abomines

[abomines]

One Word Writing Prompts

Send me a number 1 thru 50 for a word that I’ll use to write either a headcanon, drabble, or starter. Send 🌀 for a random number instead.

01. — first 02. — kiss 03. — final 04. — numb 05. — broken 06. — wings 07. — melody 08. — rules 09. — chocolate 10. — nostalgia 11. — heartbeat 12. — stranger 13. — confusion 14. — bitter 15. — afterlife 16. — daybreak 17. — audience 18. — endless 19. — fireworks 20. — wishing 21. — birthday 22. — tomorrow 23. — oppression 24. — agony 25. — return 26. — protection 27. — boxes 28. — hope 29. — preparation 30. — beautiful 31. — lies 32. — underneath 33. — hide 34. — diary 35. — unforeseen 36. — conditional 37. — gone 38. — clear 39. — heartache 40. — wired 41. — insanity 42. — foolish 43. — words 44. — study 45. — love 46. — skies 47. — stars 48. — lucky 49. — shake 50. — punctual

[abomines]

hi fellas 👋 starter call 👊

[abomines]

Marina Tsvetaeva, from Epitaph, Selected Poems (trans. Elaine Feinstein, with Angela Livingstone) [ID'd]

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Kinda cant stop drawing them rn so prepare for anders and justice content xD

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                                    until you look down at the blood on your hands.

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Burning in water, drowning in flames

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i think with anders there is a certain amount of fatalism with feeling like a puppet being pulled by the strings. cosmic things, far off things, manipulate the world around him. not just templars, not just the circle, not just justice, but also the turbulence of fate. like preordained to burn out, to die, screeching halt of a man immolating as kirkwall burns around him

[abomines]

         THERE IS GOOD IN THERE, and that's the problem. Raging and thrashing against the chains, and for what? Hope blotted out. Lighthouses smothered by the impenetrable dark. “There are good people fighting, people like ... Maybe not people like me. But people I know. Good people. And it it won't end until those in power realize it. By diplomacy, by force, it doesn't matter. It needs to end.” For every mage, ten armed templars. Solitary. Abuse. Explosions of sunburst across their foreheads. Push the young mage into a Harrowing before she’s ready. Put her out of her misery. Each mage harboring abominations, before and after. The only righteous are those bearing arms, swords and runes. Cut them down, and quick. He makes a concentrated effort to not think of Bethany for now.

         What herbs he’s out there to scrounge for, he's careful. He doesn't want to overstep his boundaries. He's been chastised by the roaming Dalish to not take from their ancestral lands without asking before, without offering some tribute to their Ancients or the bleeding Earth. A handful now, enough with his know-how to last the stretch of two weeks. Then he'll be back again. They don't understand the precedence his healing takes. What this all takes. Neither does he, maybe.

         Anders delicately places the elfroot in a pouch, tightens the strings so as to not bruise it. He takes a deep whiff and it somehow triggers a quiet gurgling his stomach. Some olfactory sensation crossing wires in his brain, burrowing into the empty pit of his gut like a reminder to eat. How many days? Two? It could wait two more. Everything tastes like slop these days. There’s an absent reminder in the back of his head that his appetite has been increasingly scarce since becoming one with Justice, but he quells the thought. It’s the rising conflict with the Templars, he’s sure of it. How could it be any other way.

         When he stands finally, he has to make a concentrated effort to not slouch. He coughs, squints his right eye, looks at the sun. The color feels unreal. Like a dream. Like looking through a pair of eyes not his own. “You already know my feelings on the Circle. Maybe she’ll be like your father and get lucky.  Slip her leash.” He frowns, then, looks at his hands. Fingers grown thin and veiny, malnourished. “Some things in the Circle are easier to endure than others.”

@abomines

She doesn't want to know.

So she doesn't ask; better, she thinks, to occupy her mind with work, to keep her hands chapped and raw from water and the bristles of the brush she uses on the late nights she comes to the clinic and looks at him with such desperate exhaustion that it's clear this is what she needs, and she scrubs the filthy floors clean of blood and whatever other gore and dirt can be found there. Fist fights in the Hanged Man, half-hearted feuds over a spilled drink here or a lazy insult there, and she usually has a new bruise to sport, and it makes her feel a little bit more like herself.

Bethany would tell her not to blame herself, but Bethany is in the Gallows. Carver would do the same, probably with less patience than their sister, but he's dead, rotting on some hillside in Ferelden, his body left for the scavengers. (She dreams of him, sometimes, sitting on that hillside as she climbs it, face decaying under her gaze, smile wide but empty, and he says good to know I'm not even worth a grave and she wishes it was her left there instead.) Leandra has made her point of view clear, and Kat tries not to think about that most of all, lest she collapse under the weight of her mother's fury and her own self-loathing.

