Claire Keane
Love Begins
h
wallacepolsom
No title available
Aqua Utopia｜海の底で記憶を紡ぐ
roma★
ojovivo
trying on a metaphor
Monterey Bay Aquarium
Mike Driver
Acquired Stardust
d e v o n
No title available
I'd rather be in outer space 🛸
Keni
YOU ARE THE REASON
Game of Thrones Daily
art blog(derogatory)
祝日 / Permanent Vacation
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Lithuania
seen from Germany
seen from Germany
seen from Türkiye
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Brazil
seen from Türkiye
seen from Jordan
seen from Ukraine
seen from United States
seen from Japan
seen from United States
seen from Malaysia
seen from Jordan
@voldlsms
𝙾𝚄𝚃𝚂𝙸𝙳𝙴𝚁 𝚆𝙰𝙻𝙺𝚂 𝙰𝙼𝙾𝙽𝙶 𝚄𝚂:
𝐆𝐨𝐝 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐯𝐨𝐢𝐝, 𝐚 𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐝 𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐧𝐞𝐝 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐚 𝐠𝐨𝐝, 𝐥𝐞𝐟𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐧𝐢𝐚 𝐚𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐧𝐢𝐚 𝐚𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐦𝐚𝐝. 𝐁𝐞𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐢𝐧 𝐛𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐠𝐮𝐞𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐬𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐦𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐢𝐬𝐥𝐞𝐬 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐬𝐞𝐞𝐫 𝐛𝐨𝐫𝐞𝐝𝐨𝐦. 𝐓𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐡𝐞𝐞𝐝. 𝐇𝐢𝐬 𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐤 𝐢𝐬 𝐧𝐨 𝐠𝐢𝐟𝐭. 𝐈𝐭'𝐬 𝐚 𝐜𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐞. 𝐓𝐡𝐨𝐞𝐬 𝐰𝐡𝐨 𝐝𝐢𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐤 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐥𝐞𝐟𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐨 𝐰𝐨𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐯𝐨𝐢𝐝. 𝐀𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐚𝐬 𝐡𝐞 𝐨𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐬.
𝙳𝙾𝙽'𝚃 𝚃𝚁𝚄𝚂𝚃 𝙷𝙸𝙼
(Rules and verses below the cut!)
Going to be on @dillusionalgrlns for the rest of the time. Another observer god but pretty much an annoying bastard who plays with people's minds. Vhvb dont mind me
🧣 What texture/clothing item makes them feel safe?
Soft cotton. A sensation of calm soothing and soft material that he'd wrap himself around in when he was still alive. It would make him feel loved and comforted and would imagine a mother or father hugging him if he rolled around in it tight enough.
The one who walks here is all things. Cradle songs of comfort, and bones gnawed by teeth.
What’s something small they did as a child that hinted at who they’d become?
As a child the outsider would adore watching the whales breach the water while he sat on a cliff. He had a strong attachment towards the large animals for so long he felt as though he was at peace when watching them pop up to then vanish into the oceanic void beneath them.
He always wondered where they went after that. What they did. How they faired. They were his favorite animal at heart and never seemed to stop. It was all he really looked forward to. Being a street urchin and all.
❤️ Who is the one person they’d drop everything for, no questions asked?
Well if the Outsider could possibly do anything besides observe I'd say he'd lay everything down for his favorite boy, Corvo. Corvo is the most interesting man he's ever laid eyes on in the past four thousand years of living with a story he couldn't help but watch from beginning to end. Getting the single best show of his entire existence out of him. He'd definitely intervene if he could. But sadly can't.
A redraw of a scene from The Return of Daud book
headcanon questions
if you are sending to a multi-muse, remember to specify the muse that the questions are being sent for . feel free to edit these as you see fit .
🌟 What’s something small they did as a child that hinted at who they’d become?
❤️ Who is the one person they’d drop everything for, no questions asked?
💔 What’s the one wound (physical / emotional) they’ll never fully recover from?
🗡️ What’s their “I’ve killed for less” trigger?
☀️ What’s their happiest childhood memory?
🌧️ What kind of weather matches their soul?
🍽️ What meal do they cook when they need to feel like themselves again?
🎶 What song instantly makes them emotional & why?
🌙 Do they sleep peacefully / fight nightmares every night?
🔒 What’s a secret they’ll take to their grave?
🪞 What do they secretly hate about their own appearance?
💪 What random skill are they weirdly proud of?
👶 Baby picture of them - what’s the most embarrassing thing about it?
🏠 Describe their home when no one’s watching—messy, spotless, chaotic cozy?
😭 What always makes them cry, even if they hate admitting it?
