this world;

@dimittere said: 6, 7, 8

6. If questioned about their evil behavior, what excuse would your muse give to justify it?

i think... first of all, he doesn't feel the need to justify it. he knows what he does is wrong, and yet he does it anyways without a care in the world. but if he truly had to, he'd declare himself an assistant of the inevitable apocalypse - he helps the snake eat its tail

why care about what i do? in the end, everything's going to fall apart anyways. you should worry about yourself - why spend your mortality worrying over a man who's lived your life thousands of times over

7. Does your muse have the potential to be a loving parent? The question addresses their ability to feel a child’s emotional needs, not the muse’s ability to physically procreate.

fun fact for you all - enoch is probably already a father? i honestly don't know if this is canon or not, it's kind of a joke from a while back that keeps coming up so it might be like... semi canon, not officially confirmed. he's been around for six thousand years, i wouldn't be surprised if there were some offspring of his out there somewhere

anyways, if there are abzu offspring, he's not aware of them, if that tells you anything about his ability and willingness to parent

8. If your muse could feel the emotional pain of the people they hurt, would this deter their villainous behavior?

anonymous said: 5 & 9?

5. Mun, you could have spent the time and effort you dedicate to your muse roleplaying as a hero. Why did you decide to roleplay as a villain?

i feel as if villains are more... fun? interesting? there’s more interesting dynamics there to explore. you have to decide just how far they go, where their villainy sits, and more importantly, why they do what they do. are they in it for the fun of evil? do they have a goal? do they even like what they do?

i feel like a good example as to why i write villains would be this ask that i answered earlier. i'd never really thought about what my characters thoughts about justice were before this - and if enoch were a general hero i don't think i would've had as complex of an answer. this is all just in my experience, though - i have a harder time going in depth with heroic characters.

that aside, maybe i just like the edge. cringe culture is dead, y’know?

9. What punishment does the mun think would be justifiable for the muse?

in all honesty? this. spirale separating him from his powers, forcing him to be mortal, to be human, for the first time in thousands of years. he's powerless - and he hates it. he doesn't know who he is without tiamat, and i'm forcing him to figure it out with a very violent removal of his god from his veins

he's facing modernity with a mentality he's never had before. he's looking at a world he used to regard himself as better than and seeing that he's now nothing more than a pawn in life’s game like everyone else. i've whittled his ego down to shreds of what it used to be, and he has to process the fact that without tiamat, he's practically nothing

@lxnarprophet​ said: “ several bad choices have lead me to this moment ”

" Well, don't you feel pretty stupid then? "

@losingmyjustice​ said: “ it’s not impressive  ,  no one’s impressed ”

" ...Really now? "

anonymous said: 💭 hey lets talk 'bout spirale 

" ...Spirale. "

Hᴇ ɴᴀʀʀᴏᴡs his eyes, scoffs at the notion.

" Wretched place. I don't understand any of how this works - how can a simple island wrench Her away from me after thousands of years? "

" Nothing should have this much power. It's ridiculous. "

anonymous asked: 💭 Justice~?

" ... "

" I believe justice is something you should seek out for yourself. Why rely on someone else to enact it for you, in a simple court that brings nothing tangible, when doing it yourself is so much more... satisfying, to the ego. "

" If you're seeking revenge, seeking closure, why have others do it for you? "

“Mmm… sure. Why not.” 

Shigaraki sounded so fickle, like a little kid making all of his decisions on a whim. As much as he sounded like an asshole about it, he had meant what he said. He was looking for people who were lonely and had no friends. 

“The League of Villains is somewhere for people who have no place to go. We only got one rule. We destroy what we don’t like.”

Shigaraki, suddenly broke out into laughter. It was like he was laughing at a joke only he understood. He was a laughing skeleton, his bones creaked and strained with the effort, he looked like he was about to break a rib laughing that hard.

Then, he suddenly stopped. 

“You’re free to try to kill me if you want. I’m pretty unlikable. Otherwise, you have to trust me and follow me. Do whatever you want. I don’t really care which.”

