapeshifting humanoids, so it took me awhile longer to figure out my vampire ‘type from the time I came across therianthropy and otherkin as I knew very early on at that time that I have a cat theriotype. My cat ‘type kind of overlaps and blends with blutpir, so it’s not like I can always draw a distinct line and say more definitively “that is just a cat experience” and “that is just a blutpir/vampire” experience.

I think part of my eventual realization to blutpir is that there were seemingly cat-like experiences and aspects to me that didn’t fit my cat theriotype, or my other three theriotypes, and upon further investigation, I couldn’t manage to attribute just to my monster-heartedness. Now, I will say, my monster-heartedness does kind of sing through my vampire ‘type, especially since the monsters I connect to the most are animalistic humanoids, including some kinds of vampires. Honestly, when I get down to it, though, I think my main self-concept is actually that of a blutpir--it is how I see my human(oid) self in my mind’s eye. Plus it was actually a very rough concept of an original (blutpir) vampire called Sonne from where I came to eventually take on the name for myself and it’s stuck to the point of being about as close to a “true” name for me that I’ve ever had (the “Spiritwind” part always feels more like a last name, an extra specifier to better designate that is is me online). Sonne was a vampire character that I really looked up to in some sense for her power, charisma, and confidence, and for her being a blutpir. I never really fleshed out the character much, though I did early on write a poem about/inspired by her. The vampire connection, plus the connection to the sun (as sonne is the German word for sun), which is a strong point of my spirituality and theism, really allowed the name to become a seemingly permanent self-identifier for me.

I have a certain visual self-concept in my mind of what I look like: black hair (my real hair is dark brown), amber (sometimes greenish) colored eyes, a little darker skinned, and a thinner build than I actually have. Along with this is mild shapeshifting abilities like shifting claws or claw-like nails, shifting eye color (to an inhuman one, either glowy amber or all black, including the sclera (white) part), and shifting or retractable fangs on the top of my mouth. Those aspects have been rather constant for a long time in how I internally view myself, even though it’s really taken me until now to realize I’ve probably been seeing myself as a blutpir for all that time. This also doesn’t mean that I was wrong about my cat ‘type because I still experience aspects of it that I find to be or resonate with specifically a cat rather than a blutpir (including phantom parts, like my pivotal cat ears, fur, feline feet/legs, and having body-oriented thought of my feline body doing things, such as curling up to sleep). Yet perhaps, I will admit, maybe I developed over time a vampire ‘kintype and blutpir-specific self-concept in part from aspects of my cat therianthropy mixing with my humanness and my monster-heartedness until eventually I ended up with a blutpir ‘kintype and self-concept.

It’s unfortunately been years since I’ve felt more strongly like blutpir and I miss it. Don’t get me wrong, it’s still there, still present within me and I do still experience aspects of it actively, but because of depression, it’s not like I used to (yet I hope that will change over time now that I’m on medications that seem to be significantly helping me emotionally and psychologically). One of the ways in which I used to strongly experience blutpir was during sex (whatever kind of specific sexual activity). It got me feeling rather vampirically shifty, which I won’t get into details but it involved a more vampiric mindset, phantom claws and fangs, and a desire to bite and tear my partner (though I never did it beyond what my partner was okay with). Over time I lost that shiftiness and anhedonia took hold during sexual activity. I used to feel so free and euphoric during sex, not so much from the sex itself but instead from the vampire and cat shifts I had during it, which after I lost the shifting, I also lost the ability to much at all enjoy sex. I want to have that back, in part for my own sake and also because I think it would be healthier socially with my partner for me to enjoy having sex again, to actually be able to feel euphoric during it.

Certain movies and TV shows will get me feeling vampire shifty, mainly if there is a vampire or other animalistic humanoid in it. I’m kind of particular about it though--most vampire media just doesn’t do it for me and often times they are depicted as too human or not humanoid enough, the former often being vampires that seem like mentally and behaviorally just humans that happen to drink blood. Fangs on vampires is a much preferred thing for me to see and I get disappointed when I see fictional vampires without fangs. I also prefer to see them with claws or claw-like nails and extra points if they have (shifting) inhuman eye color. These three physical traits are the physical aspects of vampires I keep coming back to; being so drawn to and resonating with them, time and time again. They are consistent with that self-concept I have that I mentioned in this earlier. And when I do watch something that gets me feeling vampire shifty, I sometimes will get a pleasurable but strange rolling, contracting feeling in my abdomen that I only experience when reading or watching certain fictional humanoid creatures, particularly when they are shifting. I’ve wondered if it’s the same as the “butterflies in your stomach” response, but I’ve felt that during anxious times and know it doesn’t feel the same way.

One of my favorite depictions of a vampire in media is Colin Farrell as Jerry Dandrige in the “Fright Night” reboot in 2011. I don’t really connect to some of the more stereotypical aspects of the vampire like his weaknesses, but what I do strongly connect with are his animalistic behaviors along with his appearance with fangs, claws, and black eyes. One scene in particular I love is when he can’t get into a house to attack someone because he has to be invited in, and he acts cattish at the door, like an anxious caged cat pacing as it can’t get to the food/prey it wants. He manages to display some (of course not remotely all) of the behaviors and physical embodiments that I resonate with as a vampire, so I love being able to see that. I also rather like Henry from the TV show “Blood Ties”, mainly when he’s shifted because of how I connect with him in that state. In contrast, I’ve seen media that shows a character that looks like a bipedal, anthropomorphized creature/monster, even in a horror sense, or any range of looking like an animalistic humanoid and connect very little if at all with them because *behaviorally* and/or mentally they aren’t animalistic enough--they’re just a human mind in a nonhuman body, which kind of bores me, to be honest.

The list of typically vampire-associated things I don’t relate to is probably long, but I’ll mention some of it. Foremost is that blutpirs aren’t harmed by sunlight anymore than most humans are--that’s always been kind of an annoyance to me in vampire media, and it’s unfortunately a very common trope. Secondly, they aren’t undead at all, they are living beings, albeit with some supernatural aspects including longer-lived, reduced signs of aging, mild shapeshifting abilities, and ability to ‘breed’ via supernatural means rather than sexual (essentially blood transfer in a more typical vampire trope kind of way). They also aren’t adverse to religious symbols nor need to be stabbed through the heart with a wooden stake in order to kill them (or poof into ash when killed). There are others I can’t think of right now, but that covers at least some of them.

Sometimes I get phantom shifty with claws and/or fangs and I am fond of the feeling. I can at times feel my fangs gently pressing up against the inside of my lips, which leaves me pursing my lips just a little bit in response to them. I get, more uncommonly, a strange phantom feeling in my eyes that I’ve come to associate with maybe a shifting feeling to them, like they are (phantomly) turning to an inhuman state. These phantom parts can combine with other phantom parts of whichever of my theriotypes, usually cat (especially since I have constant phantom cat ears). I may feel defensive with eyes wide and flared, claws ready, and fangs bared (with me tending to feel only top fangs as a vampire, I think, and more pointed teeth on top and bottom as cat, but again, cat and blutpir are kind of blurred at times). At those times I will also want to hiss and growl and have ears back and hackles/fur on neck and back bristled. There’s also a certain ‘cattish’ grin or smirk I have sometimes when feeling vampirey, which I doubt looks nearly on my physical body like how I see it in my mind; and it’s something that the Jerry Dandrige character I mentioned does oh so well. When I’m feeling myself doing a ‘vampiric grin’ (whether internally or externally), I also mentally feel more confident, charismatic, and predatory, so it’s a mental shift and not just a phantom sensation or body-oriented thought. Comparatively, I’m usually docile, meek, submissive, and passive, so it honestly feels different but enjoyable to have that kind of shift in mindset (no matter how fleeting it may be, which it always is). I still feel like myself, to clarify, just a different sort of version of who I really am. It really captures what I felt Sonne-the-character was like.

