`??? ( Madestars )

➤ `??? (  madestars  )

               “  Oh, uhh…  ”     𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐎𝐍𝐄 𝐓𝐎 𝐁𝐄 𝐀𝐓 𝐀 𝐋𝐎𝐒𝐒 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒,  𝐒𝐇𝐄 tends to have an abundance of them more often than not,  but from the sudden question from a stranger out of nowhere it would only be natural to hesitate for an answer.   It was brief,  this was…  not at all the most farfetched conversation she’s had.   In a glance she can tell the boy is not a demon,  or nothing like the demons she’s met,  but it’d also be strange if he wasn’t.   Does she smell,  is her hair messy,  does she look okay?   No,  no,  and yes she looks great.   So,  what brought this up?     “  No…?  ”     What she fails to mention is that Hell itself has visited her,  and it sucked.     “  I agree those places all sound lovely, even school. Um, you sound like you speak from experience.  ”     Well now she’s curious and she has to know.   The only demons who’d know what Hell is like is after they die,  and he looks very healthy and alive.   He could have also at least said hello first.

         ❝ Yes. ❞ Yet it's clear he doesn't even think to elaborate on said experience. Maybe the deadpan or him waving it off with a nonchalant shake of the wrist gave it away. It’s not like it had any relevance to her anyways. ❝ So turn your life around or whatever. Read a book, get a cat, i don’t care, and swerve as hard as you can from there. ❞

         Without further preamble, the blonde shoved his hands into hoodie pockets and turned on his heel, set on continuing his meandering stroll. Self satisfied smirk in place, paying no further regard to the accosted citizen. Ah, spur of the moment job well done. His good deed for the day accomplished. Even better if it pissed off the old man. All in all, a good day’s work.

@sinxatoned asked: “ and the saddest part of all? you’ll cling to the good memories, as if there were any. ” // Demon King @ Zeldris. Bring on the pain.

►  ❪   POETRY  //  accepting  ❫  

         What was this supposed to be ? Some backhanded lecture meant for his convenience ? The subject matter briefly drew Zeldris up short, cutting through the middle of his own sentence with frightening ease. It's not as if far worse hadn't been said / done before but Father must have been in a particular mood. It's the sole time he saw him these days when they were alone, an occurrence that happened all too often with the castle far more quiet, lacking Meliodas' presence.

         It's almost systematic, how his body language shuts down. What little expression held in the king's presence sputtered, waning, furrowed brows smoothing out. The slightly questioning curve in downturned lips neutralized until a tense face was rendered bare of emotion. Everything perfectly measured, constantly aware of every little motion made, constantly weighing the possible repercussions of every single word spoken.

         (  it's a struggle not to suffocate  )

         When memories were but a shackle to contend with for the remainder of a life, it made sense to cling to the good ones right ? But for his own reasons Father seemed determined to poison that well. To layer each recollection (  regardless of past connotations  ) with corrupted spikes / reshaped into a warped simulacrum intent to twist and tear and harm the beholder, threatening to blur the increasingly thinning line between good and bad.

         A terrible thought / a hard pill to swallow. One so difficult that the king preferred to shove it down his throat; an effort to insist the verity of his biting intonation. The worst part ? It’s true. Doubt held no place here when faced with facts. That’s what made that silent hand gripping his hearts tighten, as though ready to rip them out of his chest. He should know better (  he DID know better  ) than to let whatever was said get to him. It still hurt, sincerely, to hear such words be delivered from on high. But after years of hurting, it barely registered beyond a dull sting anymore. It's barely a bother, only acknowledged a slight by the flicker of an abyssal, vacant gaze.

         (  a blade sharpened to perfection, lovingly crafted with utmost CARE to dig under his skin, another blood ridden, jagged wound to add to the assemblage  )

         He doesn't think he'll ever be able to reply to his father's standards.

