skyrimkinkmeme | Meme Announcements!

Meme Announcements!

ANNOUNCEMENTS: UPDATED 12/16/2017

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

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

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

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Requesting horror!fills here, with/without kinks.

It could be anything, vampire, the creepy marshes of morthal, draugr tombs, deals with the daedra, or perhaps something more psychological than supernatural.

Something that will chill my blood :'). Something Imma read at two in the morning and feel a bit nervy about, even though it's fiction set in fiction, and if there's kinks thrown in well kudos to YOU Anon

Any kink, any idea, any character! I really think Morthal would be an awesome setting for a spooky story though.

The only thing I'm not looking for is gore!horror. Because Saw/slashers/gory things are never that scary... they're just kinda gross. :L

That doesn't mean there can't be gore/fighting/whatever... just not situated all round that.

OP will stop rambling now :p

YES PLEASE. I'm gonna take a crack at this as soon as I can think of something, but in the meantime I hope this gets like a million fills.

OP hopes you're inspired soon!

On Morthal and psychological horror: if you talk to Hroggar while he's still Alva's thrall and after you meet Helgi, you can tell him you saw the ghost of his dead kid and he says something to the effect of, "Oh huh, well with Alva I don't need Helgi anymore." His own kid. That's scary.

Everything in Morthal creeps me out. From the Orchards bard to Alva and Hroggar to the Joric kid saying "Falion did it. Idk what it was. But he did It."

They all have issues. :L

Everywhere in Skyrim can be pretty creepy.

Nightmares in Dawnstar. Falkreath is centred around death

Think a good psychological horror could take place in Markarth, actually. Would definitely liked to see filled c:

They were leagues from anywhere, set out to camp in a patch of dirt high above a forest, with the sun warming their backs and the smell of woodsmoke lingering in the air. Breakfast was stale bread, salted beef, and mead, heated over the coals of a dying fire. Lydia stretched her legs while she ate. It was a good day.

The Thane of Whiterun seemed not to notice. He was sitting hunched over with a tin cup of mead cooling in his hand, staring ahead, at nothing, as though the life had been carved out of him.

Lydia kicked his boot, and he glanced at her like he'd forgotten she was there. "You can't sit here like this all day. My Thane," she added. They had been traveling together for nearly a month; her Thanes had faded into infrequency. He never indicated that he cared.

He looked deep into his cup, as if some answer were hiding in the bottom. "Will you go back to Whiterun and wait for me?"

With Whiterun came hot baths, fresh food, and lively company. As pleasant as it was to slay bandits and conquer mountaintops, ending each day covered in gore and glory, Lydia didn't need time to think. "Of course."

"Good." Her Thane poured the contents of his cup out on the ground. He started to rise, but hesitated, and leaned over to rest his blond head against hers for a moment, and then stood, tall and serious. Lydia felt a wave of affection for him. No one could call him warm - he hardly smiled and rarely spoke - but he had quiet ways of showing his thanks.

"I won't be long," he said, turning away.

"Be careful," Lydia answered, though the Dragonborn had little to fear, which was a good part of why she respected him. She packed her bedroll, collected her weapons, and left the camp.

Within a day she was nearly back to Whiterun. The plains stretched out below her; Dragonsreach was a shimmer on the horizon. She could hardly wait to drink with the guards, laugh at the Jarl's children, brag to Irileth of the things she had seen and the thieves she had slain. She was going down the mountain as fast as she could without breaking her neck, sliding on pine needles and pebbles.

Halfway down, a pale branch tripped her. There was nothing to catch; no desperate handholds to grab. She felt weightless for a moment, anchored to nothing, and then slammed face-first into the ground. A jutting boulder stopped her from smashing every bone in her body on the way down the mountain. She spat pine needles and dirt when she got up, rubbing her chin: she'd scraped it on something, though her armor had protected her from any other scratches.

And where was the damned thing that had done it to her? She stomped back up the slope, raking a hand through leaf-tangled hair - and there it was. A pale branch, she thought again; but now she saw that she was wrong. This branch was pale pink. Strips of wet red hung from the end, stringy muscle trailing over the dirt. A foot in a rough leather shoe was twisted at an unnatural angle.

She could not tell, coming closer, whether it was a man's or a woman's. The shoe was plain brown, the kind you could get for one or two gold. A farmer's shoe. As she was wondering where it had come from, and why it was there, she looked up.

A dark gaping mouth in the rock answered her.

The cave opening was narrow, but tall: many things could slide through it, dragging bloody trophies.

The Dragonborn would never shy from this. A true Nord would not run from this. She wrapped her hand around the hilt of her sword, suddenly aware that her palm was cold with sweat, and pulled it from its scabbard.

The darkness closed around her, and the sounds of the wind behind her became quiet and muffled. Her nose adjusted faster than her eyes: the cave smelled like wet rock and something else, something foul, a humid rot that stuck in her throat and hung there, making her want to gag.

There was a pale blue light ahead. She moved forward.

A few steps in she put her foot down on an edge she couldn't see. The feeling of rocks sliding out and dragging her boot with them nearly made her drop her sword, and she inhaled sharply and pulled back. Had she been going faster, she would have fallen, and she couldn't tell how far the drop was.

This is like... Such a perfect fill so far!

So creepy ;P I liked your Dragonborn and his aloof manner, and his subtle way of showing thanks. I thought the description of the cave that Lydia finds were brilliant as well... In a nervy kind of way :L

But yeah... It was really, really good. OP is INTRIGUED.

I'm glad! Sorry I'm taking so long, though; classes keep getting in the way.

