#but how did sokolov paint him

[time-schwime]

"Daud and the Parabola of Lost Seasons" -- Bunting’s apartment

So Sokolov painted a portrait of Daud and I want to know how that went down...Did Sokolov approach him? Did he approach Sokolov? Did Sokolov do it from memory and hazy descriptions people gave him? It doesn’t look exactly like him, so I could believe it was done off of hearsay rather than an in-person portrait sitting. Daud is wearing a mask in the wanted posters (as discussed in this excellent post), so it’s not based on them.

This is in the art dealer Bunting’s apartment, does that mean Bunting commissioned it? Having a deadly, feared assassin hovering over him as he sleeps does kind of fall in line with his kink(s). 

Or is this a widely-available piece that nobles and other well-to-dos have in their homes? Is that the reason everyone in Dunwall recognizes him on sight even though he's supposed to be this shadowy master assassin? When you grab it off the wall, it gives you 300 coin (presumably you sold it on the black market), which means there’s a market for it. Someone is willing to buy it off you--but did they just buy it because it was a rare find? Like an item of curiosity to have in their home, or their client’s home?

Was it a marketing ploy? Were the murder orders drying up, and Daud was like 'well fuck maybe I've got to put my face out there to remind people my commissions are open'?

As far as I know, this is the only time the painting appears in the game--and I don’t think Daud would have a copy made for himself, he doesn’t seem the type.

I have...so many questions.

[turnmeintoastar]

“ the Fur Coat Woman ”

summary: Kaeya adored that painting, it later brought him together with his husband.

There is a mystery in every rich-man-house; that is an unspoken rule. So there is no surprise that the Ragnvindr family has a pile of its own. ‘Where was the lady of the house?’ or ‘How did they gain such wealth?’ or ‘Where does the door on the left wing of the estate lead?’ or ‘Who is the woman on the portrait, that is placed right over the glorious marble fireplace?’ were the biggest.

Kaeya has not been an art enjoyer. But even he could not keep his eyes off the portrait. Whenever Kaeya had a chance to escape his studies with Diluc, he observed the portrait. It was an explosion of colours: the pale beige of her skin meeting the burgundy-ish black of her hair, bright, sepia orbs drawing all of the attention to them, thin brows forming a sad frown

--- resembling  Pierrot from the Buratino film ---, head turned to the side, exposing her pearl, dangling earring and a part of her delicate neck, crimson lips slightly parted in shock, and a grey fur coat thrown messily over her red, tight dress. But what drew Kaeya’s attention the most, was her necklace. A white gold chain with a round locket, embedded with an incomprehensible ornament, surrounded by shiny gemstones on its surface. If Kaeya knew anything about jewels, its cost could buy the whole Ragnvindr estate -- including the people.

As the years went by, that portrait was the only thing that has not changed. His adopted father has died -- been murdered, to be exact --, but the mole just below her left eye was there; he now had to survive on his own, earn money by himself, but the terrified glint in her eyes was exactly like the last time, and time before that; he had a fight with his brother, received a vision, became a knight, but her earring were just as shiny and her pendant just as mesmerising.

Years passed, but the portrait remained the apple of his eye. He did not care, not in the slightest, that he had to fight his brother to take it home. Did not care that it was too big of size to be put on any wall of his new house. The only thing that mattered, was that the painting was with him.

He tried reaching out to the painter, someone named Oleg Sokolov, but had given up. The painting was there when his great-grandfather was born, he recounted, so it was a waste of time. But he couldn’t stop wondering, just who was that woman? Maybe, some lover of one of his adopted ancestors or just a model that caught their eye or she, herself, was one of the ancestors. As time went on, he lost hope in ever uncovering the mystery.

On a particularly gloomy morning, a carriage made its way into Monstadt. Three passengers; a boy of seven years, a woman in her forties, and a young man. He held a book in his hand. Reading in such a position was not easy, but it was better than dealing with his annoying nephew. Always drooling and talking and breathing loudly and stealing his jewelry.

Speaking of which, [m/n] was now dealing with that. Evgeniy, Zhenya for short, snatched his pendant and ran away. Where to, was the problem. The pendant was a relic, yes, but the boy’s life was even more important. And [m/n] was about to lose both. Almost.

When [m/n] found the ginder, Zhenya was cornered by a bunch of sailors. Skinny legs and twiggy arms, nothing he could not handle. [m/n] walked towards them, keeping a hand over the hilt of his hidden dagger.

“Gentlemen, why don’t you leave the boy alone?” he spoke, a heavy Snezhnayan accent could be detected.

“And who might you be, boy?” The spit flying on [m/n]’s fur was not welcomed. He prised his possessions and would not let them be ruined.

“ A kind stranger,” he was now standing in front of them, shielding the trembling child with his form.

“ the stranger should mind ‘is own business, then,” [m/n] rolled his eyes. Violence was always the key, was it not?

“ Vozmi, TAKE,” he slid the coat off his shoulders, exposing the navy blue dress shirt neatly tucked in his brown, leather pants, “Uhodi, GO, v karmane est dengi, THERE IS MONEY IN THE POCKET, kupi sebe chayu von tam, BUY YOURSELF SOME TEA, THERE,” he finished, pointing to an empty table, just outside of Angel’s Share. Nodding, the boy ran off, after [m/n] took away the necklace, of course.

“ I am feeling generous today, I give you ten seconds to rethink your actions,” the man spoke, now turned to  the group, the thin blade glistening under the sun.

“..2,1,” he yawned, eyes then quickly catching a movement on his right. With a swift motion, he ducked the punch headed his way, sliding behind the assaulter, proceeding to hit the back of his head with the dull side of his weapon.

“ I am waiting,” [m/n] raised a brow.

The men ran into the ship. [m/n] has been told that he can get rather intimidating, but such a reaction was a first. Just as the man was about to leave, he felt a presence behind him. Reflexes got the best of him, and the next moment he had his blade lightly pressed to the stranger's Adam's apple.

“ Speak your name,” [m/n] ordered.

“Kaeya Alberich, some call me ‘sir’, M’Lord,” he grinned. A flirty answer, from an exually flirty person. That did not do good.

“ From where I am from, we rip your tongue out and fill your mouth with shit and stitch it up for such sayings, pervert,” the blade pressed into his throat a little more.

“ You wouldn’t want to miss out on the wonders of this tongue,” [m/n]’s eye twitched, he did not like to be spoken to like he was some girl on the street, he was a noble, he held a high place in his home country.

“ You die, now,” his blade rose, ready to slice whatever came in the way. Kaeya was now scared, he heard that the man before him had a short temper, but this was just too much, people liked when he flirted with them! He had women and men ready to pay just to be flirted with! Maybe [m/n]’s didn’t like… no, ridiculous!

“W-wait, wait, hey! Okay, I submit!” he yelled, laughing as he ducked the incoming silver.

“Where did you get this from?!” His laughter came to a quick end, as soon as his eyes landed on the necklace. The same chain, the same pendant, he could see the design, now; a combination of letters O and [first last name letter].

“ Get your hands off,” the owe-ner yelled. Just what was happening to this man? Creeping up, flirting, and now trying to steal his relic?

“ Wait, no, how did you get this?” Kaeya asked, slightly recovered. Not much, though, the key to the mystery he was trying to uncover was just in front of him.

“ It is passed on in our family,” [m/n] reluctantly answered. “If it is all, I would like to return, I have someone waiting,” [m/n] eyed the man in front of him. Sure, he was pretty, but [m/n] was too, nothing new on that side. The quicker he got away from the man, the quicker the slight offness on his heartbeat ended. He turned and walked away from the place.

Kaeya’s mind rushed, dread flowing through him. ‘Someone’ as in a lover? No, it cannot be, not when he has -- maybe, just a little -- developed a crush through the things that the drunkards said. If he had to be honest, [m/n] hasn’t had justice by the rumors.

“ Oh, god.. I-I’m sorry, please. Just don’t go away just yet. I have, like, a billion things to ask you.”

“ Then invite me in for a tea, Sir Kaeya,” [m/n] smirked to himself, he liked to flirt, huh, two can play that game. “ But be careful, I bite,” he was now standing behind KAeya, hands hovering above the man’s hips, mouth dangerously close to the shell of his ear. It was Kaeya’s heart that skipped a beat, this time. The hearty laugh that followed [m/n]’s sentence only made it worse.

“ But I have to pick my nephew up first, and please keep the jokes to yourself; as much as it’s cute, I don’t want a toddler hearing them,” [m/n] said, chuckling a little.

‘He thinks it’s cute! I’m cute!’

It was a torture to answer all of Kaeya’s question. Varying from the name of the woman, to who she was to [m/n] and the cause of her death. Kaeya, after getting the answers and throwing a hit because of them, offeren [m/n] the painting. Whilst the greedy nephew eagerly agreed, the final word was negative. To which Evgeniy poute, hopped off his uncle’s lap, and ran into Kaeya’s kitchen. [m/n] has apologised endlessly for the trouble his nephew caused. Kaeya just laughed and told that it was his soon-to-be nephew-in-law, so it was only natural for him to learn to tolerate him. [m/n] did not apologize for the hard smack he delivered to Kaeya.

Kaeya could also see the vivid similarity between the painting and [m/n]; their eye shape, cheekbones, noses, lips, chin -- it was a carbon copy, just the masculine version. Kaeya’s former crush on the painted lady had also flared his feelings for the [hair color] haired man.

[m/n] was not doing any better. The way he looked, the way he spoke, the way the little skin was teasingly exposed, the way his voice would get higher when [m/n] managed to fluster the man -- everything about the bluenett was enamouring [m/n].

“ From where I’m from,” [m/n] spoke. One of their many meetings, this one in a restaurant, [m/n] picked it, a beautiful sunset view in front of them. “We ask people we l.., he cleared his throat, “love.. The people we love to marry them.” Kaeya held his breath. Throat going dry. Yes, they had been together for.. How long.. He could not remember. It felt like they had always been together. But being proposed was not something Kaeya had expected.

“So would you grant me the honour of being your husband, Kaeya Alberich,” Kaeya felt stranger to his surname at that moment. Kaeya [l/n].

