WHAT IS YOURS?

a solemn ceremony or act.

[bludrite]

MUSE LIST. 21+ DEAD DOVE.

welcome! feel free to send memes anytime, drop a message or write a starter. muses are there to be written with!

[skullfck]

If she feels bad for him, that means she hasn’t been bred into a full-blown sociopath yet. The key word here, of course, is yet. But there’s hope.

          “You’re right. I’m not very comfortable in here. And I don’t like what he’s doing to me. I didn’t say it was okay. He’s hurting me. From your drawings, it looks like he hurts you too. He shouldn’t be doing that to either of us. It’s wrong.”          There’s an urgency to Hawk’s voice now. He catches himself, wincing as he leans his forehead against the bars.          “I’m sorry. This all must sound pretty weird, huh?”

A strained smile. He shuts his eyes. His head is killing him. The doctor keeps shooting him up with heroin but won’t give him any goddamn Excedrin. 

          “Gonna write down that I seem crazy?” 

[bludrite]

"no, you don't seem crazy." it isn't surprised that hawk thinks that what's happening here is wrong. it is natural to be unhappy with these conditions -- but uncomfortable conditions are necessary for breakthroughs. you are isolating a subject, opening them up for study - it is not meant to be a nice process.

626 is an outlier - it is comforted by the progress reported in hyuntae's studies, happy here. the aches and pains of the experiments are worth it for learning more about itself and others. too see how much it is growing.

it smiles at him through the bars. then squints.

"how come you have a scar on your eyebrow? i don't have scars. am i special?"

[sacredterrors]

She smiles and sips her drink, studying Hugo closely as he makes his case. His reasoning is exactly as vain as she’d anticipated. In fact it seems that not much has changed at all, save for the addition of an otherworldly daughter he wants to “be there for.” There is no new wisdom to speak of; the melodrama with Willow didn’t provide him with any grand revelations, at least not as far as immortality is concerned. It only strengthened his resolve by solidifying his fear.

How did Lazarus know she was ready? All these years—these centuries—and she’s never once asked him. She always feared his answer would be unsatisfactory. Anticlimactic. It’s something she likes to ruminate on by herself, an eternal mystery she can chew on, meditate on. It’s important to have something like that, she thinks. A stand-in for faith in the echo chamber of eternity. 

Valentina glances out the window, admiring the city below. 

          “You know, dear,”          she finally says,          “I’ve turned so many since I came to be the way I am, under many circumstances. The ones you know of mine were made impulsively, on whims that, for better or worse, felt necessary at the time. I haven’t gotten any such impulse with you. I don’t know why that is, but I know to trust my intuition. On paper, you’re a wonderful candidate; there’s no reason for me to deny you, should I ever be in the mood to have another son. But every time you speak with me, I keep getting the sense that you’re not ready. There is something inside of you that calls to me, certainly, but it’s… not fully formed. I only ever get glimpses. Before you can be transformed in this way, there is another transformation that needs to take place. It’s hard to put into words. I don’t imagine you understand what I’m getting at.”

[bludrite]

i haven't gotten any such impulse with you. his pride takes a hit. one that shows on his face...

..."like a slapped arse" comes to mind. something his uncle used to say. crestfallen would be a better descriptor, a taste of rejection for the man who has never cared enough about much else to have faced the feeling more than a handful of times.

she doesn't want him. at least not as he is, not yet. hugo doesn't know how not to take that a little personally.

valentina continues on with her reasoning - and he does listen, he does. he just can't get the melody of her distance out of his head. he needs to prove himself in some unknowable and cosmic way, or perhaps show a vulnerability he swears even to himself he does not possess.

he's never felt like such a disappointment.

"i can only imagine a goalpost with legs." he says bluntly. the anger is not in his voice, nor in the air. just a stale trace of entitlement being wrung out of him. "what about me isn't fully formed enough for you?"

[ohfiendangelical]

@bludrite SAID:     you see? i told you there was nothing to be afraid of. - Camille     ☆     mulholland drive sentence starters     ☆     send FANMAIL!

