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newbordeaux · 7 months

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posting unedited oc writing and putting it in the main tag im being braver than the us marine or whatever

Voidtober Day 1 - Plague

Georgina gasped for air as she finally lifted the heavy cadaver onto her autopsy table. Truthfully, it was no real autopsy table, rather one she conducted regular operations on, but her patients needn’t know that. She had to make do with what little she had and regardless, she would disinfect it later.

With the rapid speed at which the plague had spread throughout the city, and particularly the distillery district, one might assume that she would have little trouble finding a body to conduct her research on. But in fact, it was quite the opposite, with the city watch vigorously patrolling Clavering Boulevard, ever vigilant for anyone who might break quarantine. She could only imagine what would happen if they caught her stealing an infectious cadaver.

But what other choice did she have? The plague could be prevented, that much she knew, if only enough rations of elixir made it down into Dunwall’s slums. Georgina relied on the Bottle Street Gang’s bootleg elixir, just as her neighbors did, but it was never enough. What about those who had already caught it? Should they be left to die? No, she was determined to find a cure to this.

Swiftly, she checked the streets, ensuring that nobody had followed her, locked the door and drew the blinds. The lights had to remain off, lest some guard would steal a look into her clinic, so a small lantern had to suffice for now. It was barely enough, but it would do the job.

With gloved hands, Georgina removed the stained linen from the body, doing her best to ignore the foul stench of decay and began checking the skin for anything unusual. She was certain she had seen the man in the neighborhood before and attempted to push that memory away. Now was not the time for sentimentality.

The first examination however produced no results. The body displayed the usual symptoms of the plague, but nothing new beyond what she already knew. It was time to open him then, the part that she looked forward to.

Georgina reached for her scalpel and, carefully, made a deep cut beginning at one of the man’s shoulders, just as her father taught her all those years ago. She had not even reached the sternum when suddenly, she was startled by the creaking of the floorboards above her. She gasped, instinctively moving a hand to her mouth, but stopped herself before the now non sterile glove reached her face. The cut was unclean now. Great.

“Pluto?” she dared to say, her voice barely above a whisper. Georgina placed the bloodied scalpel back on a tray, discarded her gloves and began to search the clinic with the lamp in one hand.

She found her cat in the adjacent room, peacefully relaxing on a chair, old and worn. Pluto greeted her with a sleepy sound and dozed off again. This meant that someone—or something—was lurking above.

Georgina grabbed the scalpel off the tray and carefully made her way up the stairs. Her hand was tight around the handle of the lantern, now slick with her sweat, so tight that her knuckles turned white. She wondered if it was someone from the city watch—no, they would have no need for secrecy. An officer would simply announce himself at the front door and enter at will, and no Overseer would bother to enter this plague-ridden district now. A scavenger then, or worse, a weeper? She swallowed.

Another sound came from the other end of the hall and she turned around. She could have sworn there was a shadow, moving at the speed of lighting—gone again within fractions of a second. Georgina’s heart raced, so much that it drowned out the sound of her now frantic breathing.

Something—a hand perhaps, she could not tell—crept up from behind her, and around her mouth. The bloodied scalpel in her hand fell on the floor, as did her lantern, and suddenly, all was drenched in darkness.

#c: georgina #dishonored #voidtober #idk man its oc fic but its still dishonored. also dont worry she doesnt die it's just low chaos corvo #everyone clap for me i managed to get one prompt done. will this be the last.. probably

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poledancingdinos · 2 years

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You’ve Got Me Hooked - Chapter 9

Pairing: Captain Syverson x OFC (Riley McKenzie)

Word count: 2.7k

Warnings: Sex work, Stripper, OnlyFans, Angst

Catch up: Series Masterlist

Taglist: @amberangel112 @utterlyhopeful-fics @marantha @kebabgirl67 @littleone65 @omgkatinka @luclittlepond @marytudorbrandon @enchantedbytomandhenry @foxyjwls007 @peaches1958 @identity2212 @summersong69 @liecastillo @islacharlotte @evansabove1981 @eskiix

A/N: If you want to be added or removed from my taglist, let me know!

Masterlist

I hate being back on Jared's couch. I accidentally flashed his wife this morning because I kicked the blankets off in my sleep while having a very graphic dream about Riley that had my boxers struggling to conceal my raging morning wood.

Despite feeling like a nuisance again, the worst part about the situation is not being near Riley. I miss her even though she was never mine to miss. It's Tuesday and I imagine she must be home watching a movie on the couch with a giant mug of something hot and sweet.

She never did answer any of my messages but I know she’s alive because she dropped off her file for Don after I left the garage last Monday. The rejection stung but I got the message loud and clear.

Her work was so thorough that he took the file with him to the bank for the loan meeting. He was able to get all the money he needed and the repairs start next week. She also set up the social media accounts for the garage and so far it does seem to have helped. She’s absolutely amazing at this and whoever let her go from her old job is a damn fool.

The TV is on in front of me but it's muted because I'm not really following along so much as staring off into space in the general direction of the screen. My phone rings beside me and I pick it up without checking the caller ID.

"Yeah?" I grunt, annoyed that someone is interrupting my little moping session.

“Sy?”

I sit up from the couch, passing the phone from one ear to the other.

“Riley? Hey, I didn’t expect to hear from—”

“Sy,” she interrupts, “I— I’m sorry, I don’t have a lot of time. My phone is almost dead and I didn’t know who else to call.”

Her voice is thick with emotions and she falters over the words. It immediately sends my entire body on high alert.

“What’s wrong? Riley, are you okay?”

I begin to pace from one end of the living room to the next. Aika follows in a close heel position, her big brown eyes looking up with an intensity that no doubt mirrors that of my own face.

“I— I don’t know. I’m sorry, I know you’re probably still mad at me for what happened but I’m stuck out on Clavering Boulevard in Atlanta and my stupid car won’t start and—”

“Riley," she's talking so fast there's no room for a breath, "breathe for me, sweetheart." I take my own advice and let out a slow breath through my mouth. "Are ya safe where ya are?”

“I think so?”

I pocket my wallet and take my keys from the hook by the doors as I slip my feet in my boots without bothering to lace them up.

“Okay, stay put. Ya said your phone’s almost dead?”

“Yeah," she sighs.

“Then text me your exact location.”

