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

Etiquette 2/??

[(Anonymous)]

"Cut these damn things," said Haakon, twisting around to show the elf his hands. Though the elf kept his daggers sharp, the ropes were thick, and the snow had soaked through Haakon's trousers by the time he heard a snap and felt the pressure around his wrists evaporate. He started to stand up, but the elf took one of his hands, examining the angry red line.

"I don't know any healing spells, I'm afraid."

Haakon hesitated. The kindness was unexpected. "It's fine," he said, standing.

The elf stood with him, huddling deeper into his wet cloak. "You weren't lying about knowing the way, I hope," he frowned.

"No, but-" Haakon glanced over his shoulder as he started walking- "it'll be a day before we reach an inn, in this weather."

The elf made a face. "I can't sleep in the snow," he said.

"I know." Haakon turned back. "There's a mine ahead."

They walked in silence for some time, the wind blowing at their backs. When even Haakon had crossed his arms tight over his chest, the elf shuffled through the snow to walk beside him. "I don't know how you can stand living here," he said quickly, as if to explain.

"Don't your people live in some kind of jungle?" Haakon raised an eyebrow at him.

"What's your point? I'm covered in icicles," the elf complained, lifting a frozen strand of blond hair and letting it fall.

Haakon was first to break the next bout of silence. "What's your name, elf?"

"Lenethir." His voice was half muffled by his cloak; he was hiding his chin in it, as much as he could. "And you?"

"Haakon."

"Very pleased to meet you under these charming circumstances, Haakon. Do you always look like that?"

Haakon glanced at him, taken aback. "Like what?"

"Well, a bit..." Lenethir glanced away, badly concealing a grin.

"A bit what??"

"Oh, never mind."

Haakon stared at him. "Never mind!"

"Yes, I'm sorry I brought it up."

Lenethir's eyes were playful and teasing, but Haakon scowled anyway, scratching his chin. He probably looked worse for wear - he'd been a prisoner for more than a day, and he could never be bothered to keep his chin free of stubble even when he was at home in Windhelm, and he was vaguely aware that his hair was a tangled black mess in need of cutting - but he didn't consider himself bad-looking. He just looked like a damn Stormcloak, that was all.

Evidently, elves had higher standards.

Lenethir changed the subject to Skyrim's generally objectionable taste in music, which Haakon argued against indignantly, but somewhere in the middle of a tangent about the inferiority of lutes Haakon interrupted, pointing: there was a door in the side of the cliff.

Inside it was the abandoned mine, which was so dark that they had to leave the door open to investigate it. The back of the cave was a pile of stones and smashed timbers where the ceiling had buckled, and there was little left - only a few tattered furs where there ought to have been bedrolls - but the elf flung off his cloak and flopped onto a fur like it was all he'd ever wanted. "Be a good fellow and build a fire," he said, closing his eyes.

"With what?" Haakon was picking through the debris: a wolf skull, a rotted cabbage in a barrel, an empty cart, a spit for the fire (but nothing to cook with, not that they had food).

"Oh." Lenethir sat up again and dug a small pack out of his cloak, and produced a rolled piece of parchment. He peered at the things Haakon was going through. "Set that cart over in the corner. And move the spit, if you don't mind."

Haakon frowned at him - he didn't care to follow orders unless they were Stormcloak orders, and particularly from an elf - but did as he was asked.

"Back up," said Lenethir. He unrolled the parchment and read some words Haakon didn't recognize, then pointed at the cart.

"Is this magic?" Haakon started to ask, but the fireball that shot out of the elf's hand cut him off. The cart burst into pieces, and the pieces burst into flames. Haakon stared at it. Lenethir was grinning. "I hate magic," Haakon concluded.