i’ve never found being ‘ self destructive ’ to be worrisome someone, some time, is going to ( DESTROY ) you & i will be DAMNED if anyone but myself has that honor
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@deityism-blog
i’ve never found being ‘ self destructive ’ to be worrisome someone, some time, is going to ( DESTROY ) you & i will be DAMNED if anyone but myself has that honor
ooc; looks @ onefinal. zam talks about u a lot.
Meet The Muse
Hover over the links for a brief description!
|| The Basics ||
Name: the outsider. Nickname(s): black-eyed bastard & more fairly interesting names. Age: unknown. Species: deity.
|| Personal ||
Morality: Lawful / Neutral / Chaotic / Good / Gray / Evil Religious Belief: connected to the void; god of the void. Sins: Lust / Greed / Gluttony / Sloth / Pride / Envy / Wrath Virtues: Chastity / Charity / Diligence / Humility / Kindness / Patience / Justice Primary Goals In Life: to watch the world burn. observe followers & those possessing the mark. Languages Known: all, though english is primary. Secrets: though spoken to be neutral against chaos, he'd much rather have a show than nothing to watch at all. Quirks: tricky, sly. has a way of conning many people into things. Savvies: he's rather skilled at getting what he wants when he wants it and has the ability to tag along, even when not wanted.
|| Physical ||
Build: Slender / Scrawny / Bony / Fit / Athletic / Herculean / Babyfat / Pudgy / Obese / Other Height: 5'8" Weight: 146 lbs. Scars/Birthmarks: bruises around the eyes. Abilities/Powers: powers of the void, god-like abilities. Restrictions: he tends to get bored easily with lower chaos and if bored enough, may not even show up. he also refuses to give the mark to just anyone.
|| Favorites ||
Favourite Food: n/a, Favourite Drink: n/a. Favourite Pizza Topping: Favourite Color: darker purples, all the colors of the void & the ocean. Favourite Music Genre: any that doesn't have the ability to put him to sleep. Favourite Book Genre: n/a. Favourite Movie Genre: Favourite Season: fall & winter. Favourite Butt Type: Favourite Swear Word: Favourite Scent: sea salt & ocean breeze. Favourite Quote: everything he, himself says.
|| Fun Stuff ||
"Boss" Theme Music: Bottom or Top: n/a. Loud Burper Or Soft Burper: Sings In The Shower: Yes / No Likes Bad Puns: how ridiculous. he loves them.
Their Opinion On The Mun: eugh.
Tag 3 People!: hhislast, castellannos, thearroganteagle
S.L. Jennings, Fear of Falling
ooc; my mission is to constantly draw him in ridiculous clothes. he's like count olaf i mean he always just. shows up in the worst places to give corvo advice on how to bring his chances of death up.
haeredis:
the cat is undoubtedly beautiful. more beautiful, even, than dunwall tower, emily thinks. but it’s not the sort of place you’d want to live in—— no, it’s too beautiful for that.
and she hates the smell.
when her grief subsided enough that she might get up and wander, she wandered; it helped to keep the sad thoughts at bay, just for a while, even if she hadn’t been allowed to really talk to the other ladies who lived there.
( madame prudence wouldn’t allow the girls to talk to her, and the pendleton brothers insisted that she leave the whores be. )
but then the golden cat opened its doors to business once more and no longer could little emily wander as she once had; especially after two nearly successful attempts at escape.
it is when locked away and left to her own devices, that that dreadful tempest of emotion comes rushing back, surging through her like a wave. it undulates like the sea——first frustration, rage that fumes, then guilt, helplessness, and finally she is only sad.
dirtied knees pulled to frill-adorned chest, the sadness creeps with the cold up from the floor and into her bones, spilling over cheeks salty and raw not long after. in these past six months little emily has cried so much she wonders at how she has not yet drowned.
d r o w n i n g …
the air around her feels heavy. full. frigid. faintly familiar——she has felt it in her dreams before but she can’t quite recall it. and then, a foreign voice pulls her from her suffocating sorrows;
emily uncurls and rises without really realizing it. she turns, slowly, and now she stands face to face with…
…a ghost.
”how do you know my name?”