I'm already in my truck, putting my phone up in the holder while the call transfers over to the Bluetooth system.

“Hang tight, sweetheart.” That’s the second time the endearment comes out of its own accord but it just feels right. “I’ll be right there.”

“Thank you, Sy. I’m so sorry to do this to you.” Fuck, that was definitely a sob.

“Don’t apologize, I’m glad ya called. I’m on my way.”

My phone pings again just as I pull onto the freeway. I haphazardly punch the cross-street into the GPS while I swerve around the few other cars on the road, speeding 20 miles an hour over the limit.

I play the conversation with Riley over again in my head. She sounded panicked but besides saying that she was stuck somewhere in a sketchy part of Atlanta, I don’t know what’s going on. Some stupid part of my brain is pleased that she called me and not someone else but the logical part of me knows that when your car doesn’t start, you call a mechanic.

The other thing I don't understand is why she thinks I'm mad at her. We haven’t spoken since that fateful night. The night I fucked everything up by letting my friends drag me to that damn strip club and effectively ruined my relationship with my roommate. When she didn’t answer my calls or respond to my voicemail about where she was I moved back into Jared’s place, cursing Luke the entire time.

I thought that maybe having me around would be intimidating for her. I figured giving her a bit of space would help her work through whatever she was feeling and that she would call when she was ready but she never did. I haven’t answered any of Luke’s calls or texts either so I guess I know how Riley feels. We were both betrayed by people we trusted.

I hope she hasn't gone into my room since I’ve been gone. The fact that she hasn’t called to complain about the fist sized hole I left in the drywall suggests that I might be able to sneak in and repair it while she’s out. I’d hate for her to lose her security deposit because of me.

I was so worked up after leaving that last voicemail. Luke had just texted me and he’d had the fucking audacity to say that us seeing each other at the club was a good thing. His exact words were you can finally stop lying to her .

After that, I wasn’t only mad at him. I was mad at myself. He’s right. I did lie to her. Every conversation we had, I pretended I didn’t know about her double life. Sure, she wasn’t fully honest with me but she’s entitled to keep certain parts of her life private.

I, on the other hand, intentionally deceived her for what? Over two months? And why? I could have come right out and told her. I could have told her what I found out and she would have either let me stay with her or she wouldn’t have but my selfish ass didn’t want to risk missing out on getting to know her.

When I reach the end of the GPS navigation and Riley’s car is nowhere in sight, I start to panic. I pull up to the side of the road and look at the pin on the map that shows the location Riley shared with me. When I think I’ve figured out where I need to go, I put the truck in drive and turn onto an unmarked road that leads between rows of warehouses.

I spot Riley’s car off one of the side streets and make a last minute hairpin turn as I accelerate towards her. There isn’t a single street lamp so I stop the truck in the middle of the lane at an angle that illuminates the front half of her car with my headlights.

I jump out and walk to her driver’s side door. My body cast a shadow across the window, blocking my view of the inside of the car. I’m sure the light has alerted her to my presence but since she’s made no move to come out, I knock gently on the glass.

The lock on the door clicks and I backup to allow Riley to open the door.

“What the fuck happened?” I growl as soon as her body comes into view. I stand rooted in place, taking in her appearance. The only thing she has on is see through lingerie. She’s not even wearing any fucking shoes. Her makeup is smudged and running down her cheeks but on the right side, below the black mascara, is a patch of dark purple skin that can only be a bruise.

I’m fucking seething. Now I know why she sounded so terrified on the phone and someone is about to lose their fucking head.

I’m pulled out of the rabbit hole of dark thoughts when Riley whimpers and scoots backwards, obviously spooked by my outburst.

“Fuck, Ri, it’s okay don’t be scared, please.” I relax my hands at my side, unclenching my fists.

Her bottom lip is quivering when she looks up at me with tear filled eyes. “Please, Sy, I just want to go home.” She pulls her legs up to her chest, wrapping her arms around them and it breaks my fucking heart.

“Of course, don’t move.” I race back to my truck and shift through the items in my backseat until I reach my gym bag. I find a clean sweatshirt but the rest of my gear is in the dirty laundry back at my and Riley’s apartment. The hoodie will have to do until I get her home.

“Okay, sweetheart, I have something that ya can put on.” I hope that my words are enough of a warning that I’m going to approach her.

I squat in front of her and hold the bottom of the hoodie for her to slip her arms through. She sniffs a few times before reaching forward. The hoodie is not such a bad fit after all. Once it’s pulled down her slight frame, it’s so long that it comes down nearly to her knees.

“Take everything ya need and let's get ya in the truck. I’ll put the heat on while I look under the hood.” Her body is covered in goosebumps and she’s shivering badly although, at this point, I’m not sure if it’s because of the cool night breeze or if she’s in a state of shock. Probably both.

She nods almost imperceptibly and I extend my hand for her to take. She moves to put her feet on the ground but I stop her when I remember she’s barefoot.

“I’m gonna carry ya, I don’t want ya to get cut on anything.”

She lets me guide her arms around my neck and holds on as she’s lifted out of the car. Once I have her safely tucked away, I make quick work of inspecting her car’s motor. I find the problem quickly. The problem is that the car should be sold for parts and never be driven on public roads again. I don’t even know how it lasted this long.

I call the tow company we use at work and leave a message. They won’t open until morning but the car getting stolen between now and then would not be a big loss. I shut the hood, wipe my hands on my jeans and get back in the cab next to Riley.

“Ri?” She doesn’t look at me. Her small hum is the only sign that she has even heard me call her name.

“I think I should take ya to a hospital or something.”

That catches her attention. “No! No you can’t do that!” All of the sudden her fingers are wrapped around the door handle and I have to reach out and grab her to keep her from falling out when her weight pushes it open.

“Hey, it’s alright, sweetheart. No hospital.”

Her body is deadly still. She stares down at the hand I laid on her thigh, just above her knee, and I expect her to bat it away but it seems to have a calming effect on her. She takes a few deep breaths, slowing her frantic breathing then pulls the door fully shut and releases the handle.

“No hospital,” she repeats, still fixated on my hand. “And no police.”

Fuck. Whatever happened must have been bad. I agree, straightening in my seat and starting the truck. I keep my hand on her thigh the whole drive back to our apartment. Once we get there, I contemplate the best way to get her up the stairs.

