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skyrimkinkmeme CLOSED FOR PROMPTS,
BUT OPEN FOR FILLS
HELPFUL TIPS
BUT OPEN FOR FILLS
HELPFUL TIPS
>Please post your prompts with the paired characters and any notable kinks/trigger warnings in the title.
>When posting prompts, always remember to add kinks you're both looking for and wanting to avoid in a potential fill.
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>If you have any other questions about posting, visit the HOW TO KINK MEME THREAD, under the Page Summary on your left.
>When posting prompts, always remember to add kinks you're both looking for and wanting to avoid in a potential fill.
>When filling, please remember to add your story tags: characters, relationship types, kinks, series and universe (ie: skyrim)
>Our character limit here at LJ is 4300.
>If you have any other questions about posting, visit the HOW TO KINK MEME THREAD, under the Page Summary on your left.
Smother 3/?
Date: 2014-01-20 05:52 pm (UTC)The edges of shock were starting to wear off and she didn't trust what she would do when she started to feel this. When she started to hurt.
Slipping away was easy. The party had become rowdy since her father's speech and she found she could easily slip through the crowds of merry nobles without anyone stopping her.
The walk back to her chambers seemed shorter than usual. She encountered no one on the way. She twisted the door handle and stumbled into her room. She stood in the doorway and stared inside with blank eyes. She was surprised to see it was just how she left it. Everything felt like it should have shifted somehow.
She stepped inside.
It was all so neat, so proper, so right.
She picked up the hairbrush on her dresser. It had been a gift from her parents on her sixteenth birthday. The handle was silver; solid, cold and beautiful. She slammed the handle into the mirror. Glass fell like venomous rain to the floor. And there it lay as she stared down at it, reflecting her blank eyes back to her.
There was a vase on the windowsill. She smashed that too.
And the delicate trinket box on the dresser. And the bottle of expensive wine on the table. And the glass inkwell on the desk.
It was unnerving at smash something and not hear it, to cut yourself and not feel it. But there it was: a gouge at the base of her index finger. The hairbrush fell from her hand and her eyes watched it hit the stone as her ears told her it never landed at all.
She looked back at her hand and at the blood oozing from the cut. She watched it trickling down her finger and fill the lines of her palm.
Oh, gods. This was all real.
It hit her with winding force. She gasped and held her hand over her mouth, afraid someone might hear. She could taste her blood on her lips.
Copper. Bitter. Iron. Steel.
Steel.
She stood amongst the wreckage with bloodstained lips and shaking legs. She opened her wardrobe and reached below the dresses and gowns. She groped until her fingers wrapped around the handle of a blade. She pulled it out and laid it in her hands, enjoying the comforting weight.
Then she placed it on the table and took a breath.
She ran her hand over the decadent fabrics in her wardrobe. Velvet, silk, satin, lace. Under those skirts, she knew armour lay. Her fingers itched to tighten the buckles around her, to feel the leather cover her until nothing could touch her anymore. And there was the solution.
Go. Get out. You don't know how to deal with this. Let it go.
She pulled the sword from its sheath and held the blade over her shoulder. If she wasn't careful, she could end up with more than that small cut on her hand. But her hand wasn't shaking anymore and she was proud that her cheeks were dry. She felt the sharp point of the sword against her lower back and then pulled it up sharply.
The tight laces of her gowns fell away and the cool evening air felt like a mouthful of cold water during a drought.
She might have needed help with her gown but she needed none with her armour. She never every curve of it, every buckle and every join. It clung to her perfectly, it knew the pattern of her body. She found her boots under the large bed and pulled them on, relishing the comfort over the shoes she had been wearing.
Yes. I should go. I should be away from here. This place is stifling. I need air, I need opens plains and new doors...
But where?