Long Post Tw - Tumblr Posts
MARIE ANTOINETTE (2006) dir. Sofia Coppola
sheryl lee ph. by richard beymer behind the scenes of twin peaks, “beyond life and death” (1991)
I just sometimes feel like it's all ruined. And then I realize that I am to blame. Or not that I'm to blame, but I am blamed.
31 DAYS OF HORROR MOVIES.
4 — HEREDITARY ( 2018 )
no one: radio silence: *poof WITH BLOOD*
READY OR NOT (2019) | ABIGAIL (2024) dir. MATT BETTINELLI-OLPIN & TYLER GILLETT
ALYCIA DEBNAM-CAREY in 'It's What's Inside' 2024, dir. Greg Jardin
I am special. I am enough. I am doing my best. We all are.
Sissy (2022), directed by Hannah Barlow & Kane Senes
⚠️ ROAD WORK AHEAD ⚠️
| || | | || | | || | | || | | || | | || | | || | | || | | || | | || | | || | | || | | || | | || | | || | | || | | || | | || | | || | | || | | || | | || | | || | | || | | || | | || |
________________ SPEEDING FINES DOUBLED WHEN WORKERS PRESENT —————————
| || | | || | | || | | || | | || | | || | | || | | || | | || | | || | | || | | || | | || | | || | | || | | || | | || | | || | | || | | || | | || | | || | | || | | || | | || | | || |
⚠️ ROAD WORK 500FT ⚠️
| || | | || | | || | | || | | || | | || | | || | | || | | || | | || | | || | | || | | || | | || | | || | | || | | || | | || | | || | | || | | || | | || | | || | | || | | || | | || | | || | | || | | || | | || | | || | | || | | || | | || | | || | | || | | || | | || | | || | | || | | || | | || | | || | | || | | || | | || | | || | | || | | || | | || | | || | | || | | || | | || | | || | | || | | || | | || | | || | | || | | || | | || | | || | | || | | || | | || | | || | | || | | || | | || | | || | | || | | || | | || | | || | | || | | || | | || |
🚧🚧🚧🚧🚧🚧🚧🚧🚧🚧🚧
🚚 🚚 🔩 웃 🧰 🕳️ 🪚웃 웃📋 웃 웃 🛠️ 🔨웃 🏗️ 🕳️ 웃 웃 🔧 🚚 🔩 🔩 🔩
🚧🚧🚧🚧🚧🚧🚧🚧🚧🚧🚧
| || | | || | | || | | || | | || | | || | | || | | || | | || | | || | | || | | || | | || | | || | | || | | || | | || | | || | | || | | || | | || | | || | | || | | || | | || | | || | | || | | || | | || | | || | | || | | || | | || | | || | | || | | || | | || | | || | | || | | || | | || | | || | | || | | || | | || | | || | | || | | || | | || | | || | | || | | || | | || | | || | | || | | || | | || | | || | | || | | || | | || | | || | | || | | || | | || | | || | | || | | || | | || | | || | | || | | || | | || | | || | | || | | || | | || | | || | | || | | || | | || | | || | | || | | || | | || | | || | | || | | || | | || | | || | | || | | || | | || | | || | | || | | || | | || | | || |
| || | | || | | || | | || | | || | | || | | || | | || | | || | | || | | || | | || | | || | | || | | || | | || | | || | | || | | || | | || | | || | | || | | || | | || | | || | | || | | || | | || | | || | | || | | || | | || | | || | | || | | || | | || | | || | | || | | || | | || | | || | | || | | || | | || | | || | | || | | || | | || | | || | | || | | || | | || | | || | | || | | || | | || | | || | | || | | || |
⚠️ END ROAD WORK ⚠️
i’m gonna be .. opening my heart for the first time in public, about personal stuff -- since it’s new years, and i want to write that chapter of my life, to let 2020 take all it’s ugliness and keep it there -- never repeat again ! so i’m going to. i need to. the first step is self consciousness, the second is opening the cage - and i need to work on it, and i wish to get better! so this is part of my life story, and i think i’m okay writing this as there only 2 people following this blog that know me outside of it, and the rest are strangers.
i was bullied during my childhood. i was bullying continuously for more than 12 years straight, since kindergarden to high school. i was talked bad about, used, spat at, bullied by entire school, had my hair pulled, harassed and even beat up -- the moments i remember the most were of verbal abuse. this made me develop social anxiety at age of 10 and think of going to better place from then on - and i lost my self consciousness. i’d see the world as pure evil, with me being the only victim, id always stare at the ground.. during the last year of high school, i regained my self consciousness by mistake, i took a life-changing step that led me to fighting against my mental disability without even my awareness, and i thank everyday for that -- i dont know where i would be today without it. the regain of my self consciousness made me be able to stage my confidence and raise my chest up, to the point that people could never tell theres something wrong beneath it -- and i made friends at military, work.. and today, even in my academy.