" how do i know your name? " he waltzes, nearly glides around to her side. the outsider bends, rests one arm on his knee and takes a moment to assess, bruised, black pits of eyes scaling, trailing over her face and taking note of the stains the tears have left.
there's a sigh that slips to the air, head shakes, and he stands again, without a sound, pacing along the floor. he documents the various objects and how they're broken. files somewhere deep in his mind the chair that's turned over and keeps it there as if he can file a complaint for poor living issues to the owner later on.
like a game of pretend.
" i've known you for a long time. consider me an imaginary friend, if you will, but don't be afraid. i'm only here to help you, to keep you company. "
the deity slows his wandering near the girl again, turns and leans for a moment... and then sits across from her on the floor.
" how long have you been crying? "
vaesanus:
slowly, breaths once again even, he removes himself, the touch to his back incredibly… unpleasant. he e n j o y s the words, however, as he always has. it sends frissons of a c c e p t a n c e through him, the feeling of calm. it makes breathing easier, body lighter than the past years would make him expect. head rises, eyes blinking before a smile ( such a r a r i t y these days )tugs at bitten lips. he’s better, in a sense, knowing that he has been l i e d to. he’s alone in this mortal world. yet, as the outsider remains, he begins to see he was never truly alone. this god before him has watched him, stayed with him. he b e l i e v e s in him. he’s the only one who does, now. he is not the outsider’s. he is no pawn in his game of fascination. he has a purpose thanks to this deity. where would he be without him? ( DEAD. JAILED. BLAMED. ) w h o would he be without him?
sympathy felt with all due respect, though however, he's not one to let it show. the outsider, instead, continues to stare, silent, brows furrowed in confusion.
he's not sure what just happened.
hand falls back to his side, lips drawing to a partial purse. arms fold over each other, rest upon his chest, and he shifts his weight to one foot, head tilting to the side in wonder.
fascinating.
" you draw to conclusions a little too fast for my tastes, corvo. i'd hoped you would know, by now, that things aren't always as they originally seem. the same with rather... unfortunate events. you never know the outcome, nor the downfall, but you will be around to see what happens in the end. oh, and the endings are always so much fun. "
he's been watching her for a while now, sitting inside that room with her knees pulled to her chest, wondering, hoping her royal protector will come to save her soon.
she draws a lot, he's found that out, and it's always pictures from memory. whether it's a scribble labelled mother or a full page with the word daddy or corvo, every mark has a meaning.
the outsider knows how scared emily must be. maybe she could use a friend... or maybe even a little excitement to lighten things.
the world slows, twists for the time being, and he steps from the void and into the real world, fingers laced behind his back and brows arched in false concern. the god looms for a moment, glancing over her shoulder, and then gives a small cough to catch her attention.
" hello, emily. "
ooc; help me.
vaesanus:
he listens. he truly listens. his scream dies off into a soft rumbling, forcing himself to focus, to calm. down. to b r e a t h e. breathe in. breathe out. ( breathe in the smell of ozone, of ocean. breathe out the fear, the shaky feeling of confusion, of c h i l d i s h troubles. ) he can guide him through. yes, for the love of the empress, yes. guide him, instruct him. take away the worries, the d o u b t. all those who have c o n d e m n e d him, sentenced him without knowing of what he faced, swimming in his head. he did what was r i g h t. why did they see it as w r o n g. but the outsider. the outsider says they do not matter. he is right. he is strong. body remains where it lays, too tired from its distress. this isn’t how he imagined their reunion. the mark still burns, as it always has done, but the holder… the holder has been through h e l l. with the outsider, he can believe his trials are nothing. he has seen the t r u t h, faced down the odds. defied the abbey and saved the now-empress. his purpose isn’t finished. there is c o r r u p t i o n to end. there’s a muffled noise, mind blessedly blank for the first time in a long, long time. ( thank you )
corvo calms and so do his nerves. crying always did seem to push his buttons, affect him in all the wrong ways. some reason, some aspect of his own personal past has pushed him to react with violence towards those who decide to cry.
but he cannot remember, and thus, there is no reason to strike the man.
there's a sigh when corvo doesn't move from his comforting spot upon the outsider's shoulder, and quite awkwardly does he raise a hand to give a few gentle pats to his back.
why do people do this, again? how is it comforting? he's forgotten.
but, it's boring, as well.
