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cabadath-prince-of-pain · 1 month

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Anniversary [Chzo Mythos fanfic]

Part 2/Sequel to Which Image

Thought Cabadath was scary before? You ain't seen nothing yet. 2.5k words of Trilby whump/psychological horror for you.

London, 2014

He hated the subtlety of it most of all.

Hated how it always started just when he felt safe.

Stepping down the hallway, Trilby hummed beneath his breath. His flat sat at the end of the building. Had to be quiet as he walked to it. He would hate to get the attention of - er, disrupt - his neighbors this late at night. Last time he did, he'd gotten reported to the Ministry for “practicing unlawful magic”. His supervisors still joked about that.

(But they didn't ask what he'd been doing.)

He'd gotten distracted. Let himself get lost in his thoughts, in his hopes, as he followed the old carpet towards his flat. So maybe it was his own fault, for not hearing the footsteps until they got too close to ignore.

Trilby stopped. Looked over his shoulder. A human reflex. He knew what he'd see.

The hallway, empty and mundane, and nothing else.

He faced forward. Nothing in front of him, either. No sound but him and his breathing.

“Damn it,” he whispered.

He waited for the laughter.

It never came.

But with his first footstep, another clicked behind him. Closer than before. Trilby didn't look back, his attention focused on the distant door. He didn't look back but his pulse hammered in his veins and his teeth grit tight against the images crawling to the front of his mind.

He's behind me, his primal instincts screamed. He's behind me, he's behind me.

But he wasn't. And if he was, Trilby didn't want to see it.

He'd find out soon enough anyway.

Key in the lock, the door creaked open. Without looking behind him, Trilby stepped inside. The lights turned on. The door locked tight.

And he was not safe.

He glanced up towards the clock on the wall.

12:03 AM.

“Right on time,” Trilby mumbled.

The footsteps must've started at midnight, on the dot. Like they always did.

Considering how long this had gone on, the fact it still caught him off guard, still hit him so deep, should've been embarrassing. But he'd lived through the alternatives, too, and they were so much worse.

He kept the lights off as he headed for bed. Stripped himself down, removed his trademark suit from his thin body, didn't bother looking where they ended up when he tossed them aside. Trilby sat down on his bed, rested his head against the wall. He looked into the darkness, and wondered if it looked back

“Get it over with,” he said.

And maybe someday, he'd get an answer.

Tonight was not that night.

Trilby's eyes closed.

He did not dream, but he still woke up screaming. No one but him could've heard it. Tears flowed down his face, his fingers ached and hot blood drained from his nails. Breathe, breathe, he begged himself, breathe. But he was.

Trilby threw himself from his bed. Dragged himself to his feet. His mouth sucked down air, and it burned down his throat.

It hurts, he thought. It hurts.

Despite the morning light streaming through the windows, Trilby still had to stare at himself, at his reflection in the mirror over the sink, for several long moments before understanding. He raised a hand to the bruises around his neck, traced the large finger-shapes with his own.

Blood dripped from his nails, oozing between the slick black material stuck beneath the surface.

Trilby breathed. It hurts, the thought came again, fading away as the bruises did.

“Happy anniversary,” he mumbled to the Prince.

And it was just the first day of July.

Yes, he regretted it. Every choice he made of his free will during that nightmare, he regretted. Most of all he regretted DaFoe Manor. If he hadn't broken into it that night in 1993... Maybe a lot of people would still be alive. And he'd still be a gentleman thief that people remembered existed.

But it'd been written in the stars. Even before he knew the Order existed, before he first glimpsed their Prince walking down the hall of Clanbronwyn Hotel in Ireland, they'd waited for him. He'd been trapped before he was born.

(Part of him never escaped DaFoe Manor, though it lay in ruins now. Part of him never escaped Clanbronwyn Hotel, laying bleeding, dying, on the stump of the tree that once imprisoned Cabadath’s soul.)

(He'd always be there. The pain would always be there. That wound inside him would bleed for the rest of his life.)

As persistent as the Order remained, they were not the only ones. The Ministry kept Trilby busy, and there were plenty of other agents around to take down whatever the Order was up to now. They existed on the edges of his life now, and there, in that lingering space between past and present, the Prince walked.