this year i started studying in an academy for the first time, and made good cheerful impression. everyone seem to find liking to me and even come to my dms just to talk or know what they missed during class. -- its the first ever school experience since those years of bullying, the very first time id spend a school year without getting bullied, and everyone being so loving .... and those memories come back, and they repeat again and again. before this year, i’d have a panic attack once in few months, and those were more triggered by completely different things.. but today, i think of the bullying, and although these guys give me so much happiness - i think of it, i get panic attacks every day now for 3 months, every hour -- my body is so weak from its fight or flight responses, i end up needing to sleep several times a day to keep going. -- and all i want today is to be normal, to be able to comminucate with society like a normal person, to be able to keep connections with people even here without suddenly deleting my chat or social platforms, because i get uncontrollable imageries of the worst cases if i wont cut connections once in a while.
this year made me learn more about myself. when i thought my self consciousness given me finally full control of these events of past, that was never the case, and i am seeing it now by my body’s reaction. i kept wondering how come i got over so many bad aspects that were involved with my anxiety: such as, being able to go to the store alone, walking near people my age on the same side of the road, looking up, being able to answer my phone (my biggest achievement!), but barely any improvement of me talking in chat platforms such as discord. i learned that i have pstd that i wasnt aware of, and it highly resolves around my ability to use chat platforms, as 3 major events happened through it that affected my life. it will be more work done to finally recover from that too than simply decreasing the anxiety.
so for this year, i wish to get better. i wish to be able to seek professional help so i could communicate normally with the people i love very much. for this year i wish to hang out in there, to survive, and to reach peace with my heart. for this year, i want to grow stronger, and become a part of everyone. this year, i hope to give my past the greatest battle yet.
happy new 2021 year, and i hope you all would hang in there too, if we just would like -- we can do about anything. i love you all a lots. ❤️
I have a problem sleeping sometimes, and yet I'm wide awake. I-I don't know why-
@carebearbro @electric-red @venus-does-art @jordan-star @kaifanjc-the-one-and-only
Boring fact about me: I don’t eat red meat very often
@deanobeanoqueero @elliechan @nia23 and anyone else, what’s your boring fact about yourself
![DRABBLE. Vida & Dorren [ @sovlbound ] [ ] .. Vida Waters Is Missing The Deceased Dorren Mormont.](https://64.media.tumblr.com/6391eb8c5c4cc63a5b98db53d3745cd3/0bc43324d0367391-6f/s500x750/28abd972b99a0fc70c30fa061430c36816628a37.png)
DRABBLE. vida & dorren [ @sovlbound ] [ 𝐫𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫 ] .. vida waters is missing the deceased dorren mormont.
![DRABBLE. Vida & Dorren [ @sovlbound ] [ ] .. Vida Waters Is Missing The Deceased Dorren Mormont.](https://64.media.tumblr.com/9626aa1a17d1b7669163b2307093dbdb/0bc43324d0367391-4a/s500x750/df64c271eec3448743dfa3c55d91e54f820fa4fc.png)
she heard the old news in wintertown as she purchased passage to bear island, but she didn't believe it. vida's brain scrambled to conjure up an explanation, or an excuse. some of the talk said that the heir had died of an illness, others day he was mauled by one of the bears, some laughed and said that he'd become so sour and bitter he'd just faded away. vida didn't laugh, she turned her eyes downwards with a twitch of her cheek, and slipped something unsavoury into the laughing man's drink.
vida didn't want to listen to any more of the gossip, and she boarded the small ship and spoke to no one. she felt sick, for the first time ever, at sea. she slept uncomfortably, unable to settle, too warm considering the northern chill. she wanted the vessel to hurry up and get there, to bear island, but after this alleged news .. she never wanted arrive at all. vida was out at the railing when the snow started, she'd blanketed herself in her winter cloak, she saw the island draw closer and closed her eyes at the change in temperature; icy winds whipping along the sea and carried from beyond the wall. sunrise came, cold and bright, and she was tired already. she'd long given up blaming it on just a poor sleep ...
she kept her head down as she approached, even her darling brego unrecognizable under his winter blanket and the snowy flurry — she paid someone to leave her wagon by the inn .. she'd camp away, hidden. she needed to know before someone saw her face, and she was noticed .. she needed to know if the rumours, (they weren't rumours, she was deluding herself), were true. she needed to know .. if it was true that dorren was gone. vida knew her way around, she knew which stable boy to trust with her beloved steed — she knew which path to take to get to the crypts without alerting anyone. she knew because of him.
