crimsonabhorrence-blog

[crimsonabhorrence-blog]

【After careful consideration and taking in the events that transpired today, I’m sad to say that I am going to be dropping this blog. I understand ignorance about certain things because I too, was quite ignorant about these issues myself at one point but I’m very disappointed with how things were worded and handled and to put it blunty, I just don’t feel comfortable here anymore. I understand I didn’t get to do much with this blog and I’m sorry to the people that I was threading with. I’m not deleting this blog because I might reuse it for something else and/or make it indie, so feel free to unfollow if you’re not down for that.

Sorry things went down this way and I hope it goes better in the future should a problem like this ever arise again.】

[crimsonabhorrence-blog]

【After careful consideration and taking in the events that transpired today, I’m sad to say that I am going to be dropping this blog. I understand ignorance about certain things because I too, was quite ignorant about these issues myself at one point but I’m very disappointed with how things were worded and handled and to put it blunty, I just don’t feel comfortable here anymore. I understand I didn’t get to do much with this blog and I’m sorry to the people that I was threading with. I’m not deleting this blog because I might reuse it for something else and/or make it indie, so feel free to unfollow if you’re not down for that.

Sorry things went down this way and I hope it goes better in the future should a problem like this ever arise again.】

[crimsonabhorrence-blog]

♫

♫ - What kind of music do they enjoy?

   【 Samson doesn’t typically listen to music as he feels like it invades his already crowded mind with all it’s notes and meanings, but when he does, he tends to gravitate towards alternative tunes and songs with a moderately slow tempo. He never really bothers listening to music that wasn’t made in the 1970′s-80′s. Classic Rock finds his way in there every once in a while, but his preferred choice of music is–amusingly– “vaporwave” (or whatever the kids call it these days). Stumbling across it on YouTube by accident (he was actually trying to find how to fix a microwave), he doesn’t care much for the aesthetic (again, whatever the kids call it these days) that comes with it, but the sluggish and euphoric sounds causes the turmoil to settle and puts his mind at ease.】

[crimsonabhorrence-blog]

♦

♦ - What is one thing about them that they are most proud of?

      【He’s made a lot of mistakes in the past, but one thing that doesn’t contribute to many of his sleepless night is the fact that he’s followed everything through to the end. No matter how difficult or tedious a responsibility, Samson’ll stick it out and put his heart and soul into every task. If there’s one thing he values most, it may be determination, and he’s content in that he’s got plenty of it.】

[crimsonabhorrence-blog]

To celebrate its release, we thought we’d share something special not found in the book: twin short stories penned by Joanna Berry, a BioWare writer and the creator of Corypheus’s favored followers: Samson and Calpernia.

Today, we better get to know Samson, a rogue templar with a thirst for red lyrium.

[crimsonabhorrence-blog]

♥ - What does ‘love’ mean to them? ♠ - What are they afraid of? ♦ - What is one thing about them that they are most proud of? ♣ - What is one thing that they find embarrassing? (About them, others, things in general) ★ - Do they prefer daytime or nighttime and why? ☾- Are they prone to nightmares or dreamless sleep? ☼ - Something that/Someone who makes them happy. ☁ - If they’re caught out in the rain how do they react? ♪ - Are they musically inclined? ♫ - What kind of music do they enjoy? ✓ - How do they react to praise? ✕ - How do they handle rejection? ☺ - Do they prefer sour or sweet treats? ❄ -  Favorite season and why? ☮ - Do they have an idol or someone they look up to? ❤ - Do they have a love interest? ✖ - Who is someone they just cannot stand? ♔ - Do they value loyalty? ♕ - Do they trust easily?

questions about your character.

[crimsonabhorrence-blog]

    »It seemed like it took a good five minutes for the azure-haired male to actually acknowledge what he said, and Samson was starting to get a tad addled. He watched as the other’s gaze switched back and fourth between the Russian’s face and the bottle of orange tinted dish soap that he held in his own hand, again, and again, and again, and Samson was about to ask him if he  was alright, but then he finally spoke.