Trilby didn't forget. Cabadath didn't let him.

July remained an evil month. A month of hallucinations, nightmares, cuts and bruises, painful visions, and brutal attacks. The first year, Trilby thought it was just trauma, until it was almost too late. The second, the Ministry sent him overseas. Once he'd been recovering in a mental hospital, where he'd lost track of time. Another, he'd dared to fight back.

Cabadath enjoyed it all. That, Trilby thought, scared him the most. Cabadath didn't need to haunt him, stalk him, torture him. This was not part of any cosmic plan. The Order didn't play any role in it. Chzo didn't have anything to do with it.

Cabadath did it because he enjoyed it. Because it hurt.

All these years of being prey did not numb the fear. The dread and anticipation remained, lingering beneath the surface, a constant thread of paranoia he could not shake off. If he did, he'd regret it.

He always did.

Trilby jolted from his nightmares, slamming upright in his office chair. It took three breaths to understand where he was. He relaxed his fists, flexing and massaging his fingers to stop the static. On the wall, the clock read - well, it was broken again, but the window suggested late evening, the beginning of night. Dark streets, bright lights, people going home.

He wasn't safe at home. He wasn't safe anywhere, he knew that, but home in particular felt dangerous. Like someone waited for him.

(He couldn't handle another year of waking up in bed to a dark-coated figure looming over him, watching that large hand reach down to pull him into a place worse than Hell. Those nightmares lasted long after July ended.)

He'd go home in the morning to shower. Tonight, he'd stay here. He'd research, he'd drink his coffee black, he'd finish that damn paperwork, and he wouldn't think about the whispers coming from the room next door. He'd ignore them. He wouldn't fall for that trick twice.

That room was empty anyway. He knew that.

He knew it was empty.

No one walked around in there.

But in his mind, he saw the Prince, hand on the wall, staring at him through the concrete and plaster. He saw the fingers flex. Felt them settle on his shoulder as his eyes fell closed. Felt the finger drum with impatience, waiting. Waiting for sleep to sweep him away.

He didn't dream that night, but it still hurt.

There wasn't a therapist that could help him with this one. He'd tried. Sitting in a tiny room with a professional stranger locked his throat up, left him staring at the floor, mind dancing around the knots of pain that made up his soul.

He'd opened up once. He wouldn't make that mistake again.

Trilby stood over the sink, water dripping from his face. He watched the drops splatter as they fell from his face. Looking in the mirror was not an option. He just needed something to wake him up. The thinner the veil between worlds became, the harder it was to wake up. Halfway through the month and the nightmares pulled him down deeper and deeper. Soon, if the pattern continued, they'd stop, and things would get worse.

He wasn't the only one hearing the whispers now. The agents under him weren't making eye contact. Was it the exhaustion on his face? Or the fact he'd brought something into their lives none of them could stop.

Trilby knew that. He checked. He checked every year, as the desperation hit a peak. The pattern didn't change, because that would mean he could, would, did, change.

And that's when people died.

His eyes glanced towards the mirror, a reflex. A hand curled around the door - when did it open? The hand, bandaged and bloodstained, dragged over the wood and let go.

An invitation to follow if he ever saw one. Trilby ran a paper towel over his face, stepped out of the room. Right into the hand that grasped his neck and slammed him against the wall.

They found him motionless there, slumped on the floor, staring at nothing until his name was called. Blood on his shirt, dripping like water from the wounds around his neck.

He couldn't remember a thing.

Claws dragged over the walls behind him as he walked down the hall. He didn't bother looking back this time. Trilby grit his teeth, focused on the door to his flat ahead of him.

A hand latched onto his shoulder, yanked hard. Trilby hit the carpet just as hard, the breath rushing from his lungs. Only his struggles to breathe filled the silence.

He was getting too old to be taking falls like this.

In his flat, he rested on the couch, placed his head in his hands. July 26. Though the warm sun flowed inside, he shivered.

Across the room, Cabadath stood. Trilby watched from the corner of his eye, between the fingers that cradled his head. The Prince of Pain could have been a statue, a mannequin, standing so still, with empty hands. Trilby looked at the table before him, at the bottle of whiskey he'd left out. He glanced back. The Prince remained.

