skyrimkinkmeme | Meme Announcements!

They had taken to calling her the Nightshade Queen.

Not many had seen her face in recent months, and the ones who had, those wandering tradesmen with whom she replenished much needed supplies, likely didn’t even know it.

Rarely seen, but death followed in her wake as sure as the storms came in winter, and dragons fell from the sky like the frosty snows of the mountain blizzard.

It was as if a new rhythm of the passing of hours and days, a rhythm as sure and as consistent as time itself. Dragons rose and so dragons fell, sometimes in close succession but in places that seemed too distant from each other to be easily traversed in the way of man.

So legends spread and grew and swelled in the telling.

She was the manifestation of Skyrim, a shade of the very land itself, rising up to purge this damning pestilence, so some said.

Others said that she had absorbed so many souls she had taken on the form of a dragon herself, and this is why she carefully avoided the company of man or mer.

Some had even heard tell of the rumor stemming from the College of Winterhold that she had found an Elder Scroll, that she had read it without paying the requisite price, but this was met with much scoffing and speculation and was often dismissed as mere blundering attempts by the college to re-gain lost renown.

And those who whispered throughout Skyrim of her unflinching fury and wealth of fearlessness in the face of Alduin might have been surprised to see the Dragonborn in her current moment, her perfectly human face and well-worn, well-dented armor hidden within the billowing folds of a deeply hooded cloak, as she eyed the last steps to Jorrvaskr with no small amount of trepidation.

It had been many months since she had graced this noble hall, and she was not sure of her welcome.

She had her reasons for avoiding her duties here. Shame, at first, for her loss in battle. Then perhaps confusion, regarding how to deal with her status as banished wife to a new High King. And soon enough her hunt for Alduin had allowed ample distraction and outlet for her rage and grief.

And even after she’d learned the awful, agonizing truth that there was not a dragon soul in all of Skyrim that could fill the empty ache of her lonely existence, she kept her distance.

Melancholy is an easy trap for a dovah to fall into.

Paarthurnax had been right to warn her of the dangers of keeping so far away from companionship, but she had lingered at the Throat of the World nonetheless, even after Alduin’s fall, lost in the tongue of the Dov.

The spur that finally set her path away from the mountain had come from unlikely source.

Ulfric Stormcloak.

She had not seen him since their wedding night, and although she attempted to push him from mind and thought, snippets of rumor still reached her. His status as High King, his training of new armies, his strengthening of the holds.

And even without news to remind her of him, he found ways to enter her thoughts, as if he were a part of her, as if absorbed into her being like the dragons she devoured.

Except dragons did not torment her flesh in the dark of night. They did not leave her filled with want and lust and itching such that, after her guilty musings had been pushed down by more carnal concerns, her body clenched and tightened with the quick, sweet release brought about by her own knowing fingers.

She was ashamed, that she yearned so for his touch, that her own body betrayed her. Even now, hidden in plain sight, she felt her cheeks burning at the thought of being claimed by him, pushed to her knees to be mounted and rutted and filled with the warm spurt of his seed and when had her fantasies become so brazen?

Perhaps she was going mad, perhaps she shouldn’t have isolated herself so completely. Perhaps he had been right to send her that message, which had come as no small surprise. She thought of the letter now, stuffed in her traveling bag, with his scrawling, bold script that swept across the page, letters tumbling over their lines, words battling for room and position as if each sought to reach her eye first with no concern for order and precedent.

News has reached me of the fall of the World-Eater, and for this I wish you honor and gratitude that cannot be fully expressed in a simple letter. If you wish now to hide on High Hrothgar and avoid greater responsibility, as the grey-beards would have you do, then that is your choice, and your right as Dragonborn. But I do not think this is the path for those like us. Come to Windhelm, and let us discuss the future of Skyrim. And that of her queen. Fair terms, wife, this I offer you, with humble hands.

He had not wasted space with salutation or signature.

Humility. What a lark. She could just imagine him smirking as if he were offering her some great favor.

“Humble hands my backside,” she muttered, under her breath, as she squared her shoulders, pushed back her hood, and opened the doors to Jorrvaskr.

And barreled straightaway into a muscled, well-armored chest attempting to exit.

“Wh…Arria?”

Her name, in a surprised rush of sound.

She lifted her eyes.