" your ears still function when your heart doesn't. that's a good thing. the mind is a more marvelous place, anyhow. "
vaesanus:
lips twist and again, he tightens his hand around such a p o w e r f u l man’s throat. right path? he’s always been on the right path, always done what has needed to be done. the creature, the d e m o n, beneath him had said so himself. is that why he had stayed away for so long? because he wanted the corvo he had seen bleed his enemies dry, kill the first man who had offered him help? wanted the corvo who felt as if the blood that f i l l e d the streets n e v e r seemed enough. he never answered his pleas because he was boring. because he had become a protector again. because emily was s a f e. and the streets were only s t a i n e d. the itch he’s been ignoring ( the injustice of what the abbey had felt, the way jessamine’s heart still demanded blood to spill, the outsider’s shrine calling to him, whispering the secrets of the void, promising that those who desert him, those who c o n d e m n him for fulfilling his purpose, will see how w r o n g they were )is suddenly present; loud and blinding. that’s why he’s here? because he knows corvo never truly finished his game of r e v e n g e ? because he knows corvo hasn’t forgotten. hand slowly leaves the throat before him, teeth gritting as body sags once again. he wants, craves, the outsider’s presence. yet, with him here, the trail of pain and betrayal follows. head falls against shoulder, right hand fisting in the jacket of his god seconds before a s c r e a m breaks free of such silent lips. it’s a plea. ( STOP THIS. )
the grip upon his throat tightens and he finds himself near panic, hands tugging at fingers one at a time in the attempt to loosen them one by one.
but then he is released, and instead of trying to make an escape back to the void, he forces himself to stay.
now, what kind of god would he be if he didn't listen to the prayers, the sins of his subjects?
heh.
the head against his shoulder is enough to cause him to pull a fave, expression twisting to something along the lines of confused.
but corvo screams, and he can feel the hurt.
" corvo-- " his voice falters, halts. silence all but the bout of noises coming from the man.
" -- you have to stop. you have to remember that what doesn't kill you obviously wasn't trying hard enough, but the experience also makes you stronger, makes your eyes open so you can see the world around you.
your past is not a weapon. it's an advantage, and i hope you'll learn to see it that way. i can only guide you through. "
vaesanus:
the growl almost seems to r e s o u n d throughout the small room. he’s teasing him again, but the p r a i s e lessens his grip, his anger. he could easily fall away from his touch, bend reality and fade into the void as if corvo didn’t exist. he could. but he isn’t. his grip comes back with a v e n g e n c e, body moving to crowd and push. he barely notices as the other hits the wall, eyes intent on pale fingers struggling, black eyes watching his every move. yet so soulless. so full of n o t h i n g. head draws close to the outsider’s ear, throat working to make sense of the shapeless words. when the sounds do come, broken and ragged, their m e a n i n g is clear; i am not yours. ( it’s a thin lie. )
nimble fingers remain pressed against the strong hand of the man, pulling, prying, hopelessly failing to pull it away and be free.
the wall is harder than he anticipated previously, especially as spine hits and there's a low grunt that sounds from somewhere deep inside upon impact.
he stays completely silent to listen, to understand what message corvo is attempting to get across and he immediately knows what those helpless noises mean and...
a smirk finds it's way to his face.
" good. you're beginning to get back on the right path again. i have to admit, i thought you'd be lost forever. "
vaesanus:
the bastard. he sees what he’s doing now, as the party is mentioned. he’s dragging up old events, trying to make him m i s e r a b l e. damn him. such a blind fool for begging, for w o r s h i p p i n g, to this child. he’s not here for him. he’s here for his own g a m e. corvo gives a strangled growl sort of noise, before he’s leaping towards him, left hand reaching for the deity’s throat. he will not be his p l a y t h i n g. years. it’s been years. he will not be subjected to this t o r t u r e. he’s already plagued with these memories when his body lies dormant in the dark. he will not allow them to rule in the light of d a y. he wishes to be himself. no one else. he is corvo attano and he is r i g h t. your move, outsider.
unexpected, shocking... exciting.
just how he likes it.
the outsider does, however, give a gasp in response, the sudden volt of adrenaline running low before he can even spit any words out.
and suddenly, he's a bit angry. although...
very entertained.