“Yes..”

And that was enough.

[grandinventor]

At the risk of sounding like a Jindosh apologist here (I am.) I will preface that Jindosh is a bad guy, he has either killed people personally or got them killed for experiment purposes by his Clockworks and has dissected the dead so he is not good, he is a villain, I acknowledge that.

Now with that out of the way I wanna criticize the narrative surrounding him and his mansion and how it sometimes falls flat on it’s face trying to demonize them thanks to a lot of points my friend @divaythfyr​ brought up. I’ll put all of that below the cut:

Yesterday I was told this line and I won’t lie it is...bad. Line in question: 

Billie: "His home is supposed to be full of marvels. Locals go in as a test of courage, or because they're desperate for a meal. Kids, even. People say you can hear them at night, pounding on the windows, calling for help."

But because I couldn’t live with the idea that he kills children you know the simplest villain demonization tactic in writing history (kick the puppy, kick the child whatever) and I think it’s pretty cheap to try and make him worse than Sokolov, I talked to the Jindosh apologist committee and thot about it so I’ll go over this line by line. 

1. "His home is supposed to be full of marvels.“ - Okay but isn’t his home also supposed to be scary? Isn’t the whole “Why would anyone build a scary mansion like this?” line from Emily/Corvo as they enter supposed to tell us that this is a scary place? Which is funny because in reality the mansion itself isn’t scary at all, in fact it’s extremely logical in the way it unfolds and exposes the rooms. It’s perfectly functional and as someone with a major in architecture, I can say it’s the best designed house in terms of organization in the game. There is no way to die in the mansion unless the Clockwork Soldiers and the guards get you - which goes for literally any important/rich person’s house? You walk in someone’s house uninvited and their guards get you. You can die if you get behind the walls but it’s extremely difficult to do so especially in the places where you can get squished. The house itself is completely harmless. So the whole idea from Jindosh’s end that it’s a maze is stupid on it’s own too, the house is perfectly logical and Stilton’s manor is an actual maze because I got lost 10 times in there. 

2. “Locals go in as a test of courage, or because they're desperate for a meal.“ - okay first part is correct people go in his house to either steal, test their skills or kill him. He says as much himself. He says fabled thieves and assassins died there. Again probably from his guards and Clockworks since you can’t die from the house in any rational way. And then he dragged them half dead or dead in his lab to dissect them. He has a fascination with watching people die because he is like evil and a villain like that. Which brings me to the next point which is:

There are only two ways to get in his mansion without powers. There is the bridge below which is broken and the railway which is guarded and has a Wall of Light on the other end. So how will anyone that is not prepared with a grappling hook or some kind of way to close this gap gonna get in? How is your random average person gonna go in? And most importantly why? Do people just walk in aristocrat’s houses and expect not to get out in a body bag or? 

Besides he has a) a lot of free food and drinks in the lobby which is his threshold as to how far you are allowed to go so if someone wanted food they can just walk in and take it and leave (after you know, scaling a mountain for whatever reason because there aren’t easier houses to steal from) and b) he has an audiograph, because I am sure he assumes people can’t read, which tells you “Do not enter or you will die and I will dissect your remains and this is a promise.” Like why add a warning if you wanna lure people in? Unless those people think they can outsmart him so they come with intent and not just because they need food/shelter. Also he has food right next to that audio. 

3. “Kids, even.“ - okay this one, the scary line. I won’t lie this made me uncomfortable. So like if we assume that normal people can enter by normal means (which in point 2 is clear they can’t unless further elaborated by the game on How? and Why?), a child going in as a dare and dying is possible. Billie after this line goes on to say that she saw a child dare his brother to touch the wall of light which vaporized the child, so the implication is possible. It’s possible a child went in his mansion as a dare and bad things unfolded. It’s also equally possible that it didn’t. We know of adult men dying because we see the bodies. For this one is just a rumor. You can take it either way depending on how you feel about Jindosh. It’s very unlikely a child would get this far though, unless this was some kind of Disney movie. Also Jindosh wouldn’t personally have a reason to kill a child you know, like I know it’s the easiest “this villain is super evil!!!!” writing tactic, but he had a pretty shitty childhood, he felt hated by his mother and probably wasn’t treated so nicely by his (bastard) brother. He likes to exercise his lack of control during his younger years by having control over other people through his house and toying with them. He is very childish in a sense too (with his toy house and toy soldiers), and because of all of this I truly don’t think he would kill a child. He wants a real challenge and to test out his machines and his house against the best and smartest Karnaca can offer, not children. Though my opinion here can be highly biased. 

Also many children can casually pull 6ft tall levers I’m sure--

4.  “People say you can hear them at night, pounding on the windows, calling for help." - we know people have died in the mansion and they have been crying for release, as he says so himself. But again the above points kind of challenge as to who these people that died inside were. However because you know I’ve been playing with his mansion for four years cause I am a dumb hoe, I can say that there are very little windows. In fact the majority of windows that aren’t blocked off by the cliff or the mechanisms are around his laboratory.

 Now yes people could go there and bang on them sure. But they literally...face the lab and chances are no one is gonna hear you bang on that side. The other windows not facing the lab are in the foyer where...you are allowed to be and nothing is gonna happen to you. 

And the windows that actually face a side where let’s say someone could hear if someone was banging are the windows on the front of the house. Only the thing is, there are no windows on the front of the house except in the foyer. 

Here are the buildings from across his mansion which I guess can maybe hear if someone was banging on the windows. But again no windows on the front of the house. 

The fake windows is where the mechanism for the ceiling over the gallery in the upper hall is. The one that kinda extends and unfolds from there. So isn’t entirely possible that the banging and screaming or whatever people heard is just...the mechanisms of his house? The scary evil child killing house? Which is actually moving and making a lot of noise at all times?

So in conclusion? Yes, Jindosh is bad, he has no regard to human life, he divides society as innocent bystanders and criminals. He does dream of an army of Clockwork Soldiers to eradicate all crime. Be, he isn’t a senseless killer, it’s his neutrality and fascination with death as well as his black and white thinking that makes him dangerous. He doesn’t see people as human. In the majority of cases we know of (except one for some reason? That cursed baker who got his brain fried why did you have to do that Jindosh!?) he experiments on people who he deems criminals without sympathy. Also in situations where he thinks it’s justified - breaking in to steal from him or hurt him, the Blade Verbena, prisoners that can actually provide a learning experience for his Clockworks and Sokolov. He doesn’t go kidnapping people off the streets to experiment on them. 

And despite his evilness being completely logical, the whole game tries to paint his mansion as this big puzzle and trap when in reality it’s...really just a house. The level design is beautiful and amazing but I think it doesn’t really carry the point as strongly simply because it’s not any more dangerous than any other mission and it’s just more fun when it comes to gameplay. The design is great but it never gave me the feeling of it being a horror house. So I think that demonizing Jindosh through hearsay instead of through his actual mission is a bit of a weird choice. A lot of things don’t reflect how evil he is, but not in the good way of “The Grand Inventor doesn’t seem evil but he is.” and instead you get it hammered how evil he is from the start without actually ever experiencing a climax of his evilness you wouldn’t expect. It’s not that every story should have a twist, but usually when you say someone is evil, you either make them good at the end or even more evil. Jindosh never has that climax, he is the same start to finish and that is... mildly annoying and slightly threatening. Like his level is pretty but not scary and they keep trying to convince you it’s scary which makes it weird which I guess is because if you listen to a lot of his unused lines and old concept art, he was supposed to be this stereotypical mad scientist but in the end they changed his visual design and lines so much he comes off as lukewarm. I understand what they tried to do with Jindosh but I feel like they failed to do it and had to rely on everyone saying he is super irredeemably evil to justify lobotomizing him.

Anyway this post is too long, sorry if the read more doesn’t go through somewhere and please feel free to counter my points I am open to different and non biased views (or even information I might not know because I haven’t read the books or found everything). 

[out-there-tmblr]

Oswald never anticipated being back in the Arkham stripes, but it is the easiest way to keep himself out of the Russians' reach for a few days. Give them some time to consider their options while Oswald attends a few mandatory psychiatric appointments. Tony's already reached out to the head psychologist -- they know there will be consequences if Oswald is kept here against his will.

After the transfer paperwork is checked, he's walked to the common area. As the guard carefully unlocks the barred doors, Oswald takes a good look around. There are vacant stares and twitchy hands, badly fitted uniforms and unkempt clothes. The whole thing makes Oswald wary; he hates being surrounded by the unpredictable.

The door clangs shut behind him. Alarmed gazes turn to Oswald but he ignores them, striding past the table covered in paints and crayons. No matter how uncomfortable, this is still safer than waiting for the Russians to respond. He makes his way to the window at the far corner of the room, a thankfully empty spot. Outside, the sunshine casts dark shadows from the ornate front gates, the word asylum stretching along the gravel.

"This is my window."

Oswald would know that possessive growl anywhere. Grinning, he turns around. "Edward!"

"Oswald?" Edward frowns, his glasses threatening to fall off his nose. His hair is long and messy, past his shoulders, swaying as he rushes closer. He stops an arms length away and then reaches out, his hand hovering above Oswald's shoulder. 

Oswald blinks but doesn't say anything. Ed takes a breath and then carefully pats Oswald's shoulder. His confusion melts into a grin. "Oswald, what are you doing here?"

Oswald glances away, shrugging. "Psychiatric assessment. Temporary, I assure you."

"Why now?" Ed wonders aloud, and then nods to himself. "Sokolov made a move. You're hiding from retribution."

"How did you--" Oswald stops himself. He gives a shake of his head, waving away that thought. "It's been too long since we've spoken, my friend. I've forgotten what it's like to be understood without explaining every detail."

"You should tell me the details," Ed says gleefully. His smile dims. "Later."

Oswald glances at the guard. Given that Oswald pays him monthly, he shouldn't be a threat but Ed clearly has a reason for changing the topic. "Later?"

Ed points to a nondescript brunette painting blue all over her page. "Linda," he says, then points to a balding, heavyset man rocking back and forth by the bars, "and Ross. They don't like violence. Well, they don't like hearing about it. Sets them off. Ironically, guess how they express their displeasure?"

