At My Feet-an Oblivion Fanfic Options

[Elisabeth Hollow]

Hey y'all, I've been working on this for a few months, and just finished it. KoB and I have been roleplaying a it, and I developed a character I really, really liked, and want to flesh her out more. i'll still be doing Kayla's story, but alternating between the two. I hope y'all enjoy it!



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The night was chilly in the Imperial City. Breath puffed into excited clouds as the residents of the city walked quickly towards their homes. Stores closed for the night, the locks clicking shut as the shop owners turned and pocketed their keys.

The night grew darker as the sun set, finally slipping over the horizon in a sigh of relief as it crawled to warm other parts of Nirn. Mothers laid their infants and toddlers to rest as father stoked the fire. Beggers crawled into alleys and abandoned houses in the Waterfront. Guards downed warming potions as they continued their shift into the night, onfident that the cold would deter thieves and would-be murderers.

Above their heads as Masser and Secunda rose slowly, a lithe form leapt from rooftop to rooftop. Crouching when a guard turned their head or scanned the roofs, the figure ducked and dove until it came to its destination. It braced itself for the jump, and fell nearly soundlessly onto the white-stoned balcony. A faint glow of a candle illuminated the room inside two-story building in the Temple District.

The man inside was hunched over a bunch of papers, parchment rolled and tossed aside in messy piles. He glanced up when a breeze hit him, and he saw his balcony door had blown open. He sighed wearily as he stood up, old bones popping as he made his way to the door. He latched it shut, but not before a pile of papers had gotten blown onto the ground. He meticulously picked them up, a loud crack in his back making him groan. When he stood up, he placed the papers on his desk and sat down.

He groaned when the candle went out. He looked wearily at the door, and stood up again to latch it back. The cold breeze from the outside had chilled him to the bone, and he set a chair in front of the balony door and went downstairs. His dog wagged her tail when she heard his footsteps approach, and nuzzled his hand when he leaned down to pet her. She followed him to the kitchen, and her bushy tail continued to wag as he poured himself a cup of wine. Using a simple spell, he warmed the wine until steam rose off of it. He walked back upstairs, hissing when the hot liquid spilled onto his hand.

He sat back down in his chair and stoked the fire, adding more wood. He sat down at his desk and scooted closer, picking up the warmed wine. He took a long drink and let out a sound of satisfaction before searching for his quill. One he found it under a pile of papers, he began to search for his diary. He searched under the desk, the chairs, even his bed. He frowned as he searched drawers, on top of cabinets, teetering precariously on a wobbly chair threatening to break under his weight. His wife, a woman of his age with brown hair and silver streaks, caught him.

"Amantius!" she scolded, helping him down from the chair. "What in the name of the Nine are you doing?!"

"My diary is gone!"

---

The black figure flitted between shadows, dodging swaying guards and smelly drunks. Once it reached the Waterfront, it looked around beforerunning to a small shack near the water. It disappeared inside the house, and the night was quiet.

Shivering, the form lit fire in its hands and lit the logs in the fireplace. They crackled, and soon became a roaring fire. Within minutes, the shack was nearly stuffy with heat, and the figure shed its black clothing. A short, thick cape was hung by the door, and a mask was stuff in a drawer. Bright hazel eyes inspected the book in one hand as the other golden one unlaced boots. She set the book down and continued to shed her garments, the illusion magick on the clothing replacing the lithe, thin form for a muscular, curvaceous one.

Her instincts perked a half second before the door blew open, a young woman seething in the doorway. She fixed her eyes on the nude redhead before her.

"Samara! I'm going to kill you!"

"Closed the damned door, it's freezing!"

"Good!" The raven-haired girl shut the door anyways, in spite of her anger. "Maybe you'll freeze to death and stop messing up my progress!" She lunged at Samara, catching her thick red hair at the base of her skull before she could run off.

"Ow! Alda! Too rough! TOO ROUGH!" Samara squeaked. The larger Nord girl easily tossed a shorter, lighter Samara onto the bed they shared. She pinned her to the scratchy sheets, rage in her eyes.

