bludrite

[bludrite]

going away for a few days, bringing laptop but spending time with family so replies could be spotty.

[bludrite]

ʚїɞ Faith Seed (7/?) ↬ The Bliss.

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the angels are not dead. faith hears them speaking through their muzzles, watches them sleep, rise, work, fall, sleep, rise, work, fall... they are happy there, in the bliss. faith sings to them, faith tells them what they are working toward and they see her vision so clearly it's like they're living it already. their bodies, their vessels, are doing what needs to be done so their souls can be at peace...

doesn't that sound familiar?

abby doesn't have hope. hope died for her when she found her father like that. peace, for abby, is a never-ending war. faith can't allow her to infect their new eden. she must be redirected. the war is with the end, not with the project, not with the father... the angels have hope. hope, really, is all that they have.

she wont be swayed, though. with a handful of bliss powder, faith draws closer to abby, sighing. disappointment is clear on her face and in her voice as she speaks, hopping from one step to the next.

height does not scare faith. she can fly. the ground will never catch up to her, all the way up here.

"oh, abby..." tsk, tsk. poor, poor abby. not ready yet.

we all know that the angels get back up because of the bliss. they are able to work with shattered bones, punctured organs. it's only if they hit their heads that they don't recover. maybe they don't really climb to the top at all. a hard fall from anywhere would be convincing enough, once faith's roots have settled in.

"don't be scared when you fall. i'll be there to catch you."

faith blows a dust-cloud of bliss into abby's eyes. the wind does the rest as wings spread out from faith's shoulders and she floats above, while abby plummets down, down, down below.

she almost loses her footing with a particularly strong gust of wind. her boot skids off the edge of the scaffold, and when she centres herself once more and allows the latest wave of nausea to settle in her stomach (fuck, she's gonna puke when she's back on the ground—) she focuses on the way faith's hair flickers in the breeze. it's rickety, and abby can hear each nut and bolt scream beneath the extra weight, but she sets the last explosive and stares back down at her.

(there she is again — faith tries to manipulate her. she sees her fears and twists them against her, and honest to fucking god, she thinks that it's faith pushing her feet out from under her. she looks innocent, sweet, calm, with soft fingers that trace the bridge of her nose and across the crest of her cheek, but beneath it all, each touch is jagged, cut like glass. and all abby can do is try and remember that, even if it threatens to pull away from her each time she looks at her.)

"you've already killed them — don't you get it? you don't give them hope. hope is... dangerous. they're dead already." she takes a cautious step toward her, leaving her arm outstretched and pressed against the cool hard surface of the marble (don't look down, even when you can't find your feet. don't fucking look down, or you'll never get back there. she'll let you fall. she's right.)

"they have to die. and so does he. i told you — i'm going to kill every last one of you. your angels. your peggies. i'm going to kill you all. so tell joseph — he can go fuck himself."

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source

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"as if you'd let me get that close." faith's voice tilts on the verge of teasing. "if i came to you with a scalpel and bandages in hand, would you honestly let me dig it out?"

a lion and a mouse, right? faith is the harmless helper, putting herself in danger for the sake of the big scary lion... or is she a wolf? if faith were really here, wouldn't abby find it in her to strangle the life out of her?

any of her brothers and she would. what's stopping abby now? a sense of faith's victimhood, or does she really seem that pitiful and harmless?

so many questions. all faith can offer abby is questions. all abby wants is questions. when all of the answers are given and there is nothing left to smash to pieces, abby is going to crumble. she will be left with nothing but the scars and the blood on her hands and the scraps of faith's confirmation gown beneath her fingernails.

no father, no nothing. she might not even be alive, in the end. and what a waste that is.

"do you want me to, abby? take care of you?" bet you don't.

it's exhausting. her leg hurts — the result of a run-in with some culties down by one of the wilderness cabins. joy's nice n easy, or whatever the fuck they call it when there's a window hanging off its hinges and a boarded up front desk in reception that's got more bullet holes in than an angel mass grave.

