✵ @cardioectomy​

His dress blues did not fit him quite so well as they did a year ago, when the little princess had ordered him to get them replaced, once she’d completed her first cotillion and could now appear at the balls that took place after sundown. Corvo was a little taller now, a little broader in the shoulder and the chest, a little longer in the arms, though he wasn’t quite sure when that had happened. He was hardly the fastidious type when it came to sartorial matters, the sort of man who would only change out an item if someone else pointed out it’s too damaged to wear out. So of course he’d found himself fussing over his uncomfortable formal attire mere minutes before he was scheduled to be seen in them.

His footsteps were heavy as he ascended the stairs, a finger already hooked into his collar to loosen where it dug unceremoniously into his throat. He’d have to fuss with that later. At present, he was set to enter the princess’s chambers, ready to escort her to the first grand ball of the season, and he needed to be alert to more important matters. One hand pressed to each of his pockets, both hidden and not, noting silently every weapon at his disposal, including his sword, folded neatly away in its holster for the occasion. A deep breath, a sound knock on the heavy, carved door, and the princess’s maid was allowing him within, to the splendor of cerulean silk drapery and walls painted blue like the depth of the sea on a clear day, everything gilded in dark gold.

The princess sat at her vanity, attended by her lady’s maid who was primly applying rose-scented rouge to her cheeks with an obscenely fluffy powder puff. Corvo could not see her face, but noted the excellently tailored form of her dress, her ebon hair twisted into an elaborate array of braids. 

“Your father will be expecting you shortly,” Corvo announced gruffly, as though he had any authority to her time. The princess would come and go as the pleased, and no dinner, no party would occur without the consecration of her presence. He shifted his weight, even his boots now feeling uncomfortably foreign to him. “Promptly at seven, that’s what he said.” 

I asked for prompts, and she wanted Jessamine not doing so hot when she’s first made Empress so fuck my un-succinct ass, ig

Every morning, he rises with the dawn, dresses himself after her performs his ablutions, raking and combing his unruly hair into some semblance of acceptability. He douses his wrists with the unreasonably costly extrait of juniper and sage she gifted him for his nameday. It’s a more concerted effort than he usually exerts, but today is a marked occasion. Today he does not knock, does not presume that his presence is welcome in the Empress’ chambers. The sound of her door slamming in his face last night was enough to resonate with him, devastate him still, even after the regulation of sleep. So he stands at attention outside her doors, like the reverent soldier he is, and he waits for his empress’s bidding, and not the welcome of his lover. She doesn’t greet him as she sweeps out of the room, barely even bothering to give him a sidelong glance before she’s halfway down the hall, and he wonders how angry she still must be to maintain her displeasure even now. But she stops. Waits for him to gain on her, then slips her little hand in his. It’s the only concession she makes. It’s the only concession he needs. He stands in the corner during her conferences, arms folded and silent as a sentinel, observing the room with  an admonitory intent that’s futile, given how astutely Jessamine manages to preside over the following meetings. She receives the envoys and ambassadors with an imperial grace, she listens with the patience of a saint to every complaint and criticism, presents practical solutions and viable alternatives with a quick aplomb that surprises even Corvo.

She’s close enough. In his dreams.

His power is growing. His grip upon the Void and the world beyond it was expanding in rates that most might consider alarming. Each conquer is another way to bring in the witches. Each tribute is another notch in his arsenal. The magic in his hands was twisting and growing and spreading and, soon, he would be able to touch her again.

Yet, this night, he found her in scattered pieces. Bit by bit by bit, he was stitching her back together. Weaving her back into the woman that he had fallen in love for and his memories were the guiding beacon.

Lips found the crook of her wrist. Astral form hovered against his own, his body growing black as tar and spreading out to engulf her. However, she was a guiding light. A glowing light. Something still pure and gentle in the darkness that Corvo was trying to conquer. Oh, how the darkness within him hungered for her. How the taint grew in the pit of his stomach and he instantly sought to press her against himself.

Their naked forms grind and writhe together in the realm of dreams, his voice constantly uttering for her to come home. For her to follow his tongue. She laughs and it is cathedral bells in his mind. Her fingers touch his mouth and across his chest as they once again merge into one., but she quickly withdraws to once again float in the Void.

He awakens in the real world again, alone and drenched in sweat. However, he rests his palm against his chest and, for but a moment, there are two hearts beating within him.

  hi my name is nani and I cannot stop writing...

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Asshole overseer bc anti magic!

YOUE FOUELLE