and there he was. his serious brow, the roundness of his chin, even the cleft upon his nose.
he wasn't smiling, he never would again. vida pulled off a worn leather glove and rested a hand against the hard stone, cupping a face with no warmth and looking into eyes with no light .. a harsh statue, for a harsh man. "you should be somewhere snow can find you," she found herself murmuring aloud, "but your mother will be happy to see you again. speak to her warmly of me ... if you do." vida's words were somewhat clipped, the emotion that filled her .. drained out of her voice. her hand trembled against his stone features — and vida remembered when he told her of his secret .. how his hand trembled in hers, as her fingertips explored his scars; how the lines on his face showed with each vulnerable, painful emotion; she'd adored those lines. his features were still now, placid & serious, as she looked up at his face. it seemed a long, long time ago now. vida's back twinged from stretching upwards to reach for his face, and so she settled back down on her feet and dragged her hand down the arm of the statue and towards the boots, and the stone crypt that contained him; dorren.
vida followed the letters with her hands .. her sight had become blurry with tears, she didn't make a sound as wept; only her harsh breathing and the sound of her boots as she gently rested herself upon the likeness of dorren's booted feet. she couldn't sit on .. him .. but she wouldn't be able to rest in herself in his lap again, nor stand on his feet so he could teach her the stupid northern dances, or feel his arms around her anymore; she closed her eyes, catching her breath as best she could, as tears slipped off her cheeks and down onto her clothes, reaching up to find the unyielding stone hand. she wanted to hold it one more time, but that wouldn't happen. not ever again. "i'm sorry," she said quietly, barely audibly. the healer felt exhausted. from the now undeniable grief, from the length and duration of travel, exhausted from life. — "i'm so sorry," vida wiped her face roughly and found her fingers utterly frigid. vida'd been there, weeping, for over an hour.
there was a wet patch of tears on the cloth of her neckline, creating a chill to the warmth of the furs. they'd fallen upon her dress, two damp uneven circles stomach that she stared at for a while. the evidence of her weeping was cold now, but her tears were dry, she had none left it seemed — her eyes, her cheeks .. even her face hurt. vida's hands slipped down now, over her face and touching the furs that lined her hood (she wished they still smelled like him, they had. once...) and downwards. vida's cold, trembling hands smoothed over her stomach, fingers splayed over the growing bulge; the tiny babe inside her shifted around as if it knew her hands were there .. had she been apologising to dorren, or to his child that'd never meet him? — maybe to both. she was approaching seven months now; and no matter what happened now she would bear a snow, even if she left immediately she would still be in the north. but she knew that already, because she carried a bastard regardless. vida could have attempted to return earlier, but she didn't want to present as someone trying to weaponise a babe for a title — she: an adept healer who didn't take any contraceptive? laughable, unbelievably stupid.
![DRABBLE. Vida & Dorren [ @sovlbound ] [ ] .. Vida Waters Is Missing The Deceased Dorren Mormont.](https://64.media.tumblr.com/d650aa0f7de8e9852ed7e5cef9657958/0bc43324d0367391-44/s500x750/4075d62f0ece107cb4cfed5a28703b30b9ba39cd.gif)
and now .. her mind roared, in agony and panic ... maybe she should have returned sooner? dorren may have been alive, maybe it could have circumvented his death, maybe she should have come back the day she realised that she was with child. maybe... – maybe. the word circled her brain like some bitter-sweet, mocking laughter, haunting her. she'd never wanted to be a mother. her own childhood has been torn apart and tarnished, nonexistent. she never planned to wed either; she always knew any child of hers would be a bastard. maybe she hoped, somehow, the child would be protected in the north. never claimed by the man; dorren would marry a lady and be lord of bear isle .. but vida believed in her soul that the child, their child, would be protected by its' father, likely even loved – even if in secret.
she'd planned to go to dacey, maybe even before seeing dorren — but now she can't begin to contemplate how to face her. because, truthfully, vida didn't deserve a child, not the way dacey she did .. how could vida go to dacey, who already mourned her brother and would then have to face vida, swollen with a child that dacey already knew she never endeavoured to have; vida would now become a twisted reminder of dacey's own lost son, and elder brother. aching, violet eyes closed as a shuddering sigh wracked her, a dry sob burning her throat. moments ticked away, the healers brain spiraled into a deeper well of grief; beyond the expelled tears and beyond the physical exhaustion, she felt the weight of everything settling in her bones. shame, guilt, fear, rage, crushing hopelessness as she contemplated how suddenly alone she was. her body wanted so desperately to buckle under the agony of the knowledge that dorren was dead; to run and run, and run, and scream until her throat hurt and sounds came no more — but how could she? it wasn't just her anymore. horrible coping mechanisms were outside of her grasp, she could hate herself infinitely from this point on — maybe she would — but she couldn't let that hatred affect the child, it will be the little part of dorren she had left. she couldn't do that, she must not.