“Ri? Can I carry ya in?”

“Please.” The one word plea splits my heart right down the middle.

I get her to wrap her legs around my waist so that one of my hands is free to unlock the door and she hugs me tightly, pressing her face into my neck. I stop in the kitchen long enough to grab a towel and a bag of frozen peas then carry her the rest of the distance to her bedroom.

I lay her gently on the bed, immediately covering her up with a blanket. When the bedside lamp gets switched on, I press the makeshift ice pack to Riley’s swollen cheek.

“Can ya hold this for me? That’s good, hold it just like that.”

Her eyes follow me as I move around the room. I open a few drawers before I find a pair of shorts and a shirt I’ve seen her wear to bed before. If she’s bothered by my invasion of her privacy, she doesn’t say it. After finding a pack of makeup remover wipes in the bathroom, I hand her the clothes and turn around while she changes. There’s a faint swishing sound from the left side of the room followed by the rustling of her bed sheets. Looking over, I realize that Riley has thrown the underwear she was wearing into the trash.

“You can look now.”

When I turn back, she’s wearing the clothes I gave her but she’s also put my hoodie back on over top. I kneel by the bed and proceed to gently clean the ruined makeup from her face.

“What can I do?” I ask when I finish my task, guiding the ice back to her face. The red and purple bruise over her cheekbone is fully visible, part of it extending almost to her eyebrow.

I’m prepared to do absolutely anything she needs but I’m still taken aback by her answer.

“Stay with me. I don’t want to sleep alone.”

I honestly don't think that's such a good idea but I'm not about to tell her that. If she thinks this is what she needs then that's what I will do.

“Lemme change and I’ll be right back.”

I go across the hall to find a pair of shorts. While I’m there, I fire off a text to Jared asking him to take care of Aika followed by another to Don saying I’m taking the day off tomorrow.

When I return to Riley’s room, she’s moved to the far side of the bed, leaving a space for me to join her. I hate that the first time I saw Riley’s body was on a stage, surrounded by two dozen men. I hate that the first time I got to hold Riley was to lift her out of her car on the side of a sketchy road. I hate that the first time I’m going to share a bed with her is because she’s afraid of whatever it is that happened tonight.

“Ya still want me to join?”

“Please.”

I slip between the sheets laying flat on my back as close to the edge as I can. To my surprise, Riley moves closer to me and lifts my arm, placing it around her shoulder. I follow her lead and pull her into my chest, wrapping both arms protectively around Riley’s frame. Her small hands wrap themselves around the fabric of my shirt like she’s trying to keep me from leaving. I don’t even think I could pull myself away from her if I tried.

“Ri, I know I look like some big ol’ redneck, but ya can tell me anything. When you’re ready to talk, I’ll be here to listen.”

She peeks up at me, small tear drops clinging to her eyelashes. “I don’t know if I can.”

I brush a strand of hair away from her face and the action causes her eyes to flutter closed as she rests her forehead against my chest. I repeat the motion, smoothing out her messy blond hair and gently coaxing out the knots.

“That’s okay,” I whisper. “I’ll be right here if ya change your mind.”

I can tell the exact moment Riley drifts off to sleep. Her entire body goes slack, the grip she has on my shirt loosening and the tension in her shoulders disappearing. I wait another few minutes, making sure she’s really out, then I press a kiss to the top of her head before switching off the lamp and plunging the room into darkness.

Chapter 10

#captain syverson #captain syverson fic #captain syverson fanfiction #captain syverson fanfic #captain syverson x ofc #cpt syverson fic #cpt syverson x ofc #cpt syverson fanfiction #cpt syverson #cpt syverson fanfic #henry cavill

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griff-us · 2 years

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Title: Free Fall

Pairing: Corvo Attano/Reader

Summary: You see him for him. He sees you as someone else. That doesn't stop you from falling for him.

General Warnings: Allusions to prostitution. Violence. Sex. Angst, so much of it.

Word Count: 2473

Notes: I've been craving some Corvo content and finally decided to make it myself. This is written with a black reader in mind, but I kept the reader very vague. I'll be taking liberties since I haven't played the games in ages and the lore is just massive. But I expect to have more lore accurate pieces as I. write more. This will probably be a two-parter! Excuse any mistakes, I didn't do too much editing. Likes and reblogs are appreciated, minors don't interact!

Called to the Devil and the Devil said quit Can't be bothered better handle your shit Keep about your wits man, keep about your wits Know yourself and who you came in with Can I sit down I've been hustling all day I can't even count how many souls I've made Off the same deal you on Remember, the Devil ain't a friend to no one But fine, true

He’s always been there; a distant figure shrouded in shadows. You thought it a coincidence or happenstance when you’d catch sight of him from the corner of your eyes; frame pressed against aging brick or perched on top of crumbling roof tiles. You never thought him odd, the Distillery District has always been overrun with criminals and strange people, that is until flyers began to circulate with his masked face—and a reward. It’s a wonder why a murderer would take a liking to you. Perhaps you were a target? That would surely complicate things, wouldn’t it? Then again, men tended to flock to your little dilapidated apartment, all of them searching for the same thing.

He shows one night; three quick wraps of his knuckles against the cracked glass of your window. You huff a sigh, hands scrambling for the candle at your bedside before shuffling towards the source of the noise. Freehand tugs back the curtain and there he is. Hands holding tight to the ledge. You stare blankly for a long moment, stunned at his upper body strength and—well intrigued beyond belief.

“You know…” your tongue darts out to wet parted lips. “Most men use the stairs, hm?” he doesn’t say anything, and you try again. “It’s two coin an hour. Ten for the night. Weapons are to be left downstairs, and I won’t be feeding you.” he remains silent all the while weight shifts lightly, and a single hand rises to fish within his robes. The strange man drops a leather sack in the palm of your hand; far too heavy to be the requested amount.

“I need not your services. Only somewhere to sleep and tend to my wound.” ah, so he can speak? You regard the man with slanted lips, and you think to turn him away. After all, he is a wanted killer; not to mention Slackjaw might get his trousers in a twist if he found out. But the weight in your hand is too good to pass up; you could have your clothes mended, and perhaps acquire a few extra meals for that poor boy on Clavering Boulevard.

“Why come to me?” a reasonable question among many; after all, he has been following you the past few weeks, and now this?