Shigaraki seemed utterly indifferent to the prospect of dying. He turned his back to the other, exposing it. If you wanted to sink a knife in, now would be the time. Shigaraki was, someone far too trusting for an evil bastard. 

Sᴏᴍᴇᴡʜᴇʀᴇ ғᴏʀ people who had no place... that fit more than he would like to admit, more than he would ever have the displeasure to grace with words. If he were any weaker, any more broken down, mental faculties all but vacated, he may even admit that he's never had a place to go. Never had somewhere to settle - but if you asked him now, he'd say he preferred it that way.

Aɴᴅ ɪғ Enoch had his calf, things may have ended differently here. Mix red with the green of Erysichthon's dismay, to drip against blade.

Bᴜᴛ, ʜᴇ knew it was a moot point. Useless, futile - the Island didn't even give him his weaponry. That was why he was here in the first place, after all.

" I can't kill you. I'm a bit powerless, remember. "

Iᴛ sᴛᴜɴɢ to admit, within such a vague statement. Can't, rather than won't, a refusal to commit to the denial of such a thing.

Iғ Tɪᴀᴍᴀᴛ saw him now, he wondered if she would laugh.

“Yeah, yeah we get it. You’re complex. You’ve probably got several complexes. You and every other villain.” 

Catra made a show of acting unimpressed. Not that she was anything impressive. She knew this game they were both sizing each other up. For Catra it felt personally uncomfortable. She felt far less like a cat, and more a mouse whenever someone stared at her for too long.

Everyone thought so little of her. Everyone made her feel small. 

“Me, I’m a big deal.” 

Catra said vaguely, pointing a claw to her chest. There was something about that man. He had a certain hiss to his voice, less like a cat and more like a snake. A cat can sink their fangs in, but poison kills after the first bite. 

Danger. A primal sense of danger. She heard the sound of something slithering through the grass.

“So, what’s your deal?” 

Tʜᴇʀᴇ ᴡᴀs indignation to his voice, soft, though malleable, enough to cut with a knife should one want to prove the depth of his doubt. He stood tall, still in the wake of her mocking, following her with one red eye mirrored to drip poisoned gray down the side of his face.

" Are you now? You look little more than a stray. "

Oɴᴇ ᴄᴏᴜʟᴅ parse something vitriolic to the way he spoke, like the arsenic to his blood had seeped through to his very core, to ferment among the chemical of his veins. And at her question, he almost scoffed - narrowed his eyes, indignant, less like the predator she so dutifully sensed beneath his visage and more like a tired man spread too thin. The absence of Tiamat pulled his depths to the surface, his exhaustion, his ennui.

Sʜᴇ ᴡᴀs right to be so hesitant, though. On another day, another time.

" Enoch Abzu, servant of the goddess Tiamat, made in her image, to enact her chaotic will. Alive for thousands of years, and planning to live to see the world unravel. "

@lxnarprophet​ asked: ♿ : Has your muse had any injuries in the past?

" Oh, several. Too many to count. "

“ You accumulate a lot over thousands of years. ”

[ to list the notable ones:

star carved into chest with a knife (self-inflicted)

disemboweling (self-inflicted)

several miscellaneous stab wounds in his legs and torso

shallow cut along the back of his neck

the mocking smile never leaves those lips – in fact, they might be mocking him more with every word that orochi hears. although the name of the goddess that the boy speaks of is not within orochi’s realm of knowledge, originating from a world not his own, he’s very familiar with what he speaks of. another mortal who sought eternity, obtaining a fraction of some power that they would never have had the opportunity to obtain otherwise. they think themselves more than what they actually are, pawns of the beings they created a contract with. fingers run along the cup of his drink, slitted eyes narrowing from amusement.

“i’m familiar,” he says, voice calm, derisive tone minimal. “i can’t help myself but continue to pry – why did you go to a goddess to obtain her power? what did you have to give to obtain it?” he chuckles, head canted – waiting for his response.