"Ow! You're as heavy as a horse! What have you been eating?!"

"Fetchers like you for breakfast!"

"How are you doing that? We share grocer-OW!" Samara bucked her hips and tried to knock her roommate off of her once she pinched the sensitive mound of her breast.

"GET OFF ME, YOU COW!"

"YOU TOOK MY STEAL, YOU WHORE!"

"WELL YOU'RE SLOW!"

"AM NOT!"

"ARE TOO!" Samara wriggled an arm free and yanked hard on Alda's hair, then shrieked when milky white fingers tickled her ribs. She flailed and screamed with laughter, trying to knock her assailant off. Alda's blue eyes gleamed with playfully malicious intent.

"You're going to wet yourself!" she cackled.

"WE SHARE THE SAME BED, STUPID!"

"YOU can sleep in it, I can afford to go to the Bloated-AUGH!" She fell off the bed onto the cold stone floor, and Samara panted, trying to catch her breath. She reached down and handed Alda the diary.

"Here. I don't even want it. You can take it."

"Fine!" Alda snatched the worn diary away. "Dunno what that old man wants with this, anyways. Its just a bunch of plants."

"It's actually really interesting. He's made a plant that feeds off of blood."

Alda rolled her eyes as she rolled off the floor. "Bookworm."

"What? It's fascinating!"

"See, I can't take you seriously."

"You can sod off, then."

"Oooh, Imperial cursing!" Alda's thick northern accent rolled the 'r' in 'Imperial' almost like a purr. Samara felt her face flush as she looked in the cupboards after pulling thick woolen pants and shirt over her head.

"What do you want to eat?" She looked at the pot over the fire. "Stew again?"

"I can cook, if you'd let me."

"You put too much salt in your food." Samara pulled out a few small potatoes and two carrots. She tossed Alda the potatoes. Alda brandished a silver dagger and began peeling them.

"No, leave the peeling on, I like it!"

"Well, I don't!" Alda kept peeling. Samara huffed and grabbed the bucket by the door.

"I'll be right back. I'll get some water."

"Snatch some salt, we're almost out!" Alda called after her. Samara ignored her and walked to the edge of the water. Her breath came out in white puffs in the night air, the moons reflecting off the water. She dipped the bucket in the water, careful to not get any dirt in it. She walked back and losed the door behind her, sighing in relief. She saw that Alda had changed out of her dark leather armor and into a light dressing gown.

"How can you dress so light?" Samara asked, a tinge of incredulity in her voice. "Help me out."

Alda grabbed the bucket while Samara pulled the strainer off the wall, held up by twine. "Because I'm not a milk-drinker." She said as she poured the bucket on the strainer and into the cauldron. The cloth caught bits of dirt and a small piece of wood. Alda shook it clean outside the door as Samara began cooking.

"I like milk." Samara said lightly. Alda ignored her.

After about an hour, the food was ready. Samara spooned two bowlfuls and handed one to Alda, who was perched on the bed, feet tucked underneath her. Samara handed her the salt.

"So, if you're giving me the book, what are you gonna about getting into the Thieves Guild?" Alda took a bite of the stew, then added more salt.

Samara shrugged. "I dunno. I don't really want to be in it, actually."

"What? But it's every thief's dream!"

"I wanna be like Springheel Jak. He wasn't in the Thieves Guild, and he did really good."

"Sammy," Alda's voice carried a bit of condescending sympathy. "Springheel Jak was a man who liked to break into the homes of rich woman and seduce them. That's what he was noteable for. Not for thieving."

"But he wasn't with the Thieves Guild. And he was a thief! There are stories of him leaping across buildings-"

"Ravaging noblewomen."

"-Scaling down the Palace!"

"To ravage the Empress."

"Gross. But he DID steal. So what if he had fun while he did it?" Samara set her empty bowl down after draining it of broth. Alda shrugged and set hers down inside of it and got beneath the covers. Samara put a few more logs onto the fire and crawled into bed with Alda. The smaller women turned onto her side and allowed her friend to slip her hands beneath her woolen shirt and warm her hands on her stomach.

"Sammy?" Alda murmured.