“I helped the boy on Clavering the other day. He mentioned you; said you were a woman to trust.” Damn children, you would have to have a chat with him. A sigh heaves past your lips, and you move aside to let him in.

“Shoes off please, there’s a plague about after all. I may be penniless but I rather not live like it.” the strange man does as you ask, frame hobbling slightly while he kicks heavy boots off. You watch while he lays them by the window. As he begins to disarm himself you find yourself in awe at the sheer number of weapons on his person.

“You really do kill people then?” a scoff sounds from the other side of the room as you finally turn to quickly count the coin he had given you. It’s enough to last you months. “I’ll be back.” you don’t wait for an answer; feet pad against splintering wooden floors as you hurry down the stairs and to the kitchen. You wrap the coin purse in a rag and stuff it under the sink, just behind a false wall with other precious items. You’d find a better home for it later after he leaves.

Teeth chew your full bottom lip, and you wonder if he’s eaten yet. Despite your warning earlier you can’t help but feel—grateful. With a grumble, you quickly put together a plate. Cheese, bread, fruit, and cured meat you had been saving for a rainy day.

‘I imagine you’ll need nourishment to help your wounds—” you return to him upstairs, hip nudging open the door to your room. The man keeps a silent focus; his robe and shirt neatly folded on top of a shaky chair in the corner of the room. You watch quietly as he finished stitching closed a rather nasty gash on his side with help from the moonlight.

“Here…” you set the plate by him and quickly snag a bottle of alcohol from under your pillow. “I haven’t a clean rag this may burn.” you make quick work of the cork with your teeth, freehand gently pushing against his torso so that you can get a better look at the wound. His skin is ice against your warm palms you swear he hums at the contact. You resist the urge to smile and make work by washing the wound carefully with small splashes of the liquid. He tenses, a hand falling to your shoulder as if to steady himself. You feel a flutter in your stomach that reverberates in the back of your throat. The feeling is pushed down and squashed nearly immediately; he is a murderer, an assassin. Best not to develop a childish crush on a man like him.

“There you are.” once finished, you take a step back giving him space and taking a moment to admire the hardened frame before you. He’s yet to remove the mask, but you don’t push him to—killers need secret identities, don’t they?

“Thank you.” you only nod, and motion to the extra mattress in the room.

“You should rest.” the man hums in agreement, his frame sinking into the old padding, and you watch from your own makeshift bed as his body visibly deflates. His back is to you, and you trace the numerous scars and bruises that adorned his skin with your eyes. What a strange man indeed.

***

The stranger is gone by morning; any trace of him from the night prior scrubbed from your home. Even the spare blanket sits folded atop the pillow just as you had them before. A shame you never got his name, not that he would give it. You can’t help but wonder who the strange is under that mask; quiet and gruff as he is—you can’t shake the way in which he treated you. Rather kind, far different from the typical treatment you’ve learned to endure from Slackjaw and his gangs of idiots.

It doesn’t matter; your transaction with the stranger is complete, and you’ve coin to spend. Within fifteen minutes, you are washed, hair hastily pleated in a thick braid that hangs past your shoulders. With money tucked away within the pockets of your dress you make for Clavering. First a stop to the general store and then to see the boy and deliver him food for the week. His bright blue eyes shine wide when you present him with a basket full of meats and bread.

“Remember to ration as I taught you, and keep this hidden from everyone, do you understand?” the boy nods enthusiastically, tiny fingers gripping tight to the beaten basket, and you send him off with an affectionate pat on his back. You stand there a moment watching as his small frame vanishes down the length of the ally, a smile on your lips. Head tilts, and your turn to peek up at the rooftops. A flash of shadows darts behind a half-fallen chimney, and you chuckle before continuing on with your daily chores and business.

A week has passed; the sun has long ago set, and a customer has just left you. The house is empty, and silent, save for your snivels. There are times a rather unruly drunkard will call on you, and there are times when gentle is the last thing on their mind. You may have protection thanks to your deal with Slackjaw and his gang, but that only saves you from the law, and death—they still use you as they please. Fingers press to your swollen lip, crimson seeping from cracked and broken skin. You inhale sharply and cuss lowly.

“Are you alright?” you hadn’t heard him slip in through the window, and you nearly jump from your skin at the sound of his voice. You turn quickly, and there he stands—your stranger. You quickly work to wipe away the tears that had begun to fall from tired eyes, nodding over and over as if to convince yourself.

“Yes yes. Can you please knock like a normal person?” feet wobble as you stand, and he moves to help you keep your balance. “I said I’m fine!” words are laced with far more anger than you intended, and the strange man silently backs off. “What do you want? I’m not taking any more customers tonight.”

“I—” you look up as he pauses a long moment, his mask making it impossible to discern any emotion from his face. “I’m not here for that. I came to see how you are doing.”

“Just wonderful.” sarcasm bites at your tongue, and you turn to him fully. You sense his unease now that he can see the bruises that have already begun to blossom across your neck and cheek. Without a word, the stranger steps closer, a single hand-raising while fingers skim the warm skin of your cheek.

“I should kill him.”

You scoff, smacking his hand away. “Oh please. I haven't seen your face, I don’t know your name. What gives you the right?” it is impossible to hide the bitterness that seeps into your tone. The stranger says nothing, and finally, you snap. “Leave. Now.” you turn away from him, arms cross over your middle as if to hold yourself together just long enough until he is gone. There’s a long moment of silence followed only by his retreating steps toward the window. And one word—a name.

“Corvo.”

***

Two months pass; Slackjaw ends up getting himself killed. You’ve been spared the details but there’s no question in your mind who felled him. It’s both a gift and a curse; the gang leaves you alone, but with their absence comes the absence of money, and protection. Luckily enough, an old contact gets you into the Golden Cat, a renowned pleasure establishment for the more monetarily endowed citizens. Better coin, slightly better treatment. You’ve got your own room; four walls, a bed, and a dresser for your things. A single window looks out over the city and it’s nice in its own way.

You haven't seen him since your last encounter—Corvo. Some nights you lay awake wondering what might have happened had you not told him to leave. Maybe he could have taken you away from it all. Maybe you could have stayed in that little hovel, spurred on only by his intermediate visits. They’re foolish, those thoughts. But you would be a liar if one man's kindness hadn’t won you over in the fastest fashion.