😂 What’s the dumbest thing they’ve ever laughed at for way too long?
🧸 Do they still have a childhood comfort object? Where is it now?
✏️ What nickname do they secretly love being called?
⚔️ How do they act when they’re furious but have to stay polite?
🩸 What’s the worst injury they’ve ever had & the story behind it?
🕊️ What would instantly calm them down in a panic attack?
🔥 What’s something they’d burn the world down to protect?
🌹 What scent reminds them of the person they loved/love most?
🪥 What’s their most oddly specific daily routine?
💔 What’s the one apology they’re still waiting for that’ll never come?
🃏 Are they the type to forgive / hold a grudge until the end of the universe?
🌌 What’s their biggest “what if” that keeps them up at night?
🦋 What was their “I’m not a kid anymore” moment?
🎭 Do they wear a mask in public? What’s the real them like underneath?
🧳 If they had to leave home forever with only one bag, what do they pack?
🌑 What’s the darkest thought they’ve ever had about themselves?
☕ What’s their comfort drink?
🖤 What’s a “villain” trait they actually possess?
🤝 Who is the one person they never want to disappoint?
🎁 What gift would utterly destroy them (in a good / bad way)?
🩹 How do they react when someone they love is hurt?
🌅 Are they a sunrise / sunset person - what do they think about while looking at their favorite?
🧣 What texture/clothing item makes them feel safe?
🦉 What piece of advice do they give everyone but never follow themselves?
🔪 What’s the most violent thing they’ve ever done for love / survival?
🦋 What seemingly insignificant memory do they cherish the most?
🌹 What is their love language & how badly do they need it right now?
🪨 What’s the hardest choice they’ve ever made?
🧋 What food/drink do they hate that everyone else loves?
🕰️ If they could relive one day of their life, which would it be?
👑 In their own story, are they the hero / villain / someone else entirely?
🌡️ What temperature do they keep their home at & why?
🧸 What would their younger self think of them now?
💌 What’s the letter / text they’ll never send?
⚰️ What do they want written on their gravestone / what do they want people to remember them for?
[ Continuation from X @sasorikigai ]
The Outsider was piecing it together. Slowly but it was there. His pale cold eyes looking at his palm that once held the weapon now gone. His expression didn't move. Didn't stur. Just remained. His body remained still despite the violence that errupted beneath them within the lava pits.
"I've seen many stories. None more tragic than yours, Hanzo." He spoke clearly as he takes his hand in his. Feeling it. Almost studying it within his grasp. Gently. But his own hands were as cold as ice. As if he was dead. He watched empires be built on blood and violence. Witnessed countless murders for reasons untold. But this massacre. Was a story of its own.
"You will get what's owed to you." He's seen his pain. His reasoning. Now he wishes to see his future. What he chooses to do amidst the vast painful sting of countless lives he's taken. He doesn't have the power to give him his life back. But he does have the power to make things a bit more interesting.
Holding out his hand the air shifted. His hands extending outward as fragments swirled in his hand. Clapping them together a vulger sound of bones being snapped could be heard as he revealed a charm made from bone. Handing it to him.
"I cannot give you my mark. But I can give you a piece of me. A bone charm. Use it when you think it necessary." He was purposely vague about it. The smile on the boy's face showed his amusement already." You are special. No one understands you. Your pain. It sounds so familiar to me.." not the fact he lost a clan. No the boy never had the privilege of having parents to care and love him. He lived alone.
It was the fact Hanzo..Scorpion was trapped in a form he didn't want. Trapped. Trapped. This man was the closest someone could ever get to understanding the Outsider's pain. A black tear rolling down his face staining his cheek with its black substance that made up the tear.
Its been two thousand years since he last cried. Why was he doing so now? Wiping his face he looked at his hand. And smiled." How odd.." He shuts his eyes. Taking a short breath." I never thought I'd find someone with such similar circumstances.." he chuckled lightly. Losing that emotionless tone as he seemed to keep crying. A torrent of black filling his pale face before he realized it. The more he raised his head to look at Hanzo. The more his throat revealed a scar. Not a small one..no. this boy had his throat slit from ear to ear. He chuckles lowly. The tears of black floating around him as if there was no gravity before they vanished.
"I'm sorry."
The thought of the woman having had taken him in being burned at the stake and or tortured by them made Mark grip the hilt. His eyes narrowed. By the void he hated the Abbey even now. Daud's words filling his ears just as much as his own once did to him. His eyes shut slightly as he tries to look back on the thousands of years of observing the world. He straightened his back.
"I don't want her to die. She's given me a home.." he looks to Daud. He didn't have to kill them. Just give the woman enough time to run." I don't need to kill them. Just get their attention."