“how… ignorant,” he comments. orochi delights in this personality in front of him. 

“perhaps you’re more than mortal now,” he muses, snake eyes finally leaving the creature’s gaze, returning back to his drink. he takes a small sip, the fiery burn of the alcohol delightful, but lacking compared to the drinks of the gods. “but you are no god, merely a vessel for one.” a biting tone, baiting the person to speak, to fight back. “delightful.”

“ah~” he muses, “i am god.” eyes glow, shining brightly in the darkness of the bar. “my name is yamata no orochi, little one. pleasure.”

Tʜᴇ ᴛᴏɴᴇ sliding soft like water babbling into the others voice sent a shudder up Enoch's spine, smooth to mock him for his mortality, to tell him his place in the world. To knock him down and hold him to the floor, uncomfortably real, uncomfortably perishable. He didn't want to think about it so soon - but it seemed like that didn't matter.

" Suppose.. you could say I had something to prove. "

Hᴇ ɢʀɪᴍᴀᴄᴇs. The blood of his face sloughs off in drips, to pool between his arms. A fist clenches against the surface of the bar, nails digging into the palm of his hand nearly to draw more grey from his veins.

Fᴏʀ ᴀ ᴍᴏᴍᴇɴᴛ, he wonders. What did Tiamat have to gain? Is she lamenting him now as he's lamenting her?

" P... People doubted her, where I'm from. She believed I could help spread the word. I proved that I had the guts to do it, simple as that. "

Hᴇ ᴛᴏᴏᴋ a swig of his drink, longer than expected. More than mortal hit him in the gut, and he tensed, lowering his glass to cough once, twice.

" Merely a vessel, alive for six thousand years... Seems past mortal, don't you think. "

“Nobody ever wants to just say hi to me. It’s always just straight down to the dirty business. I guess that’s what I get for being a psychopath.” 

Shigaraki leaned against the wall of the back alley. He tapped his foot against it in impatience. He was restless, always restless. He raised two fingers neck and started to scratch. He knew what it felt like to be so driven. Like an itch you just needed to scratch. 

He could empathize with this guy a little bit. He was a heartless killer, but Shigaraki had a little bit of empathy. 

Shigaraki wore a black coat that helped him blend into the dark. Severed hands gripped his body in several places. He looked like he was being strangled by a whole crowd of people. They choked his wrists, his elbows, his shoulders, they tightened around his neck, and grabbed his head from behind. 

Shigaraki kicked off from the wall he was leaning against finally, and stood in front of enoch with his arms held wide at his side. 

“Let me guess, you’re a psycho looking for other psychoes to hang out with. Because you’re lonely.” 

Tʜᴇ ᴀʟᴍᴏsᴛ dismissive tone to Shigaraki's voice was something Enoch expected, though that didn't mean he welcomed it all. Surely the man was used to this, surely he was tired, surely Enoch's approach did nothing for him to spice up his villainous existence. And though Enoch didn't particularly care, he didn't want to leave a bad mark on this first impression.

Hᴇ ᴡᴀsɴ'ᴛ exactly in the place to be cocky anymore. Not with her gone.

" Not exactly. "

Eɴᴏᴄʜ ᴡᴏᴜʟᴅ never admit to his loneliness. Not even at his weakest moments, inebriation be damned.

“Oh, I need so much. I’m a needy bitch. I won’t be satisfied until I have the whole world for starters…” 

Catra liked to play the villain. If she played it well or not was up for debate. She jumped from the high fence she was watching him from, landing perfectly on all fours and stood up. She slinked towards him in a slow, sinuous provocative way. 

At first the only thing you could see about her were her mismatched eyes that glowed in the dark. As she got closer to him she was bathed in red light, revealing her untamed mane of hair, her claws, her fangs, and her tail. 

Catra smiled to show off her pointed teeth. 

“So, heeeeey, what’s up with you?” She asked curious as a cat. “Only crimminals and low lifes hang around this part of the red light district, so which one are you?” 

