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Skyrim Page 5 - "NAKED! Naked naked naked "

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“Potema's Catacombs,” Madanach admitted. “Left fully open, but no one ever goes down there, place has been locked up tight since that whole Potema trying to come back business, and best of all, Liriel's key to the gate is right here. She got given one when they sent her down there, and no one ever asked for it back. So I crept off down there one day while visiting Argis and set a small portal up. Only takes a couple of people at a time, but that's all I need. I imagine my son, young Jordis and the esteemed Jarl of Solitude will be quite happy to provide any further assistance that might be required in the way of, say, shutting the docks, searching everyone wanting to get a ship, possibly having patrols at Dragon Bridge, getting a party together to intercept them before they cross the Karth, that sort of thing. So daughter. When your genius of a father has done all this and brought Liriel home, could he possibly have the torc and throne he was fighting for while you were doing who knows what back please?”

“For most of my lifetime, you were in prison, developing a Skooma habit and murdering your own people,” Eola said sternly, but there was the hint of a smile there. “Bring Liriel home and we'll all sit down and discuss it, hmm?”

If she still wanted to call the Reach home after all this. But whatever happened, Madanach knew one thing – he'd see Liriel free and happy no matter what the cost... and anyone who got in his way was going to pay dearly.

~~~~~~~~~

A/N: Cwm Prendwemyn - Deepwood Vale, second city of the Reach and former Forsworn camp far to the north. Home to Keirine the teleporting Hagraven, so obviously she was ideally placed to set up a teleport between there and her brother's city, Markarth.

Next chapter, the action starts hotting up as the rescue mission launches in earnest.

So my M!DB is a tank. You know the type. He jumps headfirst into any brawl. He frequently headbutts Frost trolls into submission, things like that.

Is he painfully outnumbered in a bandit camp? CHALLENGE ACCEPTED, RAWR. Is he in a Dwemer ruin crawling with Warmonger Falmer? CHALLENGE ACCEPTED, RAWR. Was that a swarm of Charus Hunters? CHALLENGE ACCEPTED, RAWR.

A pretty girl who wants to accompany him on his adventures? O_O CHALLENGE ACC- huhwut? Oh Gods. *Tongue-tied, blushing, foot-shuffling*

Give me a badass M!DB who can punch his way out of any battle being totally thrown for a loop over a small, pretty girl. Blushing, lost for words, wide-eyed flustered stare when she flirts... all that good stuff.

I'd like it if M!DB is human or Mer; preferably a big guy. Bonus points for him being a Nord, Altmer, or Dunmer. The girl should be petite cute, and incredibly sweet; also human or mer.

Bonus: At some point in their adventures, he gives her hands on pointers on using a sword and blusters the whole way through. She eventually notices his shy behavior around her and begins to tease him a little because she likes it when this big, tough badass blushes like a boy.

Smut isn't necessary but welcome, looking more for cuteness/fluff.

Squicks: Beast races, dub/non-con, mutilation, torture, bathroom play, necrophilia/death/gore.

C'mon A!A, it'll be fun. :D

Oh man OP I've had a Frozen AU whirling around in my head for ages.

-----

Ulfric had been waiting for her to come to him since he heard the Greybeards call out for the Dovahkiin and discovered who that blessed person was. He had known as soon as the news reached his ear that if he met his end from any blade, it would be hers.

Now here she was, walking across his hall as though it was her own, head held high and every step ringing with power and self-assurance. Such a drastic change from when he last saw her cowering next to her mother as he challenged her father to a duel that for half a heartbeat Ulfric did not recognise her.

Her silvery-blonde hair was pulled into a loose braid that hung over one shoulder, contrasting sharply with the oily gleam of her ebony armour. In one hand she held a vicious-looking sword, and the other was curled into a half-fist, shining with magic.

She looked every inch a warrior queen of Skyrim and for a moment Ulfric wondered whether, had things gone differently, he would have been able to bend his knee to her.