    It was then did Samson really take in the other’s appearance. Besides the hair--which for some reason still caught his attention despite the fact that his own sense of style wasn’t exactly “run of the mill”--he just had an overall disheveled and out of place look about him. Perhaps the male was just tired this morning, albeit tired enough to make such a silly mistake.

    He laughed, giving a shrug.  ❝I suppose you could use that. If you don’t mind your clothes coming out like nazhdachnaya bumaga.❞  Letting out a chuckle at his own joke, he nudged the other in the side with his elbow, not knowing whether or not the joke went completely over his head or not. It slips his mind that perhaps not everyone he speaks to knows Russian, but things happen when he gets caught up in the moment. 

 ❝Net, if dish soap was meant for washing cloths, then it wouldn't be called dish soap, now would it? And if you washed dishes with laundry detergent you would probably end up very ill. I hope you don’t end up making that mistake.❞

Things felt like no other. …Or, maybe they did. Sure, nothing mystical or magical did happen, but it was simply frustrating. Why, it would have gone fine if Chrom had not broken his own damned washing machine.

All he has tried to do was throw in a few clothes, and finish for the night. Alas, that didn’t go as planned. It just would not fill up completely, leaving him irritated. Eventually, he had just settled on fixing it himself. But, that didn’t go well either, as despite all the logs and manuals he had laying around did not help. That, or he was way too tired to actually be able to read anything. In the process, he might of have broken it even more. People did call him the best at breaking things, after all. Giving up on the machine and making a mental note to ask somebody to come help, he went to bed. And just use the laundromat tomorrow instead.

Now, he was here.  He looked at the other man, noticing his statement, and at his hands. And then back at the man. And to his hands again. Oh, was he right. Instead of the detergent he had meant to bring, it held dish soap. Embarrassing wasn’t even a good enough word the moment. Chrom let go of the bottle, having it drop into the basket as he groaned. He dragged one of his hands along his face and looked back at him. Yup, he was still staring. He then took the other hand and almost blushing a little, dragged it through his blue hair. He was also wondering about that, wasn’t he? Maybe it was time for a change back to blonde. Or maybe a brown? Then he smiled a little- a sort of afraid, sort of ashamed grin- appeared on his lips.

“Huh! Seems like you’re correct. I swear I had picked up the laundry detergent instead of…this.” Next he shuffled around in the basket, looking for the soaps he had brung. None of them where the detergent he needed. He turned again to the man.

“Or maybe I just forgot it. Perhaps I can still use the other one instead? All soap is just…soap, Is it not?”

[crimsonabhorrence-blog]

scribblesandruffles

    »’Aisle 1, Aisle 2, Aisle 3, Aisle 4.’ Elbows draped over the handle, he pushed the shopping cart down the aisles as he counted them off in his mind. He wasn’t here for much, just some basic necessities like some water, food (which he stored in whoever’s house he was crashing at that night and was for everyone), and the like. He really did hate grocery shopping. Either he bought too much of one thing, or he’d forget to buy the thing that he really actually needed and came there for in the first place.

   This time, he had actually made a list--something he should have been doing from the start--so he knew exactly where he was going and what to get. No buying too much of one thing, no getting distracted by something he passes on the way--or someone. There was someone he vaguely recognized in the toy aisle; a bronzed woman, with dark chestnut-colored hair to match. 

    She dressed perhaps not over-extravagantly, but very professionally nonetheless. To him, she almost seemed kind of silly looking among the innocent assorted playthings and knick-knacks. Regardless, she appeared to be focusing on one item in particular, chocolate-brown eyes scanning over every detail, drinking in all of it’s appearance, so much in fact that she hardly took notice of Samson’s approach.