Not a hallucination. Not a bad dream, not a flashback. The real thing, in his house.

Trilby looked at the whiskey again.

He heard the footstep, he didn't flinch, and didn't look up. Dropping his arms, he closed his eyes, lowered his head.

“I won't,” he said.

The silence seemed its own answer: you will.

“I know that's not why you're doing this anyway.”

Your pain is a memory I want to relive over and over, the silence said.

“You're a sick man.”

Does the hatred make it easier to bear?

Trilby's eyes watered.

You will not set down your burdens. You cannot wash the blood from your hands, so you do not try. You have saved the world, and remain alone. And it hurts.

Trilby swallowed around the lump in his throat.

I see you, Trilby. I see the breathing flesh and the aching soul within. I see the guilt, the shame, that divides you from the world. I see what you will not accept in yourself. I see what you need.

“I won't,” Trilby mumbled.

I will take the burdens from your back. I will break your bloodstained hands. I will shatter your purpose. I will destroy your world. I will bring you to your knees. And I will ask again: will you join us?

“No,” Trilby said.

You will.

Liquid poured into a glass. Claws traced through his hair and pulled his head back.

You will be loved…

Raw fire burned down his throat. Not whiskey. Blood.

… And we will teach the world the name of the King.

Trilby surfaced. He lay on the floor of his office. Footsteps stepped away from the door. Crust surrounded his eyes, dried on his cheeks. Exhaling, he licked his lips, and the blood upon them tasted almost sweet.

The sun rose on the 28th. Trilby didn't bother going home the night before. He watched the sunrise over the city, numbness gnawing his heart.

The coffee tasted fine. He got through his paperwork without struggle. Still he tasted magic in the air, but that air came easily into his lungs, and the magic he tracked to agents taking advantage of the thinning veil.

The thinnest the veil would be all year. An opportunity Cabadath would never miss, to pass into the realm of technology and do what he wished.

Trilby stood alone in the crowded hallway, coffee mug in hand, watching agents and other employees walk, laugh, talk together. He pressed his back against the wall, watching, frowning, scanning the people passing by.

He stood there a while before going back to his office. Set the now lukewarm coffee on his desk. Stared at it, stared at the paperwork, the paperweight, the trash can, the chair.

“Where are you, Cabadath?” He asked.

Someone laughed down the hall. A door slammed. Voices carried through the walls, normal people, normal conversations.

Trilby tucked his pistol in its hidden holster. His long walk around the building, through the area, did not provide any answers. But at least he could sit down and get back to work without the anxiety eating him alive.

People died on the 28th. A pattern Cabadath never broke. Sometimes one, sometimes two, sometimes many. Most bodies were never found. Sometimes Trilby only knew what happened because of the parts found in the Order’s storage months later.

Sometimes Cabadath made him watch.

Trilby watched the news. Trilby watched his back. Trilby kept an eye on his agents, kept an eye on the people in the hall. And the air came easy into his lungs, and the sun walked down the sky, and Cabadath-

And Cabadath never appeared.

No one died. No one disappeared. No screams, no whispers, no forced trips to the realm of magic.

It was a long day.

A long trip home.

A long time watching the news.

A long time waiting in bed for sleep to come.

And when the footsteps stepped upon his carpet, Trilby didn't move. He closed his eyes, listened to every calculated step. Listened to the swaying rustle of the Prince’s coat.

The bed shifted with unexpected weight. A body sat beside him.

Cabadath watched him.

Trilby breathed. So wonderful, to be able to breathe. So quickly, that breath could stop.

He lay in the darkness. He breathed. Cabadath stared. How long the monster stayed, Trilby couldn't have guessed. Cabadath disappeared before Trilby’s eyes opened to the morning sun. But there was blood smeared on his neck, his face, and the bruises beneath them did not go away.

It took almost three weeks for the bodies to be found. Some glorified commune way out in the middle of nowhere stopped picking up supplies. By the time anyone bothered to check, the bodies rotted like ripe fruit in the summer sun. But the authorities guessed the massacre must've happened in late July.

As Trilby stared without expression at the media firestorm on the screen, he touched the bruises on his neck. They would fade soon, with the knowledge he'd gained, but the memories never would.