“Vilkas,” she breathed, suddenly feeling skittish, looking for the sign of anger or distrust or hate she expected, but before she had enough time for full regret, she again found herself pressed against the cold of his armor, this time softened by the warmth of his embrace.

“For too long have we been without our Harbinger. News reached us of Alduin’s defeat long ago, but no one has seen or heard word of you in weeks.”

His voice was hoarse with emotion, and she could not hear anger. Only concern.

And then another voice, of the same gruff chord but deeper in tone.

“Is that…By Ysgramor, she’s not dead!”

She smiled to herself at the sound of Farkas’ voice as she was pulled from one engulfing embrace to another.

Brothers to each other by birth, and brothers to her through another type of blood.

Home.

This felt like home. Brothers and shield-sisters and she was such a fool for staying away.

“If you ladies are finished with your groping, we have some accounts that need settled.”

Aela. Fierce and loyal and if she ever had a sister she would want one exactly such as this.

She stepped away from the brothers to saunter down the steps to the hearthfire, quirking a brow in invitation. “Aela,” she coaxed, “come now, shield-sister. It has been a long time.” She tried a tentative pout, but such cloying tricks had never been her strength.

Aela only shook her head with widened eyes, before speaking in exaggerated distaste. “Ugh. This thing you are doing with your face is ridiculous. I honored you in my memory. I did not think you had perished, sister, so do not expect this…this show of emotion.”

And then Arria found herself embraced more fiercely than by the brothers combined.

It was difficult to swallow the lump of feeling that had pitted itself in her throat. She would never say the words aloud, but she had never fought for Skyrim as much as she fought for them. If she yet had a family any longer, a place of true belonging, this was it.

“Well, this is a fine welcome. Do we greet you now as Harbinger, Dragonborn, or Queen? Don’t expect us to start bowing.”

She pulled back from her shield-sister to find Njada standing on the other side of the main table, arms crossed in a defiant stance, but despite her usual tart tone the Nord woman wore a wide smile on her painted face.

She smiled in return, but Farkas' next comment dimmed it quickly.

“Yeah, how is that working out?”

She did not like being reminded that her so-called home was a difficult situation, and felt suddenly self-conscious among the circle of curious faces. “I do not know. Ulfric has sent message requesting my presence to discuss just such a thing. But…”

A chorus of protests greeted her, ranging from confused to angry, and Aela’s sharp rebuke echoed above the rest.

“You are our Harbinger. Your duties have been put aside in favor of your status as Dragonborn, and this is noble purpose for Skyrim and for the Companions alike. But such a thing cannot continue.”

Arria nodded in agreement. She did not want it to continue, but before she could voice her own concerns, Vilkas spoke softly at her side.

“Harbinger, there is much to be decided, and much that needs to be taken into account. But first, I need to speak with you. In private.”

i'm not picky just have fun with it.

Arria knocked at the frame of Vilkas’ opened door to signal her arrival, and he turned from where he had been rummaging among his possessions.

His face was solemn, and he held a scrap of sealed paper in his hands.

“Kodlak gave this to me, to give to you. Upon a time.”

“Upon a time?” she questioned.

“He said, should anything happen to him and should you have need of the comfort of words. It was long ago, before he sent you to Glenmoril, and I did not understand his melancholy. I was too resentful of secrets kept from my knowing. And in the aftermath of his death, I....”

He trailed off and simply held out the note.

She reached for it, then turned to sink down upon his bed to read it, tracing her fingers over the scrawl of her name at the top of the parchment. Kodlak’s writing was so different from Ulfric’s imposing words, his letters small and neat and somehow calming in their ordered repose.

Arria, I am writing this to you as even now I consider your aid to these companions, and your loyalty to our deeper cause. It is my belief that one such as you can carry our legacy to great heights, should one day you aspire to become our Harbinger. I have shared this observation with none but Vilkas, who supports you as his shield-sister but is uncomfortable in thinking of the day when I might no longer be among you. You two are so alike in many ways, with clever minds and bodies full of passion and courage. But I fear for the both of you, that the fires of your temper yet burn too bright. I do not blame you for your retaliation at the death of Skjor. But consider my warnings as those from friend, and be careful in your anger. Do not let fury bind you to a path that you might find yourself regretting. I have learned this lesson too late.