I will say that I do have a distaste for the fact that the term “vampirekin” has seemingly become (at least on Tumblr) synonymous with vampirecore, I assume from the ‘kinning-for-fun’ people. It just reminds me of years ago when the Tumblr vampirekin tag was hardly even used, though even then what bit it was used was mainly not by people identifying as vampires in an otherkin-sense, but I like the *concept* of the tag potentially being used to help vampirekin find other vampirekin. Honestly, I’ve only come across a few or so people who actually identify as serious vampirekin, though I haven’t talked much with any of them about either of us being such, unfortunately (I guess, really, I’m just more apt to talk about this stuff in my longer writings and sometimes on forum posts for some of the shorter stuff). I’m thankful for those who have actually made it a point to denote vampirekin as not being the same as ‘energy vampires’ (or whichever term to call them, since there are a few; I mean the psi/sang vampires). Recently I came across a Discord server which does make that distinction and welcomes a wide variety of people in connection with vampirism of some sort. However, the description of the group noted that vampirism is about the practice of leeching another being’s life force or vital energy which I feel I can’t relate to in the way I experience my vampire otherkinity, but I do see that it would ultimately fit with my vampire ‘kintype itself with it being, of course, a blood-drinking vampire.

This is something that’s interesting to me in how I experience this otherkinity: my lack of a desire, let alone a strong, nagging urge, to drink blood. I figure it’s for the same reasons that I don’t experience the desire to eat grass (for horse), or arthropods (for mongoose and erdenvogel), or raw meat (for cat). Those urges for consuming foods of my ‘type-specific diets just have never been part of me and my experiences, for whatever reason. So why would it be present in my vampirism when it isn’t present for my four theriotypes? That makes sense to me, but whomever else may not understand it since I experience *being* (non-physically) a vampire in this life without the cravings for blood (or other life-force substance, yet my vampire ‘type is specifically a blood-drinking one). In the lore that aligns with my vampire ‘type, it doesn’t survive solely on blood--it eats like any other human--just needs to consume blood periodically to stay healthy and functional and may die without it.

They, from what I’ve come up with in my personal lore of blutpirs, don’t tend to go into (let alone on a frequent basis) strong, deep cravings for it, but that those urges can at times come up if they are starting to basically ‘wither away’ in health and such from going too long without blood, or if they’ve lost a lot of blood and haven’t had it replenished via transfusion yet. Those scenarios haven’t been applicable to me, especially since I’m living life in a human body that doesn’t need to drink blood to be healthy, functional, or to survive in general. It’s not that I’m mentally adverse to drinking blood, it’s just that I literally never have a craving for it and see no point in me trying to find a way to get a hold of either another person’s blood (safe donor) or another animal’s blood (like pig’s blood). Although it’s kind of funny to me that I have always preferred well-done meat and generally dislike the taste of meat that’s any below well done or sometimes below medium doneness (like roast beef for the medium level; steak and ground beef I dislike pink at all). Most people I know prefer their steaks rare to medium-rare, so I’m the ironically odd one out in that.

So yeah, being a blood-drinking vampire-identified person who doesn’t crave blood at least *sometimes* makes it more difficult for me to relate to other vampirekin along with most other people who have a connection with vampires, are energy vampires, or vampire lifestylists since so much of these vampire things tends to focus on the *need* and *cravings* for blood or life-force that defines vampires. Though when I really stop to think about it, despite that being definitive of describing or categorizing vampires, maybe even a fictional vampire species doesn’t *have* to be so much about that. It’s like thinking that a theriotype of a certain animal is heavily defined in being that kind based largely on what that animal’s diet is and that they would be odd if they didn’t, during this current human-body life, experience strong cravings for the theriotype’s food. Now granted, yes, most animals are not defined by their diets in our vocabulary: we don’t define a horse as a horse because it eats grass/vegetation, for example, but my point is that I don’t experience being a vampire as “a being that feasts on blood to survive”. I experience vampire as an animalistic humanoid that has various physical aspects and adaptations that came about over time, in part for predatory reasons to gain the sustenance (blood, especially from humans) that it needs from time to time to function and survive. Being vampire for me is much more about being a nonhuman, animalistic humanoid than it is about “I *must* drink blood”; it’s a much more diverse experience that I shouldn’t think has to boil down to such an oversimplistic concept of what a vampire is or should be.

For comparison purposes, it’s kind of like my domestic cat theriotype and how it is similar to actual domestic cats. Now, of course, I can’t know what actually goes on in the brains of cats, but things can be inferred from their behaviour. Domestic cats, like other felines, are evolutionarily built to *kill*, to be predators, mostly ambush predators. However, when we keep them inside and well fed, they are allowed to experience a life that isn’t mostly about “when will my next meal be” or “I need to hunt now” in order to survive. Instead, although they are still very food motivated and frequently are preoccupied with getting or wanting to get food (if they aren’t totally free-fed with a constant supply of food available all the time), they express a variety of other behaviors that include other aspects of their lives and selves (like social aspects, grooming, play, etc.). My experience in being vampire is kind of like that--although I do think often about wanting food, I’m fortunate and thankful to be able to be well-fed and not have to worry about obtaining my next meal for the most part. My behaviors and my mindset don’t end up involving me needing or feeling I need to obtain blood, especially since I don’t possess the physiology for that need to be present. Yet I do experience desires for attacking or biting as a vampire, even though those have been reduced for the past few years due to my depression (which I cover in a different writing).

It is thus not a sense of a need for blood that could connect me to other vampirekin and other vampirism-related people, as it is instead a sense of humanoid animality (albeit a very particular kind) that connects me to some concepts of vampires. And so even as a fictional humanoid vampire I still find more sense of similarity among therians than I do for most people who use the term “vampire” for themselves. I would like to find more animalistic vampirekin to share thoughts or writings with; to read of their similar and contrasting experiences in being a vampire. I want to read more thoughts about their vampirism “beyond the blood need” and into the diversity of other experiences they have related to being vampire. So here I am, trying to share my own pieces of vampirism for others to see and maybe relate to.

[lokikingofasgardslover713]

Kinktober 23: Public/Exhibition

Masterlist 

Kinktober Masterlist

Pairing: Bucky (James) Barnes X OFC X Steve (Steven) Rogers

Warnings:  Forced Exhibitionism, hints to non-con, dub-con

Summary: Viking AU Steve AND Bucky! A gift from the god of thunder is more than expected and shown off to the rest of the group but receives special attention from the leader and his second in command.

A/N: Wow, didn't realize how long I went on this one. The Jotunn are not like we know from the MCU. In this story they are a tribe of northern people crazy enough to live in the cold waste and rumored to be demi-gods. The idea is that Thor is still a god and Steve and Bucky are demi-gods. This is forced exhibition being she is stripped bare before the men.

Words: +2,600

————

The weather had begun to turn colder, snow whipped around and past the two hooded figures that ducked into the thankfully warm and well-lit long house. The heavy hand on her cloaked shoulder was the only thing keeping her from shivering and bolting out the door. 