Eɴᴏᴄʜ sᴛᴏᴏᴅ still, watching soft and quiet with uncertain gaze as she slinked forward, sly beneath the dull light glinting mismatched against the slight illuminations. His doubts were already apparent; in Catra, in himself, in the situation at large.

Tɪᴀᴍᴀᴛ's ᴀʙsᴇɴᴄᴇ left him feeling utterly helpless. He absolutely did not want to show it.

" Criminals and lowlifes, hm.. Suppose I could ask the same of you. "

Hᴇ ɢɪᴠᴇs her a once-over, eyes narrowed, shoulders rolled in a quiet affirmation of his stance. Ears to drip, their poison payload ominously close.

     They would’ve missed Enoch if he hadn’t started to scream. There’s a bit of a crowd that Lucah has to get through, but soon enough they find themself close enough to see Spirale’s new arrival. To them, he appeared as a crouched figure shakily outlined in dark-purple. 

     With the ability to be Perceptive, they didn’t have to ask if he was injured. Lucah blinked at Enoch, noting the little cyan wings around his shaking outline—invisible to everyone but themself. None of the feathers seemed torn or missing, so Enoch wasn’t physically hurt. But they knew well that cries of anguish didn’t always have to be caused by mortal injury.

     First was the issue of the crowd. Lucah cleared their throat nonchalantly, and the sound of it seemed to snap others out of the trance of rubbernecking. It began to disperse, leaving Lucah behind as the sole remainder.

“…”

     Though they’ve changed since their own arrival, they’re still not much for verbally offering words of consolation to complete strangers. And it’s not as if Lucah had a warm blanket to throw around Enoch’s shoulders.      They still felt that they should do something, though, besides staring—they had been in Enoch’s place before, and it wouldn’t surprise them if they found themself in a similar spot tomorrow. 

     Crouching down before Enoch, Lucah quickly drags a piece of blue chalk against the pavement. They write upside-down so that he could read it properly, if he chose to look up at it.

       ↑ 

L U C A H

     The piece is put against the ground, then gently pushed, sent rolling toward Enoch. Even with full-strength returned, Lucah didn’t want to touch him or get very close unless they had to. 

Tʜᴇʀᴇ ᴡᴀs silence save for his cries, birds lifting off from their concrete perches to soar, to fly, to flee from the sorrow of the now abandoned figure slumped mourning against the concrete. Enoch knew, and Enoch didn't care, that he was gathering a crowd of gawkers, rubbernecking to investigate the horrific new arrival, to balk at one mans destruction, the unraveling of a psyche already held on such a horrifically thin thread. And if Enoch had any wherewithal to think, he'd fear that this was where it ended for him. Forever crying amongst a sea of surveying eyes, his own personal hell granted by a God he never knew the existence of.

Tʜᴀᴛ ɪs, until the crowd dispersed. Parted like the red sea to allow an unfamiliar form through. It was like their brains were forced elsewhere, turned to their own devices, to return to their daily lives and forget the man who just lost his own.

Eɴᴏᴄʜ, broken, lifted his head to regard the unfamiliar figure, past blurry eyes fit to fill with the salt of Abzu's seas. He watched as the chalk was procured and dragged upon the ground before him, focusing shaky reds to the concrete once more.

Lᴜᴄᴀʜ.

Hᴇ sᴡᴀʟʟᴏᴡs, pauses, squeezes his eyes shut to calm, to ease, clenching his fists against his legs in some sort of vague attempt to ground his brain to the situation. To bring himself unfortunately back down to earth, to come to terms with his new reality. As the chalk rolled towards him, he garnered its purpose, what he was to do; to introduce himself, to make his presence solidly known. For a moment he wondered if he could just say it out loud, but he fears that he may be too choked up.

Hᴇ ᴛᴀᴋᴇs the chalk. Scrawls messy, upside-down on the pavement so Lucah could see.

Eɴᴏᴄʜ