         Zeldris' answer had a known clarity in his hands. Plenty of  ❛ good memories ❜ existed to cling to. Debating whether they fit the conventional standard of good or not seemed questionable at best, if not conscientious. Most (  if not all  ) of them involving him and his brother. He grew up in violence, watching his brother reap the lives of goddesses, crush skulls and take souls without an iota of mercy or regret. Nothing beyond the threadbare hints of mild boredom. Yet, Meliodas was there. The one enduring source of what he'd come to quantify as ❛ good ❜ in his life, however brief that flicker of a moment appeared in retrospect. He’d do anything to protect that. Anything it took.

         But he also knew that answer won't satiate the Demon King. All he cared about was the power, about the idea of being infallible and above such basic notions. Revealing the true thoughts under the surface was akin to wrapping a weighty noose forged from his own naivety around his own neck, begging for judgemental punishment. An intimately familiar infliction he's already fallen victim to beforehand. So, he needed a different answer.

         ❝ Memories are just memories, Father. ❞ They both knew that wasn't the case, not for him, a memory likened to permanent snapshot forever etched into the annals of his mind. ❝ There... isn't a need to assign overly sentimental value to them, to the point where they're labeled in such a irrelevant manner. No use fretting over them when they eventually fade. ❞

@spatrot​​​ asked: ❛  i’ll  get  over  it  ,  i  just  gotta  be  dramatic  first  .  ❜  18 -> gohan

​►  ❪   VEHEMENT  //  accepting  ❫ 

          ❝ I'm sure they didn't mean it, 18. They just... ❞

         Thoughts tapered, mouth found at a loss for words. ( what exactly did ❛ dramatic ❜ entail ? ) A bit too lost, a touch too nervous to question further. His skill at navigating perceived ire always had been rather lackluster. The lack thereof only amplified while idling in her company.

         He'd grown accustomed to her presence— or at least the idea of it. Time taken to reconcile the image of her now, and the image of a future diverted. No longer a harbinger of destruction, sole purpose to rend the earth / sow seeds of havoc. An android still, though not some ambiguous, evil being incomprehensible to the mind, but a person capable of thoughts, feelings, emotions. Something ( distinctly ) more human.

          And like all humans, frustration / annoyance eventually peaked.

         ❝ So, um, do what you need to ? As long as you get it out of your system. ❞ A hand raised, meeting the back of his head — scritch scritch — a moment spent to ponder on said words longer, proposal mulled with careful consideration before offered. ❝ Actually, I can help you blow some steam off if.... you need to. If you want. ❞

➤ ` LARS. (  teslagravity​  )

Lars appeared as though he had witnessed a ghost.

Surely this wasn’t some hallucination? A cruel reminder of why he had come into existence?

No, this woman was real; flesh healthy and as alive as it had been so many years ago. So then, how was any of this possible? Surely the war hadn’t twisted his fate to this degree.

Lars struggled to gather his bearings once she had spoken, brushing off any sliver of importance he had imposed on her. He had to disagree wholly.

“—I…” How the hell was he supposed to even answer that question?

The simple answer would be to just give her his name and be done with it, but this interaction was so much more than that, clearly more than she realized. How did one go about revealing that they were the bastard son of the man who she had previously loved? The man who had killed her with his own hands?

“My name is Lars…” He finally managed to babble out.

Not at all wanting to start his response in this manner, but he had little choice thanks to how tangled his mind was now. He decided to just be upfront about it—yank off the band-aid.

“I only exist because Heihachi Mishima wanted to prove a theory, because of you.”

         The temptation to make a light joke was there, an attempt at reassurance to ease any panic and highlight that her presence did not mean what was likely running through his mind. Not there would have been much point in leaving him be were she there to end his life as per the fate written for those targeted by the Hachijo clan. Seems even now the small act of giving her last name was enough to stir recognition in others, it was plainly written in the pallor of his face. The degree to which escaped her until he spoke again.

