Rulers Make Bad Lovers
Whumpuary, Day 23 - Prompt: "You're Awake"
Empress Emily Kaldwin feels caged by her tower. Wyman just wants her to stay.
I felt like writing a dialogue-heavy one today, but it still took me like six hours
AO3 Here
Emily crept silently around the room as she got dressed. The only light she had was a moonbeam seeping through a crack in the curtains, and a lot of her clothes were strewn about the floor with her partners', which made progress slow. Finally, all that was left was the ring on her nightstand, which she slipped onto her middle finger and crossed the room to the false bookcase. As she touched the ring to the secret lock, she heard the sheets rustle behind her and quickly dropped her arm back to her side.
"Emily?" Wyman asked sleepily, rubbing one eye with the heel of their hand.
"You're awake? I was just - "
"Outsider's eyes, you're unbelievable," Wyman interrupted, before Emily could think of an excuse.
"I'm sorry?"
Wyman sat up a little straighter and stopped pretending they only just woke up. "I've been watching since you got out of bed, waiting until I could catch you red handed, and you still try and lie to me!"
"Shh!" Emily hushed, gesturing at the other figure in her bed. "You'll wake Alexi."
Wyman scowled. "She'd sleep through a lightning storm, don't try and deflect."
Emily sighed and took a step back towards Wyman. "I'm sorry," she said.
"So you were sneaking out?"
"I am. And lying about it just comes naturally, I didn't mean anything by it."
Wyman scoffed, and despite the fact that it was true Emily didn't push the matter. Instead she reached out to try and take their hand, but they snatched it away before her fingers could make contact.
"You can't keep running out at all hours, Emily," Wyman warned. There was a hit of chastisement in their tone that made Emily bristle.
"Why not? I'm the Empress, I can do what I like."
Wyman sat forward a little and grabbed her wrists. "That's exactly the point: you are Empress. You're just not acting like it."
"Oh, spare me!" Emily grumbled, forgetting for a moment to keep her voice down. She stood up, tugging her hands out of Wyman's grip as she moved.
"You spend more time gallivanting across the rooftops than you do at court," Wyman pointed out.
"So? My advisors practically run everything for me."
"That might have worked when you were a teenager, but you can't keep abdicating the responsibility."
"'Abdicate responsibility'?" she repeated, waggling her fingers mockingly. "What's got into you, Wyman? You never - " realisation dawned and she folded her arms. "Oh I see. Who put you up to this? Marchand? My father?"
Wyman's eyes darted across the bedsheets to Alexi's sleeping form before they could stop themself, and Emily scowled.
"When she wakes up I'll kill her," she grumbled.
"Okay, so she mentioned she had concerns," Wyman admitted grudgingly. "I think she thought you might listen to me."
Emily shook her head slowly. "I don't listen to people who tell me what to do with my free time, Wyman." It was petulant, she knew, but she was too angry to stop. "Don't become one of those people, and don't pretend you care about me turning up to court."
Wyman collapsed back against their pillows and ground out a frustrated sigh from between clenched teeth. "You're right, I don't care about what happens at court. But I care about Alexi, and I care about you. What you're doing is upsetting her, and it's putting you in danger. Can you at least just… cut down?" Wyman lifted their head a little so they could see Emily, but she looked away from their eyes.
"You don't understand," she said softly.
"No, you're right, I don't," Wyman said.
"Everyone expects so much of me, and this… it's the only way I can be free of that," Emily said. All her life, she had been surrounded by advisors and policy experts and parliament and nobles, and they all wanted something from her that conflicted with something someone else wanted from her, and there was never any time to think any of it through before she was being rushed for a decision.
"Emily, you live in a tower with servants attending to your every whim," Wyman said sharply. "Don't try and tell me life is just too hard for poor little Empress Emily Drexel Lela Kaldwin the first." It was a sore spot for them: Emily knew they had grown up poor in one of the fishing villages in the north of Gristol before they made a name for themself as a playwright. Not many people were privy to that information, but Wyman liked to throw it in her face whenever she got too comfortable with her charmed life.
Emily rolled her eyes, but conceded. "I know. But I'm still trapped in here. Sometimes I just… need some air."
"Sometimes," Wyman said emphatically. "But it's been every night lately. Even I've noticed how poorly you focus during the day now, and people are starting to get suspicious."
Emily laughed sarcastically. "Of what? That you and Alexi are wearing me out every night?"
"Don't joke," Wyman insisted. "This is serious. There are rumours that you're not fit for rule, and if I've heard them that means people aren't worried about it getting back to you."
Emily paused for the first time. "What people?"
"There's a group in parliament that - "
"More Regenters," Emily waved a hand dismissively. "Nobody cares what they think."
"Damn it all Emily!"
Both of them paused as Alexi shifted and mumbled in her sleep, but she didn't wake up and Emily blew out a breath of relief.
"I am trying to help you," Wyman hissed, remembering not to shout this time.
"I don't want help," Emily shot back. "This is my life, and I'll manage my responsibilites the way I see fit."
Wyman's jaw tensed so hard Emily could see the muscles working under their skin. "If that's what you want," they said. "But if you go out that door tonight then you'll have to find somewhere else to sleep when you come back."
"Wyman, come on - "
"No, Emily, I mean it." Their face was set, and seeing the determination in their eyes just made Emily more annoyed.
"That's my bed you're lying in," she pointed out.
Wyman gave her a tight, angry smile. "There's another in your secret room there. You'll pass it on your way out the door."