          “Yeah, sure, sure, I just—I mean…”          He walks a few more paces away from Emma’s door, lowering his voice.          “You know how she gets. I thought she might be mad at me. I haven’t visited her in a minute, and I fell off the radar shortly after she went out of her way to help me find Willow belowside, so… I don’t know.” 

Zero feels around in his pocket for a cigarette, glancing back at the door. It did go well. It always goes better than he anticipates. Emma is very gentle and understanding with him, even when he doesn’t deserve it. Maybe she just knows she doesn’t need to put in the effort: ever the Catholic, he’ll carry the guilt around.

His pockets are devoid of cigarettes. He grumbles something to himself, then looks back at Camille.          “Wanna go on a hot date to the liquor store with a movie star?”

[bludrite]

emma's temper is explosive, it's true. it's one of camille's favourite things about her! the tendency to swing to sudden and unexplained fury, never knowing when or how it will happen next -- isn't that kind of thrilling? isn't that, like, kind of sexy of her? camille always has to be alert, ready at a moment's notice to sooth her... god. cammy can't help but swoon at the thought. she loves a needy blonde.

speaking of needy blondes. pretty boy can't spend five minutes alone to get himself some cigarettes?

cammy smiles, all bunny teeth.

"sure, sweetiepie." a weakness is a weakness. "emma's scheduled for daily lunchtime affirmations at three o'clock, but you can have me until then."

off they go. camille was born to ride shotgun in cars like zero's - and sliding down her heart-shaped sunnies to wink at everybody they stop at a red light beside.

"this is sOooOo fast and furious. rev your engine! challenge that guy to a street race!"

[galfrey]

THE HENBANE [two/∞]

[holyrots]

That's why me and Wraith work so well together. Salvator shifts in his seat, unsettled by Supertonic's spiel. He wonders if Wraith would agree with the picture Supertonic paints; the one of two cousins working together in perfect harmony. Doubtful.

Worse yet, Supertonic's aimed wink doesn't need music to have an effect. Salvator goes noticeably rigid. It takes him a second too long to look away, as if he thinks he can still pretend he didn't see it.

He really, really wishes Wraith was here.

"Why?" A blunt question, avoiding eye (and abs) contact. Salvator's thinking about Wraith and Spectre—because of course he is—and the cameras, the campaigns, always hunting for another story. "You don't think there's such a thing as too much attention?"

[bludrite]

"no. the more people look at you the less they see what you're really doing."

half of this business is the show; if supertonic saves a hundred people but the camera only catches three, he may as well have left the other ninety-seven to die.

"they become obsessed with the image. i can do anything, so long as they're dazzled by the version of me they've convinced themselves they see."

if wraith were here, she'd recognise seeker in her own cousin's words. since she isn't, he gets away with this near-villainous rhetoric.

[pseughost]

A bit of hesitance. This realm, in the rolling hills between earth, sky, and sea, is his own, built up from the ground with his own two hands. Those who have made a home here are his own, too; they are his family, his lovers, his friends—his everything. Donovan is protective of what’s his, and distrustful of his ethereal kin. He knows how they work, what they do. He’s one of them.

And her lack of an answer does not go unnoticed. 

But he won’t be inhospitable. She’s done no harm so far, and anyone is welcome here. He smiles, warm, and opens his arms to beckon her onto his meadow.

          “Of course. Come, sister. I’m sure everyone would love t’meet ye.” 

[bludrite]

faith exists on the good-will of others. on their prayers she will leave them better than she finds them. he doesn't trust her, but he doesn't turn her away. she can work with that. one bare foot in front of the other, she stays in tread with him, dances from one corner of his eye to the other like an aura migraine, and is careful to never set a toe out of his pace.

she is not an invader, see? she just wants to be shown around.

"i lived in a place like this once."