I also regret that we have not had opportunity to speak in depth. I hope if this letter ever reaches you, that you have found success in your destiny as savior to this land. I have dreamt of just such a thing, among other, darker dreams. You are a true daughter of Skyrim, in ways you might not yet understand. She needs you, as I believe you yet need her. May you find peace with yourself, through her, and through these companions. They are as family, to me, and perhaps one day to you as well.

She reached the end of the letter, his careful signing of his name, and swiped a burgeoning tear from the corner of her eye. She felt the mattress dip from the heavy weight of Vilkas sitting at her side, and he gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze. She closed her eyes and leaned against his quiet strength as he pulled the paper from her unresisting fingers, and she did not stop him in the reading of it. Before she had taken to relying on a dragon, she had once counted Vilkas as trusted confidant to her concerns and troubles.

“You should go to him.”

She sat up straight, with a sniff. “What?”

“Your…husband. There is good you can do here, in such a role of power. Kodlak would want you to embrace this role. Not that you haven’t already done much good, I’m just trying to say…why are you looking at me like that?”

She forced a smile. “Because this sentiment reminds me of my father. He, too, would have argued for the good of many over the needs of the few. But I’m not sure I have that kind of nobility. We are creatures driven by darker purpose, are we not?”

Vilkas looked down at the letter in his hands. “Kodlak so wished for peace in our hearts. Is there no hope for us then, even without the blood of the beast?”

She had no good answer to give him.

She only knew that her blood still boiled with heat and a need that she could not fully understand. She was stronger now, more so than she had ever been, and powerful.

And she burned.

And she knew, deep down, that she wanted to see Ulfric again.

Dov wahlaan fah rel. We were made to dominate. The will to power is in our blood. You feel it in yourself, do you not?

She smiled then, slow and careful and with an edge like a knife.

She had a score to settle with the High King.

“I think you are right, brother. I will go to him.”

Vilkas looked at her brightly smiling face with an expression of concern, but then he shrugged and one side of his mouth quirked up in an arrogant smirk.

“Good.”

She raised a brow at his quick shift of demeanor, as gestured behind him and then leaned in to whisper conspiratorially in her ear. “It is not many who can lay claim to sharing a bed with a queen.”

“Vilkas!” She tried to give his arm a playful punch, but he avoided her swing by simply laying back on the mattress.

He crossed his arms behind his head, now looking like he didn’t have a care in the world, and grinned wolfishly.

“Farkas is convinced that you can take the physical form of dragon, as we once took the form of wolf. There are bets now, and no small amount of coin at stake.”

She rolled her eyes and fell back next to him. “Don’t tell me you have fallen to such ridiculous gambles. You are supposed to be the sensible one.”

She stared up at the ceiling, enjoying this shared time with her shield-brother. Now that she had come to a decision, now that she had something to do, a new purpose, she could feel the tense apprehension of the past weeks leaving her.

It was overwhelmingly pleasant to relax her guard and just simply be, even for a small moment, as she felt her blood begin to calm as it did when she meditated with her mentor. Conversations with Paarthurnax were enlightening, but rarely did he joke. She had forgotten how much she needed such things.

“Well?”

She rolled her head to the side to face him. “Well, what?”

“Can you?” he teased.

She laughed fully then, for the first time in an age, and she felt the warmth of it clear to her toes.

--------------------Note:
I promise Ulfric/Arria in the next installment, and heavily throughout until the end, gosh, whenever that may come. And plenty of smut to thank you for your patience. Any requests?

Also, Arria, one of my absolute favorite badass Romans! Wife of Caecina Paetus, who himself was caught participating in a rebellion against the emperor Claudius (c.42 CE), and subsequently ordered to commit ritual suicide (considered a more noble death than having someone else do your execution, I guess). Paetus was a bit of a wimp though, at his final moment, so (as famously told by Pliny the Younger), Arria took the dagger from his hands, stabbed herself, and upon handing it back said, “Non dolet, Paete,” giving her husband the courage to continue.

It does not hurt, Paetus.

Not OP, but... All my feels go to this <3 oh goodness, how I loved this!