"you have to let me go." it's less about the door, which makes her brow furrow each time she thinks she's heading toward it and finding that faith has somehow spun her around again, and more about this deep urge within her to follow her. faith picks at her like a scab. every time she thinks it heals, that asinine scent fills her nose and she's back with a girl that's half-there wrapped in a sundress. (the closer she looks, the more off-putting it is. she wasn't meant to get this close — within the bunker walls and within an arm's breadth of her. truth be told, she can't fucking tell if she is here or whether she's going to wake up on the side of the mountain to a dying fire and the howl of a coyote. no one was supposed to get this close, but even now, even when she stands before her with an arm outstretched and that same worry-line creasing her forehead, abby can't say if she's close at all.)

faith touches her and she still can't tell. there's the soft imprint of her hand on her cheek, the hint of warmth that she's trying to figure out if she's felt before, and her larger palm closes around faith's to pull it down from her face.

"you aren't going to take care of me." she has to focus on what she knows is real. pain. the hot throb in her leg tells her what's real, and when she focuses on it, she feels like she sees a way out of the mirage. "because if you were, you would've taken the bullet out."

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faith, beyond tears and earthly pains, stands just out of abby's reach. the father will punish her for what transpires here. abby knows it. faith makes sure she knows it. her influence is faint when the wind is strong, but she persists with pillowy tears streaming like starlight from the eyes. they glint red, like the blinkers on the bombs, like the countless fires abby has set on this side of the region.

"the angels are happy in the bliss. we are all together in the bliss. why can't you see that? when you detonate these explosives, debris will fall from the sky -- "

and the lord sent thunder and hail, and fire ran down to the earth; and the lord rained hail upon the land of egypt... the hail struck down everything that was in the field in all the land of egypt, both man and beast. and the hail struck down every plant of the field and broke every tree of the field.

"--you're going to ruin so much. you're going to kill so many. and the angels -- the angels, abby, they're going to lose their way."

taking them from their peaceful rest. faith tugs on abby's heartstrings. she keeps her grounded to the marble with the weight of her words.

"i don't want to have to let you fall."

she's heard about the leap of faith. she's heard about the pilgrimage, up the side of the mountain on a dirt path that's taken so many souls before. she's heard about the ache, and those that die on the side of the road from hunger, thirst, from the ratchet emptiness that the bliss curbs the edge from. the bliss is a lie — she has to tell herself this with every step, but it rings true through the fog that muddies her brain. it's a lie. there is no soft, pillowy calm behind all this. the brothers reign with chaos, and when abby pulls herself up, with broken fingernails and a nausea that strikes her in waves, she has to cut through it all.

"get out of my head." you're breaking my heart. it stings in a way she knows it... doesn't? or shouldn't. the two intermingle, and when she weaves in between her own bloody handprints upon stark white marble, she can only ignore it. she'll break her heart, because she has to. because there are people hoping she will.

"i'm not playing your games any more." when she scrambles to her feet, the wind tries its best to knock her off course (there's no lighthouse in this harbour — she's learnt it now. she's learnt that the only way to get through this is to ignore all the warning signs. there's more at stake than a marble statue.)

"your angels are dead, faith. they're beyond... hope. and you're going to hate me if i do this, but i think — you'd hate me if i didn't, too. i'm not breaking your heart — you're breaking your own. and i don't trust you." she's shaking. the ground feels like it's about to give out from beneath her feet, and when she slowly stands, slowly gains her balance and takes a moment to steady herself against a marble jowl, she nods. "i don't."

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faith smiles. to the bliss-tainted mind it might seem sweet. if you look closely, though, you can see the gaps in her teeth. the acidity behind it, the rot. fuck you, fuck your brother. abby is so much like tracey sometimes it makes her want to drown her in the henbane. she probably could do it. make an angel of her, a mighty, unkillable warrior of heaven -- of retribution.

she could take the sin out of her mind, the rage repurposed into something that will till the soil, keep them all safe... faith doesn't want to have to do that. faith wants to keep abby pure, she wants abby with her on her own terms, not her brothers.

fuck your brother. fuck the both of them. the living ones, that is.

jacob would have a field day with abby. he would make her into a mindless machine. she can't allow abby to cross the threshold into his territory.