Cabadath won. He taught kind and cruel alike the name of the King. But as long as Trilby could remain standing… as long as Trilby could protect someone, anyone…

He turned away and got back to work.

One man in a felt crown held back the tide of destruction, and the pointlessness of it all ached like an open wound.

@steh-lar-uh-nuhs @thebrownleathernotebook @ohmy-screechingbutterflies @vaultofqueenorion @opossumjournal @kmlaney @ajarofpickledtears @ghostlyreveries @lokis-wager @mechamia-13 @slenders1ckn3ss @timeladymorsillon @kmlaney

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#chzo mythos #cabadath #prince of pain #Trilby

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cabadath-prince-of-pain · 1 month

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5. im very eager to learn about his kin if he had any when he was still a human.

also that last ask makes me wonder what kind of individuals the prince would be into (aka what the hell would his type be :3) <3

(Ohhh his type, anon. That's a story for another day. Or another ask. You guys just gotta keep sending questions and soon you'll learn the truth :3c )

5. What is the relationship with their family like?

Cabadath at present has no family, well. He has a wolf, but she does her own thing. When he was a human, I imagine he had what other humans had: a mother and a father, perhaps some siblings. However, given his desire to practice dark Magick, I don't imagine they approved. So, with the rest of his village, they exiled him.

But at that point, before the Romans invaded the British Isles, Cabadath didn't truly care about what they thought.

#cabadath #chzo mythos #prince of pain #arrogant man #a stranger (anon)#approach if you dare (ask meme)#tempest speaks

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cabadath-prince-of-pain · 1 month

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2 and 8?

2. Who is your character jealous of?

Cabadath getting jealous... That's a thought I hadn't put into practice at all. To be jealous would require him to have competition, and the man is already so arrogant he believes there is none to meet his level.

8. Has your character ever fallen in love?

#cabadath #chzo mythos #prince of pain #a stranger (anon)#approach if you dare (ask meme)#tempest speaks

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cabadath-prince-of-pain · 1 month

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M+S Ask Games: Character Relationship Edition

Reblog this if you'd like your followers to send you a numbered question for you to answer! Make sure you send an ask to whoever you reblog this from.

1: Who does your character look up to?

2: Who is your character jealous of?

3: Has your character ever had a falling out with a friend?

4: Does your character hate anyone?

5: What is your character's relationship with their family like?

6: Does your character have a best friend?

7: What is your character's longest relationship? (This can be platonic, romantic, etc.)

8: Has your character ever fallen in love?

9: Who, besides family, has your character known the longest?

10: Does your character live with anyone?

#approach if you dare (ask meme)#tempest speaks

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cabadath-prince-of-pain · 2 months

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Why did you spare the girl? The one who stole the book from the Order.

"So you are paying attention to my affairs? Bold... And very foolish."

Cabadath is in the forest, where exactly was anyone's guess. Which is why this stranger appearing was likely the wolf's work. She had a knack for bringing unusual beings to him. And sources of food; he was grateful for that much.

"I spared the mortal in question for a very... Human reason. I did not think it still in me, but there you have it; a girl of no importance and a man I wish would just-" his fists clench, but he stops himself.

"It is no issue or concern of mine that the girl lives. But Trilby, he is -how you say- in a league of his own? Mortal slang is so strange to me."

He shakes his head.

"Perhaps she will be useful in the future. Perhaps..."

#cabadath #chzo mythos #prince of pain #arrogant man #a stranger (anon)#creepypasta

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cabadath-prince-of-pain · 2 months

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Do you think you'd ever have the chance of being free? and if so, would you take it?

The Prince is observing the setting sun as he is brought this question through a parchment paper via a wolf's mouth; the same wolf from the last few times. It would seem he was stuck with this familiar, at least for now. He takes the paper and reads the question given to him.

The wolf sits, and she waits. Eventually Cabadath does in fact speak.

"To be free... Is a lie. It is one of life's greatest lies. However, because you asked, I am obliged to answer. If I were granted freedom from Chzo's slavery, and I were my own man... I would not change. It is something that I must be honest about; being a free man does not change my ambitions. I still wish to inflict pain upon the world, and all who have wronged me. If I were free," He looks to the wolf, and sighs.