He takes the sword and holds it tight. In truth he has no idea what he was doing. His eyes studying the woman that spoke to the Overseers that gathered outside the library. He thinks. Despite his physical age he was coming up with a plan. The Abbey were stupid as to believe a mere woman wishing to express ideas were the devil. He'd make a spectacle of it.
"I have an idea to get the Abbey to let her go. But I'm going to have to run as soon as I'm done." He remembers a book with an occult looking cover. He stuck the sword in between his belt and his pants and took a breath." I need to get upstairs to where the book is." He hoped this plan would work.
If he made it look like he resolved her of her purpose and cast fake magic. Maybe the Abbey would take pitty on her. Though there was always the chance she could die. He didn't want blood shed. But if it came to it. He would.
He wanted her to live. Go on and live a life without him there to ruin it. And he'd have to put on that part of him he wanted to throw away so badly. Taking a deep breath he shut his eyes and clenched his fists. Pulling out a match and some lighter fluid.
"At least if the Abbey get me I won't be with the void again." As much as he hates the fact the void took Daud in his place. It was a slight smirk on his small lips that made him feel like a child again. He could vaguely remember pulling pranks in his early childhood. But this one was a attempted rescue mission.
"So, you're choosing to play magician."
As soon as that was evident, the flickering after images of possible outcomes both vanished and clarified. Choices unmade, and decisions yet to come. Daud remembered what the Outsider had said to him in the Void, about how after four thousand years, such things would drive anyone mad.
Is this what he had to look forward to?
He'd cross that bridge when he got to it. For now, Daud would have to offer guidance where he could, and limit the suffering he could inflict on the world.
Of course, everything and everyone was unhappy with the change. The Abbey needed an enemy, the cults needed a god they could hope would impart blessings, and the witches needed the Void to behave a certain way.
The man vanished in a whorl of ash, reappearing seated on the upstairs handrail and balustrade.
"They can't see me," he informs, "But their hounds seem to sense me. Do you need a stage hand for your prestige?"
"Let them sense you. It's all I need to make this believable." He whispers. That's all he needed.. he had grabbed the nearest book and poured some whale oil on it. Its blue glow staining the pages after opening it to the middle of the book. And took a deep breath.
Revealing himself to the Overseers Mark's expression was emotionless. Almost amused as he set the pages on fire with the flick of his match unseen by their eyes. His words were cold and unfeeling as he spoke.
"This woman served her purpose. I no longer need her." He lookes to the woman who's been so kind to him for a year. A slight sadness in his eyes as the hounds barked at the presence of not him. But Daud. His eyes expressing hurt as the eyeless grabbed her and pushed her out of the library. He hoped it worked. He prayed it was enough for them to let her go.
Throwing the book at them as they rush in to grab him, Mark runs up stairs to the upper floor. Working his hands around a book shelf knocking it over. Then over to a balcony that looks over the building across from it.
"Oh no." His eyes look down to the alleyway below. Just below him was garbage. His eyes shut quickly as he work up a running start and begins to run. His feet carrying him across the floor, up the railing to the balcony and across the way. A sharp yell leaving his throat as he grabs onto the railing to the opposite balcony. His body hanging loose as the Overseer's hounds barked viciously at him from the street below.
"Oh..by the void." He shuts his eyes and attempts to pull himself up. His fingers slipping slightly around the square rail bent around the balcony. His eyes widening slightly. He was losing his grip." No no no. Don't do this to me!" He tries to pull himself up. His foot slipping through one of the bars in the balcony. Pulling himself in close with his arm using his legs to help him up.
A sigh of releaf filling him as he finally pulls himself up and climbs over the railing. And onto the other side. Looking back to see the eyeless rushing to get to the next building after him.
The woman they threw away was gone. Hopefully a good sign." Well there's that.." he mutters.
https://youtu.be/N_mp4yJtp14?si=5jqsEy9oP1IGICd_
Is it bad I get excited whenever I meet someone who is willing to give my boy a chance?
Me preferring outsider from dishonored over dishonored 2. His voice hits just right over the second one. Ghvh
Me thinking about replaying dishonored dgfgv
"Why do you listen to them? Why do you take orders from them? You don't have to obey everything they tell you. And yet..you do."
AND WEAPONS DON'T WEEP: STARTERS || @voidisms || accepting
▬▬ι═══════ﺤ 🔥|| Scorpion does not answer immediately. He breathes - or performs the theater of breathing, the old habit of a living man wearing a dead man's skin - and the hellfire behind his mask gutters and swells like something furious caught inside a lantern, pressing its palms against the glass.