"Hmm?"

"You know I love you, right? Even though I'm mean to you, and you irritate me?"

"I love you too."

There was a pause. Alda pulled Samara closer and sighed.

"I know." There was a hint of something in her voice, but Samara didn't catch it. The two thieves drifted off to sleep, with one dreaming of becoming the Gray Fox and the other of scaling the Palace.

[Elisabeth Hollow]

I had been updating this story elsewhere, but didn't get very far, so here's a chapter right now.

last time: Samara and Blanche did it. They had the sex. We also got a taste of blanche's compassion towards others as she saved a bandit.

This time: Well that honeymoon phase didn't last long.

---

The weeks passed by in a blur after they got back from Hrotunda Vale. Blanche spent whatever time she had free with Samara, who spent her free time in bed with Blanche. The time between afternoon and dusk was bliss for the two women, who spent their time exploring new things and enjoying their discoveries. One such pleasing discovery for Blanche was that Samara was actually talented at Illusion and Destruction magic. Blanche was determined to expand Samara’s skill, and gave her lessons whenever the two of them came up for air.

“I don’t want to get up,” Samara yawned one afternoon. Blanche rubbed the area above Samara’s navel gently with her fingers, tracing the intricate and colorful tattoo that wound its way under her breasts. Blanche traced the leaves of the green vine on Samara’s skin as if she were drawing it out herself. She kissed the colorful nightshade on Samara’s ribs, making the redhead sigh in delight.

“Then don’t,” Blanche shifted closer to Samara and kissed her cheek. “Stay here, with me.”

“Mmmm, tempting.” Samara rubbed Blanche’s bare shoulders as the blonde tried to pin her to the bed. Blanche leaned down to kiss her, and ended up getting flipped onto her own back. She let out a light sigh as the redhead kissed the nape of her neck. The sheets and bed Samara’s estranged father had gotten her were far more comfortable than anything Blanche herself own, despite her mother’s riches. Blanche had helped buy Samara matching furniture, though Samara insisted she didn’t, knowing she would be the target of many thieves.

“I really should go,” Samara said as her kisses traveled lower to Blanche’s breast. A hand and mouth worked together to make the blonde purr.

“I don’t see you running out the door,” Blanche said breathlessly, gently running a hand through Samara’s hair before her head went lower. Samara made a satisfied sound that mingled with Blanche’s own startled gasp. Waves of pleasure shot through her legs and up her back as Samara used her mouth and hand to make the waves stronger. Soon, Blanche’s body was rocking against Samara’s touch.

There was a knock on the door, making Samara pause slightly.

“Don’t stop!” Blanche pleaded as she caught Samara’s lips with her own. The redhead let out a longing sound.

“Could be important,” she murmured between kisses.

“More important than this?” Blanche’s hand traveled down and made Samara gasp. The knocking became more insistent as Samara’s breaths quickened.

“Just a moment!” Samara’s voice sounded higher-pitched than usual. Blanche giggled into Samara’s mouth as they eagerly kissed.

“Samara.”

The voice made Samara stop and push Blanche’s hand away. She quickly slid into some pants and a light shirt, wiping her face.

“Samara-” Blanche protested before Samara flung the door open. A tall, fair-skinned Nord woman with raven hair looked down at Samara.

“Alda?” Samara’s voice was shocked.

“You’re in danger,” Alda said, authority in her voice. Blanche felt panic rise in her throat, but Samara responded with anger. Samara’s wrist was in Alda’s hand, blocking the slap that Blanche hadn’t seen her try to deliver.

“Samara, stop.”

“You think you can come here a year after you abandoned me, and tell me I’m in danger? Who do you think you are?!” Samara’s chest heaved, and her eyes blazed. Alda only blinked calmly back at her.

“Trust me, Samara. You need to get out of the city, now. Did you hear about Bruma? That’s about to happen-”

“No! There’s no way you could know about that!”

“Do you not remember what happened back in jail?”

“Jail? You were in jail?” Blanche’s voice was incredulous as she came up behind Samara, no longer content with listening on the bed. The sheets were wrapped around her naked body. Alda gave Blanche a strange look.