her body ached from sitting on the hard stone for so long, vida stood with a soft groan — her bones ached, and she was drained from sobbing, her throat ached with screams yet unreleased. the breath that now escaped her, white puffs of air floating in the dark crypt, felt hollow. she trembled, frozen in place — vida knew if she turned around, she'd see the pale likeness of the man she had loved so deeply, and recklessly, and stupidly. she forced herself to turn, lift her gaze to the carved features .. even though she could feel pieces of her soul crumbling away with each second she lingered; her jaw trembled and her eyes stung — it wasn't FAIR .. nothing ever had been fair for her. vida choked back the bile that rose in her throat; all the while the gods laughed at the comedic tragedy, the farce, that was her life. the sound of fabric ripping pierced the air as she tore a lengthy strip of purple fabric from the sleeve of her dress, the dye one she used often in her wardrobe .. distinctively hers .. and tied it around the hilt of the stone sword. a parting gift, a piece of her to rest with him, an apology. whatever she had planned to say, she couldn't remember, because she looked up at his stone gaze again and her bottom lip trembled as though she was a child .. even though her eyes burned, more tears force their way from her swollen, red eyes .. "i can't do this alone anymore, dorren. i– i'm .. scared," she whispered, croakily, her voice so small she didn't even recognise it when it reached her own ears. vida stared desperately at the statue's face, trying to bend the world to her will, unwrite what had happened .. the inescapable reality of beholding his crypt as she wept helplessly threatening to unravel her (if not for the child, it was all that kept her somewhat tethered).
" .. look at me, p-please," she begged brokenly
she reached out for the cold, unyielding stone. begging him to come back, begging the statue to come to life, twist the laws of the gods and men, so she could feel him hold her again; so he could smile and look at her; speak her name and make her feel strong, and loved. so she could hear him say i love you, and so she could say it back. " "please .. just look at me!" her breath caught in her throat as her tone flared in furious, pointless anger. it flashed like hot oil, and was gone as quick. the helplessness returned with an icy vengeance, she covered her face with her hands and sank slowly to the ground, legs curling underneath her — "why won't you look at me?" vida all but whimpered into her palms, she wasn't going mad (not yet) but she was desperately in pieces. and terrified, and ruined by all the blows that life had dealt her. she let out an aching sob; a scream was strangled in her throat and muffled by her hands, but it echoed into the crypt's darkness. she began to hyperventilate, tear-soaked face resting against unforgiving stone as she covered her mouth again — because vida knew the horrible truth burning in what's left of her heart: she doesn't have it in her to live anymore, not after this .. but the life in her womb means she no longer has a choice. she has to keep living, even if colours will never seem as bright nor the air as sweet. vida loathed herself for the next words that she whispered weakly against her lost love's tomb; a hoarse and fragile voice so unlike the one he'd once adored. "help me, dorren. — help me .. to not ha-hate our child for keeping me here. if not for it .. i would already be growing cold next to you. gods help me– i was never meant to be a mother."
I wanted to emulated a scene that one of my favorite artsist did of Batman and Black Mask which looks quite tense and is just pure perfection!
On my end, the main characters turned out alright (except I suck at rendering metallic textures like on Black Mask’s mask (pun intended)). The rest is MEEEEEEEH
I mean when you look at the post, you can see the colors blurring to convey the rain, the fog and the perspective. I obviously am noooooowhere near that skill level so I did my best !
Good thing is, I guess I figured how Black Mask’s thugs will be looking like 🤣🤣
AARON TAYLOR-JOHNSON “Kraven The Hunter” | 2023, dir. J. C. Chandor
the foreshadowing though
@madestars asked: TALK ABOUT SPYRO AND CYNDER
► ❪ MULTIMUSE ASK // accepting ❫
send in the name of a muse you don’t know at all and i’ll tell you…
Spyro
their general personality
Having lived the early years of his life believing he's a dragonfly, Spyro is a little naïve about how the world works, but that does little to stem his eagerness to learn and grow. Adventurous, courageous, and curious, even from a young age, it only bolstered as his past came into question, his recklessness only slightly kept in check by his more cautious brother Sparx. Even so, he's still more mature and serious than his partner dragonfly. What he lacks in cockiness and arrogance, he more than makes up for in sarcasm and a willingness to correct his past mistakes.
