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

Songs for Nomads 4.7

[(Anonymous)]

In an instant Freyja is standing over the justiciar, sword at the ready. It's Eitri who turns to the corner and raises the torch, and Eitri who starts forward with a cry, dropping to his knees beside the man shackled helplessly to the wall. "Freyja! The key," he says, voice tight with urgency.

The prisoner turns his face to the wall, eyes squeezed shut against the torchlight. "What are you doing here?" he spits. Surprisingly hostile. There’s a bloody knife on the table just beside him.

"Rescuing you," says Eitri, as Freyja rifles the justiciar's pockets. "What's your name?"

The man's voice grates like a rusted hinge. "If this is a trick--"

Freyja fishes out the key and seizes the dead elf's robes, wrenching the body into view. "It's not a trick." The prisoner stares for a moment, blinking suspiciously. He reminds her of someone, though she can't think who. Freyja hands off the key and turns to the door, keeping watch as Eitri sets to work on the manacles.

"What's your name?" he repeats.

There's a long pause. "Thorald."

Freyja wheels. "Thorald Grey-Mane?"

"Yes - I - what in Oblivion-" he looks bewildered to the point of tears, unraveling beneath the shock of his unexpected rescue. Then he seems to master himself. "Do I know you?"

"I used to play with your little sister," Freyja breathes, faintly sick. She remembers Thorald as a boy not quite come of age, with a shock of white-blond hair and bulky shoulders that gave the lie to his youthful leanness. When she was twelve she even went through a stage when she was rather tongue-tied around him, though she doubts he remembers her name - he was a good five years older. Now he's barely recognizable. His braids are clumped and dark with grease and blood, his body stringy like a big man who's lost muscle weight too fast. One side of his face is a mass of half-healed bruising, splotched yellow and brown and blue.

He squints at her through the eye that isn't swollen shut. "With Olfina? Wait – no, Torstein and Sonje's little girl, what was your - Freyja?"

She nods.

"I thought - did my family send you?"

"I didn't even know you were missing. We're looking for someone else."

The man crumples back against the wall when Eitri finally releases the shackles, cradling his arms against his chest and hissing as the feeling returns to his fingers. "Who?" he grits.

"My cousin," says Eitri.

"There's a block of cells just outside," Thorald says. "Two - three guards, maybe--"

Freyja shakes her head. "That's where we came in."

Eitri puts a supportive arm behind Thorald's shoulders, clearly torn between helping and pressing for information. "Where else would they keep him?" he pleads.

Thorald shakes his head. "If he's not in those cells, he isn't here - prisoners are all in this wing."

"But how can you be sure? If they've kept you here the whole time--"

"Because there's no screaming from the other wing," Thorald says, harshly.