His head turns. Slowly. The way a blade turns in a wound.
Obey.
The word lands on him like an insult that has grown barnacles - ancient, corroded, cutting still. His gauntleted hands curl at his sides, fingers finding the shape of weapons they have not yet drawn, and the motion is liturgical, devotional, the muscle-scripture of a man who has made killing into a kind of prayer. He does not look at the Outsider. He looks through him, past him, into some architecture of memory and hatred that only Scorpion can see.
He does not obey the demons.
Let that be understood as bedrock. Let that be the foundation upon which whatever remains of Hanzo Hasashi still stands - cracked, blackened, but standing. He has slaughtered things that called themselves lords of the Netherrealm. He has walked those sulfur-choked corridors where things ancient and unnameable press their faces against the membrane of existence and wept for the mercy of his spear through their throats.
The Netherrealm does not command Scorpion. He is its executor, its red right hand, its sentence passed upon the deserving. He could reduce it to charnel silence. He could make of every shadow-throne a monument of ash and opened ribcage. He could and he knows he could, and that knowing lives in him like a second fire - cleaner than hellfire, more honest - the fire of a man who understands exactly the weight of what he carries.
But there are chains that leave no mark on the wrist.
Quan Chi's architecture is not iron. It is not visible. It is something threaded through the seams of his existence, sewn into the place where death and life refuse to resolve into one another, where Scorpion hangs - perpetually - like a word caught in a throat, never swallowed, never spoken.
He is not alive. He is not granted the mercy of oblivion. He exists in the between, in the liminal corridor where the door behind him has been bricked over and the door ahead refuses to open, and Quan Chi holds the key with a sorcerer's casual contempt, spinning it once, twice, between clever fingers.
So he serves.
He serves because the alternative is dissolution into something worse than death - a nothingness that is not rest, a darkness that is not peace, a silence that is not his. He serves because the cage has no visible bars, and a man cannot break what he cannot find, cannot rage against what has been stitched into the architecture of his soul like load-bearing walls.
But inside - inside -
Something screams.
Something that remembers a woman's voice. The specific weight of a child's sleeping body. The smell of a dojo at dawn, wood-oil and incense and the clean sweat of purpose. That remnant of Hanzo Hasashi - small, stubborn, infuriatingly unkillable - still throws itself against the walls Scorpion has built around it, still beats its fists bloody, still refuses the mercy of silence.
His wrath is not merely a demon's wrath. His hunger for vengeance is not the clean, cold appetite of something that was never human. It is human in its excess, human in its heat, human in the way it cannot be reasoned with, cannot be satisfied, cannot be made to heel - and that humanity, paradoxically, is the sharpest thing left in him.
He wants to kill.
Not because he is commanded. Because Hanzo Hasashi wanted justice, and justice was never given, and the long corridor of his unlife has transformed that wanting into something vast and volcanic, into a need that fills every hollow in his chest with smokeless fire.
When the spear leaves his hand it is not obedience. When the screaming begins it is not performance. It is the only prayer still left to him - the only language in which whatever is left of his soul still speaks with any clarity.
Finally - finally - he looks directly at the Outsider.
The hellfire finds his eyes.
He does not explain himself. He does not justify. He simply allows the Outsider to see what is there; the understanding, ancient and immovable, that freedom is not the same as power, that a man can be capable of burning down everything and still be unable to burn down the one thing that matters. That there are architectures of bondage more sophisticated than any chain.
Then he turns away.
Because there is work to be done.
And he will do it - burning, raging, screaming in the locked room of himself - until the debt is paid, or the universe ends, or Hanzo Hasashi finally, mercifully, forgets what it felt like to be alive. ▬▬ι═══════ﺤ 🔥||
Mother's always told their son's 'play with fire. You get burned'. The Outsider never was met with that heeded warning. It was strange. How this man chose to fight for something that couldn't be saved. A family killed in cold blood. To wind up cursed as a result of vengeance. If he wasn't dead he'd give him his mark. See what he was capable of doing with it in regards to his mission. A show he'd never forget no doubt. If only.
The boy sat on a overhang of a cliff overlooking hell. Demons wandering and scavenging as he looked down at him. Studying the flames that stained his gaze. His own expression unreadable as he tilts his head. Something about this child was off. Not just the fact that he was a child in hell. But his eyes were as black as a starless night sky. And the area around him seemed to feel off.
"You are a man of similar circumstances. Trapped." He says cooly. His pale skin illuminating the bright colors of hell as he looked over the horizon. Lava bubbles popping violently to a dance of violent flows. His tone changing. He wished to understand this man more. And itch in the back of his head. He didn't KNOW his story. He only knew what he saw.