Emily could just say sorry, shed the tears she was holding back at upsetting her partner, promise to do better, and go back to sleep in two sets of loving arms. At least, she wished she could. But her blood was up now, indignant that her closest confidante could join the campaign to keep her trammeled and proper, and the only thing that could cool her down was the bite of the cold night air. So instead, she turned and jammed her signet ring into the secret lock so hard she thought she might break her finger.
She already knew she'd regret it as the bookcase door slid shut behind her.
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The trivia fact that Emily Kaldwin is self conscious about her hands because of the amount of people always kissing her hand or shaking her hand or otherwise touching her hand when meeting her is so good to me. Like yeeeeessss let girly pop try and hide her hands or wear gloves or take excruciating care to maintain her skin and nails because she knows how much scrutiny she's under on any given day as Empress of the Isles.
Let her hands be something she holds dear to herself and hide from those she distrusts, but to those she holds dear her hands are there to hold them and cherish them.
Emily nervously fidgeting with her hands, wringing her hands, impatiently tapping on the table or armrest where she's sitting, absent mindedly picking at her nails until she realizes she's made her fingers bleed from her anxious nitpicking.
Emily quick to pull her hand away whenever having to offer it out of politeness and decorum, because the feeling of strangers touching her hands makes her skin crawl. The touch of a wayward diplomat on her palm lingers and leaves an uneasy feeling in the back of her throat. The sensation of unfamiliar lips on the back of her hand makes her want to grimace, but she has the wherewithal to resist the urge.
Emily overcompensating with skincare in hopes the moisturizer will hide that her hands have indeed seen labor and work, in the form of combat and climbing and parkour and scars from close calls. Her worrying down the callouses on her fingers and knuckles from years sparring with Corvo. Nervousness that the visiting diplomat may notice her imperfect hands and make judgements based on such a superficial thing.
Let her pay extra attention to not only her hands but the hands of others, taking mental notes of the texture and size of the various hands she must shake as despite her not wanting to be judged by the state of her own hands she finds herself internally painting pictures of people based on their hands alone. The state of one's hands can tell a lot about a person.
Emily never takes off the glove or hand wraps covering the cursed mark of the Outsider etched into her skin, knowing the world of trouble a single ill-meaning individual could put her in if they saw it. Her making excuses and fibs on why she always covers her hand up, saying oh she has an unsightly scar or hurt her hand or such. Who would dare try to suggest otherwise? She fought tooth and nail to get her throne back, and while she is no tyrant, she's been burned one too many times and will not be trifled with like that ever again.
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Kinktober/Voidtober, Part 2
Theme 1: Knifeplay. Ship: Knifecrow.
Warning: Kink, blood, aggressive show of affrection.
Daud spins the knife in his hand, looking at how the light plays on it's sharp edge. Corvo always compares Daud to this instrument. Deadly, elegant, durable. Yet, in the right hands, it can be used for many different things. Cooking, carving wood, even healing. Something that is used to cut those wounds into people can also help to tear the fabric into smaller pieces, making it easy to cover the injury. Ironic, if you consider what has become of Daud in those last few months.
New promotion, reputation. Even tittle, along with respect among those who usually despised him for his low place of birth on society.
Daud feels like a knife that got a new handle, was sharpened and got the respect it deserves.
Daud knows he should feel proud and relieved. But he feels more nervous than anything else. He sighs, puts down his pen and goes towards the window. Hearing somebody entering, he doesn't even react, knowing all too well who this is.
— Corvo, you can stop trying to scare me. I know you're here.
He turns, but sees nothing. His knife is missing. Daud thinks for a second that he is mistaking, but when his own blade touches his neck, royal spymaster has no doubt.
— You are such a dick sometimes.
— Come on. You love it, — Corvo presses on the blade, making Daud swallow out of nerve and excitement.
Corvo slowly drags the blade upwards, almost cutting through the skin. Daud feels a tiny drop of blood going down his neck and carotid artery. He is not afraid for his life. Attano likes to play with Daud like he is a dog. And Daud lets him. His reasons are his own. But this sense of belonging is too great to give up just yet.
Theme 2: Assassin. Ship: Emily/Male!Wyman.
Wyman is a trustworthy ally. Emily knows about it well. Too well, infact. Many people also know this, and this is quite natural for them to try and get rid of her lover. He doesn't face any murder attempts until today. Good thing that Emily is prepared for it.
When a shadow cases slight movements in candle's flame, Wyman already stands guard. Feeling that someone is stalking him through the halls, he prepared his knife when he enters his room. He knows that he is all alone. Guards have been taken care of. He has to face him alone. Or, that is what he thinks.
Wyman sees how the assassins charges, pressing him to the door. The noble is no stranger to combat. He fights back, punching a hired killer in the face. This second is enough for him to gain the upper hand. Assassin flips them over, trying to make the last blow.
But he freezes, gasping for air. A scarf, tightly wrapping around killer's neck, gives him almost no chance to fight. He gets one single blow to the head before collapsing. A not-so-mysterious figure ties him up, pushin an unconscious knife for hire aside.
— I owe you yet again, your majesty. — Wyman gently holds Emily's hand in his, kissing her wrist that is wrapped in a cloth.
— Shut up, mister royal, — young Kaldwin laughs and puts her hand on Wyman's cheek, rubbing it against his soft skin. — How did you know it was me?
— Only a deadly assassin can go unnoticed by another deadly assassin.
— You think i'm deadly?
— The deadliest woman for me, my little sparrow.
Emily smiles, winks at Wyman and leans in for a kiss, wrapping her hands around his strong neck, not forgetting to put away an unsuccessful killer in the heavy wooden closet until morning.
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