They were surrounded by the great warriors of Steven the Righteous, that was what they called the blonde-haired, blue-eyed Viking leader, but he was nothing but merciless. Trying to dig her heals in the closer she got to the front of the crowd, the man, no the god that had his hand clamped on her shoulder pressured her around the rock fire ring.

Had it not been for the grip on her shoulder, she would had fell to her knees at the base of a large chair. Forced to halt, nervously the hooded woman took a breath that made her chest ache, locking the gaze of the very Viking, Steven. Noting he was watching her close and so was the man next to his chair, a brunet sporting a silver arm. 

“My friend,” Thor boomed next to her, the blond demi-god getting to his feet to step forward. The god moving around her but kept close, so if she tried to bolt he could easily reach her. But like he couldn’t easily strike her down with Mjolnir.

Pleasantries exchanged, Thor, tugged her forward, ripping the cloak from her shoulders to expose thick, bare curves to the entire gathering. The talking and movement going silent as murmured whispers began of the thin, blue lined marks covering her body.

Tall, but not as much as the god and the two demi-gods. Pale skin that attested to life in darkness, such as the northern Jotunn tribes were, but it was littered in beautifully laid out, blue lines, placed by seidr attesting to bloodline and stature. Raven locks fell in waves mid-back and bright orbs shinning like electric green fire glared at them, a trademark of a select few tribes. 

Trying to hide her nakedness with her arms, Thor was quick to grab her hand to force the woman to turn, showing off bare, thick curves. The hand the god held clenching into a fist, digging nails into the calloused flesh enough to split the tough hide while her freehand gripped to Thor’s armored wrist in an attempt to make him release her.

“A gift from the Jotunn,” Thor spoke to the blonde and brunet that had stepped forward.

The thick creature may be Jotunn but that didn't mean the men were permitted to view her bare flesh. Bright emerald orbs searching desperately for the robe to cover her nakedness while Thor continued to show her off. The god released her to stumble slightly before halting before the two Viking men who looked her up and down as her head spun.  

The entire long house made it apparent she was the star of the show, having all came forward to watch the exhibit of a race rarely seen out of their territory, let alone a female. Swallowing hard, she had thoughts of stepping back as the brunet reached to the glittering gold collar around tender throat to pull her close.

The brunet coved in light furs circled her like fresh meat, and she possibly was to him. Stormy blue orbs looked thick curves up and down as she began to feel even more lightheaded. Cautiously the Jotunn reached up to lace fingers under the collar in hopes of keeping it from biting into the flesh and ghosting the metal armed Vikings fingers that burned hot.

Curvaceous body moving ever so slighly as he stepped forward to take a metal hand full of raven black hair and scent of it, taking in the fragrance of fine, expensive oils. 

Immediately she noted the bulge in his pants before stepping back, releasing the collar for Steven to step forward in his place, wanting his own look.  

James kept her gaze as Steven stepped up but didn’t take the collar. Stormy blue following the curve of her breast, down the slope of plump side to pause between the apex of thick thighs. He looked back up to take her gaze, but Steven had it as the blond was sure to keep her hands knocked away and to her sides. 

Eyeing the blue seidr marks over her body, James knew some Jotunn customs, the meaning behind the marks. Keen eyes looked for the origin mark, all Jotunn had them, it specified how important they were in Jotunn society. Instantly sharp sight spotted the mark on her chest, snaking just below the hollow of her neck and stopping between her breast.

Royalty, high ranking royalty and demi-god as well. 

The blond walked around the bare creature, jerking her hand from her body every time she reached to cover herself. He didn't look at her any less salaciously, studying every curve and mark as if committing it to memory but he didn't seem as hungry as the metal armed Viking. 

Holding the blonds gaze, her heart hammered harder as he reached out to touch her long hair, letting fall between his fingers. He noted it's softness, the ebony tress a great contrast to his own pale fingers.

She was a prize, stepping back as an extravagant dressed man in burgundy and gold stepped up to jerk her wrist and twirl her into the crowd. 

The quick tug and sudden spin had her head reeling along with her guts. The crowd parted for the bare creature to have room and everyone got a look as their laughter at her expense echoed in her ears. 

Finally stopping herself, she noted it was all men, no woman in sight, and there appeared to be no servants as she paused between them all. At this point what was the goal of hiding herself, arms slipping to her sides, ready to fight them fang and claw. That was if she could get her bearings.

Turning in the circle of men, she looked for a way out, a way past them all, then found herself looking for the demi-gods. The crowd getting closer, she let out a snarl and flash of fang which only earned her a chuckle from the men who thankfully stopped. It was apparent they knew just how vicious a cornered Jotunn could be, even if it was outnumbered. 

It truly didn’t matter anyway; she was to be had by someone by the end of the night. A finger trailing a mark along curvy side had the Jotunn spinning from the one in burgundy garb. The well-kept man letting out a chuckle as he easily deflected her blow, forcing her to stumble back and never realizing the crowd had guided her back to the god and their leader.

“She’s a credit to her tribe, a very strong creature,” Thor chuckled grabbing a plump hip to make her jolt and turn to fight. But the metal hand wrapping her forearm made her stop as she was drug back and forced to sit next to the large chair. 

“I suggest you stay here if you want out of here without any bruises,” the brunet spoke, latching a chain to the collar as he went to speak with the god. 

Studying the brunet over, she knew the metal limb was a gift from and forged by Thor himself. Looking away from the now gartering crowd, she turned attention to the anchor holding the chain to the chair. Meticulously she dug at it with sharp nails, flaking away the metal that felt to be some sort of hard ore. Flake by minute flake was dug free to get to the brads holding the anchor in place.

Slowly, her fingers began to become sore, running nails under the rounded brads to tug at them. This was no ordinary ore, she was barely doing damage to it as she dug at it, thick body huddled tight against the chair to not draw attention but that was laughable. All Jotunn drew attention due to their larger stature, raven black hair, blue lined skin and bright, almost neon green eyes. 

Nail ripping just as one of the brads began to loosen and carefully she wiggled it with sore digits. It was working out, slowly, that meant only-. Tired emerald orbs scanning the anchor, taking count of over 18 rivets holding the anchor down. She felt a crazy smile begin to take her features.

Gods! She would go mad before she got all those out. This entire situation was maddening, fingers working the one brad, still tugging and tearing a nail into he quick. Heart hammering harder, breath growing quicker. It never registered as a scorching hand wrapped her jaw to tear her gaze from the anchor and her work while another hand took the one worrying the brad, fingers raw and beginning to bleed.

Baring her fangs, she scented who it belonged to and felt tears she thought would never come rim her eyes. “I wouldn’t,” came a calming voice, the hand wrapping her chin lifting emerald orbs to the blue gaze of Steven himself. “You want make it far with my men around. It’s been several months since they have bedded a creature as beautiful as you.”

Easily he allowed her hand from his but continued to hold her jaw. She noted him looking the collar over, reading the runes. “Seeress,” he spoke quietly the moment a heavy fur dropped around her shoulders. 

Relieved Steven released her after another moment of studying her face over and the faint, delicate lines there, knowing he had to know some of her kind to note the marks on her collar. Drawing away, but leaning heavily against the chair, she tried to settle into the massive fur to hide, but it appeared that wasn't going to happen. 