Ed gives him an exhaustive rundown of all the inmates. Known triggers, background where he knows it, easiest way to manage them. Oswald nods along but he doubts he'll remember all of it. "Which one's Jefferson?"

Ed points to a table where a grown man with a very intent expression is cutting triangles out of orange paper with safety scissors. "Why?"

"Cellmate." It's yet another reason to be thankful for Blackgate. His cell might be small but at least it's his. "Pity they don't have private rooms."

Ed flicks his head, messy hair moving with the sharp movement. "Apart from me."

"Really?"

"They stopped trying to make me share." Ed's grin is sharp and dangerous. "All of my cellmates begged to move."

Oswald takes another look around the asylum, trying to see it through Ed's eyes. A collection of puzzles, each turning and reacting in their own specific way. Each of them a dangerous tool if wound up right and aimed. No wonder Ed hasn't been too motivated to escape.

Ed talks him through the daily routine. Medication and breakfast in the cells, the choice to join group activities for the morning, lunch, more medications, an afternoon spent in the common area or your cell, dinner, more medications and locked into shared cells for the night. 

"There will also be psychiatrist visits, but that's a bit more ad hoc. Most of the inmates are considered lost causes, but every so often they hire a new doctor and we'll all have appointments for the first two months. They burn out quickly here."

"I assume bathroom breaks still have to be escorted?" Oswald never expected to miss having a metal toilet in the corner of his room, but he'd forgotten the disempowering indignity of having to knock on a cell door and ask to be taken to the bathroom. "And showers?"

"Twice a week if you're lucky." Ed shrugs, his grin growing wild. "Or if you have guards paid to look out for you."

"They know the Riddler is an ally," Oswald says because it's not as if he's ever given any instructions on Ed's personal hygiene. Although at some point, he's going to commandeer a hairbrush and force Ed to brush the knots out of his hair.

"You should talk to one of your guards. Get them to move you to my cell." Ed leans closer, lowering his voice. "Then you could tell me about Sokolov."

At the other end of the room, somebody shrieks for Mama and someone else cackles. Oswald's fingers itch for a knife. "And we could talk with a little privacy."

***

[kirin-jindosh]

So much of Kirin is inspired by Anton. He tries to paint but he can’t find inspiration so he invents photography. He tries to be philosophical and profound but it comes off as arrogant and self righteous. He tries to grow a beard but it doesn’t look right so he grows a pencil mustache. He accepts the title of “grand inventor” despite it being mostly made up so that he can elevate himself to Sokolov’s esteemed level. He dresses modestly as Sokolov did but with a personal flare.

Sokolov was so obviously his hero and greatest inspiration which is just?? So sad. Because the Anton that inspired Kirin was a monster and Kirin was only 16 when he met him! Just 16! Think of how impressionable you were at 16! And kirin, who had been told that his gifts were to be feared, wanted so badly to be praised and loved that he practically adopted Sokolov’s personality. Then, of course, Sokolov grew soft and Kirin thought “The world has convinced him he’s a monster. Just like they were trying to convince me. And he was too weak to stop them.”

[smileybokuto]

Fool Of Myself | Chapter One | why him?

Chapter: why him?

wc: 1.3k

warnings: none I don’t think

a/n: This is about to be a rollercoaster

| Masterlist | Next |

       ‘It’s been a while,’ Y/n though as she walked down the streets of a familiar unfamiliar place. A deep sigh left her body when she walked past the convenience store they used to stop at on their way home. A small ache placed itself on her heart but she kept walking ignoring the subtle throb. 

“It’s fine,” she said “he’s not here so it's fine.” Y/n kept walking, dragging her suitcase behind her to her parents house. 

      Y/n had asked her parents to let her stay at the house while she had an art show in town. They agreed, telling her that her painting room is still untouched from when she last visited. Y/n felt like something was off with her parents like they were hiding something from her. She thought she was being paranoid. Y/n opened the door to her childhood home filled with pictures of her and her brother Wakatoshi. A small smile graced her lips as she moved to her room and placed her things away. She then makes her way to the kitchen, turning on the kettle to make herself a nice cup of tea. 

      Y/n turns on the radio and starts to hum along swaying from side to side while she rummages through the pantry looking for something to eat. Y/n sighs realizing there was no food in the house. She clicks her tongue and sighs again. “Guess i’ll just have to go shopping then.” Y/n glances up at the clock only 2:15. ‘Hmm maybe I should just go now. It will only take me half an hour. Y/n turns off the kettle and leaves the house. 

     Meanwhile, the Adlers had just boarded their flight back to Miyaji. Or more precisely Karasuno. Kageyama was nervous about going back to Karasuno. There were so many good memories but more recently there were painful ones. HE wasn’t sure if he was ready to open those wounds again. He really just missed her. He wanted more than anything to see her again. To get a second chance. To try and work things out again. Kageyama sat on the plane, milk in hand filled with regrets and dread. He wondered if she was going to be there. He knew she was a successful painter in Paris and she had a gala here for the next few weeks. Does she keep tabs on him like he did for her? Kageyama’s head was racing with questions about how she was. 

      “We are staying at my house. It has enough room for all of us.” Ushijima says once they land. 

      “Is that okay?” Kageyama asks furring his brow. 

      “My parents said it’s fine they are away for the next two month. We are only here for a month. My sister is home. She has a gala coming up but she’ll probably stay in the paint room so we’ll barely see her.” Ushijima says watch Kageyama closely as he says this. Kageyama’s breath hitched and his eyes opened wide when he heard y/n would be there. Ushijima noticed a look of longing glaze over Kageyama's eyes. Ushijima had no idea why Kageyama and Y/n broke up. They genuinely seemed happy together and  he was confused when their relationship ended. Ushijima had developed a soft spot for Kayegama. 

      “You have a sister!!!” Housimi shouted, jumping up and down. 

      “Yes.” Ushijima nodded. “Y/n.” Kageyama shifts uncomfortably but a look of hope flashed across his eyes. Maybe this was his chance to fix things. There were many nights after the break up where he typed out a message to Y/n but always failed to send it. He’d hurt her too bad. Y/n would never forgive him why should she? He broke her heart, right? But for some reason he kept hoping things would go back to the way it used too. Maybe you two had a chance. 

      “Kageyama didn’t you use to date someone named Y/n?” Sokolov asks. “ Isn’t it going to be weird being around someone with the same name.” Kageyama grimaces and the whole team watches him shift uncomfortably. 

       “It shouldn’t be awkward. Y/n is over the break up.” Ushijima says patting Kageyama on the back. 

       “WAIT!” Hoshiumi yells, drawing unwanted attention. “YOUR SISTER Y/N IS KAGEYAMA”S EX AND WE ARE STAYING WITH HIS EX!!!”

       “Hoshiumi you are too loud.” Ushijima nods. “From what my parents have said, Y/n is seeing someone back in tokyo. A doctor I think.” Kageyama grimaces while Ushijima keeps talking. 

      ‘Wait am I too late?’ ‘I should have sent those messages.’ ‘I’m such an idiot.’ Kageyama felt his chest tighten the more he heard about you and someone else. The team could see the look of dread flash through Kageyma’s eyes. 

      “Man, I’m hungry! Let’s go eat!” Romero stretches resting his hand around Kageyama’s shoulder. 

      “I am quite hungry. Let’s head to my house first and rest our stuff down.” Ushijima nods unaware of Kageyama’s growing discomfort. 

      “Sounds like a plan lets go!” Romero chuckles, squeezing Kageyama’s shoulder. Kageyama was silent the whole ride to the house stuck in his head trying to figure out what to say to Y/n after all this time. 

       Meanwhile, Y/n was happily strolling around the grocery store picking up a month's worth of food so that she wouldn’t have to go shopping again while she was here. After Y/n was done shopping they went back home and put away the groceries. She popped her headphones in and started to clean the house while dancing around. Opening windows, dusting mats and watering the plants. Y/n had really missed being home, a wave of nostalgia washed over her as she continued to clean. Y/n was so consumed in her thoughts and music she didn’t even hear the front door open or Ushijima saying ‘I’m home.’ She turned around from placing the cushions back on the couch to be met with a room full of guys watching her. Shocked, she stepped back and almost fell onto the couch. She removed her headphones with a puzzled look after realizing they were her brother's teammates. 

       “Wow, Your sister is so pretty Ushijima-san.” A guy who looked like a bird said jumping up and down.

       “Um… hi.” Y/n mumbles with a small wave. “What are you guys doing here?”

       “Huh?! We are staying here too…” Hoshiumi says confusion clearly in his voice. 

       “Oh there you are Y/n. I didn’t know if you landed already.” Wakatoshi says walking over and patting you on the head. 

       “Oh hi Toshi.” Y/n says grabbing his hand from on top of her head and rubbing the top unconsciously before registering what was happening. “Wait.” She looked around realizing just dawning on her. He was on this team. There’s no way her parents wouldn’t tell her that he would be here. If they had there’s no way Y/n would have stayed here. “I didn’t know you would be staying here.” 

      “Didn’t mother tell you? I knew you were going to be here.” Ushijima says, puzzled. 

      “She didn’t tell me. I thought I would have had the house to myself.” Y/n sighs. “Well I don’t really care, i’ll be in my painting room most of the time anyways. But it’s good to see you Toshi. I’ve missed you.”

      “I’ve missed you too.”

      “I wish I had siblings like that.” Sokolov says fake sniffling. 

      “Oh I must seem so rude.” Y/n giggles. “I’m Y/-”

     Then as if on queue she saw him. Of all the unfortunate things to happen in her life why did he have to walk through your door. Why him? 

      Why? 

      Tobio Kageyama.

[hirvitank]

Waste + 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 9, 11, 12, 13, 15

1: What inspired you to write the fic this way?