"Ulfric Stormcloak," she called out, her voice ringing with a whisper of the power that had coloured his adolescence in High Hrothgar. "You have committed crimes against Skyrim and her people. You have murdered your rightful High King and rebelled in treason against Skyrim and the Empire. Do you have anything to say for yourself?"

This was her show, Ulfric realised as he got to his feet, despite the fact that Tullius and Rikke were right behind her. They were window dressing; the final battle came down to him and her. How long had he thought Tullius his foil?

Ah, but then, he never could have anticipated that the pale-faced little princess would become Dovahkiin.

Abruptly, he recalled a new song the bards had begun singing - in hushed voices, to be sure, at least in Windhelm - stronger than one, stronger than ten, stronger than a hundred men.

"I have fought to save Skyrim and her people. To fight against injustice and oppression."

Her jaw twitched and the light in her hand briefly grew brighter as she struggled to contain herself. Behind her, Tullius moved to step forwards - only for her to fling out a hand to stop him, never taking her eyes off Ulfric.

"You. Murdered. My. Father," she hissed, and he could have sworn her eyes flashed golden.

"I did what needed to be done."

"You--!" she sucked in a breath, steadied herself. "You are beaten, Jarl Ulfric. Your city is breached and your rebellion is defeated."

"And you will hand Skyrim to the Thalmor," he replied. "And join the Empire in its downfall."

"The only one who will fall today is you."

Ulfric shrugged. "I've long since made my peace with what a day like this would bring. I ask but one thing."

"And what," asked the Dovahkiin, disdain dripping from her words. "Might that be?"

"Meet me in honourable combat."

A high, shocked laugh pierced the air in the Palace of Kings. The Dovahkiin stared at him as though he was out of his mind, shaking her head slightly as one might at a particularly outrageous court fool.

"Honourable combat?" she echoed. "As my father did? Well - you'll have your wish."

"Jarl Elsa!" barked Tullius, taking her shoulder in a hard grip. "You can't be serious."

"I am, General," she replied stiffly, shrugging him off, and Ulfric found himself smiling at her fierce independence. "I think you will find I can enter this battle on more than even footing."

"Then may Talos guide our hands," interjected Ulfric, stepping down from his throne and taking his war axe in hand. There would be some honour salvaged today; to die by the hand of the Dovahkiin would be no mean death.

"Yes," she murmured in response. "May he."

She lowered her head for a moment and he allowed it, thinking her making a prayer should the battle go his way instead - then she raised it again and for one heart-stopping moment he knew what was coming but had no time in which to stop it or defend himself.

"Iiss Slen Nus!"

Desperately, he dove to the ground, hoping the Shout might just graze his head, but the gods were not with him. Stendar's mercy had run out; Mara's compassion was given to another; Talos's gaze did not fall upon him.

Ulfric Stormcloak froze on the ground like a craven soldier and could not even look into the eyes of his High Queen as she stood over him with her sword at the ready; not even when she plunged it through his heart.

"I hope the gods have some mercy left for you, Ulfric Stormcloak," he heard her say, her voice already becoming dim and distant. "For I certainly have none. You are a traitor and your name will be forgotten."

As he lay there, frozen by her Thu'um and then by pain and blood loss and her sword, a thousand thoughts of fear and regret assaulted him, but the last thought to go through Ulfric Stormcloak's mind was another line of Elsa's song.

Beautiful, powerful, dangerous, cold, ice has a magic, can't be controlled...

--

A!A apologises on the one hand for how curb-stompy the battle is, but otoh A!A cannot write battle scenes to save her life and also thought Elsa deserved to just blow Ulfric away.

This is set before the events of the Skyrim, so the NPC characters are a bit different and I have included OCs of my own in there.
This was all done on my phone as my computer is clunked out for the time being, so I can't check for grammar mistakes - ah well...
Enjoy~

~€~€~€~

"Hey... Hey, Imperial."