The metal hand of the brunet wrapped her face and strangely it was gentle. A soft tug got her to unsteady feet, turning her so she faced him, and her back was to the crowd. Stormy blues locked her gaze, metal thumb tracing over her lip as his gaze flicked to them then her eyes once more before carefully releasing her. 

A presence at her back made her turn, or more or less stumble to see who they were, leaning heavily into the metal armed Viking who didn't budge. Metal hand settling over her neck and shoulder to keep her in place and flush to him as it snaked around her throat and jaw, so she met Steven's gaze. She noted the blond watch James movements close and hers closer.  

She could smell the mead on them both, instinctually she tried to pull away, gripping tight to the fur and hoping they didn't take it. Holding her ground she braced for it to be taken as Steven reached towards her but was surprised when the chain on her collar fell to the floor. 

Quickly Steven took a step forward to press the woman between he and the other. The blond dipping close, smelling of the oils and soaps, she was clean. Maybe Thor did keep his hands off of her.  

“Take her to the longhouse,” was all Steven uttered as James released her jaw to twist his hand in the fur and tug her back. 

She kept up with James the best she could, breath taken the instant he pulled her out of the back of the long house and into the snow. Bare feet relishing in the feel of the fresh snow, having to almost run to keep up with the Viking as she spotted another long house not far with smoke slowly rising out of the roof.

James looked back to the creature that followed, he was curious of her marks now, having overheard Steven calling her a seeress. He didn't have to tug her along, but he had a feeling due to her smaller Jotunn size she may be slightly more susceptible to the cold as a shiver shook through her.

Pushing the door open, he made sure she entered first, pushing her before him into the warm long house and shutting the door.

Pausing in the entry way, she noted the beds on either side of the fire pit. One appeared larger and well slept in while the other was small and appeared untouched. Meeting the Viking’s gaze, her thought must have shown in her eyes as he spoke.

"No, Steven and I aren't. I don't sleep," his voice gritted, he was irritated as he stepped close, looping a finger in the collar to lead her to the firepit.

The Jotunn noted the room was lit nicely, possibly due to the lanterns littering the tops of the walls. They appeared Asgardian, but then again they had the same color scheme as the man in burgundy and gold who had tugged her into the crowd. 

Meeting his gaze as they stopped next to the fire pit, James kept hold of the collar as he jerked the fur away to fling it onto the untouched pallet. The fire light shimmered in her eyes as hatred flickered across her face, more so as he traced a flesh finger over the mark on her chest, the seidr that resided in the mark tingling.

Eyes going wide, she felt it take her breath before she forced her hands into his chest, but he was quick to grab both wrist in the massive metal hand and grip them bruisingly tight. Easily he forced her to the pristine pallet covered in furs but assured she stayed on her feet. Harshly releasing her, James barked an order for her to turn.

She noted his gaze was studying the marks on her flesh, but still he paused at thick thighs and what laid between them. Taking the opportunity to show herself for the chance to survey the room, quick to note the door they had come through.

No latch that would keep her from bolting out the door. No chain that she could see to latch her collar. A shield, well-worn and metal one propped next to the disheveled bed. Pausing as she was facing the Viking and jolting when his hand reached to a bare hip.

Her muscles were pulled tight, they had to release the energy that bound seidr was causing. Faster than James could follow, she had managed to knock him back. The Viking falling into the fire pit with a hate filled snarl as she didn't hesitate to bolt towards the door.

Wrapping a hand around the metal handle she jerked, and it never budged, never shook in its casing. Had she been focused she would have felt the magic coursing through the handle and the very structure of the door and long house. But unfortunately all she could think to do was escape or fight, and now it appeared it was fight. 

Turning to face the irate Viking, it appeared he had shrugged off the fur he had worn, possibly to keep it from burning him alive. The Jotunn froze as he done the same, noting her looking for an escape and he hated to inform her there were none.

"There’s no way out," James spoke oddly calm, soothingly as if he was trying to keep her calm. "The only way is that door. Only I and a select few can open it."

Fixing James with a look the Viking knew all too well. It was one he gave frequently, determination to fight or die trying. "Come here so I want have to hurt you," James spoke quietly, hinting she stand before him.

Frozen to the spot, she wasn’t sure she wouldn’t tip over if she did take a step forward. Painfully she teetered on the edge of giving into his demands in hopes she wouldn’t be ruined or fight until he had to kill her to make her stop. Finding the nerve, she took a step forward, meeting his gaze.

James seen the spark in her eyes and knew this wasn't going to be simple, a wild beast caged and cornered was a force to be reckoned with.

Tags are OPEN! REBLOGS ALWAYS WELCOMED!

Tags: @ruckystarnes @cruel-kitten  @moonfaery @dark-night-sky-99 @gramaeryebard  @katstablook @andiyholly @jovanna-shewolf @nickyl316h @aslandia726 @furstinnajoelle @itsbqueenthings @collinsstanharbour @jazzieomega @moonlightprime @bambamwolf87 @tomhardy41 @get-loki @drakonwild @alexakeyloveloki  @scorpionchild81 @devilbat @cherrygeek86 

[medeafive]

Chapters: 3/? Fandom: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies) Rating: Explicit Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Natasha Romanov Characters: Natasha Romanov (Marvel), James "Bucky" Barnes, Clint Barton, Nick Fury, Bruce Banner, Tony Stark, Pepper Potts, Sam Wilson (Marvel), Sharon Carter (Marvel) Additional Tags: Vampires, I only write AUs now don't ask, Vampire Hunters, Going for dark and gritty here, Set in Prague because I love it, Suicide mentions, Late 90s Summary:

She's good. Really good. She's done this longer than almost anyone else and no one tracks vampires down better than her. That's the only thing that matters. Hunt and kill. He has white eyes and a black cloak. He's either an impostor or, judging by the color of his eyes, the most dangerous vampire she's ever met. And he's not going to leave her alone.

Inhuman scream.

She's covered in vampire blood already but this guy just won't go down, his eyes very dark red, she slashes at his chest again, using his dodge to wrap her legs around his neck, her momentum knocking him down. She's up faster, tangling with his friend, claws scratching over her already dented armor, she kicks the woman in the stomach with both feet, dropping onto her back but bouncing right back up. The guy tries to grab her from behind so she elbows him in the face and steps on his foot, ramming her shoulder into him and twisting so he rolls right over, crashing into his female friend. Takes the second to retrieve her knife, gun's too far out. They're already scrambling up again. She flashes her teeth and they return it with their fangs, plunging towards her.

Rolling out from under the bigger guy, the woman lands right on top of her, sinking her fangs into the bite guard that makes a pitiful noise. She flips them over and socks her on the jaw. The guy grabs her by her hair, yanking her back which hurts like a bitch but she's not one to cry, kicking his knee out, satisfying crack , slashing the silver knife through his ribcage, howl , splattering blood, trades blows with the vampiress while he falls to his knees. The woman tries to bite her arm again but she whips the creature around, breaking her arm behind her back, inhuman cry, slashes precisely through the guy's neck, blood spluttering, and then she snaps the woman's neck, tossing her onto the asphalt like a rag doll.

Something drops from a lamp post and she spins, ready to fight, already covered in blood and gore, but it's just the black cloak who strides towards her confidently. She snorts, walking away to retrieve the gun.

He nods towards the three vampires, the one she shot straight through the heart, the one with the bleeding neck and the one with the twisted spine who still tries to crawl away. "Tell me you didn't enjoy that."