"I would be no different than I am now."

#cabadath #chzo mythos #prince of pain #arrogant man #a stranger (anon)#creepypasta

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cabadath-prince-of-pain · 2 months

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Which Image - A Chzo Mythos fanfic

Title comes from the song Witch Image by the band Ghost. If there's interest I'll write more and explain to my followers what this game series is.

Apologies to the people who wanted to be tagged in this, Tumblr isn't recognizing your urls. I'll try to tag in a reblog. Also apologies to the British if my American ass screwed things up. I'll make edits as needed.

London, 2015

In between the crackling thunder, a young man screamed in agony, sweet as the music of a harpsichord.

Footsteps pounded like the rain through the stolen, repurposed corpse of a building. An office, once, now a shell like any other mortal body. Down the many stairs the footsteps carried, sneakers squeaking wet on dirty tile. Down the stairs and through the halls, she ran.

Why the persistence? Too late, far too late, to save her friend. But the young woman resisted the obvious. Dark of hair and pure of heart, he could not harm her yet. He watched the sweat drip down her warm brown skin, how she brushed the strands of hair from her face. Standing, kneeling, struggling, suffering.

He watched and he wondered. Yes, he did wonder.

It'd been a strange choice, to offer up an American for a sacrifice, but Chzo was not a picky god. This young woman could not have looked more different from her light-haired friend. But in her eyes, a desperate fire burned, and looking away proved a challenge.

That fire… She reminded him of someone. How distasteful.

Of course, of course, too late for her friend. She opened the door to strangers standing over the remains. Of course, of course, too late for her. The cult would spare her, when they caught her, he would ensure it…

They did not catch her.

They did not even notice her, too consumed with their own escape. The Ministry agents closed in, fortune smiling upon them once again. She fled, they fled, and it had all gone wrong.

He could've been furious.

He could've been.

Instead, he stood upon the old building, his shadow stretching long in the light flashing overhead. He stood, and he watched her race into the darkness, her parcel, their parcel, clutched to her frail body.

He watched, and yes, yes he wondered.

She reminded him of someone… Cabadath wasn't sure he liked that.

It'd been almost twelve hours before anyone realized the girl was gone. Far too late to save her life. The Order of Blessed Agonies worked fast. But so did Trilby.

The Order must've been desperate to prey on tourists. They had to have known who they were choosing. The accents on these kids weren't subtle. Five of them came overseas on spring holiday, bright eyed and oblivious. Three headed home tonight. The other two would follow in coffins.

“Trilby,” one of his supervisors said, “I know what you're thinking. Don't put yourself at risk to try and save this kid.”

“I'm already at risk,” he'd said. “What's a little more?”

“We need you alive - and so do they.”

And that was the thing, wasn't it? The Order wouldn't keep this girl, this Jillian Taylor Cortez, alive, but he couldn't say they'd do the same with him. Damned prophecies…

Her name was Jillian Taylor Cortez. She just turned 19. Mexican-American mother, British father. Got her middle name because the latter died before she was born, so said her friends.

She looked nothing like Simone Taylor. If she had, Trilby might've lost it again.

Twelve hours, they found the boy, or what was left of him. They'd followed the muddy footprints from the ground floor all the way to the altar. Trilby followed them back up, frowning. Pretended he didn't see the glances between the ones around him.

He had a hunch.

Just a hunch, but he'd been doing this for almost twenty years now. Just a hunch, he'd say later… but he'd been right before.

“Don't you dare!” Someone shouted at his back. “Damn it, Trilby! Get back here! It's not worth it!”

He ignored them, ignored the rain soaking his suit. Wasn't breaking the rules if nobody up top told you not to. Besides, he was just following a hunch. Just giving a quick check around the buildings. No harm in that.

No harm on her, when he caught her dead center in the light of his torch.

He stared at her and she stared right back, her eyes wide and hollow. The rain soaked her right through, plastering clothes to skin and hair to her cheeks. The bow in her hair, half undone. The fear in her eyes, too painful, too real.

Trilby raised a hand.

“Jill-”

She bolted.

“Wait! No!”

Trilby followed.