No answer from the filthy bundle of orange and yellow robes. The hulking Orc gave the bundle a kick, considered gentle for his warrior kind but was sharp to the flank of the foetal positioned man. The priest of Arkay yelped from the soft pain of it, alas he should have known better than to expect such treatment.

"Get up you milk-drinking priest!" His deep, rough as gravel voice commanded the cowering man, accompanied with the undertone of a warning growl. Angelo turned to get on his knees then shakily stood up like a new-born colt; by Arkay, how pathetic he must be in the cold, cobalt blue eyes of the Orc towering over the puny Imperial.

Gods, he has to be the tallest Orsimer he has ever came across since he left Bruma! He must be taller than his Chieftain, as the Imperial roughly recalls how the Largashbur leader was just above the average height of a Nordic man. This man was hunching to avoid hitting his head in the cellar the priest was chucked in; the cellar was about 7ft deep under the Orcs' Long House. The Orc must be about 7ft 3, bulky with tempered muscle as strong as his green scaled armour, in contrast to the Imperial's sinewy and short stature of 5ft 6.

Angelo looked up to him, self-blame and fear returning to eat away at him while he selected his first words to the Orc carefully. Angelo certainly did not want to evoke his rage anymore than he already has to his whole tribe by unintentionally insulting them about their ways in worshipping a Daedric Prince.

"W-wh-when will I p-pay for my fine?" He nervously inquired, fidgeting with his long fingers, dirt caked under his usually clean finger-nails.

"It's gonna take place outside and now; you will pay the price for your audacity of dictating my people on worshipping our god, Malacath." Angelo cringed at his mentioned crime. He was lead by the teal-coloured giant out of the cellar through the twin-cellar doors, stepping out into the crisp, refreshing cold air of Skyrim.

Angelo came to accept that he was over-zealous in his mission to reform the Orcs to accept and worship the Aedra, particularly the Divine of Arkay. Oh gods, it was more of a daft dream of his to help people to reform from their Daedra worshipping ways. He really should have listened to Brother Valintino's voice of reason on reality and tamed his youth-cursed pride to realise that this quest of his was futile. The Orcs are just as stubborn as the Nords and Dark Elves; set in their ways of what they believe in and so live by the code Malacath has set for them. After all, Malacath is one of the Daedra to be least concerned about - he was an Aedra god before so, technically, he is not a true Daedric God.

The scruffy and filthy priest hurries after the Orc, tugging the hood of his thin robes taut around his handsome face to block out the worst of the cold. The tall Orc stopped to wrap his left arm around the shivering human, the weight of it equivalent to a hefty water carrier. It intimidated Angelo, however he could not resist nestling into the body heat radiating off the Orc in heavy waves that washed over the puny priest.

The beast of an elf chuckles, his bulky torso rumbling against the Imperial.

"Oh don't worry, little priest... You won't be cold for long." He states to the young man, a sinister glint flickering in his eyes. The implication of it caused Angelo to shudder in trepidation from what is to come. As they approached the front of the Longhouse they spot the Chieftain, strangely wearing animal furs instead of his proud Orsimeri armour, sitting in a chair with possibly all of the other males standing by as they stared at the approaching Imperial. The Chieftain looks up from his tankard, the yellow war paint crinkling around his monstrous face as he grins menacingly at the priest.

"Ah Broug, I see that you are warming him up." The Chieftain says with amusement, the others lowly chuckling at the joke known to them but unknown to the terrified and confused Imperial. His green-blue eyes dart from one Orc to the next, noticing that most of them were wearing either loose fitting clothes or furs. The rise of panic was swirling in his chest, the icy waves slapping at his pounding heart into beating faster and faster in alarm.

Oh dear Arkay, what has he gotten himself into. Before he was imprisoned, the Chieftain explained to the priest that he was not going to pay the Blood Price; as he has not violated the simple commands of not stealing, not killing anyone and not physically assaulting anyone without reason. So his crime was mere but still has elected an unknown punishment that caused the Orcs to be hyped up in organising it. If Angelo had enough gold on him he would have paid his fine but that was another option denied to him by the Largashbur Stronghold.