She doesn't say anything, just checking the ammunition left. It's obvious. Well, she should clean up.

"Do you mind if I drink her?" he asks. "Since you didn't hit her with silver."

She stops, tilting her head, then shrugs. The woman howls but can't get anywhere before he crouches over her, black cloak covering, and then it's deadly quiet. She walks over and hacks the bleeding vampire's head off.

He feeds in complete silence. When he straightens, the woman's body is crumpled, dry but there's only little blood around his mouth. Not like a young vampire in a blood frenzy. "So you hunt vampires," she states. "And you feed on vampires."

"Young vampires," he specifies, licking his lips. "With human blood left. Vampire blood smells and tastes foul."

"Has other advantages, though," she remarks.

He grins. His fangs are streaked with both gold and dark blood. "You could have it. Just say yes."

"I'm not loyal," she counters. "I don't follow orders. Schmidt wouldn't like that."

"You would," he returns. "It's not a choice."

She snorts. "Not even for you?"

"No," he replies. "He turned me. I have to obey him."

"I've never heard of that," she states.

"It's not that common," he admits. "But for him, always. How else do you think the large nests like in the castle work?"

"Mind control," she repeats. "No, wait, you're dead, you don't have a mind. And you want to get me into that ?"

"It's not my choice," he admits again. "But I would prefer to have you around rather than having to kill all your friends."

"But you're not remotely controlled," she argues. "There has to be a way around this. He can't have given you super specific orders without loopholes."

"You ask too many questions, dollface," he returns. "I should get going before day strikes."

"The fuck did you just call me?" she asks with amusement, wiping dark blood off her face. "How fucking old are you?"

"Don't you know that?" he asks back. "Think about it. It's really not the worst thing in the world." 

Read on on AO3

[reyofsunlight666]

A Family Gathering (New Fanfic!)

Hi everyone! Feel like reading about Tamriel’s most notorious group of killers behaving like Christmassy dorks and learning how to be a family? Scroll no further!

AO3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22073770

For life with Tamriel’s most notorious Family, Quickclaw reflects, settling into the Dark Brotherhood has come relatively effortlessly. Sure, there are the surprises that anyone would have in joining a new group; Festus Krex snoring louder than Alduin's Shouts, Lis the frost spider not understanding the size difference between itself and an ordinary spider and still trying to crawl into Quickclaw's mouth, Babette snatching away the sauce Quickclaw was about to pour on her dinner with a shriek about having mislabelled the paralysis poison.

Well. Perhaps it hasn't been so conflict-free.

Nonetheless, it is certainly less difficult than Quickclaw might have expected. Part of that could be that she has been kept busy. Between Astrid's and Nazir's jobs, as well as Cicero suddenly joining them, Quickclaw has had little interaction with the entire Sanctuary at once.

But it is almost the end of Evening Star. According to Astrid, the Sanctuary mishmashes every tradition of its members together into an enormous New Life-Saturalia-Baranth Do-Xulomaht celebration. All celebrate together and contribute to the festivities.

Quickclaw has never celebrated the new year with anyone before. A life of self-sufficiency dedicated to the claw-dance and scraping out survival tends to do that. It is the first time she has been invited to festivities like this.

Ridiculously for a mercenary, the thought makes her nervous.

                                                            *

Astrid enters the dining area and wrinkles her nose at the smell. She’s used to blood, of course, but the sheer...quantity in the air is usually only present when Arnbjorn’s torn through a whole group of targets. And it’s usually never near her food.

‘What is all this?’

Babette’s face appears from around the corner. ‘Preparations.’

Astrid comes closer. On the table are a row of small and large bottles, all filled with blood. It’s been neatly done, Astrid notes, the lack of dribbles or drops attesting to Babette’s skill in handling potions that might eat through wood or human skin.

‘Dear sister, I thought you were helping to source our meal for the New Life festivities.’

Babette grins widely, the gesture revealing her sharp fangs. ‘Oh, I am. There will be enough to last me all through the feast, and well into the night.’

‘Is there anything for those of us not blessed with your gifts?’

‘Oh, of course! Veezara?’

At the call, the Argonian enters the room, bearing an enormous plate. From what Astrid can tell with its head chopped off, it looks about the size of a slaughterfish. Its flesh looks raw, but dotted with...

‘Are those nightshade leaves?’

The Argonian brightens. ‘Indeed! In Black Marsh, we are proud of our spices and herbs. We consume the nightshade plant come Xulomaht to represent those gone before us, and because it produces a most magnificently bitter flavour.’

There is a silence.

‘Veezara?’ says Babette, finally. ‘You do know why nightshade symbolises those gone before?’

‘It is a Tamriel-wide symbol, is it not?’ he says. ‘After all, the farmers of Skyrim seem to live on the potato, and that is in the family of nightshade. Is it not a preparation for the Sovngarde they seem to love so much?’

Astrid looks from vampire to lizard. ‘Has Quickclaw prepared anything yet?’

‘Indeed!’ Quickclaw emerges, with armfuls of still more, smaller bottles. ‘This one has appropriated plentiful skooma. You Nords may be content with mere mead, but Quickclaw believes in a more refined celebration.’

Astrid looks at the Khajiit. ‘The last time I saw your people on skooma, they were competing over who could get a dagger furthest into somewhere I never wanted to see.’

‘You see?’ Quickclaw says. ‘Now that is how one rings in the new year.’

                                                   *

Nazir pads through the forest beside Astrid and Arnbjorn for the first time. He shared a kill with Astrid during the memorable job of the hagraven turned priestess of Mara, but that was six years ago. Since most jobs the Dark Brotherhood gets are solo operations, Nazir tends to venture out of the Sanctuary alone.

He's remembering those times with longing.

Of course, Astrid and Arnbjorn are perfectly competent assassins to be on duty with; there's not a snapped twig or startled deer between them. It's more the looks they give each other, the grin Astrid gives Arnbjorn as she spins her dagger showily in one hand, the hungry look Arnbjorn gives Astrid as he slowly shows all his teeth.

Is this why, when they do get a dual-assassin contract these days, those two always insist on going out together? Nazir doesn't want to know.

He tries to focus on the task at hand. They're out to source decorations for the Sanctuary, and judging by the trip he'd taken into Falkreath, Saturalia decorations in this hold tend to consist of fir wreaths nailed to doors and candles in jars hanging from eaves.

Bits of branches are all well and good, but Nazir is certain they can find a way to make it truly a celebration. Nazir certainly intends to construct the demons that represent the year gone past that are so popular back in Hammerfell. He just thinks the demons lack a certain...grounding in real-world anatomy.

He taps Arnbjorn on the shoulder. Noiselessly, the werewolf turns. Arnbjorn may be the most prone to brute force of them all, but even he is too experienced in combat to respond to something unexpected by giving away his position.

'What is it?' he says in a low voice.

'I have some proposals for modification,' Nazir says. 'Certainly, we can stick to tradition, but I think our Family should start making traditions of our own.'

At that, Arnbjorn's eyes gleam. 'Are you suggesting...'

Nazir nods, his grin widening. His blades will taste blood tonight, he is certain of it.

And Arnbjorn steps away from Nazir, towards Astrid. 'Dearest. I think the game is set to be played.'

By the stones of Sithis, that was not what Nazir intended.

