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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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From: (Anonymous)

She's dressing a deer on the cliffs just north of Dragonbridge when she hears raised voices. Freyja drops into a crouch amidst the scrubby conifers, listening. The noise seems to be coming from the road. Bandits don't usually strike in this area - the town guards are nearly within shouting distance - but she slips through the trees to investigate, allowing the pine needles to muffle her stealthy tread.

They're at the crossroads: Thalmor justiciars, a mage and two soldiers in golden armor. And between them a man in filthy rags, hands bound before him. One of the soldiers has him by the collar. The justiciar snarls something into his face, and she watches the prisoner snarl right back, teeth bared.

With gauntleted hand the elf slams a brutal backhand blow across his cheek. The captive staggers, drops to one knee; his bound wrists scrabble in the dirt as he fights to stay upright, head hanging down between his shoulders. One of the elves says something, and then all three of them laugh. Freyja creeps closer. Presses her cheek to the mossy trunk of an ancient pine.

"...your betters," the elf is saying. "Now get up, unless you'd like a more comprehensive lesson."

Freyja can feel her jaw tighten. It's not the first time she's encountered the Thalmor; these days it seems impossible to avoid them, especially in Skyrim. But the strength of her fury surprises her. Perhaps it's only the same simmering restlessness that has dogged her for the past two months, even as she's carved through tombs and bandit camps and Forsworn hideouts. But something makes her slip a dagger into her bracers, and step out from the trees.

The mage spots her first. For a split second, alarm flashes in the justiciar's eyes. "Walk away," he barks, and the other two whirl to look at her. Their prisoner struggles to his feet. Freyja can feel his gaze as well, but she dares not meet his eyes. "What are you doing?" she asks. Steps forward.

"Taking this man to be interrogated," says one of the soldiers, hand on his sword.

Freyja allows herself to move closer, keeps her stance loose and upon. Curious, not threatening. A simple hunter startled from the woods. "What has he done?"

"He has knowledge of a cult of Talos. He will tell us what we need to know, or he will die. The choice is his."

She can't keep the antagonism from her tone. "And what right do you have to drag people away like this?"

The elf's face hardens. "By Imperial law banning Talos, we have the right to do whatever we want. And now you'll walk away, if you know what's good for you."

Freyja is in the midst of them, now. She can hear the captive's uneven breathing at her back. Her skin is tingling with anticipation of a fight, but she takes a breath and makes herself shrug. Turns away.

And in the instant when their line of sight is blocked by her body, she slips the dagger from her sleeve and cuts the prisoners' bonds.

"HERE!" She shoves the blade into his hands as the mage shouts in fury, drives an elbow into one of the soldiers' faces, lunges free. Her sword sings as she tears it from its sheath. An elven blade comes whistling down towards her face and she barely throws up her shield in time; the sword hammers against it with a thud and a force that threatens to send her to her knees. Freyja gives ground, recovers her balance, and then the battle begins in earnest.

A blow from her shield sends the Thalmor soldier reeling and she kills him almost immediately, burying her sword in his side when he staggers. The others are not so reckless. They are flanking her by the time she turns from their fallen comrade; Freyja dives behind a tree trunk, tasting lightning as a shock spell sizzles past her. Bits of pine bark fly. She knows from experience that the mage is her most dangerous enemy and breaks into a sprint as she spins free from cover, closing the distance as fast as she can. Another shock spell curls its purple fingers into her armor. Freyja grits her teeth in agony, drops her shoulder, and rams into the taller Mer with all her strength.