         Eyes closed at the mention of the man, a soft sigh slipping free.  ❝ I see. ❞

         Pieces gathered, slotting into a puzzle unseen. This chance meeting came about as the result of her error once again. Another reminder of the failure to complete her duty. One could only but imagine what suffering Heihachi had inflicted upon this man; him and countless others.

         ❝ You claim you are here because of me. To what end ? I don't know this theory you're speaking of. ❞

THE  FIRST  TIME

Zeldris hates his brother.

There's a special kind of loathing reserved just for him. One that easily survives a 3000 year time span. It taints any remaining fond memories of someone he had, at one point, cherished more than anything. It pushes him to stand by and watch while each of Meliodas' hearts be pierced by the dagger of their shared brother.

But yes, while these may have been the feelings Zeldris held onto after the betrayal / joining Stigma, his brother’s first death was still an event that shook what little was left of his crumbling foundation.

He was present, saw the entire affair unfold. Could barely breathe or stand when it was over but somehow he managed it. After allowing him to fully take in the sight of Meliodas' corpse, the Demon King then proceeded to simultaneously mock Zeldris about his failure to fully commit to getting rid of the vampires and to remind him that, even if he was his son, he wouldn't hesitate to ❛ put him in his place ❜ like he did to his ❛ miserable older brother ❜ Meliodas.

When he was ordered to carry out his duties as executioner ( annihilate Gelda along with the Vampire Clan ) he felt an all consuming anguish. He didn’t think he could ever feel that level of hopelessness again but when the Demon King and the Supreme Deity effortlessly wiped out his brother's defiance, a different kind of despair took hold but it was one just as potent.

The prince hated his father for all the suffering he's inflicted and reminding him how helpless he was in taking any meaningful action against him. He hated Meliodas for abandoning him for a goddess and putting him through this alone.

Most of all he HATED himself for not being strong enough to stop any of it.

@rathfel​ asked: “ i had forgotten how charmingly ethereal you can be ” / @merlin!

​►  ❪  THREE HOUSES  //  accepting  ❫  

         A passing remark, one deserving of an bemused exhale. The puff of air danced on the smudged rim before the stained wine glass withdrew from quirked lips and set down with a delicate clink. Could he feel it, the weight of her gaze assessing, prying, judging ?

         Flattery; far from a new phenomenon, hardly receiving more than a bat of the eyes and demure thanks, but it's not every day Meliodas himself bothers to comment on anything separate from her questionable nature and the studies carried out.  ❝ ...I suppose it's only natural you would. We've not seen each other in many years. ❞

         Alas, what meaning could be held in such acclaims ? When inflections often don't necessarily reflect the intent of the beholder at hand, were the words themselves as empty as the hollow shell that breathed them to life ?

        Greedy as Merlin was, ever craving for more knowledge, she's not keen on picking his thoughts on this regard, learning of what thought sparked it, and thus there's no reason to derive the joy / satisfaction expected of them. For once she's at ease to not know. Echoes of a want from a bygone era tempt the mage not as gold eyes stared back from the still crimson, providing all the clarity she needs. She's content.

         It’s bothersome. This sentiment reverberating in her chest alongside the chiseled heart of stone nestled safely inside, a hand reaching into unwanted depths, to squeeze forth blood. Could it be the sour tang of acrimony, reduced to a muted sting ? Perhaps. An entrenched bitterness waned over the years, steadfast rock long since eroded from the persistent crashing of dismal waves over it. All too easily were any inklings of the instinctive desire to search for underlying truths sanded down in the face of it. There's no point to seek / hope for something that simply didn't exist.

         Only here she's allowed her mind to accept it as is, to let it go astray, to not grant it a lingering thought of her own. Let the acknowledgement wither and decay, pass into dust carried away on a distant wind.

         Fingers grasped the glass handle, the remaining wine consumed a few stilted heartbeats later. The rich flavor no longer carried it's sweet aftertaste.

         She's content.