    He then perched his elbows up on the cart handle, cradling his face in his hands, and stared at the object right along with her as if searching for the appeal for a good minute or two, before finally speaking up.❝ You know,❞ he began, squinting. ❝the longer you stare at that, the creepier it starts to look.❞

[crimsonabhorrence-blog]

    »Samson instantly gasped and placed a hand on his cheek in mock remorse at the smaller man’s request that he keep it down, pressing a finger to his own lips to insinuate his silence and issuing out a whispered  ❝Sorry, sorry.❝ He found it humorous, yes, but he really wasn't there to get the guy in trouble or anything. 

(Well, maybe a little.)

     Whistling to himself, he acted as though he were merely browsing the shelves, idly picking up a random book and flipping it open. It was something about the ‘history of the lost whatever and blah blah blah’; it didn’t hold his interest for long, as he slammed it shut a moment later and placed back on the shelf, yet not in the same place that he retrieved it before. He then lazily slung a heavy arm around the other’s lithe shoulders, leaning close slightly, taking on a teasing tone.

    ❝Come on, D,❞, as he so “affectionately�� refers to Daylen, ❝You mean to tell me you sit around here for hours on end, surrounded by all this literature, and you guys don’t carry one little steamy book?❞ With a ‘tsk’ and a disapproving shake of the head, he let his arm drop from Daylen’s shoulders, playfully clapping him on the back before shoving his hands in his own pockets.

    ❝Maybe you could tell me more about this so called...”seedier places in the city” that you know of.❞  Samson then placed a hand on his chest feigning surprise, emitted a small gasp. ❝How do you know of these places, D? Are you living some sort of double-life? Ha! I knew that whole “wide-eyed, bookish look” was just a guise. ❞  A hand flew over his mouth at that in an attempt to stifle his laughter.

If you asked Daylen about his favourite things, books would inevitably be near the top of the list. There simply was a certain joy about reading, whether to study for the History course he attended or just to pass the time.

Other joys included common visits to the Hanged Man, a cafe in Paralia. He had friends there and they provided most of his motivation. Not that the food or drinks wasn’t good of course; they just were not most important to him.

Even with university keeping him busy, the student decided he needed a source of extra income. Therefore he applied to a library in Paralia because it seemed to be the quieter option than in Kairos, where cars would likely pass all the time.

Samson (as everyone in the cafe called him) was a lot older than him, and he never actually saw the Russian outside there.

There were no dark secrets that the student was hiding, but he still valued his privacy. Even on social media he declined to share too much; a mixture of paranoia and his own nature.

At this point, his shift had already reached the halfway point. The librarian had left him to his own work, which at this point simply included sorting books on the shelves probably. Some people made a real mess of it. Even without their advice, he did like everything to be neat and tidy.

Seeing the tall man here was a surprise, but that quickly turned to frustration when he opened his mouth. God’s sake, please don’t tell him Samson was looking for Fifty Shades of Grey or something similar.

He preferred smut-less romantic novels, thank you very much.

The elbow was shrugged off, although he could not help but roll his eyes.

“First of all, I’ll ask you to lower your voice. This is a library after all.”

Even with how large the man was, Daylen would still expect him to follow the rules. They were put in place for a reason.

“Secondly, this library does not have such a section. There are… ahem, seedier places in this city…” He makes sure to say this very quietly. Daylen has not visited any of them, but he would rather not yell such a thing in public.

“…you might be better off visiting instead. If there was anything tamer you wanted, however, I can probably find it for you.”

[crimsonabhorrence-blog]

    »Oh. Of course the guy was a police officer. He was on the verge of being arrested. A Police Officer arresting an Ex-Police Officer. This was somewhat--ironic? Was that the right word? Ah, no. Bullshit. That’s the word he was looking for. This was bullshit, but he still would have found the whole situation hilarious, if it weren't for the fact that the dull throbbing sensation in his arm was starting to become bothersome. He hardly even noticed that he was still wielding the knife until the other requested (or ordered nicely, rather) that he put it down, his gaze turning towards it for just a moment before back at the male below him. 

Well, at least now he vaguely remembers where he might have seen the kid from.