"Alright priest, come by my side." The Orc leader commanded the Imperial, malice flashing in his singular mahogany eye. With reluctance Angelo left the side of the Orc named Broug, inching towards the Chieftain with his shoulders fallen forward in a resigned manner. He looked to the Orc, his face set in a pleading expression directed at the Chieftain who crassly laughs at the cowardly Imperial.

"...Ha ha, alright milk-drinker, here's what's gonna happen. Since you say your ways of Arkay is stronger than our ways of Malacath, how 'bout you test your strong will in your god against my strong will in my god. Strength and bravery is not involved; only endurance. So, are you prepared to demonstrate the strength of your superior beliefs?" The Chieftain snidely asks the Imperial, as if there was an alternative. After inhaling deeply to calm his jittering nerves, the priest nods his consent. Angelo just wanted this to be done and over with so he could leave and never return.

The Chieftain claps his meaty hands together as he barks a laugh of excitement. "Good! At least you have integrity in paying the price. Now, let's get started."

Just for clarification, your kinks include poop/blood/domination?

Angelo, a fresh-faced Imperial priest of Arkay, has gotten himself on the wrong side of the Largashbur Stronghold.
How, you ask? By unintentionally insulting the Orcs' worshipping of Malacath.

Thankfully he dodges the Blood Price, but has to endure a punishment that fitted enough to his claim of "My ways in the Divine of Arkay are stronger than your worship of Malacath..."

Well, the Chieftain and his men will throughly demonstrate their strong will over the puny human's.

Races: Imperial and Orsimer
Kinks: size kink, humiliation, rimming, prostate stimulation, forced orgasms, dub-con, group sex, slash, domination, punishment, anal, oral, facials, exhibition, piercings, tattoos, copious amount of semen.

Ok so clearly I'm too dumb to figure out how to post prompts. I are noob.

A!A, would you mind if I wrote a prompt here in a comment? N-not that writing a prompt would force you to making a fill for it, of course I'd be happy if a fill of my favourite pair following the ideas of my own pervert-wicked head would be made, but you don't have to of course. c:

"xx

Thrynn is a babe. There needs to be more Thrynn lovin' in this here kink meme.

Gimme Thrynn in any kind of fic. Could be him refusing to kill women and children (swoon), cause at heart, he's a good guy. Could be he's crushing on the DB when she joins the guild. Anything... Just give this anon some Thrynn.

No squicks. No kinks... Just Thrynn fic. Ok? Ok. Thanks.

O_O THIS IS GETTING FILLED!!! -squeeeeeeee- I hadn't checked because I'd given up hope. THANK YOU ANON! Now, write! Gogogogogogogogo! :D

So glad that OP is pleased!

Sweet merciful kink! O_O Someone needs to do this!

G-Go right ahead anon

I've thought about this a lot with my Nord PC. I kinda hate how they force you to do the first quest with Brynjolf in order to progress with the main quest line with Esbern and all. (unless there's a way around that and I never knew because I'm a derp-nut). Either way, this prompt very much intrigues me.

I can't promise you that I'd fill it or that even if I did, it'd be any good...but I would really like to try and fill more prompts here and this one, besides others I have bookmarked really reaches out to me and my playing style which makes writing easier.

Brynjolf is my favorite guy and I always wished he coulda been a marriage option. I guess, before I think about attempting this, I wanna ask: is smut necessary? I'm not really proud of my smut and sometimes feel uncomfortable writing it.

Also, does OP want it to be known to others that the main character is DB? And does OP want DB to be named? Or remain unnamed?

Hee! This is hilarious. I love the part where Enthir mimics J'Zargo's speech by speaking in the third person. And the way their fighting is mistaken for foreplay is perfect for the Meme.