Spyro carries a great deal of compassion for others, that one individual always willing to help them no matter what happens. Rewards aren't needed, he's just happy to be a help to those in danger. He's generally optimistic, preferring to see the brighter side of anything he does than focusing too much on the dark situation he's found himself in. Slowly growing into his assigned role, he's always pressing to forge his own destiny as a Purple Dragon. He's still a young dragon though, and while smart and tenacious, he can be quite childish at times - not all the time but he has his moments.
their hobbies
Training to become a part of his clan's warrior caste, practicing his element powers (his favourite being fire), swimming, exploring the woodlands, tasting flowers, helping others.
things they like
His friends and family, fire, learning (particularly different cultures and history), dancing, flying, getting adrenaline rushes, seeing others smile, engaging in firefly traditions / customs.
things they dislike
Malefor, people close to him being threatened, being trapped, shrill noises, letting others down, failing to live up to expectations, when others constantly brings up Cynder's dark past after she was released from Malefor's control, blue peppers.
some things people do that annoy them
Misunderstandings, haughtiness, when someone is deliberately vague, Sparx's constant jokes and sarcasm, when Sparx stays up very late (because when Sparx is up, everyone has no choice in catching a wink of sleep).
how easily they form friendships
Spyro is a very caring dragon, it takes a lot for him to make enemies. He's social, willing to put himself out there, not afraid to start a conversation, and a predisposition to giving those he's meets a fair chance, so it’s easy for him to form friendships.
how easily they get crushes
Not that easily, to be honest. He's too focused on helping others and dealing with a war effort to pay attention to any developing crush he might have for someone. With that in mind, he may not notice when someone is flirting with him and can be pretty dense about romance… at first, at least.
the kind of person they get along with the best
People who can ground him, remind him to care about himself. He spends an exhausting amount of time putting others first. All things considered, he can get along with most people in general, but he does have a preference for patient people who have known him for a while.
the kind of person they get along with the worst
Is it a cop out to say villains / bad guys ? He just generally despises people who do things on purpose to hurt or demean others, and those who are cruel of their own free will.
whether or not they could get along with your muse(s)
Yep! We’ve already discussed a lot of this, but like Spyro’s just a friendly dude, he’d be up for talking to any muses you toss at him.
Cynder
their general personality
Cynder is a bit of a wild card. Overall she's very calm and collected, witty, resourceful, bold and cunning, but also very naive in certain aspects. Due to the way she was 'raised' during her brief stint as a newborn, very controlling and with a lot of expectations thrown on her shoulders, she never really experienced childhood like most of her peers. As she was stolen by Malefor's dark forces and born under his corrupting influence, Cynder was initially a weaponized monster, fitted with an unstable, biting personality, and a matching explosive temper. Nothing matter beyond the return of her master. Everything else was a means to that end in her eyes. After being freed, Cynder had never really had her own thoughts or had to fully think on her own before, having nothing to call 'herself' outside of Malefor. And once the weight of everything she'd done fully settled in, the trauma and guilt she felt nearly crippled her.
Due to her own personality still developing, she can often quickly shift moods. One moment she can be both serious and humble, or lighthearted and chaotic. It depends who is with her at the moment, and she’ll react accordingly. She's become very opinionated, not afraid to speak her mind about something though usually coming off extremely blunt and sarcastic when doing so. At times her irritable temperament shines through, subjecting those around her to snappy remarks. Still, Cynder has an intense sense of loyalty, and shows determination to help others and prove that she isn't the monster she once was. She wants to do all she can to keep those she cares about safe.
their hobbies
Currently she doesn’t have many hobbies, since her time was mostly devoted to war and is now spent focusing on stopping Malefor. However, this is something she's been working on ever since she first stayed at the Dragon Temple with encouragement and support from Ignitus and Spyro to try new things.
things they like
Freedom, independence, her personal space, time to herself, fish, the sky, feeling the wind on her scales, the idea of finding her own destiny.
things they dislike
Malefor, reminders of her past, being chained in any form (physical or psychologically), accusations of her still being evil and returning to Malefor's side, people trying to shove her back into the old path of expectations and servitude she'd been on for her entire life, the green snake collars keeping her tethered to Spyro, frail and weak heroines.
some things people do that annoy them
Passiveness, testing her patience, being extremely obnoxious / loud, being overly happy, Sparx's constant quips (sometimes she wants to whack him out of the air with her tail / wings so he can finally shut up… sometimes she follows through on the thought).
how easily they form friendships
Not at all. On a scale from 1 to 10, she's like a 3. She's reserved about reaching out to others, but if someone’s persistent, understanding and patient enough, doesn’t mind the occasional snippy comment, and they mush themselves next to her for a little bit (just to show you aren’t scared / intimidated by her / her past ), a friendship forming is possible!