    Regardless, he quickly drags a free hand through his hair in frustration, and slowly, slowly climbs off the roof of his van down onto the hood, and then hops off the vehicle. He then does as he’s instructed, slowly setting the knife down onto the cool concrete with an audible ‘clink’. As much as he enjoys risk, it’s too early in the week for him to run the risk of getting shot.

He sighs. ❝Alright, copper.❞ He begins with a bored tone, throwing his hands up defensively, the crimson fluid continuing to trickle down his left arm. ❝I know how this looks, da? But I can assure you, this is my blood, and it was an accident. I may look the part, but I am no Choknutyj.❞ he punctuates his sentence and demonstrates his meaning with a hand gesture, taking his right hand and twirling his index finger in a circular manner near his head.

     Of course he’d come across a shady character while off duty. Seidou could almost taste the bitter irony of it, though it wasn’t enough to distract him from the sight at hand. The man was situated atop a van, knife in one hand, blood dripping down the other. Not exactly a trustful sight, but he knew it’d nonetheless be foolish to jump to conclusions. Seidou stopped, faltering momentarily while scanning the sight before him.

    “Oh..”

     It seemed almost funny – how such odd occurrences appeared seemingly out of nowhere. Stuck in the heat of the moment, however, he found himself floundering, unsure of what his priority should be at such a time. What could the man have been doing? That cut looked bad, too, the way the blood just dripped down his arm— Head amuck with different ideas, he happened to overlook the feeling that he might’ve seen this man before..

    “Ah–” patting his pockets, the young man managed to pull out his ID, finally getting a better grasp on the situation as he flashed it to the stranger. “Sir – I’m going to have to take you in for questioning.” Seidou found himself painfully aware of how little experience he actually had out in the field. Nevertheless, at least he could use this chance as an opportunity to finally use the education he’d received. Stuffing his ID back into his pocket, he stepped closer. 

    “..Please put down the knife.”

[crimsonabhorrence-blog]

    »The Russian considered himself to be somewhat of a decent driver. OK, yes he occasionally caught a case of road rage, but it never resulted in more than a rolled down window and a  few curses in Russian hurled towards the object of offense. That happened to even the calmest of people every once in a while (though Samson wasn't calling himself “calm” by any means).

    He’s had a few...”close ones” in the past, to put it lightly. Almost ran a few stop signs, almost ran a few red lights. but it’s not like he’s ever came had a collision with another person or vehicle. Well, that was an “almost” too. It was late at night, The Hanged Man that night was packed, and he was exhausted and ready to call it a day. He couldn't really see the stranger’s form, but they had stepped off the curb right as Samson was turning, and luckily he had slammed on the brakes just quick enough to not send them flying across the pavement. 

    They did, however, get bumped and knocked over; the other seemed (understandably) stunned, though it was hard to see the exact expression on their face in the darkness. And then they just got up, dusted themselves off, and wandered off to wherever, leaving Samson to be utterly floored and ready to forget about the whole incident.

   And he did, until he saw the vaguely familiar figure step into the building the next day, walk right up to the counter, pull out a notepad of some kind, and write something to him. He would have laughed at the inquiry right then, if it weren't for the fact that he couldn't trust himself to keep his voice down. So instead, he settled for an amused smirk.

   Taking out the notepad and pen he used to take down customer’s orders, he wrote a message of his own to flash their way. For a moment, he almost considered the other to be mute, but since he didn't know for sure, if he wasn’t going to get a word out of them, then they weren’t going to get a word out of him. It read,  ❝If I ran you over, you’d probably be dead, wouldn't you?❞

Hit n’ Run

crimsonabhorrence

[crimsonabhorrence-blog]

Soon the world will pay

[crimsonabhorrence-blog]

I’ve seen the transformations. It’s a horror to watch your soldiers’ faces change, to realize they might not remember you day-to-day; it’s a sword in the guts. But the ones who make it through are near invincible. Feed elfroot to the soldiers hurting, as much as they want. Beyond that, it’s just waiting until they stop feeling pain.                                                - General Samson

[crimsonabhorrence-blog]

   »He wasn't really sure how the subject came up. It was probably during small talk between coworkers; mindless banter about their lives during the less busy hours. He guesses the fact that the man lived in his van must have came up during one of those times; his fellow coworker and sickeningly suave friend that went by the name of Zevran then--albeit reluctantly--extended his hand of generosity, offering that Samson, as he simply put it himself, “crashed on his couch”.

