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skyrim-forever · 5 hours

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sharing an umbrella in the rain, or a coat/blanket in the cold for anyone you want

Okay I'll be real, I totally lost that prompt list somehow?

Anyway, I think you'll like this one! <3 It was a lot of fun to work on~ no editing, today we kill perfectionism. But WOW no major warnings AND a non-angsty ending! great work Tat you're doing amazing sweetie

also tagging @arnaerr @blackmetalsnake @devilbrakers @wingedknightrose @theladygrim @nuwanders @skyrim-forever @dirty-bosmer @chennnington @fruk-choosing-a-username @neloths-tea @ray-elgatodormido @youthroad

The week-long drought ended as abruptly as it had squeezed its scorching fingers around County Cheydinhal. From mountains of seething gray clouds came the cloudburst–merciless torrents of rain that tore leaves from branches and vines and petals from stems, chasing the hardiest horse, heifer, and hound into the cover of whatever pasture shed or copse would admit them. Caught in town, people, dogs, cats, and the odd chicken scurried into pubs, bakeries and eateries, and craftsmen’s shops, into the great chapel or under strangers’ front porches, squinting at the sky and shaking their heads, wringing out sodden hats and mourning the ruin of new town clothes. Tatiana had lingered under the domed roof of the graveyard shrine when the barrage came. Watched them scatter like cockroaches, only for total strangers to sweep each other into shelter, some unconscious, knee-jerk instinct to help rather than harm. It puzzled her. Then stung like sand ground into raw wounds. Would she be the lonely retch, the battle-craving savage, she was today if one stranger had treated her with such altruistic concern? Maybe some had. but she couldn’t recall them as she sat at the old stone table, chipping at a gouge in its edge with her broken fingernail.

A gust of wind splattered rain over her back. She didn’t so much as flinch. What were a few damp shirts or undergarments? It had been raining for most of her life.

After what seemed an eternity, the storm’s bluster ebbed into the slow, but steady soak that made farmers, frogs, and fishermen smile. The wind died and left only the soothing hissssss of the rain through the trees. The more hurried or indifferent of the townspeople donned hoods and hats resumed their errands, jogging where they’d have ambled before. She’d have to do the same before long.

The smell of good earth and fresh grass intensified as the rain tempered the midsummer heat. Even here at the feet of the great cathedral to Arkay, hints of savory meat and vegetables wafted through the air. Her stomach growled and cramped in on itself. The thought of sinking her teeth into a roast chicken or beef haunch made her mouth water, but the pubs and eateries would be clotted with patrons, now especially, and gritting her teeth through the laughter and nauseating camaraderie of the Sanctuary was almost enough to spoil her appetite. Almost.

No, she could and would wait until the others had supped and retired to their beds or evening amusements. Warmly and often, Ocheeva, Vicente, and the others opened their arms to her as the Family’s newest blade. The asked how her jobs went. Offered insight as well as sought hers. Congratulated her with genuine smiles when he returned from a successful job. Invited her to train with them, play cards, and don plainclothes to get drinks or treats in town. They laughed with her—not at her. And never once had she walked into a room and sensed that they’d been spinning stories about her. Mocking her. M’raaj-Dar alone had bristled at her arrival, but Gogran and Teinaava described him as, “a perpetually surly tomcat who’s always climbing into barrels of water,” so she avoided him when possible.

But the others? She didn’t know how to handle their hospitality. A tiny, bruised part of her was starved for such companionship. Acceptance. Family. The rest of her, as jaded and spiked as her daedra-hunting armor, shrank away with a dagger in hand and cautioned her in growing too familiar with others. It was not a question of if they would turn on her, but when. She gritted her teeth, stare unfocused through the mist creeping through the graveyard and the streets beyond. If her own flesh and blood would betray her, frame and jail and abandon her, a string of killers bound by blood, coin, and religious fanaticism surely would, too.

~ you don’t need them. or anyone else ~

Umbra’s uncanny parody of her voice slithered through her mind, as insidious and persuasive.

Want isn’t need, she thought, and the half-truth she told herself next tasted as bitter as ever. I don’t need anyone. But I want a friend.

A dull ache budded behind her eyes. Pushing and pressuring. Punishing. ~ that sod you killed at the oak and crosier just wanted a few drinks and company for bed and it got him a drugged stupor and a red red smile ~

Pain stabbed through her finger, snapped focus back to her vision and her thoughts from the ever-deepening bog in her head. In her picking at the gouge, the edge of her broken nail had snapped off. Blood welled up like a ruby pearl, then spilled into an ugly crescent around her fingertip. Heaving a sigh, she flicked it aside. Off the battlefield and killing floor, Umbra haunted her with or without company. Twisted her wants and hurts and regrets into a knife and held it to her own neck. It was sharpest here and in the Sanctuary, where all she’d truly wanted these last miserable years sat before her on a silver platter with her hands chained behind her back. The thought clenched her throat.

She pushed back from the table and tossed her hood up. She’d die before she willingly cast Umbra and all its wicked magics aside. A little misery was a worthy price for power. A little walk and a damp cloak would shake the sentimentality from her heart. She’d barely taken three steps from the table when a singsong voice snagged her like a fishhook.

“Tatiana! Oh, gods, there you are! You’ll catch your death out in this mess.” A creak of the cemetery gate and the splashing of boots later, and none other than Antoinetta Marie ducked into the shrine. “Supper’s on, you know. I was worried something had happened.”