how easily they get crushes
It's a similar case as above. It's not very easy as it’s also just not on her mind, but she does best with people who are heartfelt, genuine and understanding. She likely wouldn't realize any growing feelings, and so they seem to sneak up on her.
the kind of person they get along with the best
Other laid back people tbh ? Like you can be energetic but if you’re like chill with most things then like,, Neato. Cynder usually does best with someone who’s able to take her sarcasm and not think too much about it ? She also likes someone with a sense of competition, but not too much or they'll likely become a rival instead of a friend.
the kind of person they get along with the worst
Cynder can be rather distrusting due to her attitude growing up and the general sentiment directed towards her after she was freed from Malefor. Anyone who's a staunch believer in thinking she can't change will not get along with her. She also isn't fond at all of the overly eager, always happy, cliche protag type. Obnoxious people have a way of grating on her thin nerves and shortening her fuse in particular.
whether or not they could get along with your muse(s)
Lmao Cynder would be much more selective but the answer is still a resounding yes.
@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. ❞
➤ ` BELLION. ( deathburns )
@asteriskheart !
𝚃𝙷𝙸𝚂 , 𝙷𝙴 𝚃𝙷𝙸𝙽𝙺𝚂 , 𝙸𝚂 𝚂𝙸𝙼𝙿𝙻𝚈 𝙰𝙽𝙾𝚃𝙷𝙴𝚁 𝙱𝙰𝚃𝚃𝙻𝙴 . by name , he is condemned to it , war , & this is simply another obstacle to overcome . although , it feels different , now . no longer is he the same reckless youth — he’s become reckless in other ways . angry in other ways . his wrath is no longer directed at the son of the demon king , but at the tragic circumstances that led to everything that had gone wrong in the holy war . his anger is at the demon king himself for condemning him & his team to die — that was what they were good for in the eyes of that selfish bastard .
because the holy war led to nothing but more pain , more suffering & dead heroes & dead dreams .
a part of him wants to be angry . to feel that same wrath as he did in the past . when he stood in numb shock when he heard that meliodas had betrayed the demon clan . meliodas killed the commandments who were with him . meliodas killed anrak & bellion would never see his father again . instead , there is a dull ache , a bitterness , but not rage . who was he to talk about that ? how many celestials did he slaughter in his quest for vengeance ? in another life , maybe he would’ve chosen the same path as meliodas . found someone to adore ; the most unlikely person , & forsake his name & his rank & find a new dream .
he is no longer so angry , but envious . meliodas killed his father , meliodas committed many unforgivable sins . bellion had done so , too . but , meliodas had someone to soothe that pain — bellion’s wounds were raw & searing upon his soul . of all the things to envy meliodas for , he would’ve thought he wanted power . to see the world like meliodas did . what is the world he sees ? he never looked back at me . he never looked back at anyone … did he ? for so long , bellion imagined that meliodas saw a world from the seat of power . that he didn’t need to give a damn about anyone , because he had that power . but , in this single moment , he thinks that maybe , maybe he knows now . for this single moment where he stands silently , unwavering before the betrayer , he thinks that if he looked through those green eyes , he’d see the world just like he wanted — & it would be nothing like what he expected it to be .
so , what could he even say ? perhaps nothing , because a small part of him says that maybe this time , silence is enough . his wounds are raw & red upon his soul & he knows meliodas doesn’t need to hear him say a damn thing to know that . some things , bellion knew , were left better unsaid .
A small achievement claimed, the true horror of a reignited Holy War yet to grace the land. The Celestials regained their peace, the looming, encroaching threat of demons beat back a smidge after what some tenants of the Boar Hat now jokingly deemed the ❛ sky fish incident ❜. All members of the Six Knights of Black defeated, the Seven Deadly Sins' victory assured... Save for one. Unbeknownst to the others, the escape lingered in a tumultuous mind, even as he sat back and watched his comrades celebrate their new accomplishment, ruminating / festering, until a new consideration rested at his doorstep. The leader of the Knights put up more of a fight than expected, the notion not quite aligning with recollections buried deep. Even alone, he'd become too much of an unknown variable to be left aside for too long, a threat to be eliminated.
Setting aside time from the bar, calling it a day or two off for recovery ( a little white lie, what they don’t know won’t hurt, nishishi ! ) to soothe curiosities should anyone question deeper into concealed intentions. Turns out plastering on a grin to spin excuses or even traveling too far proved unnecessary.