[christinaguilera]

Robert Pattinson attends the Premiere of "The Drama" in Paris (March 24, 2026)

[wickdcreatures]

 there  is  an  unreadable  look  on  holly’s  face  as  those  tears  that  once  clung  to  her  lashes  now  fall  down  her  cheeks.  heather  notices  the  look,  even  at  her  angle  —  she  knows  she  has  worn  the  same  face  before.  a  sort  of  indignance  only  a  fairie  can  understand.  she  knows  there  is  likely  going  to  be  a  storm  after  this  —  a  full  blown  faerie  tantrum  —  and  there  is  a  part  of  her  that  feels  compelled  to  warn  hugo  of  the  impending  disaster.

should  she,  though?  he  is  the  one  that  insists  he  loves  faeries  —  does  he  even  really  understand  them?  heather  supposes  only  time  will  tell.

with  fists  balled  at  her  sides,  not  unlike  a  moody  teenager         (  because,  in  many  ways,  that  is  what  she  is  at  the  end  of  the  day  ),       holly  storms  to  her  room  without  another  word,  ignoring  her  father’s  protests  and  scolding  as  she  slams  the  door  behind  her.

so  now  it’s  only  hugo  and  heather  in  the  living  room,  heather  still  tied  on  the  floor  and  looking  absolutely  over  it.  after  a  moment  or  two  of  a  shared  gaze,  heather  uses  her  eyes  to  gesture  to  the  binds  around  her  wrists  and  ankles.       are  you  going  to  untie  me?  or  what? 

[bludrite]

hugo senses it: an impending, horrific inconvenience. holly will react poorly to being disciplined (as any child would) and he will have to simply endure. it is what a father does, after all. at least the good ones. he watches her leave, listens for her footsteps until the bedroom door slams. good. he wont have to wonder where she's run off to later, once heather is dealt with.

quiet between them. strange. now that she's here and holly is out of the way, his apathy returns to him.

he sighs through his nose and steps toward her, crouching just in front of her to inspect the bindings. he'll deal with the gag, first of all. see if she has anything to say to him while he unties her ankles.

"hello." it's all very british. proper, polite, removed. keeping calm and carrying the fuck on. as though she's just come home from a night out with the girls, back to domestic bliss. "you look nice. i've been trying to call you."

[vviederholung]

{via}

[wickdcreatures]

holly  jumps,  her  eyes  going  wide,  her  smile  vanishing  completely.  she  doesn’t  think  she  has  ever  seen  him  this  angry  before,  at  least  not  at  her.  certainly  not  at  her.  her  eyes  well  with  tears  so  fast  it's  almost  as  though  she  was  waiting  for  an  excuse  to  cry.

“  wh-what?  why  are  you  so  upset?  i  thought  you  would  be  happy…  you  always  say  how  much  you  miss  her…  now  she’s  here!  ”

heather  watches  from  the  floor,  quiet  and  unmoving.  her  mascara  streaks  down  her  face  but  her  own  tears  have  long  dried  up.  holly  whines,  turns  on  the  waterworks,  and  heather  can’t  help  but  to  roll  her  eyes.  honestly,  she’s  surprised  holly  hasn’t  tried  something  like  this  sooner.

“  don’t  be  mad…  you’re  supposed  to  be  happy  to  get  a  gift!  aren’t  you  supposed  to  be  grateful  to  get  a  gift  even  if  you  don’t  like  it?  i  can  find  spells  to  make  her  stay!  ”

a  muffled  protest  from  heather.  holly  puts  a  finger  in  her  face  to  shush  her. 

[bludrite]

he's never been angry in front of her. he's never so much as expressed annoyance in front of her. yes, he complains about heather being gone often enough, but to go out of her way to kidnap her...

this is going to ruin everything. heather is going to blame him for this and he'll never be forgiven for whatever it is that she's mad at him about.