There is a distinct flavor of dub-con that I would like to see written about, yet I haven't seen really anything based on it:

A couple, where the other partner consents to the sex, but does so out of a sense of obligation and/or loyalty, despite having very little or no romantic feelings towards the person they're with. This could be a master and a servant, where the servant feels that (s)he's duty-bound to comply. Good examples would be housecarl/Thane!DB, anyone/any Jarl, Mercer (or Guildmaster DB)/Any Thieve's Guild member, Listener!DB/Any Dark Brotherhood member (with the exception of Babette, naturally), Ulfric/Any Stormcloak or Tullius/Any Legionnaire.

Or they could be friends, where one partner is in love and the other is willing to share a bed because of fearing that their friendship would turn awkward or end if (s)he turns the offer down.

OP leans towards het, slash and both human and elf races.
Squicks are things done in a toilet, violence and outright non-con.

Using her beast form to travel, Aela arrived at the gates of Riften shortly after midnight. The guard had, predictably, tried to extort a "visitor's tax" from her before allowing entrance into the city, but one piercing look from the werewolf's fierce, green eyes halted him mid-smirk, and he opened the gates without another word. Aela had never liked Riften. The entire city stank of greed, corruption, and dead fish. Though the hour was late, Aela the Huntress strode purposefully through the town square and up to the door of a small, nondescript house near the docks. She didn't bother knocking. The door was unlocked, so Aela went inside. After all, she was expected.

Honeyside was a cozy, warm little house with an open layout and very little that would give away the true nature of its owner. Cheap little knickknacks lined the shelves and mantle, and a smoldering fire filled the kitchen and dining area with a dim, orange glow. The house was still and silent, and by all accounts appeared deserted. Aela knew better, however. Shrugging her traveling pack onto the ground by the door, the rust-haired Companion said casually to the empty air, "I would comment on leaving your door unlocked in such a notorious city, but you and I both know there's not a thief in Riften who would dare steal from you."

"Leadership does have its benefits," came the amused, equally casual reply from directly above. Aela looked up, jumping only slightly. Perched serenely on one of the rafter beams above the werewolf's head was a petite, slender young woman of about twenty years or so. She was quite beautiful, with long, white-blonde hair that cascaded in a silvery waterfall down to the middle of her back, and the palest blue eyes Aela had ever seen. Paired with her snowy-pale skin and simple, white tunic and tan trousers, the woman looked like a ghost hovering suspended in the air.

"The rafters, huh? That's a new one. I'll admit, you got me this time," conceded Aela. The woman winked and stated, "Let this be a lesson to you, sister. An enemy can come from anywhere, even above."

She leaned backwards on her precarious perch, hooking her knees around the beam and falling towards the ground, flipping to land lightly on her feet at the last second while simultaneously wrapping a thin arm around Aela's neck. The huntress felt the tip of the ebony knife the woman had unsheathed during her fall press gently against her throat.

"So don't let an enemy get the drop on you," she finished with that same amused tone. Unconcerned, Aela rolled her eyes and asked, "You done showing off?"

Aela could practically hear the pout in the woman's voice as she withdrew the blade and said, "I'm hurt, Aela. You don't sound glad to see me at all."

"Normal people don't tend to be overly happy to see those who greet them with knives," snorted Aela. The woman laughed, and the sound was terribly beautiful and bell-like in its musical tone. However, the tiny fangs glistening in the light as she opened her mouth somewhat ruined the innocent effect.

"Ah, but we aren't normal, are we?" countered the woman. "Nor are we people, for that matter. We play by different rules."

"Rules, Chrysanthe? I wasn't aware you had any," jabbed Aela, but her lips were beginning to quirk into the barest hint of a smile. Chrysanthe grinned toothily and said delightedly, "Oh, so you do remember my name. You haven't visited me in so long, I was starting to think you'd forgotten your good friend Chrysanthe altogether."

"Is that what this is about? You know, you could have just sent a courier if you wanted to catch up over tea. You didn't have to steal my fragment and send me running all over Skyrim."

"This way is so much more fun, though," pointed out the vampire playfully. "Besides, if I sent a courier, your little guard-pups might try to stop you from seeing me."

"You mean the twins?"

Chrysanthe smiled. "Yes, and how are those two, anyway? Still as large and brooding as ever, I imagine?"

Aela shrugged and replied, "If you're asking if Vilkas still wants some of your blood on his claws, the answer is yes."