"when i came to edens gate, i was broken..." faith murmurs. "abby, i was like you. only i didn't have your strength, your resolve... the father saved me. the father gave me a purpose. the father helped me to see who it was i needed to be to be strong and survive...

can't you say the same? aren't you stronger now?

i want to save you from what they'll do to you if they catch you. if you come willingly, you'll be given the same choice i was. you can fly. you can fly, just like me. leave all of that other stuff in the dirt, in the dark... i'm offering you choice. ease. hope...

family. a place with me. what could be easier than that?"

"don't you know there's an easier way?" / @bludrite.

there's an easier way. there's always an easier way. faith looks at her and offers out a hand like it's the holy grail. the last rites of someone who has nothing else to live for. abby likes to believe that isn't her — there's always something else out there, even if the only thing rolling around in her brain is the death of her father. there's something else. there has to be something else. (but she doesn't see it. she's trained for this. time and time again, hour and hour of pulling weights and running laps. it ekes into her mind like a sickness that she just can't shake — a flu that takes over her whole body like a fucking infection. she sees faith and sees only her father — helpless, standing over an operating theatre and a bullet lodged tightly in the base of his skull. she sees that no matter how she looks at it.)

"if i wanted easy, i'd have taken your bliss six weeks ago."

her life is now this: destroy, destroy, destroy. the remnants of joseph's sculpture echo in her brain, leaving her half-deaf and half-dead beneath the rubble and shaking when she peers over the edge of the marble. it makes her nauseous now — she sees the height, she sees the way everything below her looks like ants crawling under a microscope and all she can do is steel herself, stare back at the chips in each marble path up the side of it, and remember exactly why she comes here.

"you don't want easy. you've never wanted easy."

the bliss is like a hug. that's the long way she can explain it – when she blinks through each heavy waft of poison knocking at the far ends of her mind, she can only see warmth. (faith offers her something new — acceptance. faith offers her forgiveness, and calm, and all abby can do is sink heavy fingers into the corners and rip it off the stem of her spine.)

"—fuck you. fuck your brother."

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oh faith we're really in it now

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"in your way? abby... i've been keeping you safe. i've been trying to guide you." it's all so reasonable when faith speaks. she's speaking with logic, to a logical mind. a beautiful mind. faith loves abby. she loves her anger, her righeous heart, her strong will... she just needs to be set on the right path. she needs to see.

with a small frown on her face, faith turns abby's cheek to look down at her. turn her around... was she walking to the door? where is the door now? they're in the woods. no, a bunker, no, at the heavenly gates. rest your bones, abby. the end is so close. just stay. it would hurt them both so much if abby just stayed.

faith whispers all of this and more in one of abby's ears. her voice is a butterfly-wing flutter.

"i've been with you every step of the way. let me take care of you now, too." if she stops resisting, she can get the help she needs. the father provides, the father forgives. it isn't too late.

she focuses only on the ache in her leg. it brings her clarity through the muddy haze of bliss that seems to suffuse through the walls here. it creeps, slowly at first, but with eight limbs and tight fingers that claw into the corners of her brain with each sluggish grunt and limp from one leg to another.

she has been warned — faith is not to be fucked with, as sharky told her. her name follows a wince from the resistance, and a subdued nod when they remember all those who have fallen to the bliss. she stares back, cold and hard, in a desperate attempt to push off each tendril of psychoactive calm and keep everything solid in front of her. (she feels a hand on her arm, but she can't tell if it's real. she feels the way faith pierces her gaze and wonders if she's still sleeping, or how long she's been sleeping for this to feel so real—)

"you need to let me go." it's bordering on a plea. with eyes trained on the hand that holds her, and fingers all but itching to press over it to peel it from her forearm, abby nods and limps a further step forward.

"your family is dying. every one of them — i'm coming for them all. i'll kill them all." she doesn't quite grasp the slur that moulds itself around her lips, but each step pulls her deeper and deeper into the bliss regardless. "you're the one with the choice. you — saw what i did to your brother. to joseph's statue. you didn't stop me — but if you stay in my way, i'll kill you too."

