Meme Announcements!

[skyrimkinkmeme]

ANNOUNCEMENTS: UPDATED 12/16/2017

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

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

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

Comments

Re: Fire and Potions - 98/?

[(Anonymous)]

Watching Therion’s nimble footwork was second nature, although now he was looking for an advantage, instead of something to correct. It was difficult to reconcile the grown mer before him, with the one of the past. He looked nothing like the child with eager, amber eyes; the short elf that had spent his youth chasing after him, mimicking him, idolizing him. And yearning, more than anything else, to impress his older cousin. Most of all with his swordplay, which he had watched Therion practice with fevered devotion from the moment he could hold a sword.

Twisting to one side, Ondolemar only barely kept ahead of a thrust aimed at his heart. Circling behind a soldier, he trapped the startled Thalmor between them, ducking and weaving to use him as a shield. After a moment he heard the soldier grunt and found Therion bearing down on him from above, his cousin agilely leaping over the collapsing soldier. Eyes wide, Ondolemar tried to dodge to the side, but he was a moment too late.

Shouting, he felt hot pain shoot up the side of his leg. With great effort, he awkwardly rolled to his feet, trying to fend off the deadly flash of steel that greeted him. Stumbling back, he haphazardly managed to put his sword up in front of him, barely avoiding a lethal blow. The blade pierced painfully through his shoulder, missing his heart by mere inches. Ondolemar hopped back quickly, tearing himself free of the blade, before Therion could slice him apart. The sword slid free from his shoulder as he leapt backward, causing his chest to begin dripping with blood.

Limping back, he breathed heavily, barely able to hold his sword up between them. His senses were heightened by the adrenaline coursing in his veins. Most acutely, he felt the blood running down his chest and back, and his leg burned with every step he took.

Smiling, he shook his head and began to laugh.

Therion paused momentarily, taken aback.

“You’ve gotten better,” Ondolemar said, shaking his head.

Therion’s face contorted in agony as he lunged at Ondolemar, causing him to wince from his wound as he barely deflected the blow.

“I’m proud of you, Therion.”

His cousin’s jaw tensed. Avoiding his eyes, Therion struck again, this time sending Ondolemar’s sword flying across the room, disarming him. He loosed a firebolt from his hand toward Therion’s face, forcing him to dodge the flames, allowing Ondolemar time to raise a ward.

“I thought it appropriate to tell you, since I raised you…” he said, feeling his magicka depleting quickly. “In the most irresponsible way a child could be raised. And despite it all,” he said with a warm smile, “You turned out great.”

Time seemed to slow as it had before under Quaranir’s guidance. He could see Therion swing for his throat as his ward faltered, and he somehow managed to smile despite everything, watching as a single tear fell down Therion’s cheek.

His trance like state was interrupted by the shock of a familiar voice screaming his name.

“Talamagne…?” he wondered aloud in confusion, looking around.

Mid-swing, Therion was consumed in a roaring blue gale of wind, and he screamed in agony as he was sent hurtling across the cavernous chamber. He slammed into the cavern wall, loosing a bestial cry of pain from his throat, before falling to the ground.

Therion’s cries ceased and his eyes fell shut. He slumped unconscious, and Ondolemar found himself remembering to breathe for what felt like the first time in minutes.

Watching the blue wind dissipate, his his eyes followed it back to its source.

A tall figure towered over the fallen Thalmor and Psijic monks.

Shaking his head, he limped across the battlefield. Healing his leg with one hand and deflecting the attacks of random soldiers with the other, he cut his way through the remaining Thalmor, trying to catch a glimpse between the fighting and explosions of magic.

Pushing his way through a cluster of Psijics, Ondolemar found himself staring at Farengar and Talamagne.

“That crystal packs a punch,” Farengar said, looking pale.

“It was meant to be channeled by at least six mages,” Talamagne muttered weakly, stopping abruptly as he saw Ondolemar. He stared, mouth agape, looking over his wounds.