'Indeed?' says Astrid, drawing her dagger from its sheath. 'And how shall we play?'

'First to stop the heart.' Arnbjorn's face seems longer now than it was a few seconds ago, his eyes gaining a distinctly yellowish cast.

Astrid raises an eyebrow. 'I notice you haven't specified a prize.'

Now Nazir is truly wishing he'd volunteered to be on the food team, like anyone else in the Sanctuary who was remotely sensible. Whatever game they have going on, he suspects it only just begins by the time they disembowel someone.

Arnbjorn draws closer still to her. 'O my Mistress, aren't you in charge of that?'

Nazir clears his throat, loudly. 'Were we not out here to complete a task?'

Astrid begins to speak, but is interrupted by Arnbjorn whirling suddenly and scenting the air. 'Hunter downwind.'

'How far?' says Astrid throatily.

In answer, Arnbjorn tears free of his clothing, fur sprouting all across his body as he lopes into the trees.

Astrid looks back at Nazir. 'Dear friend, I will have reason to thank you for this night.' Then she's off into the trees too with knife in hand.

With screams of agony coming from the next grove over and more knowledge of his sister and brother than he ever wanted, Nazir lets out a well-deserved groan.

                                                        *

Quickclaw is out of the Sanctuary with the Dark Elf, sourcing meats and vegetables for the great feast. Occasionally, they deign to visit Whiterun’s general stores, taverns and food markets. However, most of their spoils have come from using their skills to sneak into the houses of the unsuspecting. Their cart is almost full.

She is uneasy.

For reasons of unobtrusiveness, and to give Quickclaw a legal reason to enter Whiterun, the elf is posing as one of the more old-fashioned Dunmer, claiming allegiance with House Telvanni. While she cannot claim Quickclaw is her slave, not without bringing the Jarl’s men down on them, it is clear who is mistress and who is servant in their disguise.

Quickclaw has not had much contact with the elf since she joined the Dark Brotherhood. Part of that is by circumstance. She has spoken to Nazir and Astrid for jobs, Babette for potions, Arnbjorn to maintain her weapons and armour, but there has been little practical reason to speak with the elf. Yet Quickclaw has not yet sought the elf's advice on a job, nor sought to take meals together. When the Sanctuary comes together in conversation, Quickclaw avoids directly speaking with the elf.

She knows the blue-skins scattered in the eruption of Red Mountain, and their numbers and power are a fraction of what they were. She knows Helseth Hlaalu has long since outlawed the old ways. Yet in a place where her people are forced to squat in ignominy outside every settlement, in streets where children stare and adults do not bother to disguise their hatred, as she walks beside a Dark Elf who sweeps along in robes weighty with tradition while she dresses in threadbare rags, rage and fear coil within her.

After a long day of thieving and bartering, and as the sky darkens, the elf suggests renting a room in the Bannered Mare and returning home the next morning. When they finally settle into the room and the elf has cast Muffle over the door, she says, 'It's good we came to Whiterun together. I have not had much chance to speak with you since you joined us.'

'This one supposes not.' Quickclaw flashes a glance towards her. 'Sister,' she adds as an afterthought.

The elf sends a spark to the candle wick, letting the room dance with its light. 'Have I done something to offend? You must know I wish you no harm; in fact, I was delighted to have new blood in the Sanctuary.'

'Of course not,' Quickclaw manages. Quickclaw looks again at the elf sitting there, thinking of the dark blue hands like hers that whipped people like her, the red eyes like hers that saw people like her as nothing but mongrels.

The elf looks directly into Quickclaw's eyes. 'Is it our peoples' history?'

A hiss escapes Quickclaw before she can say anything. When she looks down, she finds she has involuntarily extended her claws. The elf still has not looked away.

'My people,' says the elf precisely, 'have committed heinous acts beyond my powers of description. It is one thing to send others to the Void. It is quite another to blot out their lives with suffering, deny them their very homes and choices.'

'This one looks for no smooth apologies, nor pretty tears,' Quickclaw hisses, and the candlelight gutters across the ceiling.

The elf stops, and bites her lip. 'I did not intend to dismiss your people's suffering with a few words.'

'Even under Astrid's reign, the blue-skin would not live had she intended it,' Quickclaw says.

'Nor would I expect to,' says the elf. 'If there is anything a Dunmer understands, it is a devotion to one's kin.'

Surprise floods Quickclaw. 'So what was it that the Dark Elf was expecting?'

Gabriella pulls an arrow from her quiver and turns it over in her hands. 'Nothing. I do not wish you to wipe my tears for me, nor do I wish any special exemption from the circumstances of our births. I only wish that we might have a word when we break bread, or share a kill or two. I have no doubt I am ignorant in a thousand ways of the richness of your heritage. But we share a heritage now, do we not?'

'This Family is precious, yes,' Quickclaw says, 'but it does not change Quickclaw's blood.'

'Nor mine,' says Gabriella, 'though I have wished the Dread Father might work some miracle.'

That pricks Quickclaw with surprise again. 'What does the Dunmer mean?'

Gabriella gives her a long, wry look. 'Here I am in a foreign land, with the blood of thirty-three upon my hands and a Family of almost every province, and you ask why I may not be fond of my place of birth.'

She laughs at that. 'So this is no good little blue-skin who listens to their ancestors' every whisper?'

'Not those of my birth,' Gabriella says. 'But as for my sisters and brothers in Sithis? I treasure their lineage and wisdom infinitely.'

A mixture of emotions churn within Quickclaw like stew within a pot. At last, she picks out her words. 'Quickclaw was fortunate to find the Family when she did. This one has no way to hide her nature, and this one would not want to should she have the means. To be Khajiit is to have the very moons' strength within one, and to be tricksy enough to survive a thousand years of injustice.'

She pause for breath, and Gabriella waits for her to continue.

'Yet in a land where cold can burn like heat and the Nord spits on any who have more talents than their brainless blocks of muscle, this one is happy to be strange within strangeness.'

'To be strange within strangeness.' Gabriella grins at her. 'Now those are fine words for a Family.'

'Fine words for a festival,' Quickclaw answers, 'dear sister.'

                                                  *

Festus Krex returns from the last job of the year to find a fir wreath framing the skull on the door. It looks strangely cosy, and he can't say he dislikes the effect.

'What is the music of night?' says the door.

'Silence, my Brother,' Festus replies automatically. At this stage, if the Penitus Oculatus themselves are behind that damned door, he'll take them. He has more than earned his bed after wrangling that orc.

Giggles burst from behind the door. Festus blinks. One can sometimes hear the odd noise from outside the door, he knows that, but for it to be this audible they must be right up against the door.

'What's going on?' he grunts.

'Do you not remember the password, old-timer?' Babette's clear, mischievous tones are unmistakeable.

'Who are you calling old-timer, dead girl?' he says.

Gabriella's laughter is most audible this time. 'The festive password?'

'The festive password,' Festus says. 'The password of festivities. The password I remember in its entirety.'

More laughter spills from inside the Sanctuary. He racks his brain.

'Ah, yes! The music of night is Should auld acquaintance be forgot. Like that old Nord song.'

At that, the door swings open. Gabriella is already down the stairs, but Babette waits for him. 'Happy New Life!'

'I'd forgotten,' he says. 'When you get to my age, you're just grateful to make it from one day to the next.'

'Oh, you're too young for that kind of talk,' she says as they walk into Astrid's study. 'Why, this will be my three hundred and forty-seventh year, and I feel fresher by the day.'