Pouting cutely, Chrysanthe sighed, "He's still sore about that? It was just a bit of blood. I didn't take much. Besides, Farkas certainly wasn't complaining at the time."

Met my first nekkid Courier yesterday. AWESOME prompt!

Entry 6

Ugh, my head... Shouldn't have tried to drink Tovar under the table, the man can hold his mead

Anyway, back to the story, we were discussing how I went back to the temple and started praying like a mad man?

Right, but my head hurts too much to think about those dark days so first I'm going to talk about my brother Einar... who isn't really my brother. He's definitely older than me, by a long shot, but a large chunk of his life he had been part of the family and my mother did take him under her wing so I guess you can say that he is my adopted brother.

First, Einar is not a Nord. Einar is in fact, an Altmer and perhaps the reason why no matter what that Thalmor do, I cannot hate high elves. And since in a sense he was raised by Nords, he doesn't act, move, talk or even think like an Altmer though he still is primarily a mage in skill and profession. Einar also speaks with a thick Nordic accent, that’s rather funny to watch people gap at.

Let's see... more about my brother. He's looks like most Altmer in terms of general looks, tall, thin, handsome with noble features, long limbs, pointed ears. But some time ago he dyed his hair a black to match the family's color and is usually seen with Nordic style braids in it. He had a fondness for bold, blue Nordic style war paint and can often be seen wearing it. He does wear mage robes, however he often wears heavy gauntlet's and boots with them, and when he's not in mage clothing he's in full heavy armor.

Einar is a good man, thoughtful, kind, intelligent, gentle. He had a habit of patching me up as a child whenever I did stupid stunts or after a rather harsh day of bullying. He even kept me alive the day I lost my eye to that werewolf, making sure to give me a harsh scolding as he kept me from bleeding out. But he was always there when I needed him, up until I was big enough to handle myself and even then all I needed to do was get in touch. He was probably the best thing to happen to me in my childhood, which is saying something.

My brother taught me a great many things, things that my parents often couldn’t find the time to do, such as Restoration magic, reading, writing, sums, cooking, cleaning, about plants, the races, people, etiquette, what was wrong and what was right and even about lore. He was my mentor in pretty much everything because I wouldn’t go near the village schoolmaster with all the horrible children and since my parents were often too busy with pilgrims and prayers.

I still vividly remember the day that mother brought him into the family fold

I had just gotten home from a rather harsh day outside, still carrying the bruises the other children had given me, and found mother and father yelling and screaming at each other. It was rather frightful to listen too, so I decided to go back outside and play behind the temple, to avoid the children and stay out of the way.

However, as I was slinking through the room to get to the back door, I saw a rather handsome, thin and miserable looking man with pointed ears sitting on the bench closest to the statues for the Nine. His skin, where is wasn’t bruised or cut, was a golden color like the sun and his hair was soft golden blonde, and the strange green-gray robes he wore were tattered and dirty, several cuts revealing more bruised and cut golden skin. And his eyes, a strange yellow-green, were devoid of emotion, like he was sitting there but not really… there.

He looked so miserable sitting there, eyes dead, looking like he hadn’t eaten in weeks, and his pretty face marred by bruises, that I actually pitied him. I went and took a seat next to him and gave him a shy greeting. The man uttered one back. I asked him for his name and he said that he no longer had one.

Being too young I didn’t realize that he’d meant that he had just been disowned by his own family, so I told him that I’d give him one. Thinking for a moment, as the man gave me a very strange look, I declared him Einar sense in my young mind it sounded fitting and had a similar ending as my own.

The man looked at me for a long time… and then smiled a little bit and told me that he liked it. I found out a moment later that we were adopting him.

Because I am sometimes cursed with the same, I third this!
(might also take a crack at it if no one picks it up)

This prompt made me think http://skyrimkinkmeme.livejournal.com/2438.html?thread=4681350#t4681350 (http://skyrimkinkmeme.livejournal.com/2438.html?thread=4681350#t4681350)

If it's okay to be gay in Skyrim, and considering that all marriage options are bi/pansexual, how come you never meet a homosexual couple? Because the Empire forbids it, of course.

I'd like to see something dealing with that. Maybe a love story ends in tragedy as one or both lovers is dragged off to be executed for loving someone of the same sex. Or maybe someone joins the Stormcloaks so that Skyrim will be free from the Empire and he/she can finally be with his/her lover without fear.

