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 - 99/?

[(Anonymous)]

Ignoring the concerned look, Ondolemar walked up and grabbed him by the shirt. Pulling him down to his height, he kissed him passionately, ignoring the fighting around them.

“I take it you two know each other then,” Farengar said wryly.

Talamagne finally pulled away with a grin.

“Who, this old mer?” Ondolemar asked with a chuckle, as Talamagne began healing him. “Never seen him before in my life.”

A sudden commotion on the battlefield caught their attention.

Ondolemar craned his head, listening.

Things were suddenly quiet.

“FUS RO DAH!”

The shout tore through them. Scattered and dazed, they were helplessly thrown back at least ten feet. Groaning, Ondolemar saw Psijic Monks laying on the ground all around them. Dazed and unable to move, he watched Radac’s red robes appear from the corner of his eye, the mer stepping between the bodies as his soldiers killed the disoriented monks. He silently cursed, spying a group of mages standing behind the Ascendant in black robes adorned with gold ornamentation. The Mor Mallari, his private inner circle of warrior mages. Quaranir had not been the only who had thought to call for reinforcements, he thought dismally.

Pausing curiously, Radac stared down at him. Therion approached behind the Ascendant, loyally following the mage as though he were his shadow.

Barely able to move, Ondolemar looked for his allies.

Farengar was starting to move behind him, the Dwemer crystal still clutched in his hand.

Talamagne laid beside him, not far away.

Numbly, he saw that he was pinned under a collapsed stone pillar, and he gathered his little remaining magicka as he watched blood pool beneath the mer’s head.

Shakily, he stretched out his arm, gold light flowing from his hand and into the mer, it’s glow as faint as Talamagne’s remaining life force.

A boot crushed his arm and Radac loomed over him, laughing in sinister amusement as he struggled to reach Talamagne.

“Who is this one?” Radac asked, pointing at the unconscious mer.

“Talamagne,” Therion replied, with an air of professionalism. “A powerful wizard. We served together in the Great War.”

Ondolemar recognized he was trying to give the Ascendant enough details that he would not prompt him any further.

Radac snorted.

“I’d forgotten, I have to phrase myself carefully with you. Who is he to you?” he asked, adding, “And who is he to him? This cousin of yours, who raised you.”

“Talamagne is a friend and family,” Therion said, looking away from his cousin’s pleading gaze. “He's Ondolemar’s husband.”

Radac sneered as Ondolemar snarled up at him, desperately trying to reach Talamagne with his spell.

“And this one, the Nord,” Radac said curiously, pointing at the wizard trapped beneath his spell. “All of us Altmers but him. Who is he and what is he doing here?” He glanced at Therion. “That was not rhetorical.”

“Farengar Secret-Fire. High wizard of Skyrim,” Therion said, Ondolemar listening to him carefully feign disinterest. “I don’t know why he’s here.”

“Hm,” Radac said thoughtfully. For a moment it seemed as though he were satisfied with his answer.

“Who is he to you?” he seemed to ask on a whim.

Therion’s mouth twitched.

Radac looked at him in surprise.

“Who is he to you?” he repeated, impressed at his resistance.

Therion looked down at Farengar, appearing unable to breath.

“Wait,” Radac said, quirking a brow. “Is this Nord… in love with you?”

“I don’t know,” Therion answered quietly.

“...do you love him, Thrynn?” Radac asked in disbelief, staring at him intently.

Trying to hold his tongue, Therion looked away, before uttering a pained, “Yes.”

Radac sighed heavily.

There was a loud snapping of fingers as he released the ward spell pinning Farengar.

Meeting Therion's gaze, Radac glowered at him in disapproval.

“Kill him," he commanded, the words simple, but a seething anger roiling in his tone as he looked at the Nord in blue robes.

Wordlessly, Therion stepped forward, watching Farengar rise to his feet. There was no point in pleading with Radac, he knew all too well. It made his commands more sinister. Steeling himself, he ignored the pounding in his head and sick dread in his chest. He had to focus to make the kill as quick and painless as possible.