"don't!" hugo barks. it's the volume of his voice that reminds him that she really is just a child in a lot of ways, no matter how grown up she looks. he lowers himself to a stern speaking voice, but his glare remains sharp. "holly. this was very bad of you."

baby words for a baby brain. he elaborates after a short pause. calmer:

"of course i miss your mother. you know that." he looks at heather. does she believe him? does this sway her at all? "i love her. but this is wrong, holly. i told you never to bother her."

[wickdcreatures]

“  hey,  daddy?  so,  i  was  doing  a  little  bit  of  research  —  ”       holly  hops  onto  @bludrite ’s  bed,  happy  and  cheerful  as  ever,  full  of  energy  despite  how  early  in  the  morning  it  is,       “  i  heard  that  the  holiday  easter  is  soon,  and  that  it’s  human  tradition  to  give  gifts.  it’s  not  eggs  or  chocolate  but  i  have  something  for  you!  ”

she  takes  his  hand,  ignoring  all  sleepy  protests,  pulling  him  out  of  bed.  down  the  stairs,  the  hall,  to  the  living  room  where  a  strange  shape  lays  on  the  floor,  wrapped  in  darkness.  holly  beams  up  at  hugo,  little  bits  of  the  moonlight  that  trickle  through  the  windows  make  her  eyes  sparkle.  she’s  poised  right  by  the  lightswitch,  barely  able  to  contain  her  excitement.

“  in  truth,  i  didn’t  want  to  wait  until  christmas.  i  know  that  would  be  the  more  appropriate  day.  ”

the  lights  are  flicked  on.  the  shape,  once  concealed  in  darkness,  is  suddenly  revealed.  heather,  bound  and  gagged,  clearly  taken  straight  out  of  a  nightclub  by  the  little  dress  she  wears.  her  eyes,  though  filled  with  contempt,  are  still  bleary  from  whatever  she  must  have  taken  while  she  was  there.

“  tada!  ”         holly  sings  brightly,        “  do  you  like  your  gift?  ”

[bludrite]

nobody ever said hugo scrivener cannot be surprised by something. as apathetic as he is, some things - like physical pain or shock - cannot simply ignored the way he ignores all else. his groggy, grumbling protests at being woken so early makes him even slower to get his head in gear to react rationally.

his jaw drops, eyes going wide as he sets eyes on that head of perfectly blonde hair, and realises that his wife sits before him.

"holly--" he sounds horrified. worse; furious. he peels his eyes from heather, though his attention darts between the pair of them in this sudden panic as he thinks to himself: they cannot be in the same room. "what the fuck have you done?!"

he surprises himself with this fury -- this protectiveness. heather has been nothing to him since even before holly was born - avoidant, petulant, ignoring him for reasons beyond his control all of this time - but he can't help it. he told her he would keep control of holly.

perhaps it's not so much about heather as it is about his own child disobeying him. he'd prefer this explanation to the idea of caring.

"i told you to leave her alone! why would you do this?!"

[skullfck]

          “It’s good he’s nice to you. He’s not so nice to everyone else.”          He tries to word it delicately.          “He’s a … bad man. A very bad man. You’re really lucky. But—” 

She’s writing something. He stops himself short, distracted.

          “...What’re you writin’ there?” 

It doesn’t surprise him that she would ‘take notes.’ Children mimic what they see. His kids wear sunglasses inside and say words that get them in trouble at school. It’s cute, in a sick sort of way, to see what she’s picked up from the doctor, the way she echoes his quirks and mannerisms. It would be a hell of a lot cuter if he wasn’t on the wrong side of this cage. And if the implications weren’t so fucking unsettling and sad. 

(And another thing: Reports? For fuck's sake, let her read The Very goddamn Hungry Caterpillar.)

[bludrite]

it likes reports! it finds these studies fascinating, inspiring and awesome in the most literal sense. the human brain reacts to challenges in such interesting ways -- the human brain invents these challenges, which 626 finds even more interesting. they even sometimes torture each other for knowledge.

and of course, the ethics are always a footnote in these reports to 626. the ends justify the means, and in the end, if everybody is so concerned with being good and humane and kind, they wouldn't be anywhere near where they are now with their understanding of the world.

hawk tells it doctor namkung is a bad man. it is too concentrated on its handwriting to reply, but the thought does cross its mind: are you not also a very bad man? it glances up from its little book after punctuating.