I knew Death of the Outsider was coming, and as the Outsider was my favourite character I really wanted to explore the theory of him becoming human—the game hadn’t been released yet so we had no idea how it’d actually end, just that Billie and Daud were working together to kill him. Since the Outsider functioned as a sort of moral compass, I was very curious to try and imagine how his canon characteristics and biases would translate into a human version of him; how would he experience the world? How would he come to terms with such a humbling existence? Where did he come from and who was he? How would he cope with his own mortality, human emotion, the consequences following his choices in the Void? And most importantly; how had his being the Outsider affected his humanity? There was so much I wanted to see explored, things I feel the previous games hinted at but never elaborated upon. I wanted to write a psychological sort of story where we’d really be able to feel and experience whatever passed in his mind, and I tried my best to use my knowledge as well as my own experiences—flaws I either observed within myself or others, ideas, thoughts and feelings influenced by bias, depression, trauma, etc. When in art school, most of my inspiration came from the transience of things; my fear of death. I really wanted to take the subject and explore it through the eyes of someone previously immortal.

2: What scene did you first put down?

I think it was the original ending I wrote down first. I was supposed to write towards a particular scene, but somewhere along the way I’d decided to discard the idea entirely and opt for a happier resolution. I originally intended for the Outsider to die in the end, both to explore the feelings of those around him, as well as his own emotions accepting such a fate. I wanted a way to embrace death, as well as an output for all my bitterness regarding the subject; my anger at the ‘unfairness’ of it all, as well as my own trauma. I wanted to express loss, and in a way try and reveal the beauty of it. In the end, I had already found a way to deal with grief, and I also felt these characters deserved more; the fairness of fiction

3: What’s your favorite line of narration?

That’s a REALLY difficult pick haha (does this mean literally a single line, or like a paragraph?). I’ll just share one of my favourite parts, because I can, and because it’s even more difficult to pick a single line from such a long story and I’m honestly horrible at making choices:

I heard the whispers of rats all around me, tiny feet scampering through the pipes; Billie’s gift tucked inside my shirt. My bare feet light, making little noise—as if I wasn’t really there. Perhaps I wasn’t. Perhaps I hadn’t been anywhere for centuries.

Up the stairs, cold stones. The walls decorated, grand and lavish. Empty corridors and lingering traces of hushed whispers—the guards had left their posts. She’d be there. How would that have made me feel? How should that make me feel? Almost, getting closer. My heart pounded in my ears, lungs greedily begging for more air, more—more. I felt like running. Strong currents of energy coursed through my veins, vibrated through bones and tendons. If I lost control, would I explode in a million pieces? Would the energy burst out and take my body apart, like the Void tearing into reality?

Who was I?

4: What’s your favorite line of dialogue?

Honestly impossible to pick, I’ll just take this monologue:

“Anton Sokolov: sire to 14 children, but a father to none. A brilliant mind at a terrible cost, enlightenment in exchange for the dark depravity of the soul. Fingers that turn the times into a revolution of progress, the same fingers that touch upon women as they do the cold inventions they craft. Objects close to his heart—objects from his mind.

“The stench of alcohol in his bed, his clothes, his skin. Liquors and paints; on the canvas, dripping from his fingers, in the eyes of the beggar he found in the flooded slums of a place forsaken. The stench of rot still fresh on his teeth as he smiles at young Emily Kaldwin and tells her: ‘Don’t worry dear, here in the tower you are safe.’ Don’t worry dear, for I know the truest evil lies not within the high walls of Dunwall but within my hands and mind, within the flooded basement where a woman screamed and bled until she hung her head and closed eyes from which the dark paint still leaked—forever.

“The human body—like clockwork—taken apart in exchange for coin, for valuables. But those things Anton Sokolov values most lay outside of his intellectual grasp; for all the reasoning in the world he is but a cold, lonely man in search of a higher purpose that is but a lie of his own twisted imagination. A delusion of grandeur.

“How does it feel? One’s biggest regrets are but feelings of little consequence. The true disease is the sickness that allows one to enact true consequence on an innocent in the name of a self-prescribed fate. But I suppose that’s the curse of boredom. That, is the curse of your brilliance.”

5: What part was hardest to write?

The first chapter! There’s nothing more difficult than a set-up imo; establishing characters, pacing, setting and feel. I had a vague idea of where I wanted to go, but there was still so much I didn’t know that I had a hard time choosing how and where to start. I think it’s one of the most heavily edited chapters, just because I didn’t have a clear grasp on the characters or plot yet. (Also smut, oh lord help me)

9: Were there any alternate versions of this fic?

There’s the original ending, and I did at one point start on a companion fic to explore Emily’s pov, but decided I better focus on finishing the original instead.

11: What do you like best about this fic?

The fact that it’s finished (hurrahhhh!!), and the themes and subjects.

12: What do you like least about this fic?

My own sense of humour, I always cringe reading my own jokes so I can only hope it hits with others—I genuinely have no idea, and it’s hard at times to figure out where to draw the line.

13: What music did you listen to, if any, to get in the mood for writing this story? Or if you didn’t listen to anything, what do you think readers should listen to to accompany us while reading?

WELL IM GLAD U ASKED!! I’ll try and keep this short, but these are some of the songs that carried this fic, not even exaggerating.

1. Lover Don’t Leave, Citizen Shade

2. Happy Life, Roland Faunte

3. Painting Roses, Dresses

4. ID, Charlie Allen

5. High Tops, Del Water Gap

6. Love Song for Lady Earth, Del Water Gap

7. Battle Cry, The Family Crest

15: What did you learn from writing this fic?

EVERYTHING. I had literally no idea about writing, apparently. I’ve had no classes in literature, nor have I ever been taught the common rules when it comes to writing. I got to learn most of it thanks to my friends who helped edit (shoutout to @onewhoturns again), and through trial and error. I absolutely loved the experience of it, and I’m so grateful for all I’ve learned, and all I will continue to learn in the future. It’s given me the basis for my own original writing which I’m trying to pursue, and which I hope will someday become reality.

Thank you so much for these! I’ve thoroughly enjoyed answering every single one. ♥

[groove-stick]

Everyone has a favourite way to deal with Campbell... here is a dumb way I did by accident once, then perfected it. I am so sorry, Curnow, for using you like this. The trash bin will keep you safe...

So the first thing I did was robbing the secret chamber, I broke his display cabinet, took his rune and stole the painting. Then I went up and spilled the fine Tyvian wine and Campbell is already pissed off, he's like grr okay, hard way then. Onward to the chamber! But then he sees he was robbed, his Sokolov painting gone, he still tried to play it extra cool because he wanted to finish off Curnow. Then Curnow is suddenly acting weird, not taking him seriously and even throws up on his boots, the bastard, he must be hungover. He's about to just kick Curnow out at this point - because this evening is unbelievable, it's ruined. How could he enjoy his victory like this? He needs many drinks and to execute his plan some other time. Then there is a sting and he wakes up with his face burnt, outcast.

Originally I was just messing around with possession, made Curnow throw up on Campbell and I found it amusing how the game didn’t register it, because it wasn’t in Campbell’s line of sight, nor was he alerted and... yes, I let it escalate.

[incorrect-dishonored-quotes]

Do you have a hc about how in the hell did Sokolov get Daud to pause for hours for that portrait? Like, where they actual buddies and it was the equivalent of getting piss poor drunk with your college roommate while he paints you like one of his french girls? Was it a lost bet? Is Daud secretly a fan of Sokolov's art? Did Outsider urge Daud to do it just to shit on Sokolov??? So many possibilites..

I doubt that Daud cares about the Art World at all, but that's not to say Sokolov wasn't useful. Sokolov is more than an artist, and in my hc, did a couple of "commissions" when it came to gadgets for Daud. Perhaps it was a form of payment for the Arch Mine invention. Or maybe Sokolov paints the most powerful people in the Empire, and to him, that included The Knife of Dunwall, so he took a wanted poster and worked with it. Or maybe they were drunk and that's why Daud doesn't drink anymore! -Tad

[self-proclaimed-chaotic-good]

Persephone | John Wick x Reader (Nine)

Words: 3412

Warning: Usual JW-verse violence, minor swearing

A/N: Sorry to update so late. I’ve made an outline for the remaining chapters, but the direction of the story ended up going way off than what I planned and getting more complicated, giving me writer’s block. Why do I do this to myself?

Previously: Abram Tarasov strikes a deal that he will ally with you if you look into the rising power, Sokolov, and find out who’s responsible for it. Gavriil Sokolov is revealed to be a man who had no interest in the criminal Underworld until his father died and is resolved to building the family’s power and sought a similar goal of a new system with the help of Rozaliya Romanova, who happened to be an old friend of yours and asks to meet with you.

-

You took a taxi to the location Rozaliya had written in the note, paying the driver with a golden coin to take a discrete route, avoiding the main roads if possible. John wasn’t all too happy about you going alone, but it was what you wanted to do, so he gave you his bulletproof suit jacket and, surprisingly, let Cerberus follow you.

The loyal dog sat next to you, fitted with the bulletproof vest that you made for him. You had added pockets in it with emergency tools and gadgets tucked away with a matching bracelet on your wrist to activate some of the gadgets. You absentmindedly scratched behind his ear, trying to calm yourself as you neared the location.

It was the apartment from your memory, the place where Ophelia had sent you to get rid of Rozaliya, located in the upscale part of New York. It had been so long ago. To think that this Rozaliya Romanova would reach out to you first and offer aid, especially someone from a powerful family, it seemed too good to be true.

You stepped out of the taxi with Cerberus behind, gazing up at the looming building with its European influenced architecture, the penthouse having a wide balcony to overlook the city. You walked up to the bellman and flashed the rose pink star pendant. He nodded, opening the doors to you.

“Welcome back, Miss (Y/l/n),” he said.

The doors opened to a spatial lobby with marble flooring and pillars and a high ceiling with a crystal chandelier. You made your way over to the elevator where an elevator operator waited, maintaining a neutral expression as you walked in. Once the doors closed, you showed her the pendant.

She nodded, saying, “Welcome back, Miss (Y/l/n).”

She then pulled out a key ring filled with color coded skeleton keys. She took the rose gold colored key and slid a panel open. She turned the key in and pressed the red button next to it. The elevator jerked, taking the three of you to Rozaliya’s penthouse.