Britannia's a wide place, yet the world is almost mockingly small, breaking that illusion of the sheer distance separating people from one another, allowing encounters to slip through fate's cracks. For him to chance upon the sole survivor who vanished amongst that ensuing chaos ? Poetic justice, others may say. Irony, he'd call it. Whatever name the feeling may brandish, it leaves a part of Meliodas drained all the same as the demon stands before him now.
A survivor despite the odds.
( you burn and burn, daring to fly closer to the brilliant light despite warning. yet you are not icarus of this story, for you loathe the sun too much to be enamored by it, hatred serving instead as your gravitational pull; when the inevitable fall sends your wounded form plummeting into the safety of the waiting darkness below, you find even that rejects and casts you aside, left wanting / drowning, branded as inconsequential and lacking )
In the presence of someone keen to a fragment of a past best left forgotten, who carries an understanding of some of the innumerable atrocities the hands of the Love committed, one silently bearing the scars left by a feckless youth, there's no need to put on a veil of lackadaisical happiness.
An apology could never be enough, insufficient to heal searing wounds inflicted, unable to be return what was stolen.
Still a small smile fixes upon his lip, posture at ease with relaxed shoulders and head inclined, a stark contrast to the razor thin / expectant focus trained on Bellion, watching, waiting.
( is your want satisfied now ? to finally have the vacant gaze of that frigid abyss look upon you as you were, not through like a fragile piece of glass, calculating your worth ? )
What a sorry pair the two of them make, he then muses. An empty thought at best. It is not a mirror staring back, it's shattered glass peeling back layers, his sins laid bare and reflecting their inherent cruelty, forcing him to look upon / accept what he's done. And look he does.
Something not quite toeing the line of curiosity tucked away in the lilt of his voice, Meliodas finds himself asking the same thing that's followed him over the many years slowly wasted away; an old, bitter friend content with taunting, choking, bleeding him out as it echoed on repeat, ❝ What do you plan on doing with yourself now ? ❞
➤ ` BELLION. ( deathburns )
𝚃𝙷𝙸𝚂 𝙸𝚂 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝚂𝙿𝙰𝙲𝙴 𝚆𝙷𝙴𝚁𝙴 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝙿𝙰𝚂𝚃 𝙱𝙻𝙴𝙴𝙳𝚂 𝙸𝙽𝚃𝙾 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝙿𝚁𝙴𝚂𝙴𝙽𝚃 . while they have both changed , there are constants , there will always be constants ( the universal truths — at the end of the day , ah , tonight they will split at the seams ) . meliodas was a constant . a face unchanged by time , although perhaps softer , now . or maybe it was melancholy . & bellion had been a constant , too — the same weary soldier as he had been all those centuries ago . an ambitious youth who wanted nothing more than to be a hero of his clan . & if not a hero , then a martyr . if not a hero , then at least a mark upon the world , a vessel for the memories of others , a living legacy .
because he had survived when his team had died . atra , galla , dahaaka , derocchio , pump — they were dead because of bellion’s ambitions ( where was he when they needed him ? how could he have done that to their souls ? when he had promised long ago to lead them ! ) . because of his inability to see past his own thirst for revenge . even baruja was gone . & it was bellion’s fault . what sort of hero did that ? yes , dead heroes & dead dreams & the constant reminder that he hadn’t been enough .
( he has never felt a power like that one , the son of the demon king . he has never felt burning like this . his own darkness falters & he has no choice but to land , to tend to his wounds & pick up the pieces of his broken pride )
what do you plan on doing with yourself now ?
he thinks of the humans who took him in , who didn’t ask questions . non-judgmental , they simply let him live . evidently , there was another village where demons had settled to live . they weren’t all such terrible threats . gentle souls , he owed them much . he made promises that he intended to keep . ❛ not too far from here , there’s a little village … where the humans offered me a place to stay . ❜ yes , he’s been craving a home for far too long . & hasn’t he been yearning for his dream ? there , it is not dead . not yet .
( the ochre demon is fast , but bellion is faster , & he buys time for a young man to get his elderly father out of the fray . he does not need both arms to fend off an orchre demon , & he doesn’t need both arms to fend off the two silver ones that came after . when he’s done , he finds that more people have gathered . a little girl beckons him over & asks him to kneel . she puts flowers in his hair & calls him a hero . his dream is still alive , just as the people still live . in the spur of the moment , he promises to continue to protect them . he sets his mind to it . anyone who knows him could say with certainty that he never gave up when he set his mind to a single goal . this time , it is a gentle one . a noble one . )
❛ i don’t know how to do anything other than fight — that’s all anyone could do back then . live or die , kill or be killed . but … ❜ he thinks of the comforting presence , strangely so , of the villagers . of trying some of their food . he thinks of how he fights still with himself to keep his instinct at bay . he promised , after all . ❛ i said i’d keep them safe . if all i can do is fight , then i need to have something to fight for . it’s … the closest i’ll get to the dream i had . judge it if you will … ❜ yes , it feels like he’s splitting at the seams ( spilling forth some soulful thing to the most unlikely person , & meliodas won’t be able to sew him back up , but maybe he needs this . maybe he needs to let the sorrow tear through him so something better can bloom in the space left in his chest , in his bones ) .