Just at the exit to the study and into the main meeting area, Festus is suddenly hit in the face by...something soft? 'Hey!'

Babette laughs again. He focuses on the swinging object. It resembles those demonic effigies he saw pictures of in The Imperial Pocket Guide to Hammerfell, with its curling horns taken from a ram and the red skin fashioned from paper. Yet its eyes seem more realistic than their usual painted counterparts, and he could swear saliva glistens from its tongue.

'Very funny,' he says, pushing past it into the room.

He levitated the dining tables from their usual place to beside the pool the other day, so he isn't surprised to see them. What is surprising is the amount of decorations that surround them. Holly branches festoon the tables. Fir wreaths, candles in jars and effigies containing body parts surround the tables, hanging from the cave's high ceilings and placed into the little nooks and crannies in the walls. Lis the frost spider is out of her pit, peaceably gnawing on what looks like a whole roasted cow. Even the Night Mother's coffin has been taken from its usual spot and wrapped in holly branches. Surely the clown would consider that an insult to the Unholy Matron, yet -

Wait.

'By the heart of Lorkhan,' Festus bursts out. 'Whose idea was it to give the clown a harp?'

'It was Cicero's own idea!' The clown beams, and plucks all the strings in rapid succession. 'Cicero thought, what is a New Life celebration without a bard? And Cicero remembered that a long time ago, he learned some harp music as part of a disguise! Cicero knows many tunes, yes he does.'

Festus meets Astrid's eyes, standing just behind the clown. Astrid rolls her eyes, but places a finger over her lips.

'Food's up!' Babette reappears from the dining area, bearing an enormous roast fowl. Behind her, Arnbjorn carries roast leeks, carrots and potatoes in one hand, with a large ham in the other. Gabriella bears bottles of wine, mead and blood, while Quickclaw brings up the rear with plenty of skooma.

'Don't forget the fish!' Veezara rushes in behind them, bearing a slaughterfish covered in nightshade leaves. Festus can't see how that's getting eaten, though if it keeps the lizard happy...

At least there is plenty of other food. Cicero strikes up a melody as the others take their seats around the table. Festus pushes in his chair, looking around at the rest of the Family through the candlelight.

'It's been a year I'll be grateful for,' says Astrid, settling into the head of the table. 'Our fortunes are only looking up.'

'We received twice the jobs we had last year,' says Nazir.

'And almost twice the gold,' adds Babette. 'A civil war makes people even more eager to end old grudges.'

Gabriella spears her fork into a roast potato. 'Don't forget our newest Family member.'

'How could we?' Veezara claps Quickclaw on the shoulder. Quickclaw grins.

The harp music stops. 'And me! And me! Don't forget Cicero!'

'How could we,' Arnbjorn mutters.

'Of course,' Astrid says. 'Two new Family members and more prosperity than we've had in a long time. I propose a toast.'

'To Sithis?' Cicero suggests. The others look at each other, but clink glasses and echo the toast.

'To the new year,' adds Nazir.

'And to family,' says Quickclaw.

'To family!' they all echo. They clink glasses as one, far from anyone else, and yet together.

[sweetsamefaces]

A Stupid Chant (demon!Osomatsu x reader)

((also posted on AO3))

((This is part 1 of a special Halloween series I will be posting! Please enjoy!))

This is stupid. This is stupid, and you know it.

Ever since you saw these challenges on the internet, you haven't stopped thinking about them. Those stories about people summoning demons and spirits from another dimension had gotten you curious. All these experiences that you read are entertaining, but you never expected them to be anything supernatural. These people were most likely embellishing to get attention.

Even so, a blog that you follow had recently posted instructions on how to summon a demon, and that had peaked your curiosity. You couldn't help it. The ritual seemed easy enough, and it wasn't like you had anything to lose. If you had learned anything about the internet, it was that this was probably just another game to play to freak out your friends. Most likely, nothing would happen and you could move on with your life knowing you were dumb enough to think anything supernatural could easily be summoned.

As the clock on the basement wall ticked closer to midnight, you reviewed the instructions you had copied into your phone. On the floor was a circle of about five feet in diameter made of white masking tape, with a jagged pattern resembling a star reaching out to five corners from the center. With a black marker, you had drawn out different symbols on each point of the star, though the blog post didn't specify what these symbols meant. To you, they just looked like a bunch of squiggly lines. The final step, a ring of salt to act as a 'shield' from whatever would be summoned, was sprinkled along the edges of the circle.

The alarm on your phone begins to buzz, making you jump before quickly remembering why you set an alarm in the first place. Looking to the clock on the wall again, you can confirm that midnight had stricken. Now was the perfect time to start the ceremony. Kneeling in front of the circle, you look at your notes and begin reciting the incantation.

Spirits, stay alive. But spirits, keep your peace. For when the demons arise, all harmony will cease. If they see your fear, if they see hesitation, They will take what is dear forever in damnation.

You could swear you could feel a slight breeze tickle the back of your neck as you read, but you continue.

Claws can strike, horns can pierce, Monsters alike, they will be fierce. You close your eyes and take a deep breath as you read the final lines. But if you are aware of the dangers they bare, Then look upon the one-

"Who is evil's favorite son."

Wait. You didn't say that.

"Ugh, who even wrote that? Like some twelve year old who thinks they're the shit, I bet. Makes me cringe every time I hear it."

You have to open your eyes. Someone is in here with you, and you have every reason to believe that this ritual actually worked. Holy shit, you just summoned a demon. But at the same time, part of you believes that if you keep your eyes closed, maybe the voice will go away.

"Hey, are you even listening? Come on, you take this much effort to summon me and you won't even look at me? You're so rude!"

That's it, you're too curious to let this go. Slowly, your eyes blink open to see the figure sitting cross legged in the center of the circle, staring at you with a twinge of agitation. A young man who looks to be in his early twenties chuckles as he sees an expression you must have been making. The suit he wears is blue, well kept and buttoned up with a red tie around his neck. Despite the red glow in his eyes, the pair of horns on top of his head, and a tail flicking with amusement behind him, he could pass for human. A mixture of relief and disappointment fills you at this realization.

"Wow, you're actually looking at me! That's a good first step, wouldn't you say?"

You attempt to speak, but your voice freezes in your throat. Demons are real, and you just summoned one. A whole new world has opened up to you, but you can't even bring yourself to say anything to the demon in front of you.

The demon rests his head on a hand and smirks. "So? Did you just bring me here to look at me? I know I'm pretty handsome, but I have other things to do. You know how it is, right?"

You suppose so. But then again, this is the first time you did one of these rituals and it actually worked. You admit that you had doubts about this actually working.

"No, you're right, the ritual is a load of crap. You can't even summon an imp with this." He gestures to the circle he was sitting in. "Like did you really think a circle on the floor and a poem was going to be enough? At the very least, you would need a virgin's blood to get anything like this to work." Then why is he here?

"I was bored."

That was a quick response.

He giggles at your reaction and finally stands up. Looking down at you, you feel so much smaller and insignificant compared to him. If he really is something supernatural, he would have no problem taking your soul, possessing you, or worse. But at least the salt circle will keep him away, right? You sincerely hope the internet was right about that.