Your heart was racing in your chest as the elevator slowly crawled up the building. Was Rozaliya a true ally? Even if she was five years ago, she could have changed during the time you were gone. The note she sent didn’t have much details. You supposed that was on purpose so it could be discussed in person.

According to the note, Rozaliya’s father was no longer in power, so her step-mother took over. From what you’ve managed to remember, her father wasn’t a good leader, let alone a good father. He was good at what he did, but he didn’t like playing by the rules, which wasn’t a trait a High Table member should have.

The elevator opened to a long corridor with floral paintings along the walls. You and Cerberus stepped out and used your muscle memory to lead you down the corridor towards a double door.

You looked down at Cerberus for reassurance. He reached up to lick your hand, making you smile. Right. You had him with you. It was tempting to have John come with since his presence was always comforting for you, but you wanted to talk to Rozaliya one on one. You pulled his suit jacket closer around you, his scent still lingering on it, before you knocked on the double doors.

A tall blonde woman with striking blue eyes opened the doors immediately, a large bright smile on her face once she saw you. Finally seeing her face in the flesh, you weren’t sure what you should be feeling. A part of you wanted to cry since you were practically seeing a dear old friend after five years, but the other part of you wanted to be cautious and see how it plays out.

She launched herself at you, wrapping her arms around you tightly. Cerberus jumped into attention, growling at her. She pulled away and looked down at the pitbull who pushed himself in between you and Rozaliya.

“He’s new,” she said, “Hello, there.” He growled, standing his ground in front of you. “He’s very protective of you, isn’t he?”

“Very,” you said, petting Cerberus’s head to calm him down.

Rozaliya smiled. “I’m glad you could come.” You nodded, not knowing what else to say. “Well, come on in. You’re no stranger. We have a lot to catch up on.”

-

The familiar tea set sat in front of you on the coffee table as Rozaliya brought over a plate of cookies. Cerberus sat next to you, still in alert, almost watching her move around the apartment.

She finally sat down across from the two of you and smiled, folding her hands on her knee. “I’m glad that you’re okay now,” she said.

“You knew what happened to me?” you asked.

Rozaliya pursed her lips. “I wish I knew sooner. I knew how stubborn you were looking for the people that killed your family all on your own, and I should have just gone and send people to help you anyways. We didn’t expect Ophelia to act so soon. It had really pushed our plans back, but let’s not get to that yet. How are you?”

You sighed, tilting your head in thought. “My memory has been coming back gradually. I’ve been relearning… things. Just getting by,” you said.

She looked at you with a sad smile. “You don’t trust me,” she said, “I don’t blame you. Go on, ask me anything.”

“Why only now have you tried to contact me? Why couldn’t you do during those five years?”

“There was a lot going on during that time that I had to deal with and we knew that you weren’t in immediate danger. We never knew that John Wick was going to kill Ophelia, either.”

“And what did you have to do, exactly?”

Rozaliya sighed, recalling the memory. “There are things that my father had done that I had to fix, and it wasn’t easy. I’m still trying to fix it. Years of corruption had led things astray.”

You nodded slowly, taking in this information. Although it seemed like she was telling the truth, there was no way of telling if she was your ally yet. You would just have to hear her out for now. “Alright. What did you want to discuss?”

“I’m sure Yevgeni brought in the briefcase for you. Those documents are what you’ve collected, detailing the accounts of key figures of the Underworld that had gone against the rules or gone around the rules to get their way. Ophelia wanted that information for herself and tried to send people after them. Just because this is the Underworld, doesn’t mean it’s a lawless world. My mother and I want to fix that.” She leaned back in her chair, shifting around to get comfortable.

Cerberus scooted closer to you on the couch. You adjusted yourself, one leg tucked under you, and allowed Cerberus to lean on you. “And you kept all that information with you when I was gone?”

She nodded. “I knew where you kept them and luckily, Ophelia’s people didn’t get to them first. It had been locked away until you came back. It seemed that you came back just in time, too, which brings me to the current situation. You were looking into the Sokolovs, correct?”

“Yes… yes, I am,” you thought for a moment, then said, “You don’t happen to be involved with them are you?”

She bit her lip, adjusting herself on the chair again. “He, Gavriil Sokolov, came to me first. He wanted to use my resources and influence to either rid or take over the other territories, thinking he struck a fair deal by presenting evidence that my father was murdered for his seat at the Table.”

“And was he?”

“He was, but with good reason. As I mentioned, he wasn’t using his powers wisely, so my mother and I planned to get rid of him and take over so we could put things back in order again. Gavriil thought that I would be vengeful of my father’s death and wanting to take the seat from my mother. I only agreed so I could keep an eye on him and influence the outcomes of his plans. He wants a new order, but not in the way that we see it. If he thinks that he could take over, he wouldn’t be any better. That’s what you and John Wick are planning on doing, isn’t it? Planning a new system?”

“How much do you know about our plans?” you said, your arms wrapping around Cerberus. He must have sensed your uneasiness as he growled lowly at Rozaliya.

She smiled at how loyal he was and shrugged. “Everyone knows about what happened to John Wick up to how he practically declared war on the High Table. It would make sense for him to go and find you to help.”

“And you are on our side?”

“Of course, (Y/n). You’re my friend,” she said with such genuity it made you speechless. “You may not readily remember or even believe me, but know that I am on your side. I’ll let you decide what happens next.”

-

Rozaliya’s New York-based underground club, Cassieopia, wasn’t much different from Astraea, except that it was bigger and had a large stage for live performances. You held John’s hand as you weaved through the crowd until you reached the bar. John ordered two shots before leaning against the counter next to you.

“This Gavriil Sokolov is going to be here?” John asked into your ear.

“That’s what she said. She invited him over for a business discussion, but, of course, he doesn’t know we’re here,” you said, “She should be here soon as well.”

A drunk man stumbled passed, tripping over someone’s foot, his hand reaching out to the nearest thing to steady himself, which happened to be your chair. He lifted his head, his eyes scanning your body and he grinned.

“Well, hello-” he leered before John cut him off.

“Goodbye,” John snapped, pushing him away and maneuvering his body to shield you from any other clumsy drunkards that try to make a move on you. 

“You’re acting like Cerberus right now,” you teased, nudging him.

He took a scan of the place, then looked at you with narrowed eyes. His hand moved to your wrist at your pulse. “It seems to me that you enjoy it,” he said lowly.

“Who doesn’t want a tall, dark, and handsome man protecting them?” you grinned, fluttering your eyelashes. John huffed, shoving the shot glass into your hand and held his up. You clinked glasses and drank at the same time.

Rozaliya cleared her throat, looking between you two with a raised eyebrow. “I know you two aren’t the partying type, so I’m sure you want to get straight to business,” she said, her hand resting on John’s arm.

Your eyes caught this immediately and John could feel your pulse picking up. “Rose, our supposed friendship will be in danger if you keep that up,” you found yourself saying. John looked away to hide a smirk. Your cheeks heated when you realized what you said.

Rozaliya removed her hand with a knowing smile. “Okay, you two, follow me.”

You hopped off the bar stool and grabbed John’s hand again, following Rozaliya through the crowd up the metal staircases to one of the private rooms. John squeezed your hand gently as the two of you entered, revealing the room to have a fish tank and a wallpaper filled with stars and galaxies.

Rozaliya sat on one of the leather couches and gestured over to to the wide fish tank at the front of the room. “There’s a door behind me that leads to a hidden room right behind that tank. It’s a one way glass, so you two can see and hear everything. Cameras are installed around this room, the bar, dancefloor, stage area, and the stairway, which you can monitor on the screens. There’s another exit that leads to the main stairwell of the building,” she said.

You walked over to the wall where Rozaliya pointed at, running your fingers along the wallpaper until you felt an indentation hidden in the Rose galaxy. You fished out the pendant from your pocket, the star slotting in perfectly. You cranked the pendant counterclockwise until you heard a click. John pushed the wall, revealing a dimly lit room, then stepped aside to allow you to enter first. The wall clicked shut behind the both of you, the lock returning back to its position.

You made your way over to the monitors, spotting a man that fit the description of Gavriil Sokolov making his way over to the private room. He was of average built with slicked back blonde hair, donning an all black suit. He had brought two guards with him with Yevgeni leading them over.

“How are you, friend?” Gavriil greeted, opening his arms for a hug.

Rozaliya smiled, giving him a short hug before sitting back down. “Drink?”

“Of course.”

Rozaliya nodded at Yevgeni to call in a waiter before turning to Gavriil. “I’ve been made aware of new developments,” she began.

Gavriil chuckled. “That thing. You are resourceful.”

“That’s why you came to me,” she said.

They both laughed it out. “It was a decision I made after much consideration. Thanks to you, the others that are second in line to be the leading crime lord of their territory came into an agreement with me.”

“Agreement?” Rozaliya cocked an eyebrow, her eyes trying to read every facial tic and microexpression on Gavriil’s face even as the waiter came in with the drink and two glasses before leaving without a word.

Gavriil sighed, leaning forward to pour two glasses. “Details. Things you shouldn’t worry too much about. Not everyone agreed, of course, but enough. Word on the street, this Persephone has been gathering up allies as well. Most of the people that disagreed or hadn’t answered had a previous history with her. Do you know of this person?”

Rozaliya hummed, taking the glass from him. If Gavriil got this much done before she found out, how many other plans had he done without her knowledge, using her name to gain influence?

“I suppose you haven’t heard of Persephone. You’ve only been in the Underworld in the past year while she’s been gone from action for almost five years. I’ve heard many things about her. She’s very skilled, very deadly. Even killed a man twice her size with a stiletto shoe.”

“A stiletto shoe?” he asked in disbelief.

“A stiletto shoe.”

John broke away from the monitor and turned to you with a raised eyebrow. “Impressive, but it’s your style. You do love to slice and stab things,” he whispered.

“Didn’t you kill someone with a fuckin’ pencil?” you whispered back, nudging his arm.

John shrugged. “Once or twice.”

Gavriil took a shot of vodka before setting the glass down. “Can you refresh my memory? Killing innocents are against the rules even in the Underworld, too, right?”

