Brief
You decided to try Skyrim again with a brand new mod. This mod has unwittingly sucked you into the world of Skyrim, but, wait, there's more: you've been turned into a petite Argonian woman! However, some of your more risqué mods are still active... (Content Warning: Dub-Con, Non-Con)
The acrid smell of smoke filled her nostrils as consciousness slowly returned. Her head pounded with a dull ache, and something felt... wrong. Terribly wrong. Opening her eyes, she found herself staring at scaled, green-hued hands where human ones should have been.
"What the actual fuck?!" The voice that escaped her throat was not her own—higher, with a slight hiss underlying each word. Panic surged through her veins as she scrambled to her feet, nearly losing balance from a tail she'd never possessed before. The realization hit like a Fus Ro Dah to the chest: she was an Argonian. A female Argonian.
The distant roar of a dragon echoed through the mountains as smoke billowed from the direction of Helgen. She'd recognize that sound anywhere after thousands of hours in Skyrim—Alduin's attack on Helgen, the opening sequence she'd witnessed countless times. Except this time, the cold mountain air bit at her exposed scales, the weight of an iron dagger and longbow felt genuinely heavy, and the "armor" she wore...
"Oh gods," she whispered, looking down at herself. The "fur armor" she wore was nothing like the game's already revealing female variant. Instead, it was clearly from one of those skimpy armor mods she'd installed for "aesthetic purposes"—barely a fur strip covering her breasts and a pathetic excuse for a thong that left nothing to the imagination. All those lewd mods... they're all active. They're all real now.
The horrifying truth settled in her stomach like a lead weight. Somehow, she'd been pulled into her heavily modded Skyrim. Every sexual stat modifier, every questionable NPC behavior override, every humiliating animation she'd installed "just for fun" was now her reality. She knew exactly what awaited her in every hold, every inn, every dark corner of this world—because she'd curated this perverted version of Skyrim herself.
A shiver ran down her spine that had nothing to do with the snow beneath her scaled feet. She was trapped in a world she'd designed for maximum debauchery, in a body that wasn't hers, with only the flimsiest protection against both the elements and the inhabitants whose AI she'd personally modified to be... insatiable.
"Calm down. I've just got to check my stats and form a plan. It's not like I haven't done this dozens of times." Maybe if I think about it, the UI will appear?