It'll pass, says Aveline. You'll heal, says Varric. She's not sure she wants to, just yet. Anders invited her out of the city, just for a moment, just long enough to replenish his stock of elfroot, and she'd taken the chance to be anywhere but there so quickly that she forgot that being out and functional under the sun would mean that she'd probably have to have a conversation. But now it feels like a sickness bubbling inside of her, and so she asks because she must.

"How bad is it?" She hates to ask him to remember. (There is a warmth that he inspires that no one else ever has, and Kat tries not to think about that, tries not to think about him like that, in part out of knowledge that there is something much bigger than whatever she might feel for him, in part out of fear that he feels the same and if he does, she'll have to find a way to live with something good.) "I know you weren't there, you were in Kinloch, but..." Her voice trails off and she clears her throat, sinks her fingers into the earth as if the soft dirt beneath her nails will be enough to settle her. "Is there no good to be found in there?" And then, quieter, "Will she survive it?"

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DON’T MAKE ME ANGRY AHH HH STOP STOP I AM REASLI N?? ? ???? ??????? BEAST MODE ACTIVATED GRRRRRRRRRR GAWRRRRRRR shows teeth YOU MADE ME DO IT, NOW YOU WILL REGRET ITTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT YOU WILL YOU WILL YOU WILL… i am sorry loved ones… you got to witness me in this… vile form…

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worth noting that my writing here does borrow a lot from the rivalmance path with relation to what justice is and really anders' brain

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healing anders vs vindictive justice cage match no mercy ppv event

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damn girl you really suck at pretending to be human

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You whose heart would sing of anarchy

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"are you chasing something or running away?"

@thomasrainier / dishonored starters!

         DESPERATION COMPETING WITH A LONGING FOR DEATH, he runs. Sprawling, crawling, like his life depends on it. It does. His face corrupted and drooping. Hanging in a way that man's lip has not hung since before some time ancient and forgotten. The Anderfels. His father's birthplace and home. Not his. Nowhere is his. This, too, perhaps. Some place ancient and forgotten, in the before. In dreamworlds he is more at home. In the waking dead, in hazy half-light yellows where the corporeal is as palpable as the immaterial. Deep in the recesses of a brain assimilated into something entirely alien, he knows this is a memory not originally his own. But only barely.

         The Wardens chase. Pressured to capture their own. And he flees. And fights. Like a cornered animal. Not like mabari. Those mutts act with more honor than this. Fights like something at once atavistic and unprecedented. Like a bite of all canines, screeching metal. Gaping maw. Drool and slobber. Industrial machines. Entirely inhuman.

         Burn me out and gut me. Do it, he wants to say, his throat and capacity for speech long since atrophied. Your chase, your kill. I have been in your Wardens and I know the infiltration in your ranks like a familiar corruption. I hear the Call and I hear the thrashing of anger both just and unjust and either will kill me, and you, if you do not put me down quickly.

         Begging in his eyes, half-overriding Justice's jurisdiction. But Wardens do not grant mercy and instead dole out new prisons. Ingest the poison to kill the poison. Abandon your shackles for new ones. Dead man walking, tethered to something invisible.

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post-da2 anders is definitely speedrunning body decomposition with how i picture justice being actually

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→ ❝DISHONORED sentence starters❞

“We all start with innocence, but the world leads us to guilt.”

“The world doesn’t punish wicked people.”

“Do you think you’ll get your own squad after what happened last night?”

“When you are near, my heart is at peace.” 

“She had to die!” 

“You’re a mystery, and I can’t have that.”

“Our choices always matter to someone, somewhere.” 

“I do believe this is going to be a fabulous evening.”

“Careful, he’s armed.”

“I was born into nothing, and it’s nothing I’ll return to.”

“Going to a party?”

“Coming from a party?”

“There’s always more to learn about pain.”

“I hope you don’t mind having a lady in your room.”

“You were making funny faces when you were sleeping.”

“May all the spirits guide you, and may your enemy’s head hit the floor without you taking a scratch.”

“Are you hoping to stab me in the back?”

“I don’t know about you, but I’ve had a lovely time.” 

“I’ve killed a hundred of your kind, and I’ll kill a thousand more before I’m gone.”

“I’ve lived a long, long time, and these are the moments I wait for.”

“You fascinate me.”

“Are all artists narcissists?”

“Strange how there’s always a little more innocence left to lose.”

“I’m just a little fish in a big pond.”

“Are you chasing something, or running away?”

“You move so silently. You could be a dancer.”

“I have no regrets. What about you?”

“What happens to scary monsters in the end?”

“I treat every sunset as if it’s our last.”

“When the music stops, we all fall down.”

“It’s that moment just before the light goes that matters most of all.”

“I’m enjoying our renewed friendship.”

“You have no right to take this from me!”

“Your life has taken a turn, has it not?”

“All things end, all things burn to ash. But you, my friend, burn bright.”

“There’s blood on all the coins that pass through here.”

“My mother warned me never to make an enemy of a witch.”

“My life is yours. Kill me or let me live, if it even matters to you.”

“I expect a good show.” 

“Let’s go home.”