The kid knew how to run. Ran through the streets like the world was ending. Trilby kept up. He wasn't young anymore, he'd feel it for the next few days, but he kept up. So did the rain.

Only took a few wrong turns. She didn't know anything about the area - neither did he, to be fair. Was only a little bit of a surprise to find themselves in another alley, to come across the fence blocking their way. Was a very big surprise when the girl ran right for it.

“Jillian!” He shouted over the thunder. “Jill!”

Did she even hear him? She didn't stop. Lunged for the fence, one hand grasping the chain link metal. Trilby moved faster than her.

He grabbed her around the waist. She screamed. They both hit the ground, he let her go and she scrambled backwards. He shifted, sat up, looked her in the face again.

Terrified eyes, wide and wild. It wasn't just the rain soaking her cheeks, the spring weather shuddering her shoulders.

Trilby raised his hands.

“Jillian,” he said. “It's alright, Jill. I'm with the Ministry of Occultism. We're here to help you. I can't believe you're still alive…”

She breathed. She held the book in her arms tight. Book? He looked down at it. Heavy, large, leather bound. Some kind of writing on the cover.

Oh my God, he thought. Did she steal that from the Order?

Trilby looked up to her face again. Her eyes locked onto something over his shoulder.

Trilby jerked out of the way. The blade buried into the ground he'd stood moments before. Trilby moved, backed away as far as he could go, the blood draining from his face.

“Oh, hell,” Trilby said.

The featureless face of the Prince of Pain tilted towards him. Cabadath had not changed at all in the last twenty years. Bone chilling, even after all these years and all their meetings. Still ever the same, nine feet tall and dressed in black, the rain coursing down his long coat and leaving the fabric dry. The Prince straightened in slow motions, raising the four pronged scythe and resting it by his side.

Still the Prince stared at him, though he had no eyes to do so. He raised a hand and pointed to the girl.

Jill. She'd gotten out of the way just in time. Trilby couldn't risk looking away from the Prince for longer than an instant, Cabadath moved too fast, but she still breathed, standing against the fence. Her eyes, still wild, locked onto the terror between them.

Had Cabadath been chasing her too? The Prince had powers like no human ever could. Hallucinations were a favorite, Trilby knew that from experience.

The Prince waited.

Trilby took a breath.

“Jillian,” he said. “Give him the book.”

She did not move but her whole body shuddered with her breath.

“He's playing nice right now,” Trilby said, eyes locked on the Prince, “but he doesn't have to. You don't know what he's fully capable of, you've just seen part of it.”

Jillian did not move.

“There's nothing in that book that can help you,” Trilby said. “You don't want to get involved with this more than you have been. I don't know how you got it, but you need to give it back. Before he takes it from you.”

Her body shuddered. Jillian blinked, hard. The Prince did not move. He did not look away.

Her arms unlocked. She took another deep, shuddering breath. Holding the book in careful hands, she laid it upon the ground at her feet, and stepped away. And away. And away.

Trilby watched the Prince. He did not notice where the young woman moved to, until she stopped. Stopped between him and Cabadath, facing the Prince, her arms stretched out as if she could protect Trilby from the monster watching them.

Protect him from Cabadath. He wasn't sure if he wanted to laugh or cry at the thought.

The Prince tilted his head. His gaze shifted towards the girl. Trilby placed a hand on Jillian’s shoulder. Cabadath’s shoulders shook, as if in silent laughter. But of course, no sound came from the Tall Man. They were not worth the effort.

Turning away from the mortals, Cabadath stepped toward the book. He knelt, and with one long free hand, picked it up. Turning fully back towards the two humans, he bowed a mocking thanks. Trilby set his teeth, held Jill's shoulder as she flinched.

As the Prince straightened, he vanished. The rain poured down over them and the tension disappeared from Trilby's body. Cabadath truly was gone. For now.

Jillian sobbed.

Trilby's focus snapped to her again. Shit.

“Jill?”

She placed her hand over her mouth as the sobs shook her body.

“Cal,” she whispered the name of her friend. “Cal, I'm sorry.”

He couldn't think of anything to say. Trilby wrapped an arm around her and pulled out his phone with the other. How long had it been ringing?