I've always thought the lack of doors was a problem with the College of Winterhold. Perhaps you might need to keep an eye on sneaky apprentice mages, but even the teachers lack doors on their sleeping quarters! I don't know how anyone ever manages to get privacy there, without seducing the Arch-Mage or going down to the Midden (eww).

Does OP have any objection to Thalmor? I have an idea in mind and, well... yeah. Thalmor seems to be the faction that would have the most issue with a mixed-breed child.

So, are we going to get a new part anytime soon? This one is pressing 26 pages where the others were cut off at 22.
And is the Fill-A-Thin times out??

does it have to be our OTP to end all OTPs?

Because I've got a pairing that I've been meaning to write the death scene for, but they're more a backstory for the current pairing (of the one who survives).

but yeah, I'll still make it horrendously traumatic, scouts honor.

Linwe. Or any member. I need more of these atypical Altmer males in my life.

Maybe the F!DB is just curious about them. Maybe she's the guildmaster already and wants to eliminate the competition.

Whatever... they can get along, or not. They can have sexy times or not..

ANYTHING. Just gimme some Somerset Shadow action. They don't have nearly enough love.

hentai-foundry . com/pictures/user/flick/123570/Skyrim-has-you/page/all
hentai-foundry . com/pictures/user/flick/124695/Skyrim-has-you-2/page/all

A story for one or both of these, if you will.

Loving this. There can never be enough Teldryn fills. Never.

When Nazir turned around, the Dragonborn stood before him, naked and glistening in the light from the large fireplace in her bedroom. She was in a fighting stance, a dagger in her left hand, blade down, but turned toward Nazir. Her eyes were ablaze - he could tell she was more than angry with him, still extremely tense from lack of release.

Nazir smiled and stepped forward.

"So my dear Leki, has it come to this? Will you really run me through?"

"I swear to Talos, Nazir, I will stab you just because I can." She hissed.

"I suppose that is one of the risks of angering your sexy assassin lover..." He said, raising his eyebrow, continuing to smile devilishly. "But dear Leki, will you allow me to pay for my sin? Can I not find a way to make up for my wrong?"

"Why do you keep calling me Leki?"

"Well, it is a story of my homeland," he began, slowly moving his hands up to his headwrap and loosening the folds. "A story of my people and our beliefs." The headwrap removed, revealing his hair closely shorn on the sides and warrior plaits on the top of his head, like the plait he kept his beard in. He paused, looking at her. She still did not move, but listening. He began to unbuckled his armor. "The Ra Gada, or Redguards in the common tongue, did not originally inhabit Hammerfell. We came from Yokuda - long has it been that our homeland lay at the bottom of the sea - so long that few still speak the Yoku tongue and many have abandoned the old ways, though many remember pieces, wandering the Great Alik'r and desperate to hold on to our Ra Gada identity."

His armor now lying on the floor beside him, he began to unbutton his traditional shirt, slowly revealing his broad, toned chest. Though she had not moved, a trained killer staking her claim, he could perceive the change in her eyes, the intrigue.

"But long before the Ra Gada came to Hamerfell, there was a great war on Yokuda between my people and the Lefthanded Elves, native to the island. They were fierce enemies of my people, threatening our existence. But before we were prepared to fight the enemy from without, we had to face the enemy from within." He slid his arms out of the shirt and like a falling leaf, the garment floated to the ground behind him.

"The Na-Totambu, or Ra Gada royalty, were engaged in fierce infighting - unable to unite and repel the greater enemy. So concerned with the politics of who would lead the fight against the Elves, the Na-Totambu ferociously fought one another." His fingers slid slowly to his waist, loosening the large buckle.

"All seemed lost until the goddess daughter of Tall Papa intervened. She is called, Leki, Saint of the Spirit Sword." He paused, the air still pregnant with the rich, golden cadence of his voice. The Dragonborn's eyes changed from rage to incredible curiosity.