❛ but , did you really come here just to ask me what i was doing with my life ? ❜
Lostvayne's hilt twirls between deft fingers. The sole outward sign of his struggle to stay rooted to one spot as he waits, the judge, jury, executioner in all his splendor.
His old self scraps at him, claw marks left behind, a desire to end this miserable demon's pathetic life and seek despair only overshadowed when eyes blink shut, angelic smile dancing on the back of his lids, stifling the most violent urges, keeping them repressed and in check. It hit hard this time around. The aftereffects of perishing, emotions consumed, the hollow pit inside deeper and deeper. Nothing left behind but a crushing void where color should have bloomed, enriching his life with feeling beyond an endless sea of red.
( She underestimates him. Takes his silence as ignorance rather than preemptive of the fiery strike laying in wait behind the storm of blow raining down with a confident grin. How cute. Years trapped behind the seal must have made her forget the type of person he was / IS. Foolish. It’ll cost the both of them dearly.
❝ I'd prefer not to kill you unless I need to... ❞ Sweet words. Comforting, echoing a beloved's mantra. Utterly pointless. Empty platitudes spoken from a person no longer present. Meliodas is gnashing fangs, a thousand hopes crushed, a gnawing hunger. ❝ That's what the old me would have said. ❞
Smirk curling across a freshly revitalized face, betraying the malevolence locked behind hooded eyes, Full Counter unleashed with cutting intent to wipe old comrades from the face of the earth. The looks of their dismal realization / blood-curdling fear, he relishes it. A soothing balm to his soul, which cries out to please give him more, he needs more, a sadistic ache that can't be ignored.
You had revived, completed the hellish pilgrimage and crawled out of Purgatory, but did you truly taste life again until now ? )
But the admissions and inquiry in tandem still the rhythmic motion of the blade, raising brows. Distantly, the heaviness nestled in his chest is duly recognized as wearing the beginnings of surprise. Despite asking, surely the former Knight must have already guessed ?
❝ Hm ? Oh, that ? ❞ Free hand pulling from a pocket to thumb at a chin and eyes flick skyward, a low hum settled in his throat, hallmarks of one lost in thought. Enough Meliodas. Smother that tendency to play and get to the point, no use beating around the bush. Shoulders lift in a shrug. ❝ Nope ! I came to end it. ❞ Blunt and nonchalant, smile still fixed in place. The statement delivered like snuffing the candlelight out of another was as simple as blowing a gentle breeze over a weak flame, bearing as much relevance of discussing the weather. To one such as him, it may very well be the case.
❝ Though I can't say I was expecting to find you like, ❞ Another demon stripped of everything, their fragile balance torn asunder. Lost, confused, left to stumble through tattered remnants of the life he held now. ❝ ...this. That one’s on me, I suppose. Should have figured, given your little track record of predicaments. ❞
Shared history taps his shoulder, thoughts stray from his purpose. He considers once more. Bellion, huh ?
Chilling darkness banishing the searing rays of light / an afterthought at most. Even his youth could begrudgingly stomach the startling persistence of one once less than a blip on his radar. After all, while the goddesses thrived, the demons survived.
With such thinking, there's no denial of a demon’s tenacity. A trait lauded among his people for weathering their perilous environment, if he had the right to think of them anymore. Bellion and all his other subjects, Meliodas had failed them. He knew it then, buried deep down in a dark corner of his mind, but could admit it now, at least privately to himself. Propagating endless fighting wasn't the right answer. Meeting Elizabeth opened dimmed eyes to that. But in reaching for that forbidden ray of light, dredging enough awareness from the wasteland of his heart to even begin considering the value of life beyond the encompassment of his clan, his field of vision too had narrowed, blinding him to the plight of his own.
Failure of a hero, of a prince, of a son, of a lover, of a brother.
❝ Well now, this puts me in quite a spot. ❞ he says, murmured more to himself than the other. Empathy and hindsight, the devastating but effective hindrances pair. ❝ I can see where you're coming from, living with the humans, with people that could accept you. ❞ With a lofty sigh, arms cross. ❝ That's funny, looks like I'm the one wondering about what to do with you now. ❞