" oh, good show, corvo. what's your plan now? " he grips the royal protector's hand with both of his, attempts to pry fingers away from his throat. jaw clenches for a moment and he discovers...
it's probably best to let corvo get it out of his system.
" don't be shy. i'm curious. "
Dishonored: The Tales From Dunwall || Chapter 1 - The Awakening
"His name was Edmond Roseburrow, and Dunwall was his last hope. He had dedicated his life to knowledge and progress, but throughout the isles no one would listen. The Whale Yards were no place for a natural philosopher, but he had no where else to go. The poor and hungry gathered there hoping for a few scraps, and Roseburrow wondered if he would soon share their fate. But then he saw something. Something that made him realize his entire life’s work was a waste, and it brought a smile to his face. Roseburrow’s discovery breathed new life into Dunwall. It made him rich beyond his wildest dreams, but he never took his success for granted. So when young Anton Sokolov came to him with a radical new idea, he couldn’t help but give him a chance. Sokolov’s ideas ushered Dunwall to a new era of technology, but over time Roseburrow learned that sometimes progress comes too great a cost. It’s a funny thing, ambition. It can take one to sublime heights or harrowing depths, and sometimes they’re one and the same. Roseburrow learned that lesson all too well."
vaesanus:
there’s a hum, low and quiet, as the outsider pulls away. the buzzing in his head, the barrier around his vision, slowly leaves, breathing evening out. he’s still h e r e , corvo. he hasn’t abandoned you. forget about your questions, your choices. forget, corvo. f o r g e t. he is no man of madness. he is corvo attano. and he is not some child lamenting what fate had laid out for him. he is the royal protector. and his purpose is not yet over. the words of praise seem to finally solidify the feeling of calm, of r i g h t n e s s. he is alive. he is well. he is corvo attano. again his head shakes. no. it is not hard to pull away from the nightmares, from the memories. he’s been doing it for months, years. it’s not a chore, as the outsider describes it. it’s an instinct. i n g r a i n e d. fingers brush the mark, and he draws closer, disliking such distance. he’s still here. the outsider never stays. how…pleasing.
it's not like he doesn't notice the movement to draw closer. in fact, he more than notices and furrows his brow in response.
the outsider turns to face corvo fully once more and decides to give a small step forward of his own, head cocked ever so slightly to the right as hands never falter or release one another behind his back.
" loneliness is a tricky, wicked thing, isn't it? you're not alone, and yet, even with little emily always by your side, you can't help but feel like the only person in a room full of noble people. donned in their fancy hats, strange masks... dresses on women barely missing the dirty floor. "
a pause, lips pursing but for just a moment.
" and yet.... what to you wear? do you sign your own name to the guest book as you did attending the previous lady boyle's party? or... do you sign the name of someone you may only wish to be... ? "
[ sʜʀɪɴᴇ. ] - [ ʀᴜɴᴇ. ] - [ ᴠᴏɪᴅ. ] - [ ʟᴀᴡ. ]
vaesanus:
again, the words are sharp, harsh. yet they allow him to look, to see. hand falls from the one on his shoulder. his gaze is h a r d e r, closing off whatever had shown through before. yet, the hand still captured loosens. not enough to allow freedom, but less d e s p e r a t e in intensity. he’s not sulking, not looking for pity. he’s looking for a n s w e r s. again, anger rises, arrogance getting the better of him. and yet, the outsider is still here. no more self-loathing. there are o t h e r s waiting. he nods his own understanding. breath in. breathe out.
hand pulls back from shoulder, as well as twists away from the man's grasp.
the outsider laces fingers together behind his back, gives a slow step away to give corvo enough room to actually calm down and come back from horrible memories.
" it's intriguing, almost, to see that you still have enough strength to draw yourself away from the brink of madness and return to the world-- "
a rather soft sigh, but it sounds more like something you'd hear a child do when it has grown tired of something.
and yet, he does not voice what he's feeling. possibly because he may not be feeling a single thing.
how boring.
" -- how hard that must be for you. "