"He's using you like a puppet." Quan Chi. A man of magic and a respectable shaman. If only he was interesting enough." Your anger gets the better of you. It scares thoes in these 'games'. They fear you. But why?" He asks as he stands up. His body vanishing in a ploom of black smoke before reappearing. His height was barely considered a threat. Standing at a mere five foot five. Having to look up at him. The area around him going black and white as time itself seems to stop.
"Why is a man such as yourself so angry? You killed the man who you THOUGHT killed your clan. And yet..your still here." He didn't understand it. The boy was trying to piece together a story with so many broken pieces it was impossible for the god to understand. Four thousand years and this was the first story he fails to understand completely. And he found that fascinating.
"I am.. I'm okay. My head is just..killing me." He grabbed his head. His black eye was swelling viciously as he looked at her. They learned fast that their precious Outsider had vanished. And the Abbey were now searching for someone to blame. None other than the former Outsider himself.
Looking up at her he couldn't help but feel guilty. Her arm. A piece of the void stuck unto her like a parasite. His eyes shoot towards the surroundings. His only good blue eye shifting around to make out where he was at.
"Thank you..no doubt they would have tortured me then made a spectacle of my death." He didn't want this mess. Didn't ask for it even four thousand years ago. He was just thrusted into it with no warning. He owes her so much. So many reasons to keep going so he could repay her.
"They both seemed to have found out. Nothings keeping the void together. It's just..there." He explained. He's seen himself back there. Terror filling him. Then a blast of darkness within the confines of the void. He tries to sit up but his head throbbed.
"They both want me. Either to die or to go back to being their God." He didn't know what to do. Luckily he had the sense to run. A slight smile forming on his lips. For as old as he was it was surprising he didn't know how to fight. No. He only observed. Watching choices be made that resulted in the future of the isles. His hand reaches out to her and grips her fingers. A slip of his hand as he looks at her.
"Billie..if we don't take care of this..either faction will one day get what they want." They had to put a stop to this. As much as he hates asking for this. He knew it was the only way. They had to take them both out. But the Abbey and the Cult would just replace their leaders as soon as one's been taken out. A tricky problem to solve indeed.
She frowned at the sight of him, finding herself taking a rag over to the edge of the boat, hanging off the side for a moment just to dip it in the cold ocean water below them. She displaces back on the deck, wringing the cloth out before re-entering his room and handing it to him. "Here, hold this against your eye. Try not to open it while you do. The cold should help dull the ache."
She takes the time to listen to him, coming to sit on the edge of the cot while she used a separate cloth to clean the blood off his face. Gaze narrowed, and eventually sighing as she shook her head once, closing her only good eye.
"I can handle the Eyeless. There's a reason I hang around as closely as I do. Try not to babysit you, but, if this is gonna keep happening, I either teach you to fight? Or I stay hanging around." She shrugs, drumming her fingers on her leg while she mulled over the options.
"Traveling to Dunwall is dangerous, but, I think Emily should be informed. I've tried not to drag her into another mess... but she owes me a favor for carting her around." It's said with mirth, huffing a faint laugh. Emily could handle the Abbey. She's the only one who could without causing an entire bloodbath. The Eyeless, on the other hand- She'd have to systematically hunt them all down and kill them. Even the smallest surviving fringe could quickly become a problem.
"Up to you, ultimately. This problems grown too out of hand for letters to be a safe form of communication, though..."
"Teach me how to fight.." he'd be on the run for at least the majority of his teens. Until the growth of age hit his face more making him look far different than the Outsider they're used to. The Cult wants him youthful. Hopefully it will disguise him enough to make them second guess themselves.
"Please. As much as I don't want bloodshed they won't give me a choice every time. It's best if I know how to get myself out of a situation like that myself." He holds the cold rag to his throbbing eye and sighs. His shoulders laxing within tge cot he laid in.
"I especially the cult..they will do anything to get me back." Then Daud's plan would have been for not. A pointless expedition to 'kill' the Outsider. His frail frame shifting in the cot he sits up.
"How long has this been going on? You said you were watching me?" He had no idea. The fact she was there was a surprise alone. Their fact she got him a job at the library in the first place he knew about and always wanted to thank her correctly at some point in his life. But now? Thrusted into another stupid mess? He clenched the rag in anger and sneered.
"It's unfair to you.. Had I known you were watching me for this long.." He would have left the city and never came back..maybe thats the best option? But there was also the chance he could be captured on the road. His fingers turning white." I'm sorry, Billie.."