This was foolish, she realized. Regardless of what the Dragonborn would have done, she, Lydia, would need a torch. She turned, looking for the shape of the ground.

A sound came out of the darkness like it was directly behind her: a loud grunt, deep and insistent and seeking, like a question. Lydia stepped back instinctively.

There was nothing under her foot.

That feeling of weightlessness returned, but she was far from weightless; she was heavy in her steel armor, and she was falling, kicking her legs, praying to Talos and Mara and all the gods not like this--

Her body slammed into a pile of bones. Even in pitch darkness she knew them by the sound they made, that hollow music as they jostled and clicked against each other. She lay still with something sharp pressed against her cheek, listening.

The wind was the only sound.

She pushed herself to her feet, grimacing at the loudness of the bones. She groped in the darkness for her sword--

Her arm ached. It was a sharp ache; an urgent pain. She touched it with her other hand, expecting blood. The skin was unbroken. As a test, she squeezed it.

Dizziness buckled her knees as she sucked in air through her teeth. That arm was no good. Fortunately it wasn't her sword arm, but the shield--

Where was her shield?

She looked up at the ledge she'd fallen from. It was a sliver of ice blue in the darkness, and there, on the precipice, a metal point glimmered.

Her sword.

Her heart sank. Her shield was likely up there with it. This was her reward for being brave; to be flung deep into the earth where no one could hear her prayers, weaponless and hurting.

She got to her feet again, feeling for a wall with one hand while her useless arm hung at her side, throbbing angrily. Her fingers found a cold wet wall. She dragged them along it as she walked, stepping on bones, snapping the thin ones under her feet. The grunting sound she'd heard had not come again, but it echoed in her ears. Though her eyes were opened wide, she could see nothing - not even the new thing she stepped on. She toed it experimentally. It was soft and it shifted under her boot.

She knew what it was before she bent down to touch it, telling herself not to bother, to just keep walking; but it was too difficult to stop herself from grabbing a handful of rough wool, pressing against the corpse underneath it. She could feel that the cloth was crusted with blood. It was impossible to tell how much man there was left, but she knew what this corridor was: table scraps, thrown away.

Or else they'd left their food here for later, whatever they were. She had to get out. She made her way through faster, disgusted to find that there were more bodies; so many bodies that they made up the floor, and her boots touched no stone until she had gone some way. The stench from earlier had gotten stronger.

When the croaking grunt came again it stopped her heart. It sounded farther away than it had, but she did not move again until it had been silent for a long moment, and even then she prayed with every step - not to any god, but to the ground, willing it not to betray her.

He'll go to Whiterun expecting you, and no one will be there. The thought made her eyes sting. She wiped her cheeks with the backs of her dirt-stained fingers, feeling young and inexperienced and cowardly to wish that her Thane would come and find her.

A light in the darkness began to glow ahead of her as she followed the tunnel. She had to tell herself not to hope, that it was not the way out. She had gotten too turned around; for all she knew, she was heading into the heart of the mountain.

As she got closer she saw that it was a room: pale light shone on rock ledges and spires. A tall cavern. That was better than this vile tunnel--

There was a shuffling sound ahead. A crunch. Lydia froze.

The unmistakable sound of chewing, made louder by the size of the cave, echoed around her. She crept forward.

Heavy leg bones, human bones, littered the entrance to the doorway, as if something had been too lazy to take them down to the heap at the end of the tunnel. Light filtered in from above, from some hole in the mountain.

But the floor was moving. Here, there, over there; in six or seven places; eight, nine-- huge shaggy bodies sat and lumbered and licked their thick fingers.

Trolls. Lydia's fear became hopelessness. Talos, and all the gods, had abandoned her.

But that was not the worst. Across the room, beyond the trolls, was a stone ramp, leading into another tunnel.

The only way out.

She had no sword, and her arm was broken. She dared not sink to her knees and cry - tears of anger, not fear, at how unfair it was. She could have taken a troll with her sword, but nine of them against her, unarmed and wounded, was a joke at her expense.

It took her a moment to stop despairing and ask herself a question: what would the Dragonborn do?

The Dragonborn had magic in his hands, muscles that never seemed to tire, a quick mind and a fearless heart, a voice that could fell trees. He would swing his greatsword in gleaming arcs, drop the blade to call fire to his fingertips, cut and burn his way to the surface.

Lydia could do neither, but she would not shame her Thane, her Jarl, or her ancestors by waiting for death.

She took up the heaviest bone with her good hand, her heart hammering, and walked into the light.

Holy shit Lydia, are you suicidal?!

I really enjoyed this :) The first and second parts were v. suspenseful and I was just like omgomgomg eurrghhh bodies omgomgomg

Really enjoyable. I'm going to be wondering what heppened to Lydia and her Thane for the rest of the evening ;p

Oh, Lydia. Oh God. Props for wanting to go down swinging rather than sobbing in the fetal position until they find her and eat her, but damn. Just. Oh, Lydia!

Damn it, Dragonborn, your Housecarl needs you! *goes to cry in the corner*

Ahem. Yeah. This was great, A!A.

(Maybe if she just runs really, really fast...?)

Op here.

I feel serious rage at your Dragonborn. Why did you send her away Dragonborn, why?! It's all his fault!

I thought at first that he'd make a reappearance. Sending her away seemed a liiiiittle suspicious at first...

In my head she totally got through to the other tunnel.

Okay she didn't... She's eaten by the trolls.

Good fill anon :) absolutely fantastic.

Wow. This was good. I hate trolls so much. Poor Lydia.

In my dirty head it went down like it did here:
http://skyrimkinkmeme.livejournal.com/1639.html?thread=926311#t926311

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