It was only when you had begun working at the Golden Cat and were privy to the talk of politicians and the elite did you realize that it was most likely Corvo Attano that had wormed his way into your heart—-an empress's murderer.

How foolish of you, you think one night while curled under thick blankets in the comfort of your tiny room. To become infatuated with a man whose face you’ve never seen, the man that murdered the empress and spiraled the empire into chaos. A sad sort of laugh falls from your lips while your head shakes.

“What’s so funny?” that voice, and from nowhere. You bolt upright from bed, and there he is; stood in front of the open window. Silence follows while you battle with yourself; to hug him, curse him, or call a guard.

“The bounty on your head could finally get me out of this life.” you decide to challenge him, but the waiver of your tone betrays you.

“So call the guards.” his boots are silent against the wooden floors as he nears, and you watch while Corvo sits next to you. Silence grips the room firmly, neither of you too sure what to say. Finally, he speaks. “I didn’t murder her. I loved her.” Oh. “She was assassinated, and I have been framed for it. I am here to find her…our daughter. They have her hostage here. That is how I learned of your presence here.” How…sad, you think. How tragic. You reach out, fingers brushing against his neck, and you watch for any adverse reaction while manicured fingers slip beneath the mask perpetually strapped to his face. Corvo tenses while you do, but he allows you to unhook the latches at the side, and slip the metal from his face.

Tired, hardened eyes stare back at you; laced with a grief not unknown to you. Your chest tightens, and you lean forward to hold his face in the palm of your hand. “You poor man.” His eyes close, frame leaning into your warm touch, and you feel as though your daydreams and longing have come true, but… “Why follow me, Corvo, why…why me?”

“You remind me of her.” mumbled so softly; each word laced with heartbreak. It breaks you just a little; here you are infatuated with a man who dotes on you, in his own way, because you remind him of his dead lover. Foolish. You’ve been so foolish.

“I—” you begin, but he cuts you off.

“I have to bring her home tonight, my daughter. After I leave this place won’t be safe for you.” it dawns on you after a moment, and you grow cold.

“You’re going to kill them?”

“If I must.” he takes your hand, lips brushing against your knuckles, and it's a wonder how someone so adept at causing harm can be so—gentle. “Here.” Corvo turns his hand over in yours and places a cloth pouch in the center of your palm. “Leave tonight. Flee through the servants' entrance in the kitchens. Find work, find a home.” You stare in utter silence. He’s come again to uproot what little comfort you’ve managed to forge in this brutal world. To wreck your heart, and your home. Damn him.

“What else is there for me, Corvo, but this life, hm? Who would—who would think twice of me?” He closes your fingers around the pouch.

“I would, and I do. I think of you every day, and I would like to see you safe.” you tremble, gaze locked with his, and you nod. Corvo squeezes your hand tenderly, leaning down once more to press another feather-like kiss to the back of your hand. “Take care of yourself.” you chew your bottom lip, and only nod again—you fear the sob that may bubble forth if you dared to speak. He stands, mask fixed to his face once again, and quietly slips out into the hall.

You sit there a long moment, a wild whirlwind of emotions taking hold. And it is only when you realize his words sounded like a goodbye do you allow yourself to sob.

#corvo attano #corvo attano/reader #corvo attano reader #corvo attano imagine #corvo attano/you #corvo attano you #dishonored #corvo attano dishonored #corvo dishonored

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time-schwime · 3 years

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Clavering Blvd. Ambience -- Outside Holger Square

#dishonored #dishonored ambience #dh #dh1 #clavering boulevard #holger square #ambience #gameplay #my clip

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sketchfoot · 4 years

Video

why they swords do that tho

#dishonored #dishonored 1 #dunwall #distillery district #city watch #clavering boulevard

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justdishonoredthings · 7 years

Photo

#mission: house of pleasure #justcorvothings #the whalers #the whaler gang #clavering boulevard #dishonored #justdishonoredthings

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silurisanguine · 2 years

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Possible location of The Academy of Natural Philosophy in Dunwall

So. in my recent playthrough of Dishonored 1 i started wondering if the Academy was visible on the skyline, much like the Clocktower is, an unused asset the game devs were going to put as a level in the game but never did. We know this about the Academy - ~ Located in 15 Oxblood Way, the Academy stands proudly with its perpendicular columns and Gothic arches......The entrance hall is a cavernous stone space, topped by a three, four stories high vaulted ceiling. The hall is roughly epileptical, with a massive staircase opposite the entrance, splitting at a gallery before extending to either sides. Two glass-fronted offices flank the grand staircase, while on both sides of the hall, there are straight, narrower stairs, leading up into darken corridors. That's pretty much it in describing the shape of the building. But it sounds very imposing and a noticeable landmark on the Dunwall skyline. We have no idea where Oxblood Way is, its not featured in any game level, but i would assume the Academy would be in a posh area of Dunwall, so I started scanning across the river in each level and saw this which is opposite Clavering Boulevard's destroyed bridge from the first/second mission.

There is a striking white building on top of the hill , where the Clocktower is, it's location in The Estate District which is one of the poshest. The shape is even shown on the map -

This building is like nothing else on the skyline. It isn't a repeat of another building and has unique architecture. Could this be the Academy?

#Game theory #Video Games #Dishonored #The Academy of Natural Philosophy #Dishonored meta #Dishonored game lore

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treaversalley · 1 month

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they do not act of their own will.

#Dishonored #Dishonored 1 #D1 #the Whalers #Clavering Boulevard

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screwtheprinceimtakingthehorse · 2 years

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Found the fire in the rain (Kept your treasures with my bones)

Hi! It’s my fill for the @dishonoredgiftexchange! Merry Christmas & Happy Holidays, all of you! This one is for: @magedoc. Hope you like it ☺️

“The boatman has a good heart.”

Corvo had nearly dropped the Heart when she’d whispered those words from the Void. Out of everyone among the Loyalist Conspiracy, there were precious few to have a favourable opinion of — their current efforts to help him notwithstanding. But then, Corvo was not so naive as to believe that helping him was first on Havelock and Pendleton’s minds, and there was no incentive to believe better of Brother Martin, waiting in the stocks. Their objective was not to help in the first, nor the second, through to somewhere around ten; their motives were their own and helping themselves to him the key to their success. Corvo had gone from being in the wrong place at the right time to being in the right place at the wrong time, it seemed: after six months of torture for a confession that wasn’t his to make, after six months of gruel and barely drinkable water, his coat hung from his shoulders. He hadn’t even bothered asking where they’d gotten it to return it to him upon breaking him out. He knew, however, that it was the coat rather than his face that must have convinced Samuel the boatman to recognise him when he emerged from the sewers.