"Yes, she tipped the balance, so evenly matched were the sword masters that they would never have bested one another. She revealed the power of the Ephemeral Feint, allowing a victor to emerge and my people to finally unite to fight victoriously against the Elven enemy." The buckle now undone, his pants were loose. A quick unbuttoning and all that Nazir had on were his thin leather undergarment, low on his hips like a tribal loin cloth.

"What was the Ephemeral Feint?" She asked, despite her best efforts.

"Ah," he started, taking a step out of his pants and closer to her. "The Ephemeral Feint is a very quick maneuver that disarms the enemy with a deceptive blow, distracting the target and granting victory." Nazir stepped close to her, smelling the fragrant bath upon her heated skin. He pressed his chest to the dagger, the honed point resisting the skin at first, then ever so slightly piercing his flesh - a drop of his blood tricked down his chest. Neither moved.

"You see, sweet Leki. You are the Sword Maiden who saved this order - while we were distracted by the politics and infighting, you could see the real enemy and tipped the balance so we could unite and exist into a new era." She pulled the blade ever so slightly from his skin. Released, he slowly knelt before her.

"Also, you are the master of the Ephemeral Feint. I do not know what the actual maneuver is - long has it been lost to the Ra Gada - but any goddess who could disarm and distract the Great Nazir, conquering me and making me your eternal slave, well... I think you must be Leki, coming to save this Redguard."

Nazir put his hands gently in her thighs and leaned forward, his mouth on her sex. He kissed her delicately, looking up to see her reaction. She shivered from the sensation. With his eyes like a thousand midnights, still upon her own, he slid his tongue into her fleshy folds, vigorously making amends for not letting her complete her earlier endeavors in the bath. She closed her eyes, breathing deeply, relishing his trained movement. With every rise in her chest and low moan, Nazir could feel his own excitement grow. His tongue steadily caressing the pink bud of her clit. She grew increasingly wet, Nazir greedily drinking her in, his fingers tightening on her thighs as he steadied her. Finally, he could feel her tense in a way that signaled her coming orgasm. Her breathing became shallow and she bent forward slightly, dropping the dagger and grabbing the side of his face.

In one swift movement, Nazir leapt from his position, picking her up and running her backward to the bed only a few meters back. He caught her off guard and right before she came. Before she knew it, Nazir had her pinned to the bed.

She screamed out like a Saber Cat, denied an orgasm for the second time. She writhed under his grasp, but he had her firmly by the wrists, her legs pressed together and he straddled her thighs.

"Now, now my dear. All good things come to patient little girls. Or is that good girls come with a little patience?" He smiled, leaning forward and running his tongue along her cheek.

"Nazir!" she screamed.

"Oh Leki, it will be so much better because of the wait, the anticipation..." he drew the words out low and with a soft rumble in her ear, his erect length pressing into her thigh. She moaned.

"Please Nazir..." she pleaded.

"Please Nazir what? What is it you want me to do?" He nibbled the fleshy part of her earlobe, his breath hot on her skin.

"Please Nazir... I want to come..."

"Yes, that's evident by the movement of your hips and the musky heat between your legs. But how do you want to come?" His tongue tracing down her neck.

"I want you to...to..." she trailed off, moaning as his mouth enclosed one of her nipples, suckling it.

"Yes?" he asked, removing his mouth and looking up at her.

"Mmm...I...want...oh, by the Eight," he was suckling her nipple again, "I want.. you to fuck me."

"Oh sure, oh sure. But how? Shall I take you like this, facing, with my length slowly entering you, teasing your hot, wet little Dragon Lily?" He moved to the other nipple, teasing it with his tongue. "Or, shall I flip you over and take you masterfully, my rock hard cock unforgiving as it plumbs the depths of your sticky sweet roll?" He pulled hard on her nipple with his teeth, she cried out with pleasure.

"I...I don't care. I have to have you deep inside of me. Nazir, now. I beg of you."

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