“Yes, of course. Why?”

He sighed, pouring himself another drink. “From one of my sources, they say that she’d killed countless of innocent bystanders as well,” he went on. You stiffen, wondering who exactly was his source that would tell such a thing. “They say that she just gone mad and massacre the other residents in her apartment complex. After that, she went missing.”

You shake your head, backing away from the fish tank in denial, but that night of the break-in of your apartment flashed through your mind. You knew that it was one of the Instructor’s people that you killed, but there was still a missing piece between that time and when you were holding the body of an innocent, their blood staining your hands. You weren’t sure if you had killed them, or you simply assumed that you had because you were holding them. But to say that you had killed everyone in that building? It must be a mistake. If you had, the Adjudicator would have been looking for you from that point on and not even Ophelia or Caius could evade them.

Something’s off. The plan was to have him reveal everything and then get rid of him and restore the territories back to Tarasov. You and Rozaliya were convinced that he told everything to her, given how new he was to this business life he would confide in almost every decision he made. He was, after all, using her money and influence to even achieve his goals.

“John-” You started to say, but he was already ahead of you, making his way over to the other door. “Wait.” You rushed over to him and pressed your lips firmly on his cheek. His eyes widened before pulling you closer and captured your lips roughly, pouring every unspoken word into the kiss.

He finally pulled away, running a thumb along your bottom lip. “See you in a bit,” he said before heading out through the narrow hallway behind the room that led to the stairwell.

You caught your breath and turned back to the fish tank, your nerves spiking up again once he left. You tried to focus on the mission, listening intently to the conversation.

“Back to the subject at hand,” Rozaliya said, reminding him, “I thought we agreed that we would be sharing decisions within our partnership. After all, without me, you wouldn’t be able to obtain even half of the power you gained.”

“This is true,” he admitted, “but with my new allies, I don’t think I need you.”

“Excuse me?”

“Especially when you have gone behind my back as well. I may be new to the Underworld, but I am a fast learner. You want to know what I’m planning? Justice to be dealt with on every member of the Table, every leading crime lord, and every Continental manager.” Gavriil smirked, knocking back a shot before standing. He fixed his suit and looked directly into the fishtank. “I’m sure we’ll run into each other in due time, but I really hope not.”

With that, he left with his guards, pushing passed Yevgeni. Once he was out of the room, Rozaliya told Yevgeni to start evacuating the club before making her way over to the hidden room. She walked straight towards the monitors, her blue eyes honing in on Gavriil’s retreating figure. She swore under her breath, pressing a button to eject a disc from the recorder.

“We need to get out. Now,” she said firmly, opening the other exit.

You followed close behind, hearing the ruckus of people spilling out of the club as the music stopped. Rozaliya took her high heels off and rushed up the rest of the stairs, putting them back on once the two of you had reached the ground level.

Yevgeni was already waiting for you two outside, leading you to safety away from the building. An explosion erupted, shattering the windows of the first floor. You swiveled around, looking for Gavriil and his men. The sound of screeching tires caught your attention and you moved towards the sound to see a car speeding towards the block. Three heavy armored black cars rolled up in time as the car opened fire at the evacuated crowd, shielding everyone. They shouted, ducking for cover while the rest of the security guards tried to calm them down and control the situation.

“He thinks he can mess with the Romanovas?” Rozaliya spat. “I’ll show him.”

Once the car drove off, the crowd began to disperse, guiding by the security guards. John stepped away from the window of a nearby building, turning to see his captives, Gavriil’s two bodyguards along with three other men working under him. They struggled against their ropes, blood and sweat trickling down from their foreheads and obscuring their vision.

John walked up to the three men and crouched down to their eye level. “I wonder what Nastya Romanova would do if she finds that several of her men have betrayed the family,” he said.

“I’d imagine she’d be extremely pissed off,” a female’s voice said in Russian.

John turned to see a woman with graying mousy brown hair stepped out of the shadows. John slightly lowered his head in respect. “Nastya,” he greeted.

Nastya grinned. “It’s good to see you again, John. Now, tell me who is trying to hurt my daughter.”

-

Taglist: @venusgothic @weappreciatepower @anita-e-taylor @mikaneonox @sparrowsparrow @introvertedmegalomaniac @tomhardy41 @xmisssnowwhitex

[screwtheprinceimtakingthehorse]

If I Never Turn, I Will Never Grow (Keep The Door Ajar When I’m Coming Home)

Part 5 of 10 of my 1 Million Words Celebration Challenge | for @amazinmango

When she turned eighteen, Emily asked for the first time whether he regretted letting the Knife of Dunwall live. Letting him go, letting him fade into the shadows as he’d asked, the carved-up assassin who’d come to destroy their world.

Corvo had a different answer for her then than the one he would have chosen now. He had just returned from the Royal Conservatory, that blood-and-witch-infested dungeon, and there were words beyond those that Delilah’s painted flesh had flung at him in outrage that haunted him. An audiograph in the quartermaster’s archive, half-concealed, half something Ashworth still refused to hide away completely.

After Delilah fell to the assassin Daud, the coven scattered.

And no five feet away, a painting by Delilah’s brush, of a young woman. A young woman that Corvo had immediately recognised as Meagan Foster’s younger, unmasked self. Unmasked — but certainly not unmarked. Corvo had found more. Old notes, diaries, journals, all salvaged from a place called Brigmore. Another familiar name.

How could he have been so blind? To think, that he had skulked through those ruins less than a year ago… witches’ bones, indeed. Had he walked across the remnants of one of Daud’s springrazors betwixt those shallow graves? Had some of the markings in the brick been hewn by his sword, fighting a coven Corvo had had no idea ever existed until today? The witches — Delilah — had seen him coming, and had used Daud’s own lieutenant to try and eliminate the threat, only she had failed. And, somehow, escaped with her life; to invent herself anew. And now, she barely admitted to ‘knowing’ Ashworth, calling hers an ‘eclectic crowd,’ and managed to conceal the reason she had ever come to Dunwall to warn him even from the Heart. Sokolov’s investigations might have informed the timing, but Corvo did not believe for a moment that Foster — Lurk — had acted out of anything less than guilt.

The question was, who was her debtor: Corvo — or the Knife? For an assassin, which sat heavier in a heart — murder, or betrayal?

If Corvo regretted anything now, as he was on his way back to the sewers underneath Cyria Gardens, it was that he had never thrown Daud in a cell and cooked him until he told him everything he knew. Crucially, the witches' journals did not tell the whole story.

“Is it done?” Foster asked when he appeared in front of her. She had never even flinched to see him Blink.

“Take me back to the Wale.”

She did not comment on his lack of manners. Perhaps she was too eager to leave Ashworth — and her past — behind her.

But not yet.

On the Dreadful Wale, Corvo had not made two steps into the main room, Foster ahead of him at the table to light her pipe, when he demanded: “What reason did Daud have to kill Delilah fifteen years ago?”

Foster stilled. Her back remained to Corvo.

“Talk to me, Billie. Or I’ll finish this journey on my own. Without you — or Anton, if he knew and kept it from me.” Corvo idly wondered whether she’d think he wished to undo his act of clemency at Rudshore. He wondered whether he believed it enough, in that moment. Perhaps he did. Perhaps too well.

She turned, cold fury in her eye.

“Anton doesn’t know anything,” she hissed. She did not bother denying it.

Corvo stepped forward, sat down in the chair by the door, and put his dusty boots up on the table.

“Prove it.”

Continue reading on AO3 ⟶

[ratcorvo]

I just saw a gif set of TLOU but I'm blind and tired so I mistook the middle gif for Corvo (hint: it was not Corvo) and now I desperately want a TLOU AU for Dishonored. I don't even know the names of the characters in TLOU but by God do I love the idea of that AU

ooF CAN YOU IMAGINE

what was in the woods? there is a boy who lingers in the emptiest corners of the ugliest of your inherited nightmares, beckoning, tacit, ominous. and watching. always watching. when your aching eyes glance towards the no man’s lands after your routine patrol, when the tainted blood on your hands is at its thickest, you swear you can almost see him, amongst the corroded cries of moaning clickers, in the overgrown, desolate pipes of old sewers your father swore he played in before all this, in your niece’s dying eyes as she makes her first kill. watching. one autumn’s twilight, when news of the president’s head of security returns home with news that could only mean chaos and death, something burns the crevices of your palm, like violent, dying light, something that wants out. and there he is again, the boy, smiling this time, and something dances on the curves of your spine as you reach out to touch at his beckoning hand  — lets see if we can do better. 

its been nine months since the president is killed for nothing more but a single penny in a poor man’s pocket and a simple whim in a hungry man’s game. just like her father, they spit at you as you lurch the jagged edge of your dagger through a runner’s gut, a boy you once spent the better half of your dreary childhood playing hopscotch with, her father caused this infected mess with his greed. men who have it all always want more. you wince as the clicker you neglected to see devours your second command, her hands flaying to grab on to something - anything - as she pleads with you to save her. so did she, says the ex fireflier daud.

once again, a child is left parentless, alone, and with power, a single ring, others want. they say her lover did this. her daughter is missing. history repeats itself. the loaf of miss petuna’s mouldy bread you stole to feed the crying toddler whose parent died in your care has been taken from the remnants of your mahogany counter. so has your dead brother’s broach and your ill mother’s medicine, the medicine you murdered a firefly couple for. the clip on your dust stained window is up and you silently curse at yourself for leaving it unlocked. there are no finger prints left, only pain.

there were only two rings that would gain the resistance access to the tools the late president jessamine locked away in her family’s personal vault that would let them gain power and weaponize the infection: her’s and the protector’s

there’s an old lady who lives on the outskirts of the settlement you used to visit during your weary days training in the military. she’d fancied herself a bearer of good things and called you sweet nothings like darling and lover and black eyes, like you knew her once upon a time when she was young and daring and careless, and you’d always play along just to make her smile. for your visits, she’d give you weird intricates made of infected bone. their designs were pretty, but made you feel weird. if you’d trust any soul in this day and age, you swore they made your kills faster, your healing quicker, your movements effortless. if you were any braver, perhaps, you’d swear old granny rags never aged since the day you met her, eighteen years ago. if you had the balls, you’d ask her why the mark on her shoulder looked exactly like yours.