They’d urged him to sleep, but the reluctance in Havelock’s expression had been palpable: if they could have seen themselves clear to sending him out to Holger Square immediately, they would have. As he’d drifted off, he’d wondered whether their concerns were born of courtesy or practicality. Sending a man off to die without a bath and a hot meal was improper. Sending a masked assassin out into the streets of Dunwall when he swayed on his feet was reckless. Piero perhaps had been in earnest, but his fevered mind was a ring of snakes Corvo had no wish to step into.

Wallace, tangled up in the Pendleton’s affairs as he was, did not pay Corvo much mind, to tell the truth. Corvo was content to have it stay that way. Cecelia and Lydia, on the other hand, were afraid — Cecelia for her life and Lydia for her livelihood; the two weren’t so different. Not in Dunwall.

Callista was afraid for the world and her place in it, but today all her fears were eclipsed by her worry for her uncle. Corvo had a feeling she was not aware of his own connection to the Captain: so surprised had she been at his easy acceptance of her task.

Corvo had received a note, hidden under a plate, three months into his captivity. From Curnow, unsigned but the script recognisable. Campbell had a gun to his head that day, he wrote, or he would have joined Corvo in the fight against the assassins. The note had further promised to try and find Emily, by way of investigating the erstwhile High Overseer’s connection to the Golden Cat.

Corvo had fed the note to the rats before his next appointment with the Royal Torturer.

One might call a man self-important, for believing himself capable of averting disaster. Apologising, in not as many words, for his inaction. But after travelling with Curnow for as many months, Corvo knew that the man was twice as dogged as a wolfhound who’d caught the scent of blood. Too stubborn for his own good: the less charitable assessment. If Curnow was at Holger Square tonight, then his efforts had been fruitful. He’d kept his promise. And Corvo would have to dash them all to nothing.

There was a different kind of judgment waiting for High Overseer Thaddeus Campbell tonight. There would be no justice for those girls, such was the cost of eliminating Campbell — and saving Curnow’s life. For that, Corvo was sorry.

It was a short boat ride, from the Hound Pits Pub to Clavering Boulevard, Samuel willing away the silence by giving Corvo some last advice. They climbed out of the small boat. Amaranth, she was called, and Corvo thought to ask, then thought better of it. Whatever part of Samuel’s past had driven him here, it was nobody’s business but his own.

And yet, when Samuel sat by the small fire close to the river’s edge, Corvo’s feet felt heavy. Anchoring him to the sandy ground littered with leaves and gravel, he stood. And stood.

Samuel held his hands out toward the flames, rubbing his palms, twisting his knuckles together where they were exposed to the cold and rain above the fraying seams of his gloves. He did not glance at Corvo directly, but kept him in the corner of his eye.

“It’s not quite night yet,” he murmured, his voice rough with as many storms as he’d weathered as a sailor. His eyes flickered to a spot on the ground across from him.

Hesitantly, Corvo moved, then let his legs fold underneath him. Coming to sit close to the fire, he felt its heat licking at his skin, still taut and healing from the torturer’s brand. Burning recognised burning, and for a moment the sensation was unbearable. Then, it passed, and settled into his bones, where it would always remain to remind him.

Across from him, Samuel did not say anything else.

“The boatman has a good heart. And respects you.” That had been the whole of it, and it tugged at something long-forgotten deep inside Corvo to find that it mattered. So long, so many years spent by Jessamine's side, he had become adept at ignoring the stares, the grating whispers that might as well have been shouts for all that they'd bothered to conceal them from him. But here, now, by the Wren's edge, it mattered.

“We'll find your little girl,” Samuel's voice roused him from his thoughts, and when Corvo looked up at him, there was a sheepish expression warring with only the want to reassure. To comfort. When Corvo did not speak, Samuel's eyes cast down. “Forgive me if I overstepped. It's only—”

“It's alright,” Corvo remembered to use his voice for something more than anguish, or affirmative grunts in the face of Havelock's plans. If the Loyalists were surprised that he spoke so little, seemed reluctant to share his opinions, they didn't show it. No doubt they thought it would make it easier to handle him. Corvo wondered how much fight he had in him, should they turn on him.

Samuel's gaze returned to him.

“It's only I've no wish to carry death wherever I go, Corvo. Screams carry very well over the river. Can be heard half a league out sometimes. I wouldn't want them screams come out on the water behind me when I leave shore.”

“Leave shore with me,” Corvo finished the thought.

Samuel nodded.

“I can't tell you what do to, I know that. You're a nobleman, and I'm but a sailor in a riverboat. I can't fault you for wantin' revenge, more than anything.”

“Some men believe revenge solves everything,” Corvo said, shifting minutely closer to the fire.

“Might well be true,” Samuel agreed. “But perhaps revenge don't always have to be soaked in blood.”

Perhaps.

#dishonored #dishonoredgiftexchange #dishonored gift exchange #corvo attano #samuel beechworth #samuel the boatman #dishonored fic

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newbordeaux · 2 years

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omg what becomes of georgie & josephine’s fates in low chaos & high chaos endings? i’ve always been curious to find out what becomes of them and how they’ve been impacted by all the chaos in dumbwall 👀

oh my godddd thank you for asking 🥺💕💕💞💞💗

I do wanna say that low chaos/clean hands/ghost pt is the canon timeline in this. I also have a nobility au with dany that is set in a high chaos timeline, their backgrounds are different though so it doesn't really count sdkjkjsd.. I do have some thoughts on a regular verse high chaos edition though so >:)

GEORGIE:

She’s well and thriving in low chaos :-) during the game’s events she helps Corvo by giving him leeches and helpful mission clues for a favor, NPC behavior and all that (during high overseer, house of pleasure and a bit between the flooded district and hounds pits pub after the betrayal). Also in my mind her uncle who cheated her dad was a member of Burrows’ conspiracy (just not important enough to be an assassination target), so when all is said and done and Emily is on the throne, he’s stripped of his riches and titles and everything goes to the rightful heiress, Georgina 😌 I dunno, it’s not a well-known fact that she’s his niece but somehow they find this out. Corvo knows her so it’s not that unlikely. The money she gets isn’t all that much since most of it was used to fund the large number of evil Sokolov security inventions and armed forces in Dunwall, but it’s enough to not live in poverty anymore. She eventually attends the academy of natural philosophy to become a real doctor and maybeee royal physician after Sokolov retires (this is corny and op but who cares. fun). She’s not as rich as her parents were and wouldn’t be that present in high society cause they think she’s weird but she’s living a comfortable upper middle-class life ✌ a win for weird doctors. I also just remembered that dh2 exists, Georgie is probably alive throughout this mess too… she’s not important enough for Delilah to kill so lol. If Delilah wasn’t evil they would have vibed I think :(

Now high chaos wouldn’t be as fun for her, she would NOT help Corvo with anything. She hates nobles and doesn’t care about the ones he killed, but there were so many guards and whatever other innocents caught in the crossfire who were just doing their jobs or living their lives. She’d be disgusted with him and maybeee even tip off the guards on clavering boulevard about him. Corvo in turn wouldn’t remember her after her uncle’s execution so there goes that inheritance 🤕 In the end she’d just remain in the distillery district and eventually catch the plague cause Slackjaw is soup in this and can’t provide any elixir -_-

Things in noble au look a lot better for her though >:) I’ve talked about it in detail here but tl;dr: he family never loses its status and she’s a prissy noble/natural philosopher/accomplice to her friends’ scams 😌 She’s mostly politically neutral and has no ties to any of the loyalists so she’s safe and sound :) She wouldn’t give a shit about all the people dying around her, some of them had it comin to them 🤷‍♀️ Maybe Corvo is kinda sexy doing all of this. Hey guys hit that like button if you think the masked felon is… kinda hot 🥴I dunno, maybe they have some weird evil thing later on, maybe not 🤷‍♀️🤷‍♀️🤷‍♀️

JOSEPHINE:

Her low chaos timeline is a little boring, she does face a setback in her career after number one fan Jessamine dies and you know Waverly probably talked shit about her to Burrows so the nobility doesn’t give a fuck about her 😷 She’s losing her mind a little in quarantine and has nightmares of evil things she’s done to her rivals to get famous (probably also receives angry letters from her parents asking why there’s no money coming in)... she’s just sitting in her house talking to outsider shrines and composing depressing or outright weird new pieces :/ Also don’t look but in her desperation she does get engaged to T******, because he has a shiny new parliament seat and she thinks it’ll bring her not only a secure position but also loads of money that he wouldn’t miss if she sent some to her leech relatives (little does she know…) 🤪 None of this matters anyway because he dies from drinking poison, she pawns off her engagement ring and makes a small fortune 😌 When Emily’s on the throne again these fake nobles would probably come crawling back to her as if they never ignored her 🙄 I dunno what she’d do in dh2 though, you know she would be at Jessamine’s memorial and give the same corny speech every year… idk maybe she’s imprisoned, spared because Delilah’s girlies think her mark and dabbling in the occult is epic. Or as some sick power move? I dunno.

High chaos wouldn’t actually be that different for her, she’d just have much worse paranoia when everyone around her is getting killed. She’s at the Boyle party during the game’s events and Waverly & Lord Shaw both dying at this would make her insane, she’d just stay inside her manor forever, scared that someone would come for her (I still think high chaos Corvo wouldn’t crash the party though, that’d be muuuch scarier 😈 attending an event and talking to some guy & it turns out he’s a wanted killer.. whew).

And nobility au… well, her background would actually be the same since she already is a fake noble. She’s friends with Marzanna and Georgina now because they’re in the same circle and still causes other nobles’ downfalls, also, uh, she’s actually married in this. Idk how it works, maybe the loyalists weren’t shit in this timeline and didn’t betray everyone 🤷‍♀️ In any case she might still be broke (until her career kicks off again lol) but she married into an old family and is proper nobility now so that counts for something. It’s all coming together for her 😌

#this was the worst to fill out bc the page just turned blank and i lost everything i wrote :) i hate this website #anyway the question itself was so hot thank youuuu!! Now I wanna know what happens to yours omg. do you go with low or high chaos #in your timeline??#c: georgina #c: josephine

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draconic-interactions · 3 years

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Welcome to Dunwall

Starter Call + @peccantumaskrp

It was an overcast day in Dunwall, but then, when was it not? Thomas knelt atop a building near Clavering Boulevard, watching civilians pass on the street below. He was meant to be keeping tabs on Overseer activity in the area, and finding an opening in a minor nobleman’s defenses for a thievery job he’d picked up, but a more interesting distraction caught his eye. A cloaked figure skirted the edge of the street, clearly trying to remain inconspicuous, but Thomas caught a glimpse of a violet hand pulling the cloak tighter before the figure moved into an alley and out of his sight.

Reconnaissance could wait. Thomas Blinked across lampposts and rooftops until he reached a balcony overlooking the alleyway the figure had entered.

“Hello there! It’s a bit risky wandering so close to Holger Square. The Abbey’ll call anything heresy these days. Are you alright?”

#thomas the whaler #Thomas Carmine #stabby cinnamon roll #Welcome to Dunwall #peccantumaskrp

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timeless-hollywood-classics · 3 years

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Heather Grace Angel ( February 9 1909 – December 13 1986) was a British actress.

Angel was born on February 9 1909 in Headington, Oxford, England. She was the daughter of Mary Letitia Stock and Andrea Angel, an Oxford University chemistry lecturer and initially a don at Brasenose College and later at Christ Church. They were married in 1904 and, after the wedding, they moved to the Banbury Road. Andrea Angel's maternal grandfather was an Italian refugee and he was named after his uncle Andrea Rabagliati.

In the 1911 UK Census, the family is shown as living at 17 Banbury Road, Oxford along with three servants. She was the younger of two sisters.

Andrea Angel was killed in the Silvertown explosion in January 1917, and posthumously awarded the Edward Medal (First Class). In his will, he left his wife £374 and shortly thereafter, his wife moved to London with the two daughters. By 1929, when Heather was 19, she was already appearing with an overseas touring theatre company managed by Charles Bradbury-Ingles. The same record shows that she was living at 20 Queen Anne's Grove, London W4, when she left.