I give you free reigns, author anons.

Except for you do, in Solstheim and the Shivering Isles.

And Martin Septim worshiped Sanguine and all.

Are you telling me I'm not allowed to make this request?

The couple you encounter in Solstheim are dead, and we don't know how open they were about their relationship. And does Martin Septim worshipping Sanguine really tell us anything about how the Empire view homosexual relationships now or what their laws are now that the Aldmeri Dominion are controlling them?

If you don't like me making a request about homophobia, that's okay, but I don't see why you have to reply to my prompt like this.

whatever whatever, anons. Beauty of fanfiction remember? :')

Does OP have anything more specific to their prompt? Race/kink/squick/stormcloak/imperial/thalmor?

LOL they did fix the nekkid courier glitch with the newest beta patch for the PC. (NOOOOOOOOOOOO.)

Thirding this prompt.

OP likes all the races. I don't have any specific kink requests for this prompt. The only true squicks I have are water sports, scat, vomit, guro and snuff (but I'm okay with death fic as long as it's not a sexual thing). I think both Stormcloak, Imperial and Thalmor could be interesting. Two Legion soldiers falling in love even though they know it's punishable by death definitely has potential, as does someone joining the Stormcloaks to fight for love. I really just want to read about someone preferably fighting or maybe just being a victim of really bad institunalized homophobia in a fantasy setting.

What an interesting prompt!

Fourthing. Do your naked couriers have a tendency to keep their hats and boots on? Mine do >.>

New poster, mine didn't have those on or anything else once. That was a first for me. I'm used to seeing him in his boots and hat at least.

Fifth this prompt

I'm not sure if angsty-fetishized-homophobia-suffering is more or less annoying than homophobia-is-required-for-realism, you shrieking fujoshi.

Yes, because it's definitely much worse than fetishized rape.

I'll just assume you're an angry Empire fan who can't control your emotional outbursts on the internet.

OP has asked for this prompt to be deleted since it's obviously just turning into wank, but thank you if you were thinking of filling it.

Livejournal won't show me the comment I know it's there, so just replying here.

I don't have to be an Empire fan (just queer, really) to find your prompt fetishistic and degrading. Also, as a survivor of sexual assault, I find your strawman on rape disgusting.

But whatever, have fun with your ~angsty gay sex~ prompt. Make it Nord-on-Nord and Stormcloak for that extra white cisgender flavor Skyrim fans seem to love so much, reducing a canon rich in racial diversity and a lack of queer oppression into fetishistic yaoi fanbait.

But it's extremely unlikely that the Empire would be a society that condemns same-sex relationships. In Dragonborn, there's a (dead) gay couple that used to live in Solitude and one of them considered moving back there.

Meme Announcements!

Never Our Tenderness (F!/DB Imperial/Ulfric Stormcloak) – 10a/?

Never Our Tenderness (F!/DB Imperial/Ulfric Stormcloak) – 10b/?

OP

Never Our Tenderness (F!/DB Imperial/Ulfric Stormcloak) – 10c/?

Never Our Tenderness (F!/DB Imperial/Ulfric Stormcloak) – 10d/?

Re: Struggle (9/9)

Anyone/Anyone - Dub-con, submission and loyalty

Re: The Chasing Game (2/?)

Re: M!DB/M!Naked Courier

Journal of an old warrior 4/?

Re: Just crack

Forbidden love

If it's okay to be gay in Skyrim, and considering that all marriage options are bi/pansexual, how co

Re: If it's okay to be gay in Skyrim, and considering that all marriage options are bi/pansexual, ho

Re: If it's okay to be gay in Skyrim, and considering that all marriage options are bi/pansexual, ho

Re: M!DB/M!Naked Courier

Re: If it's okay to be gay in Skyrim, and considering that all marriage options are bi/pansexual, ho

Re: F!DB/Ulfric, dunmer!FDB rapes Ulfric as an example [TW: non-con, public humiliation.]

Re: M!DB/M!Naked Courier

Re: M!DB/M!Naked Courier

Re: Forbidden love

Re: Forbidden love

Re: If it's okay to be gay in Skyrim, and considering that all marriage options are bi/pansexual, ho

Re: Forbidden love

Re: Forbidden love