times you’d pass the fancy cat on your daily military routines. these days, you’d fail to notice the desperate little girl in the seventh storey window who’d shine the afternoon sun on the golden ring her mother gave her, if only to get your attention. by now, she knew your shift off by heart. amongst all the people the young twelve year old distrusted, she thought you had the kindest face. 

the resistance were full of rich, perverted old men. when you heard rumors the escaped corvo had joined their forces, you pitied him. the chains of the rich still felt the same on your wrists. the infected bit all the same.

what will we do with the drunken firefly, the children in rotted rags would sing as mutilated bodies of infected and humans alike were harvested through the soft city morning light in the old capitol building, you notice the body you carried held a necklace engraved ‘tess’, and you wondered what life she lived, early in the morning.

it was rumored that piero was a scientist forced into work by the fireflies. gun in hand, they threatened everything: his life’s work, his family, his brain. god, his willing brain - a gift to humanity, the fireflies sung, harmonious and oh so violent, as if it were god’s very will, to anyone who would listen, including you. they say he met a young girl who’s biology could change it all, the lamb on the cutting edge you were told to protect, despite the surgeons whose hands would cut her cold, if only you wanted the medicine to say your mother who laughed on death’s door

and old sokolov, a scientist of the government turned resistance, who grew weary of his allies, reunited with piero at masked death’s decree. kill all three on site, says your commanding officer, his pants full with gold and women. you look him in his rested eyes and you see the boy behind him, smiling, and you push him into daud’s arms, who thanks you with a small smile. you don’t know how you did it, from meters away, but your hand burns.

these days, lying hoarfrost at the ocean, the boy often asks you not who you were, but who you would be, as he plays and cleans the whale guts out of the tainted strands of your messy, unkept hair. he asks you things from how you like your left hook from who you’d rather see win in the race of time: the infected or the uninfected or no one or yourself, alone in the entirety of the wretched world. instead, you ask him why it’s relevant and he asks you why you have your father’s blood painted on your lower abdomen, and he asks you why you didn’t help the president’s protector with the gift he gave you. he’s amused when you try to push his nimble, bloody knuckles away, and you ask him why he wears his collar too high, especially for a dead person. 

you let him take her. the scruffy man you saw once in your dreams. it means nothing to you now. 

now, six years later, you ask the boy what might have happened if you helped the little nineteen year old president. if you decided to slice the scruffy man’s throat that day he took the lamb. instead of musing you, he smiles. you are left with silence

[black-water-simping-ships]

low chaos butcher in dh1

or, I Killed 79 People And Everyone Loved Me ft. rat dad

started out as me trying to implement a playstyle i wrote into a fic once; basically, butcher your way through coldridge, after that only kill the conspirators, kill the whalers you encounter outside the flooded district

Dishonored: killed the Whalers I think and lots of guards. bodycount 16, overall chaos high

Campbell: didn’t enter the distillery or perform any tasks for granny. blinked up to the meeting room, swapped the glasses, then sleepdarted curnow as he was about to call for help after campbell collapsed, stashed him in the designated dumpster, put campbell out on the ledge to be on the safe side, then escaped towards samuel after knocking out the overseers who were trying to arrest the witch. Bodycount: 2 (total 18) because apparently i managed to kill a guard or an overseer without noticing. probably put someone down the wrong way. Ghost, no bodies found and no alarm rung. Chaos: low

Pendletons: killed the three whalers. didn’t assist slackjaw beyond robbing galvani. proved high dad instincts by entering the golden cat right into the hallway where emily was kept. killed the twins from the balconies; only one counted as “body detected” because the other whore...vanished? no ghost, low chaos, bodycount 5 (total 23)

royal physician. ez. got king of the world achievement for reaching the top of kaldwin’s bridge, lots of climbing, immediately blinked up to the greenhouse on top. only good action was freeing the subject but! complete clean hands and ghost.

lady boyle: after raiding the outsider shrine i blinked in on the left part of the estate (slicing corvo up a bit on the barbed wire lol). one of the guests lost her invitation, i picked it up and was admitted inside. brought the note to ...ramsey? but didn’t duel him, then spoke to mrs white and mr creepy abductor. convinced waverly in red to follow me into a supply closet. stabbed her. walked out. apparently an unconscious or dead body was found but i still managed to ghost. forgot to sign the guestbook. bodycount 1 (total 24), low chaos

BURROWS: blinked in through the maintenance hatch, blinked over the chandeliers into burrows’ own bedchamber, waited 5 min for him to come in, blinked in front of him so he said: “oh no the assASS-”, stabbed him, blinked out again. whee. ghost and no bodies found. i didn’t confront the torturer or release the truth or even visit jess’ grave. bodycount 1 (total 25), low chaos

flooded district: boy this one was a mess. i was spotted by the whalers escaping their prison but managed to stay undetected until i confronted daud, which i did by blinking right in front of his nose and staring at him angrily. let him live. after the whalers turned nonhostile, one still kicked me D: . didn’t recover the tools of the trade so i had to do the rest of the game without a crossbow. met a cute survivor lady near the trash dump. killed granny rags and another civilian? or maybe it counted as 2 kills? total bodycount now 27, still low chaos. here i found the ONLY!!! sokolov painting i obtained in the ENTIRE game haha.

hounds pit rescue!: i managed to find not a single coin. not one coin. oh boy. stabbed some guards because i had acquired shadow kill, sneaked up on the philosophy bros, had them fry all the guards. ghost. bodycount 19 (total 46) but still low chaos

the light at the end: samuel gives me an uplifting speech about how i didn’t lash out in rage, stayed my hand, never lost sight of what really mattered etc. etc. what an honour. really touching. then i found a rewire tool and reprogrammed a watchtower, spent the next 5 minutes watching it blow up guards :D did some climbing, possessed a guy to walk through the wall of light then stabbed him etc. i was detected apparently, probably by havelock who turned hostile after i took the key. then i stabbed him and rescued emily. bodycount: 33, finishing at a whooping 79, low chaos. cut to the outsider telling me what an age of prosperity my actions brought on

[lunadiane]

dishonored 1: Canon run notes

These are notes I made for a Canon run of Dishonored, in which you make all the decisions Corvo presumably made in canon. Information has been collected mostly from reddit, which further draws from Harvey Smith’s old tweets, Dishonored 2 and other material, like the Dishonored novels.

Obviously, spoilers for the entire game!

In General, since Corvo is an honourable man: (snrk)

Do not kill civilians or weepers

Low Chaos

Keep killing Guards to a minimum, unless absolutely necessary (Corvo did kill a few guards here and there canonically)

Try to help civilians out as much as possible

The Prologue:

Play hide-and-seek with Emily 

Do not disrupt Sokolov’s painting of Campbell by drinking the whiskey prop (that same painting is present in D2 with the whiskey bottle)

Coldridge Prison

Kill no guards as much as possible

High Overseer Campbell

Brand Campbell (nonlethal)

Save Captain Curnow

Save Griff the Scavenger

Get Rid of Granny Rags’ Gentleman Callers (lethal or nonlethal)

Do not infect the Bottle Street Elixir

Save Overseer Berthold and Elsa from zealous Overseers at the backyard of the Office of the High Overseer

House of Pleasure

Help Slackjaw find Crowley

Rescue Emily before dealing with the twins

Save the woman being harassed by City Watch Guards over elixirs

This one’s a bit of a problem. There doesn’t seem to be a definite answer as to how Corvo completed this mission in canon, so here’s my take in addition to the first three points:

Kill the Pendleton twins and make sure they see you (no death by steam) 

Kill guards in the way as you please

I see Corvo as really, really fucking mad during this mission, being so close to Emily, and knowing that she’s been put in a brothel and is to be moved soon, so he’s impatient and impulsive, willing to kill when he needs to. Corvo has also been said to disapprove of torture in the novels, which is why I don’t think he’ll torture Bunting for loot or the nonlethal option. Of course, you can play it differently according to your headcanon, maybe he feels obliged not to kill them due to Treavor Pendleton being part of the Loyalists, or maybe he thinks their fate as slaves in their own mines is a more fitting punishment than death, after he’s rescued Emily.

Royal Physician

Free the test subjects outside his manor

Free the test subject woman in the cage in Sokolov’s lab

Save the stranded woman from rats

Lady Boyle’s Last Party

Bribe Sokolov (He’s an innocent in all this, and Corvo doesn’t like torture)

Give Lady Boyle to Lord Brisby (nonlethal)

Duel Lord Shaw (can’t be sure if lethally or nonlethally, Corvo seems like the kind of guy who would carry out favours as told, but he didn’t know Pendleton’s message was going to be a duel. He seems willing to cheat on a duel and sleep dart Lord Shaw since he’s an innocent, or he could not give a fuck and shoot him.)

Return to the Tower

Kill the Royal Interrogator (Lord Regent’s Torturer)

Expose the Lord Regent’s Corruption publicly (nonlethal)

(Optional) Kill the Lord Regent after exposing him

Again we run into a little bit of a snag. In D2 is a group who idolize Lord Regent Hirram Burrows, who mention his ‘wrongful arrest’. This means that the Lord Regent was exposed and arrested for his crimes. However, it’s been confirmed that Corvo did kill Hirram Burrows, but it could be after exposing him, or as his executioner after imprisonment and trial. It’s up to you. 

What I did was to expose him, and then when he’s arrested by guards, sleep dart the guards and stab the Lord Regent himself. If you see Corvo as more the dramatic type, you could reveal his identity to the Lord Regent, expose him and then kill him, so that Burrows is fully aware all his plans have failed, and Corvo, the man he framed for Jessamine’s murder, has gotten his revenge.

The Flooded District

Get your stuff back

Fight, then Spare Daud

Help the Plague Survivors Escape by deactivating the Arc Pylon while protecting them from Tallboys

Kill Granny Rags and Free Slackjaw

When I played this mission in my canon run, I saw Corvo as Really Fucking Pissed Off now that he’s been betrayed a second time, and killing whalers left and right seeing as they’re assassins working for the man who killed the Empress. But there’s no canon information as to whether Corvo kills any whalers at all or doesn’t kill them.