Angel began her stage career at the Old Vic in 1926 and later appeared with touring companies. Her Broadway debut came in December 1937, in Love of Women at the Golden Theatre. She also appeared in The Wookey (1941–42).

Angel appeared in many British films. She made her first screen appearance in City of Song. She later had a leading role in Night in Montmartre (1931), and followed this success with The Hound of the Baskervilles (1932). She then decided to move to Hollywood. She sailed on the Majestic to New York on 21 December 1932 with her mother. Over the next few years, she played strong roles in such films as The Mystery of Edwin Drood (1935), The Three Musketeers (1935), The Informer (1935) and The Last of the Mohicans (1936).

In 1937 she made the first of five appearances as Phyllis Clavering in the popular Bulldog Drummond series. She was cast as Kitty Bennett in Pride and Prejudice (1940) and as the maid, Ethel, in Suspicion (1941). Angel was also the leading lady in the first screen version of Raymond Chandler's The High Window, released in 1942 as Time to Kill. She was one of the passengers of Alfred Hitchcock's Lifeboat (1944). Her film appearances in the following years were few, but she returned to Hollywood to provide voices for the Walt Disney animated films Alice in Wonderland (1951) and Peter Pan (1953). From 1964 until 1965, she played a continuing role in the television soap opera Peyton Place. After that role, she played Miss Faversham, a nanny and female friend of Sebastian Cabot's character of Giles French in the situation comedy Family Affair.

Angel married actor Ralph Forbes in Arizona in 1934, a union that lasted less than ten years. Angel had acted with Henry Wilcoxon in Self Made Lady (1932) when they were both in Britain. When she heard Wilcoxon was also in Hollywood, she contacted him. She invited him to polo matches at the home of Will Rogers and later taught him horseback riding. They acted together in two other films: The Last of the Mohicans (1936) and Lady Hamilton (1941). Though they remained lifelong friends, they never married. Heather and her husband were both present at the wedding of Wilcoxon to his first wife. They had intended to host the wedding at their house in Coldwater Canyon.

Angel married Robert B. Sinclair (1905–1970), a film and television director, in 1944. On 4 January 1970, an intruder, Billy McCoy Hunter, broke into their home. When Sinclair attempted to protect Angel, Hunter killed him in her presence, then fled. He was allegedly found with a knife and pistol when arrested. The incident is believed to have been a failed burglary. Angel had one son with Sinclair in 1947.

Angel has a motion pictures star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame for her contributions to the film industry. Her star is located at 6301 Hollywood Boulevard.

Angel died from cancer in Santa Barbara, California, and was buried in Santa Barbara Cemetery.

#heather angel #classic hollywood #classic movie stars #golden age of hollywood #old hollywood #1930s hollywood #1940s hollywood #1950s hollywood #1960s hollywood #1970s hollywood

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mint-blossom · 3 years

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"Attention, Dunwall citizens. John Clavering Boulevard has been designated a restricted travel area. Any citizens are liable to search or imprisonment at the discretion of the City Watch."

Theodora crept up the steps, willing herself to melt into the dark and remain unseen. She had hoped to steal across the Distillery District more or less unnoticed, a get-in-get-out trip to her quarantined apartment for a few valuables and a sorely needed change of clothes. Simple. Practically a cakewalk.

The problem, she saw in a few quick peeks over the edge of the stairs, was the City Watch. The brutes were easy enough to slip past one on one, but a handful of them actively patrolling was going to be a problem. There were more than she had thought to plan for. She eyed the walls of light, the newly installed watchtowers- something had happened since the last time she'd risked a journey home, something enough to spook the Lord Regent into sending considerable backup that hadn't been here before. Whatever had come through had been a force to be reckoned with, and they clearly did not want it tearing through again. Theodora frowned; she was no such force. She had hardly been a good dock worker before the rats came and gnawed the good ones to bones. This just made more trouble.

Theodora leaned against the divide out of sight at the bottom of the steps, her thumbs at her temples. Her mind worked to come up with a plan, a safe route out back the way she came, and came up with nothing helpful. She could fight her way through the Watch and be killed, fight to get to a wall of light and be vaporized before she could yank out the whale oil powering it, she even glanced up at Dr. Galvani's office to see if she'd be able to scale the wall. All stupid. All the same result.

Theodora sighed and put her hands out behind her to lean on.

And accidentally sent a glass bottle skittering out of sight off the ledge, where it shattered with a loud, terrible echo against the cobblestones.

She froze in horror at the sound, her eyes snapping upward to the top of the steps. She could hear a single confused, "Huh?" followed by the slow thud of approaching footsteps in the distance. She silently prayed for the guard to forget, to shrug it off as rats or roaming weepers, but Theodora had never been so lucky. The silhouette of a Watch uniform slipped into view just as she crept under the arch of the bridge out of sight.

Too close. She flattened herself against the hard stone wall at her back, hardly daring to breathe. He saw you. He's going to see you. There's no way. A thrill of panic surged through her. How could you be so stupid? So careless? There was no time to run, no time to hide. She could only hope that whoever this guard was, he was in a particularly forgiving mood today.

Theodora leaned out to peek around the wall, just enough to catch a glimpse of the stairs. She took hurried stock of the guard; he was young, but not frail. Only the one, probably not frightened or experienced enough to bring backup. A pistol ready at his side. All the advantages to kill her as soon as look at her, but could maybe be bribed or reasoned with. She thought of her empty pockets, her apartment picked clean of all but the useless sentimental things, and felt her heart sink. The only options available to her were certain death, or a hopeless leap of faith.

She took another peek, sizing up the guard as he cautiously picked his way down the stairs, his eyes sweeping the street. She was certain he'd seen her- if he hadn't, it was only a matter of time. With a gulp of breath to steady herself, Theodora rounded the corner and stopped suddenly inches from his face. He nearly yelped before she clapped a hand over his mouth.

"Please," she whispered urgently. "Please don't."

His wide dark eyes darted all over her face- she realized he was looking for signs of the plague before his hands fluttered to the weapon at his side.

#someone motivate me to finish this #im hyperfixating but its not enough :0)#marie writes #dishonored #sorry long post i cant force the read more to work

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