Tatiana looked over her shoulder, a forbidden and pleasant warmth stirring in her belly as she watched the petite Breton spin water from and then close her oilskin umbrella. Of everyone in the Family, Marie most sought her out and invited her to training, games, meals, and town-walks. After months with the family, Tatiana began to fear the possibility that against all odds, Marie actually liked her.

~ no, she’s jealous lucien started training you. she just wants to know how best to steal his favor from you ~

Shut. Up. Tatiana painted on her best smile and gestured to the rain pouring off the shrine’s roof.“I just needed some air and got caught in all this.”

Marie nodded in understanding, her expression turning soft and somber. Just loud enough to be heard over the rain drumming overhead, she asked, “Are you alright?”

“It’s fine, nothing new,” Tatiana hedged. “But surely you didn’t come out just to find me. You hate the rain.”

Giggling, Marie waved that off. “Hate’s such a strong word, sister. After sleeping on the streets for a few years, you get used to the rain or start to dislike it. I’d much rather be dry and warm than wet and cold, thanks. But you looked rather, shall we say…forlorn this afternoon. Then poof! Gone as quick as an imp. And without your clothes and effects. When you didn’t come to dinner, I worried something had happened.”

An awkward silence wedged between them—or at least, awkward for Tatiana. Marie was a smiling sun no cloud could shade. Tatiana shifted her weight between her feet and marveled at how radiant she was even while dripping rivers in the afternoon’s deepening gloom. She still didn’t know whether to think Marie was unfairly beautiful or that she’d somehow managed to cast a charm spell over her from afar. A little taller than Tatiana was, and softer in mouth and eye, and slimmer, too. Tatiana had been with women before but not found them to her taste. But…cold and lonely enough, with someone she trusted? Maybe she’d…

Averting her eyes a moment, she swallowed hard, mouth dry as charred meat, and rubbed the side of her neck. Well. It would be a good trap. Marie knew her appetites. Then again, so did half the bloody empire, after a particularly chatty brothel worker regaled some minstrel with detailed accounts of their romps together. She still considered cutting out his tongue for that.

“That’s…very sweet, Marie. Really. Unnecessary, but sweet. Thank you.” The last two words stumbled out awkwardly.

But still, Marie wasn’t fazed. By Sithis, nothing seemed to faze her. Envy and admiration warred in Tatiana at that. “No need to thank me, sister. I’d be rather sad if you got killed, that’s all. Though I do fancy myself fairly good at getting revenge. If you’ve ever a need for that sort of thing.” Marie’s sky-blue eyes flicked over her, lingering on her heavily chewed lips, searching for answers to questions unasked, fears and uneasiness unspoken. She found them quick as lightning. Lucien would’ve been proud. “Why don’t we grab a spot of dinner somewhere quieter? Telaendril is playing her pipes and Gogran is, well, he was singing ballads when I left. And no, he cannot stay on key. He loves his Warhammer, but I think his obvious tone deafness is an even nastier weapon.”

Surprise eased into shame, and shame into resignation and relief. Tatiana felt her shoulders slump a little, but didn’t correct them. Marie didn’t have to say she recognized her unease with, mistrust of, and paradoxical longing for people. For that, Tatiana was glad. The idea of going somewhere quieter was at once pleasant and troubling. The former won out, and she found herself nodding. Gogran singing ballads, however comical in image, would horrify every ear subjected to it. In her current frame of mind, she could stomach a crowded bar better than that.

“So…ballads?” she asked as she moved to Marie’s side.

“Ballads. Don’t ask. He’s a lovely man when he’s sober, but he’s insufferably playful when drunk. I’m only surprised he hasn’t taken up knitting!” Marie rolled her eyes and snapped the umbrella back up.

“Maybe he can knit funeral palls,” Tatiana suggested.

Marie laughed heartily, the bright sound barely dampened by the rain. “Don’t give him ideas, sister. If wine or ale’s about, we’ll be tripping over skeins of yarn.” With that, she led Tatiana down the cobbled path that wandered through the wooded graveyard, their shoulders bumping occasionally. Tatiana didn’t mind. At Marie’s side, so long without friends or free affection, without so many sets of eyes scrutinizing on her, she found herself hungry for whatever literal and figurative crumbs she could get.

Her stomach growled again. Audibly enough to make her cringe inwardly.

“Not sure we’ll find a quiet place. You should’ve seen everyone scatter. Like a hoard of cockroaches,” she said.

Marie lifted her chin and idly twirled the umbrella’s handle and sending rivulets of rain spinning around them. Pride glittered in her eyes as she leaned to Tatiana’s ear. “Family secrets. We keep a private back room at the Bridge. It’s always marked ‘booked’, so it’s there for whatever we need, when we need it. And I personally know the cook. He’ll take good care of us.”

Tatiana raised a questioning brow. “Will he?”

Marie twirled the umbrella in the other direction. “Let’s just say he’s happy to try my spice blends and extracts with certain customers when I ask.”

Warmth bloomed in Tatiana again. Spread through her chest and stomach and limbs like a mug of warm, fragrant tea. A dark smirk tugged the edge of her mouth.

Marie matched it.

#tes fanfic #antoinetta marie #other people's ocs #tat <3 #this is adorable

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