“Yeah?” He said. “Yeah, I'm alright. Yeah, we're both okay. I found the girl, she's alive. It's… it's a long story. I'll explain everything back at headquarters.”

Trilby held the young woman against his body as he led her back into the light. He glanced uneasy at the roofs above them, expecting a tall shadow staring down, but only the rain waited overhead, the drops falling down between her tears.

#chzo mythos #cabadath #chzo Mythos Trilby #reblogging #prince of pain

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cabadath-prince-of-pain · 2 months

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various things spoken in an adventuring party pt.2

part 2 of an assortment of quotes and sayings i've found doom scrolling through pinterest that i think an adventuring party would say during their never ending perilous adventures . please do not copy/repost or add to this list, thank you!

Affectionate ❛ i am in love with an idiot ❜ ❛ i’d be his if he asked ❜ ❛ even your rage is beautiful ❜ ❛ there’s still good in you ❜ ❛ my darling, you will never be unloved by me ❜ ❛ you are too well tangled in my soul ❜

Questions ❛ are you a monster or a victim? ❜ ❛ can anyone betray anyone? ❜ ❛ who in the fuck authorized this? ❜ ❛ where do you purchase your audacity from? ❜ ❛ why is everyone in this kingdom so gods damned stupid? ❜ ❛ if you don’t terrify people a little bit, then what’s the point? ❜

Banter ❛ people can do worse things than kill you ❜ ❛ gods help anyone who dares to disrespect me/you ❜ ❛ magic always comes with a price ❜ ❛ the gods love to fuck with us ❜ ❛ i’ve got a spell for that ❜ ❛ i do very bad things, and i do them very well ❜

Tragedy ❛ anyone can betray anyone ❜ ❛ not all of us are going to make it out alive ❜ ❛ i was once a child with innocent eyes ❜ ❛ i remember all of them ❜ ❛ i’ve been having a bad day for the past several years ❜ ❛ a golden cage is still just a cage ❜

Fierce ❛ what i did, i did for us ❜ ❛ if they touch you, i’ll break their necks ❜ ❛ it appears that you have mistaken my dislike of causing harm as an inability to do so. ❜ ❛ you are divine violence ❜ ❛ burn it all. ❜ ❛ i am so much more than you told me i was ❜

Antagonistic ❛ lets cause a little trouble ❜ ❛ i think you’re caught between who you are and who you want to be ❜ ❛ tell me what it’s like to conquer ❜ ❛ you’re a little tragedy, aren’t you? ❜ ❛ disrespectfully, i decline ❜ ❛ with all due respect, which is none- ❜

Neutral ❛ there’s bravery in being soft ❜ ❛ the trees told me about you ❜ ❛ i do not care for your god. ❜ ❛ if i can still breathe, i’m fine ❜ ❛ i’m nice as fuck. ❜

Comedic Relief ❛ do you mean to give me another one of your stoic nod? ❜ ❛ if you don’t want a sarcastic answer, don’t ask stupid questions ❜ ❛ i’ll get over it. i just need to be dramatic first. ❜ ❛ what’s your favorite pastime? mine is reckless behavior ❜ ❛ i’m definitely the nicest asshole you could ever hope to meet ❜ ❛ i wanna contribute to the chaos ❜ ❛ we can’t giggle, we’re at a crime scene! ❜ ❛ the nonsense has escalated ❜ ❛ go stand over there. your existence is giving me a headache ❜ ❛ being smart has never stopped me from being a complete fucking idiot. ❜

BONUS FROM THE HERO TO THE VILLAIN ❛ you took everything from me ❜ ❛ haven’t you taken enough from me? ❜ ❛ go ahead. underestimate me. that’ll be fun. ❜ ❛ touch me and you’ll burn ❜ ❛ the reports of my death have been greatly exaggerated ❜ FROM THE VILLAIN TO THE HERO ❛ don’t bleed on my floors ❜ ❛ people will never bleed enough to fulfill your vision of justice ❜ ❛ i am the child/daughter/son of a king who forgot my name ❜ ❛ i am the end of all things; i have drunk the blood of kings. ❜ ❛ congratulations, you have survived! ❜

#rp ask meme #approach if you dare (ask meme)

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