"Yeah, I couldn't help but overhear a human actually try to do that spell. And so I thought 'hey, let's pay them a visit'! I didn't have anything better to do, anyway!" He bends down slightly, never breaking eye contact with you as he puts his hands on his hips. "But you're not really freaking out like I hoped you would. I figured you would start screaming and throwing things at me, but you're not. A little disappointing, if I'm gonna be honest."

To be honest, you thought you were going to be like that too. But it's a little hard to freak out when the demon you brought into your house is just a guy with a suit on.

He blinks and clenches his teeth, showing off slightly sharpened fangs. "Come on, this is a nice suit! And besides, the tail and horns aren't enough to convince you?"

Actually, that's a good point. You haven't had any reason to be frightened of him since he got here. All he's done is talk down at you.

The demon almost seems to pout as he crosses his arms and stands up straight again, though he continues to look directly at you (or through you, you're not sure). "Alright, how about this? Give me something to do, and I guarantee that I'll do it perfectly!"

Alright, fine. You stop and think for a moment about what to make him do. This is the first demon you have ever encountered, you don't know what he is even capable of. You don't even know if he has a name!

"Oh, my name? It's Osomatsu!"

Wait, you didn't ask for his name. How did he-

"Mind reading. Pretty cool, right?" He smirks again. "Come on, think of something else!"

Well, alright. You attempt to think of the most needlessly complicated thing. Soon, what you have thought of is an image of a blue elephant in a room with pink walls and green furniture. Surely this would be too random to-

"A blue elephant in a room with pink walls and green furniture, huh?" The demon named Osomatsu laughs mischievously as he sees the look on your face. "Now do you believe me?"

Alright, fine, you may be convinced now.

"Good! Now that that's settled, I want to ask you something now."

You're a little hesitant to answer anything he would ask you, but for now you comply.

"What do you want from me? Why were you trying to do this ceremony in the first place?"

Huh, that's actually a reasonable question to ask. But you shake your head, explaining that you simply wanted to know if this would work.

His tail flicks with agitation behind him as he kneels down, meeting you at eye level. "Come on, there has to be something you want! Money? Power? Sex??"

You shake your head again at all of his guesses. You were just bored and...

"Hm?" Osomatsu frowns and tilts his head.

You stopped yourself mid-sentence, mostly because what you were going to say was embarrassing.

"You're bored and...what?" He's looking directly at you again, and despite knowing him for only five minutes, you know what he's doing. You feel self-conscious knowing that he can just read your mind whenever he wants.

A chuckle interrupts the silence between the two of you. "You're lonely?"

Your heart tightens and you look down at the floor, feeling your cheeks flaring up. Osomatsu's chuckle turns into a laugh. "I guess I won't take your soul just for that. If you just wanted to hang out with someone, I'll stay here."

Wait, really?

"Yeah! I don't see why not. You seem pretty interesting, anyway."

You don't know how you could possibly be interesting, but okay. He doesn't seem to show any bad intentions. Besides, you still have that ring of salt around the circle.

Osomatsu stands up again and looks down at you, somehow giving you the feeling he wants you to stand up too. So you do so, giving your legs feeling again after sitting on the floor for so long.

"Oh, and one more thing." Osomatsu slips his hands into his pockets innocently and smiles as he walks towards you, towards the ring of salt. You open your mouth to stop him, but you find yourself unable to speak.

The demon steps over the salt, unaffected at all. He smiles again at the apparent look of surprise on your face, showing off those fangs again.

"You really thought a pile of small rocks would keep me back? Looks like I have a lot to teach you."

[isooto]

Unbind me B)

Leave a “Unbind Me” in my ask, and I’ll write a drabble about your character freeing mine, or the other way around, or something among the lines [be it freeing them from jail, from handcuffs, from a trap, from a curse, feel free to specify.]

“This is the last time I am going to ask you, where are the remaining Jedi?”

The question is accompined by another painful prodding in her lower back, and the Togruta arches as much as she can from where her wrists are suspended above her with fangs bared in a silent snarl. Electricity arcs through her body, curling off in little arches and dancing to the floor in a spectacular display of power. 

She has lost all sensation in her lekku, and there’s a buzzing in her montrals not unlike that after one too many drinks at the cantina. In the haze of the last shock, her fangs have found their way into her bottom lip in an effort to keep silent, blue blood dripping onto the floor and setting a metallic taste in her mouth.

The air in this stuffy room is thick with anticipation, eagerness, and just a hint of malice. It’s when she looks up and meets the yellow eyes and grinning fangs of her Cathar captor that she knows there cannot be even the slightest hint of giving in. 

We protect those who can’t protect themselves.

Shaak steels herself, violet eyes closing as she inhales and remembers a conversation long ago with a young boy with starlight in his eyes and every good intention in his heart. It is a memory she holds near and dear to herself, never ceasing to echo in her mind. It’s the face of that boy that lends her strength in time like these, and gives her the courage to lift her chin and spit at the feet of her tormentor. 

The Cathar flat out laughs at the former General’s display, shaking his head and coasting barely clawed hands over the top of his head. 

“So that’s how it’s going to be?” He asks, prowling closer, “Not even a peep?” His hands grab her chin and turn her head to face him, tugging her forward just enough to pull against her restraints. He traces a claw over one cheekbone, drawing blood and failing to make her wince. 

“Damn,” He says with a sigh, shaking his head, “I was beginning to think we were getting somewhere.”

Violet eyes watch him stroll over to a keypad on the wall and alter a few numbers, and she feels her stomach drop. Though Shaak’s eyes may have weakened in her age, they are well enough to read the new settings. 

If they were left active for more than a minute or two, she would no longer be of this plane. 

In the moment his eyes meet her again, she accepts her fate. 

“And to think, the great Master Ti killed by none other than myself,” He grins, “Pity. My only regret is not getting to see your swordplay.”

Time seems to slow, his finger flips the switch and a fresh wave of agony courses through her, too great to keep silent. A scream tears through her lips and into the air, echoing around the corridors with agony and pain of every variety. Her lekku shake from it all, quivering every which way in an attempt to escape the source of her pain. At some point in the haze she is aware enough to hear a whoosh and a surprised yelp, but her conscious is fading rapidly right up until the moment there is an explosion of heat by her wrists and she drops to the floor, unable to catch herself as she lays there limp. 

There’s a silence, and her eyes stare unknowingly at the boots before her, tall and black. They walk closer to her with a gait that seems almost familiar, but she is too far gone to come close to remembering. Even when a face she would go so far as to say she once loved dropped into her vision - although older, wearier, and with a new scar decorating it - she gave no reaction. 

She didn’t speak when she was lifted into his arms without use of the Force.

She didn’t blink when she was lain gently in a pod of some sort.

She barely moved when his hand lingered over hers as he exited. 

Her only reaction was to lift herself onto her forearms as the bay doors opened and her savior went to exit. They hesitated, looking over their shoulders and meeting eyes one last time. 

Her bloodstained lips curl in the fainted of smiles. How fitting, she thinks as her lips part to whisper three words. 

“Thank you, Braig.”

His eyes harden and snap close, but not before she caught a glimmer of something warm in once friendly golden eyes. The doors closed with a hiss, and his gloved hand punched something in before hovering over the launch button. Shaak does not move her gaze from him, barely keeping herself upright in ratty clothes and weak muscles. Their eyes meet again, but there is nothing familiar about them this time.

The old Togruta nods, understanding him for the first time in a very long time.

His hand hits the button. 

Her pod blasts off into the vast expanse of space. 

It is the last time she will ever see him.