The Loyalists

Rescue Piero and Sokolov

I did this mission without killing any of the guards and firing up their Arc Pylon, but it’s kind of up to you at this point?

The Light at the End (Low Chaos)

Fight Havelock - spare him at first and take the key to Emily’s room, which will lead him to attack you.

And there you go! Still some ambiguity in there, but I think that’s a pretty good outline that has everything for a canon run. After writing this, which is after I finished my canon run, I realized that I missed out a couple things, which just means I have to play Dishonored again, yay

[carvedbones]

❝ i don’t have to answer that. ❞

* starters.

❝  i never claimed you were obligated to engage in this conversation in the first place, yet you did. certain topics lead to certain questions, uncomfortable as they may be, as i’m sure you’re aware. i am no deity of comfort, nor do i find sacrificing meaning for the sake of politeness beneficial,  ❞   what pretty, hollow words for a man who had difficulty with speaking of his human origins ; eyes, black as onyx, granted doctor nox his exemplary unnerving gaze, a hint of mockery lacing the vowels that slipped past black-painted lips, edges tilting upward for but a second. how amusing, conversing with a prolific doctor, one of few who spoke to anton sokolov  —-  who pays attention to shrines, but finds himself blessed with the presence of a powerful deity, whose face few have seen.

the outsider’s arrogance was but a facade, yet one he wore with pride as he approached alexander, the height difference in no way a bother to him any longer. he knew who had control in this situation, and for now it was worth the risk. even if he touched him, expressed any sort of anger, so what? his visits were a privilege, and if his believers were true to their word, true to themselves, they would rather not risk losing the very thing they got on their knees for. he stood still before him, a few inches away, looking up at him with a slight tilt of the head. 

❝  if you give an honest answer, you can expect the same in return. whether you partake in this exchange is your choice.  ❞

[exalok]

Prince!Daud AU, part 4 (repost)

My dearest Corvo, the letter began, and Corvo heaved a long, deeply relieved sigh and settled down in the armchair to read.

I would ask your forgiveness for my silence, but I know you have not held it against me. I have been terribly busy setting up the necessary means of distribution for the supplies Serkonos will be sending us shortly. Prince Daud assured me the ships would arrive within the month; it has been hardly more than a week and already I am impatient to see the sails cresting the horizon as they sail up the Wrenhaven.

The plague continues to ravage my city. I fear for my people, but I know Serkonos will remain true, and our philosophers are hard at work looking for a cure. I know we will surpass this. Only believe me and it will become truth, rather than faith.

Tell me about your first days of marriage. Is Daud as sour as he seems? Does he sleep in the nude?

Corvo covered his face with his hands. It did nothing to stop the flush in his cheeks. Jess had always had a... very healthy sense of curiosity, and been entirely unafraid to sate it. Half anticipating disaster, half biting his lip to keep in his laughter, Corvo rested his head in one hand and kept on.

Tell me everything about his strange little habits and embarrassing secrets. I promise not to use any of it as blackmail, or spill a thing to my Spymaster. You know I will keep my word.

The smile choked him against his will. Corvo breathed in deep, then back out through his nose.

I began by saying I would not ask your forgiveness, but now I think I must – for I have taken this long to tell you something you have, I believe, waited to hear for nearly a year.

I gave birth. Two days ago. Another reason I did not write sooner.

Her name is Emily. Please forgive me for making you wait all this long letter to know.

Corvo's hands didn't shake, but still he heard, rumbling from the depths of the bed, Daud's voice:

“Attano.” A rustling of blankets as Daud moved, and the dry sound of paper. He'd been reading. “Something wrong.”

“Mm,” Corvo managed, his voice hoarse. He scraped away the wetness from his eyelids. “No.”

She is a wonder. Her hands and feet are so small, and her eyes – the truest blue! I wish you could see how beautiful she is, and hear how strong: I do believe she woke half of Dunwall Tower with her wailing when she found her first breath. She will amaze you. I imagine she does already, my dearest friend.

Waiting for your swift reply,

Your Empress,

Jessamine Kaldwin

Jess held a strange and special place in his heart; she knew this as well as he did, and the opposite was just as true. Not siblings, but just as conspiratorial; not lovers, nor sweethearts, but just as generous with the tender parts of themselves. Corvo shared in her joy for the existence of her daughter like the child, a child he had not even seen, was his own.

They had slept together once – when Jessamine was eighteen, a gorgeous and infuriating woman, some wild and momentary loss of control. The morning after she had looked at him from her seat at the vanity, him with his hair tangled in sleep, bleary-eyed, apprehensive, and she'd laughed and jumped on the mattress next to him, stroking the hair from his forehead.

I enjoyed last night very much, she'd said, cross-legged, her painted smile soft and genuine. But I don't think it should happen again.

Oh, yeah, he'd said right away, a certain tension running right out of him. I mean, no. I agree.

And she'd grinned and kissed his forehead, and had spent an hour brushing his hair into a silky ponytail.

They had never felt the urge again. Jessamine had fooled around with her fair share of lovers over the years, since – it was anyone's guess who Emily's father was, though when asked, Jess would always share a small, secretive smile, like she knew exactly who and wouldn't tell.

But –

Another series of rustles interrupted his thoughts as Daud shifted again, and the light in the room suddenly dimmed. The Prince had shut off his lamp. All that was left was the flickering glow of Corvo's candle.

“Goodnight,” Daud rumbled, or something close enough. The words were mostly muffled by the blankets. Within minutes his breathing had deepened, evening out, the rasp fading and dying out entirely.

Right. But none of that could change that she was an Empress, and Corvo existed to serve her. She'd never told him what the real purpose of this marriage was. He knew she kept certain things close to the chest – not even he knew her every secret – and he didn't fault her that caution, or that desire for privacy, but sometimes he didn't understand the reasoning behind any of it. He wished, a little, that if he had to be away from the closest friend he'd ever had, he could at least have been allowed to escape the opaque world of the court.

No luck: married to a Prince. He would have to make do.

His mood only slightly dampened, Corvo drew out a blank sheet of thick, expensive paper, grabbed a pen from the holder at the edge of the desk by the armchair, and started writing.

Jess,

I have seen with my own eyes the hours it takes you to keep your Empire going, so no, I don't fault you the time it took to write this letter. It is the same over here in Serkonos: Daud spends most of the day in his office, dealing with correspondence, or in council arguing over the state of the law, and only finds time for himself late in the evening. Quite a bit of it all has been about the supplies, what to send and where to take it from. Be certain Serkonos will keep to the deal.

Have more staff at the Tower fallen ill? Be careful. I worry now that I'm not there to shield you, should you need it, though I know you wouldn't have sent me away without ensuring your own safety first.

But my believing you, and believing in you, has never been in doubt. You will guide Dunwall through this. The plague won't know what hit it.

Now –

Corvo glanced back at Daud, the pen stilling in his hand. Silence at first, like a veil in the darkness of the royal bedroom, then the sound of cloth as Daud moved in his sleep. Corvo bent over the letter again.

Daud is quiet. Not so much sour as disapproving. He glares at my nails when they grow too long and my hair when it isn't tied. Other than that, he keeps to himself. His hands are always stained with ink, which I think is why he wears those gloves, and – I almost laughed when I found out – he puts lifts inside his shoes to look taller. Really he's an inch or two shorter than me. The glaring is almost endearing for it.

I'm not telling you what he looks like when he sleeps. You'll just have to find out for yourself.

Aside from that, he's terrible. No sense of self-preservation. You'd think he would know to keep himself surrounded, being the prince of an entire country, but no. It's very frustrating.

I am

Corvo swallowed, emotion getting the best of him again as he imagined that pink, wrinkled face in the crook of Jessamine's arm. The desperate surge inside him was difficult to couch in words. He hardly knew what to call it.

I am so happy. Emily is a beautiful name. Maybe you could convince Sokolov to paint her, and send me the portrait, so I could see her real face rather than let my imagination try to do it justice. It might even teach him to draw something other than sad, tired faces.

Tell me as much as you can about her. She'll have already grown so much by the time I can visit you in Dunwall.

He signed it with his name – nothing like the flourish Jess could trace from the tip of a quill, but familiar, the same as what he would have written at the end of a note left on the edge of her desk. There was no need for fancy curls between them.

Folded, addressed, and sealed with Daud's Karnaca-blue wax stick, imprinted with the ring Jess had given him as a parting present. Simpler than her own signet ring, but detailed enough: the head and long neck of a bird, bracketed by graceful curves like upraised wings. Her symbol. It was a little like he was still hers, when he pressed the mark into the hot wax and left the letter on top of the messages to be sent off in the morning.

The linens, when Corvo slid underneath the covers as quietly as he could, were still as off-putting as they had been the other times he'd slept in them: being Royal Protector gave him certain privileges, but these sheets were cool and smooth as water on his skin, quickly radiating back his own warmth, the kind of quality he'd only expect of his Empress's things. It was uncomfortably reminiscent of that night he'd spent in her bed, four years ago.

As quiet and discreet as he was, that didn't change the indent he made in the mattress as he lay down, and he expected Daud to at least resettle to compensate – but the Prince lay still and silent; not tense, and his breathing was still deep and even, but – he wasn't snoring, either. Corvo frowned.

“You're not sleeping,” he murmured, brushing Daud's shoulder. The only reaction was a pause in the Prince's breathing: an emptiness, where before there had been sound.

“No,” Daud replied, a bass rasp, like a quake in the earth.

Corvo hesitated, drawing his hand back, then said, “Does that happen often?”

The Prince said nothing for such a long moment Corvo assumed he'd either properly fallen asleep, or hadn't deemed the question worth answering. His voice drifted up out of the formless dark, wry, an edge of mockery: “Sometimes.”

Corvo dropped the subject, and some time later the Prince relaxed again. It was unsure which of them fell asleep first, but when dawn pried through the gaps in the window shutters and stirred Corvo out of slumber, the other side of the bed was empty and cold.