"...just my notes. i said that i feel bad for you because you're not very comfortable in there." it probably shouldn't know that 626 is able to help it leave. it wont do it, and the begging would just be sad.

[graveliings]

   ⋆⁺₊⋆🪦  ⋆⁺₊       the  generosity  is…  overwhelming.  the  rifle  strap  is  slung  back  over  her  body,  the  gun  safely  tucked  up  back  behind  her  now  —  if  he  is  going  to  put  his  weapon  away,  she  supposes  she  should  do  the  same.

if  what  he’s  saying  is  true,  and  all  of  those  supplies  are  really  in  the  bag  she  tentatively  reaches  for,  that’s  more  than  she  has  had  in…  in  a  while.  eyes  as  wide  as  saucers  as  they  dance  back  and  forth  between  him  and  the  bag  he  extends  to  her.  she  takes  it,  carefully,  as  if  it  might  bite  her  should  she  move  to  fast.  as  if  he  might  pull  a  knife  on  her  and  —

“  a-all  of  this?  are  you  sure?  ”        doesn’t  he  need  it?  is  he  better  prepared  than  her?  she  feels  like  she  could  cry.  she  puts  the  bag  down  on  the  floor,  crouching  over  it  as  she  opens  the  main  pouch  to  see  what’s  inside.

despite  the  hunger,  the  medkit  is  the  first  thing  she  pulls  out.  she  makes  quick  work  of  peeling  the  crusty,  bloody  sock  off  of  her  wounded  palm,  trying  her  best  to  patch  herself  up  one  handed  —  working  with  a  feverish  pace,  like  she  expects  everything  to  be  swiped  from  her  at  any  moment.

“  i  saw  a  couple  of…  them…  around  there  last  night.  inside  the  building,  in  the  trees,  ”       it’s  why  she  isn’t  there  instead  of  here.        “  i  don’t  know  how…  how  useful  i’d  be.  those  things,  i…  it  doesn’t  matter  how  much  i  see  them,  or  how  many  times  i  run  into  them  i…  i  panic  really  bad  when  they  are  up  close.  i  don’t  want  to  get  you  killed,  especially  after…  ”       she  gestures  to  the  bag  ripped  open  like  a  sacrifice  in  front  of  her.  she  returns  to  her  wound,  still  struggling  to  wrap  it.   

[bludrite]

"goddamn. let me-" he winces, watching her struggle with the bandage is more painful than any injury he's gotten in the last few years. while she talks, he steps forward again, takes her hand softly in his - and corrects the massacre she's making of the bandage.

he doesn't think about how terrifying this might be - he just wants to make sure she doesn't waste any more of her clean supplies. jay forgets that not everyone he meets is as friendly as he is, or as comfortable with accepting help. it's only a quick adjustment. he pats her on the hand and steps away once he's done.

"there. you were makin' a meal of that." he smiles again, trying to be reassuring. "...look. how about you come with me, keep a lookout outside and i'll clear out the undead inside. that way, you wont have to worry about freezin' 'n' panickin', and then we both get our supplies and go on our way?"

[ohfiendangelical]

If his head were on straight the obvious witchery would make him nervous, but his head’s on backwards and he’s not afraid of anything. The world is the open mouth of a large cat and he’s her cub, cradled comfortably in that maw. He trusts the process. He trusts faces that exist on celluloid. Saint Marilyn is watching over him.

Is this real? Does it matter? He opens his mouth, sticks out his tongue, the altar boy ready to receive. He kneels as an afterthought.

More proof that his head is on backwards: he feels for the worm about to descend his throat. He is not nearly as concerned with the human lives he devours, those who can perceive the end. It’s only now that he hopes his stomach is a good resting place, warm and womb-dark. 