“Who’s this?”

“What do you care?” Samara snapped, finally yanking her hand away. Alda’s stern look didn’t budge.

“Because I love you. Now get out of your house, before this city is destroyed.”

“You don’t get to tell me what to do!”

”Samara!”

Alda’s voice startled Samara, and she recoiled slightly. Alda took a deep breath.

“I was there when the Emperor died. In order to protect you, I had to leave you.”

“You were there?” Samara looked uncertain.

“Yes. I had to find his bastard son so the Dragonfires could be re-lit. Those Oblivion gates? They’re going to open one right in the city, like they tried to do to Bruma. I’ve been closing gates left and right as fast as I could, but it’s too much for me. Mehrunes Dagon will be attacking the city soon, and if you died…”

“But where could we even go, Alda? If there are gates open like you said, then there’s no way any of us are safe.”

“There is one place, near Bruma. I’ve given this some thought, Samara. I could sneak you in, you’re capable of being undetected for as long as you want.”

“And Blanche?”

“Who?”

“My girlfriend.” She pulled Blanche closer, unaware of the uncomfortable look she had on her face. Alda’s eyes were cold as steel.

“One of you, that’s all.”

“Then I’m not going.”

“Samara!”

“No, you’re crazy! You left me to follow someone you SAY was the Emperor, and disappear for a year, then come back and DEMAND I leave my girlfriend behind, and come with you Bruma? No. Get out. Get out of my house.”

“I paid for this house, too! My name is on the deed!”

“I declared you dead six months ago, Alda! This place is mine!”

Alda looked shocked, the expression finally breaking the steely gaze.

“I see. I don’t know what I expected. You are the master of moving on, Samara.”

“I am very uncomfortable,” Blanche blurted out. She turned red when the two women looked at her. Alda turned her gaze, once again calm, back to Samara.

“Goodbye, Samara. I was hoping you’d come with me, but it seems I go alone to Paradise.” She turned and left, and Samara shook her head.

“She’s absolutely mad!”

Blanche closed the door, still looking uncomfortable. “What did she mean by Paradise?”

“I have absolutely no idea.”

Samara dropped the sheets around her body, and Blanche let out an appreciative sound as she surveyed her lovers tattooed body. Along with the vines depicting nightshade, the petals of the blossoms exploding in arrays of blues and purples along her hips, stomach, and ribs, she had tattoos of Ayleid and Dwarven script on her body, single words that were supposed to mean words of encouragement. Blanche wasn’t going to tell her that the words were not only entirely incorrect, but misspelled as well.

But Blanche’s favorite tattoo of Samara’s were the dragon wings on her back, a red and black, along with a small wolf on her ankle. The wings went from her shoulders to the swell of her rear, magnificent in detail. They were slightly torn, with holes here and there, as well as ragged along the edges. Blanche looked up at Samara’s face finally.

“You’re going to hate me for this.”

“What?” Samara poured herself a glass of wine, filling the cup nearly to the brim.

“The Arch Mage wants to send me to Vahtacen.”

“Where?”

“It’s an Ayleid ruin. I…may have started taking more classes at the University instead of working at the Temple.”

Samara wasn’t sure how to feel. Two emotions crossed her face; confusion, anger, then confusion again. Blanche raised her brows.

“Samara?”

“Why wouldn’t you tell me?”

“I don’t know! I thought you would think less of me if I stopped working. I thought you’d be angry that I can afford to go to University, and you can’t.”

Samara knew what she was feeling then.

“Excuse me?” Her offense showed on her face. “Blanche, you’re not responsible for my feelings. I would have been happy for you. But now I’m angry, and hurt.” She set the cup down and crossed her arms. Blanche had her gaze cast on the floor as she began dressing.

“Where are you going?” Samara demanded. Blanche briefly glanced up, then kept dressing.

“I have to go pack. He wants me there within the week.”

“Fine. Go. I don’t care,” Samara huffed as she turned around, picking the cup back up. She only turned back around when the door closed, finding herself in an empty shack. She downed the rest of the contents of the cup and sat on her bed, fuming.