Delilah likes Dunwall tower. When she was younger she had spent many years here, and had she known that it would take this long to come back she would have left a little of herself behind, just to watch over the place. To watch it mature like fruit, ready for her reign. And it had been ripe for the picking for a little while after Jessamine’s death.
But Emily is older now, with quick hands and her mother’s eyes.
“We meet, Emily,” Delilah says, and her tongue is silver in her mouth, bright and knowing in the dim light of the throne room. “But I know you. I’ve known you for a very long time.”
-
But whom do you blame for the will in you
That feeds itself and makes you dock-weed
Jimpson, dandelion or mullen
And which can never use any soil or air
So as to make you jessamine or wisteria?
There are gentle hands on him, washing the filth out of his hair and tilting his face into the sun.
‘It is rare that the sun shines on Morley,’ his mother sings, fingers combing through his damp hair. ‘And yet rarer to see... A boy with black eyes, sitting in the sky, gazing back at me.’
He remembers Morley. He remembers snow and roaring fires and bare feet on cold wood. He remembers the tattered tapestry depicting Bragi’s great hunting-cry as it hung above the worn tables of the inn, and the bowls of soup too rich for a little boy like him.
He has been away from home too long. He has seen the heat of Serkonos, only tempered by the monsoon rains. Tyvian wine and fresh raw whalemeat taste even better with a snowstorm roaring outside, as he’s found, but Dunwall is where he has settled for now.
In Gristol’s flower shops he can see Morley orchids inside the glass windows, the delicate pale colour of their petals darkening into vivid purple centers.
Eirlys, he remembers. That’s what Mam called them, pushing them into jugs of water. They withered soon if the water wasn’t cold enough, and his job had been to rotate several bunches of flowers between the cold outside and the warmth of the inn.
‘Alun,’ his mother had said. ‘Alun, we are Morlish. We will never be anything else, you hear?’
‘Yes,’ he says aloud, and ignores the strange looks passers-by give him. ‘Nothing else.’
There is a ticking machine waiting for him in his workshop. He remembers watching the inn burn down from a distance, his mother’s shawl around his shoulders. Later today Alun will take the machine to Dunwall Tower and beg for an audience with the Empress.
eldritch abomination crawls out of the Wrenhaven one night and comes to the occupants of the Hound Pits in the guise of whomever each person desires the most (Emily excluded of course - she dreams of happier times, in disturbed the whole night through) and everyone just gets w r e c k e d by his tentacle-wielding sex beast
mama lurk in exchange for my three livers and a kidney can I tempt you with filth enough to write even a drabble of Wallace Higgins/Treavor Pendleton daddy!kink - throw me in the fucking trash where I belong but lord god if you do it I will come off anon and submit to any fic request you may have bless you and bless me [sprinkles self in holy water]
*mama lurk descends from heav’n*
you should never make a bargain with the devil
Wallace is kinder than he ought to be. Treavor bosses him around in public, but when the audiograph machines are off and the lights are low, he sleeps with his head in Wallace’s lap.
‘Daddy,’ Treavor breathes, eyes glazed over with need. ‘Daddy, I’ve been a good boy, haven’t I?’ Wallace knows his master is truly lost, but even so he must have a hand to hold him through this darkness.
‘You’ve been very good, my boy,’ Wallace says, and Treavor fumbles with Wallace’s trousers in the dark, fingers trembling as they wrap around Wallace’s cock.
He brings his nose in closer, inhaling deeply. ‘Why aren’t you hard, Daddy?’ Wallace fists his hand in Treavor’s hair gently, shaking.
‘Then get me hard, boy,’ Wallace says, and if his voice trembles Treavor doesn’t mention it.
oh oh oh please something shippy with Sokolov and Piero for the prompt thing that would be so great! <3
It’s frantic and almost hateful, but it’s one last wank before death, as Sokolov says. Piero jerks him off in his own workshop as the walls rattle around them.
He hates it a little because Sokolov is supposed to be his rival, and he’d ruined Piero by kicking him out of the Academy. But Sokolov is surprisingly talented with his hands, and Piero’s glasses are riding too low on his nose and fogging up between the both of them.
I forgot to write a prompt before your askbox closed I'm sorry ;__; If you ever do anything like this again please consider Daud/Martin pre-series where young highwayman Teague gets all his info about trade routes from Daud and pays him with sex when the coin runs short
They have a system that requires no discussion except for the odd barter now and then. It's a blowjob for a small caravan of goods and full-blown hot 'n sticky sex for a load owned by nobles, which makes it worth both their whiles.
Daud does his job well, better than Teague's own network does.
'Might as well join me,' Daud groans as Teague sucks his dick down greedily, one hand on Teague's head fisting his hair lazily as the other rests on his own thigh. 'We could do this every night.'
But Teague Martin has his pride, and when being a highwayman no longer appeals to him he turns to the Abbey and feigns piousness. If he slides two fingers into himself in the middle of the night while praying for forgiveness and deliverance from the Outsider's grasp, who's to judge?
arley is sixteen when daud finds him in the gutter. just old enough to hawk himself, and when daud crooks his finger at him arley just manages to crawl out to suck him off for ten coin.
that ten coin gets him bread, cheese, and the patronage of one of dunwall's newest up-and-coming assassins. daud comes to him, flushed after a kill, and arley spreads his legs and breathes in and thinks this will be over soon. it isn't, and daud (hardly older then, barely twenty-five) brings him back to his place. a tiny hidey-hole in an abandoned building, and daud ties arley up and fucks him viciously and tells him that he'll kill every single fucking noble in this shit-city for less than a hundred coin. he tells arley he hates dunwall, but the outsider has given him these gifts and he sees no reason why he shouldn't use them for self-improvement. financially speaking, of course.
but daud tosses him a rough blanket at the end of the night and tells him to go to sleep, and arley succumbs before he knows it.
hmmmm 20yo Daud and 16yo Corvo during the Fugue Feast, Daud wearing some stupid wolf mask his superior thought was funny and he runs across cute young Corvo dressed all fancy hanging out with Jessamine. it's a lil warm so the tiny idiot is wearing lil typical shota shorts. Daud is mildly tipsy and thinks about how he wants to devour that boy. i know u like the shotas so do with this as u wish. i also know the ages/timelines are off but w/e
is this miranda are you miranda
—
It’s almost never warm in Dunwall. Everyone knows this, but in the days before the fugue feast a heat wave strikes and the citizens wander about the streets without their coats.
Jessamine has two pairs of shorts, and she passes a pair to Corvo before winking at him.
'They look like they'd fit you well,' she says in lieu of an explanation, and they actually do. Almost too snugly, tight in the back and the front. She squeals when she sees him, clapping and giggling.
He folds his arms. ‘You look so offended,’ she gasps, on the brink of tears from laughing. ‘Corvo, you are definitely keeping the pants.’
+
Corvo should have known better. He should have known better to wander the streets in these itty bitty shorts during the fugue feast of all times, but he didn’t want to rip anything he had. They still belonged to the palace, after all.
There’s a man in a wolf mask following him, and judging by his build Corvo doesn’t think he’s much older. In fact, he’s shorter, and Corvo wonders if the predator would be aware that he has become the prey.