[bludrite]

rosemary smiles at his obedience and drops the worm onto his tongue before taking her own. she tilts her head backwards and swallows the creature alive. the taste of dirt lingers, but she doesn't mind too much. her mind is already expanding, and the door swings open without the necessary key - it reveals the gore of the house:

the decay is just as bad inside as out and the building is rigged with neon strips along every corner where the ceiling meets the wall. a collection of people smoke cigarettes in the entryway, hair gelled and spiked in all directions. mesh tank tops and tattoos cover their chests, leaving a perfect slit of midriff above torn jeans and battered combat boots. they remain faceless - just fans, worshippers, lenders. at the end of the hall it gets more crowded.

"hold my hand," she says, and leads him inside.

it's aquarium blue. they swim through bodies and smoke and sound toward the centre of the crowd. zero's skin will start to crawl with hands. the crowd is hungry for him. they pull at his clothes, feel for the muscles of his back, his arms. rosemary is untouched. she glances over her shoulder at him and smiles.

"it's nothing to be scared of. they'll only take as much as you give them as we pass through."

[skullfck]

His stomach leaps to his throat and then drops somewhere deep and dark. The little girl is an experiment. No mother, no father, just that man with the dead-fish eyes and no empathy for anything that isn’t made up of the same stuff he is. Hawk thinks he might puke. He feels the acidic burn of something in the back of his throat but swallows it, not wanting to alarm the child, who smiles proudly as if she’s told him something else entirely, something wonderful.

Is it nice having a family? Fuck. She needs to get out of here. She needs to run as far away as her little legs will take her. 

          “It is nice. Maybe you’ll have one someday. Everybody needs somebody who cares for them.”

[bludrite]

this specimen is deeply unhappy. it seems more and more distressed the more it speaks to 626 -- which is something it is beginning to notice about many other people it speaks to, when it gets the chance. dc-2 had the same reaction. horror, sorrow. it wonders if this one - hawk - would prefer to be left alone.

"doctor namkung cares for me." it smiles. maybe that will sooth it. "i'm never ever hungry and i can read all the reports that i want."

it doesn't know why it cares if hawk is sad. it scribbles this observation down in its notes: subject is sympathetic, but not enough to help escape.

[sacredterrors]

          “Tell me more. What else is on your mind, then? Don’t be shy. Be forthcoming with me and I will be forthcoming with you.”          Valentina smiles, her manicure tapping absentmindedly against the table.          “Our fears can’t be the only thing that motivates us.”

The ones borne from fear suffer the most. This is a lesson many of them learn the hard way. Whether it’s their own or their maker’s, fear colors their existence, dooms them. Willow, even as an accidental turning, came to be due to the fear of her lover—and look how that’s going. Zero himself was a frantic move on Valentina’s part, ill-advised, and it has followed him all his life. 

When she was young, she didn’t understand why Lazarus withheld the gift for so long. All his wisdom-spewing sounded like nonsense, the haughty philosophical sermons of a man who lived for too long unchecked in his own mind. Perhaps that’s how she comes across now, coyly gatekeeping eternity. Maybe that’s how everyone comes across once they reach an impossible age. Hopefully Hugo is clever enough to understand that his elders have their reasons; they know better, and the gift cannot be given lightly.

Her drink is delivered. She takes a slow sip, watching Hugo. It’s delicious, but it certainly doesn’t taste like it’s worth three hundred dollars; then again, these things are never worth the price. 

[bludrite]

"the opportunities that kind of time would afford me are undeniable. the kind of music i could produce, the influence i could have -- time is a very limited resource, but with an abundance of it who knows what i could make?" forthcoming indeed. "strength, power - also very tempting factors..."

he sips his own drink, skirting around a memory he prefers not to recollect. ...i think you want immortality just to wear her down. i think you want to take her somewhere where nobody can stop you.

"--i'm a father now, too, and she's a very special girl. i'm not sure what the lifespan of something like her is - but i'd very much like to be there for her as long as possible."