   Shit, he wasn’t about to pass up a free offer for a warm place to sleep and free food.

   However, how could have lived without being woken up at the ass crack of dawn (anything before than 11am is way too early for him) by a frantic onslaught of small hands and a deafening cry of confusion that pierced the heavens above and made whatever was up there cringe. He guesses Zevran must have conveniently forgotten to inform this small,angry girl in a t-shirt that was 2 sizes too big of his arrival.

  He barely managed a groggy  ❝Kakogo cherta?❞, roughly translated to ‘What the hell?’ before springing up from the couch and raising his hands.  ❝Relax, little lady! If I were here to cause harm I wouldn't have just fallen asleep on the couch like a fool. Your roommate let me in.❞

intruder

crimsonabhorrence

[crimsonabhorrence-blog]

dragon age western au? starring my rarepair ship? welcome to my personal hell

[crimsonabhorrence-blog]

rank2

   »There was a particularly nasty branch that kept banging on the roof of his van every night and it was driving him nuts. Sure, he could technically just move and relocate to another spot, but. He quite liked where he was, thank you very much. It was close to his job, and there weren’t a whole lot of curious people nearby that could potentially poke around and stick their noses in his business. But that damn branch was starting to keep him up at night, and Samson was a stubborn man. A stubborn man that needed his sleep.

   So, he got the bright idea to climb on top of the van and cut that branch down himself with the pocket knife that he kept in his pocket--and that he most certainly did not swipe from his dad ages ago. But just one little mistake,his grip on the branch not being tight enough and his grip on the hilt being too tight, and the blade comes into contact with flesh. A shallow wound formed on his forearm, nothing lethal, but enough crimson spilled fourth from it to make him slightly concerned. He didn’t have anything on him to stop the flow either, besides his shirt of course. But shirts, like money, didn’t grow on trees.

   Luckily enough for him, a passerby had caught his attention. There was something just a tad familiar about them, but his main focus was getting off this van and getting something done about his arm.

❝ As interesting the story behind this is, do you think we could skip it and you could just give me a hand before I pass out from blood loss? ❞ He probably looked like a mad man right about now, knife still subconsciously in hand and arm dripping with blood.

[crimsonabhorrence-blog]

battleshipreclass

  »He’d seen many different types of people come and go from The Hanged Man. It was a cozy, inviting little place after all; most of the customers were your average, run of the mill crowd who wanted someplace to relax after a stressful day at work. Sure it got a little loud sometimes, but that was understandable considering the kind of revenue it got.

   This spot, was however, a place mostly geared towards a more mature audience. After certain hours, at least, when the bar opened and  they started serving alcohol. Cafe by day, Bar by night, that’s how it’s always went. And during the late hours, whenever someone wasn’t at the bar ordering anything, he’d just lean on the counter, cheek in palm, hazel hues lazily scanning across the sea of a faces. There was a man with dorky glasses, a lady with, what he deemed, way too much makeup on, a kid, nothing too out of the ordina--

Oh. Shit.

   » His eyes widen a bit, palm that was supporting his head now slamming down on the counter. A kid? Here? Now? Well, maybe not a kid per se, but she definitely looked too young to be hanging around here at this time of night. As his co-workers were currently pre-occupied, he was going to have to deal with this himself. Which is great, because he’s absolutely terrible with kids. He had a charming habit of unintentionally frightening them half to death. 

   So as carefully as he could possibly manage, he just shoved his way through the crowd, approaching the girl, a look of confusion clearly displayed on his sharp features.  ❝ You. Girl. Are you lost? You really shouldn’t be in here, you know. ❞ His tone was harsher than intended, the uneasiness with the situation evident in his voice.