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faith sounds distraught. not quite at rage-point yet, she follows abby up and up and up... how many has she slaughtered now, in her search for justice? how many angels died for her ascension? was it worth it in the end, slipping up at the top of a monument to the father? was this where she thought it would all stop.

the bliss fumes reach high into the sky. even nick rye hears her sometimes, buzzing around in that rickety yellow machine. there is nowhere in hope county beyond faith's reach.

she dances, winding, on the tip of joseph's finger like a ballerina. she isn't afraid of falling. none of them are, by the end of their journey to the leap of faith. she isn't scared for abby, but chastising her...

"they wanted to let you walk the path. the angels weren't going to do you harm. you're hurting them! hurting so many innocent souls!" the bombs tick along behind her. "you have to stop. turn around. go back down. you're going to kill yourself. you're breaking my heart."

see? it's not about joseph, really, or john. it's for you, abby, all for you.

"why are you being so cruel?" / @bludrite / faith.

one step. two step. three step. four. (don't look down, or you'll never make it to the top). her hands are shaking, and she thinks her thighs are about to give out at any moment now, but she keeps going. each rickety step that almost falls out from under her keeps her grounded — each haul of her feet up, and up, and up makes her woozy but sure of herself.)

why are you being so cruel? it's a voice she thinks is completely separate to any body out here — it's a voice she hears ringing in the back of her head ever since she first bathed in the henbane. (she wishes she knew then — camping out in the dark with nothing but a low-lit fire to keep her warm through the berating sun and dark nights in montana... the henbane stares back at her with an unwavering temptation...)

one step. two step. three step. four. (don't look down, or you'll never make it to the top.) she repeats it over and over again — it thrums through her head like a rhythm that keeps her feet going one in front of another. one above another.

"i'm not." her eyes squeeze shut, and she blindly fumbles with the ledge above to pull herself up each time. she tweaks each bomb so it works in succession, and she reminds herself that somewhere out there, whether it be in a bunker, or from a desolate gas station half way across the compound, there's someone looking out for her. someone looking at her, if she's not lucky – the more she climbs, the more it means. she sits on marble shoulders and claws deep into them like a fucking flea that just won't jump, and leads another explosive to sit across the stone scape she clings on to. i'm not cruel. this isn't cruel. you have to live without him. you have to live with your fucking mess.

she's burned a few tons of bliss already, but this is what gets faith to watch? it's callous, yet so clearly calculated that abby can't help but slip with another pull of her body up. (she freezes, clinging hard and keeping one arm wrapped around the outstretched marble arm that lost her feet — fuck. fuck this, fuck the seeds, fuck faith—)

"you aren't real — you don't exist. faith is a fucking... — a fucking fantasy!"

[bludrite]

HARRIS DICKINSON as samuel in babygirl (2024)

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the w***** home playlist. sometimes there was sunshine, but you mostly remember the clouds. you can see the fogged windows of the attic bedroom, and the strange cousins that lurked within.

exclusively instrumental, mostly solo piano pieces. enjoy!

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the more sebastian looks at him the angrier he gets. he is strange and striking in this rage, a serpent coiled to a perfect S, ready to sink venomous fangs into his throat. he tries to place the accent -- posh, british, yes. but a tinge of something other underlies the vowels, especially as he spits order after order hugo's way.

hugo is about to say something witty and clever as a final fuck-you and good-bye to his horribly ungracious host when he's shoved, hard and fast, down the last of the steps. he lands with his arms and legs spread out, an undignified splat accompanies his landing.

it takes a few seconds of recovery before he can push himself up to his feet. in the meantime, cameras are out, zooming between sebastian and hugo in their little stand-off. he scowls, then covers it quickly with a laugh.

"not a gentleman, then." not the worst beating he's recieved on her part, either. hugo wipes at something sticky on his shirt. "this place fucking sucks. doesn't it, guys?"

a few nearby patrons pick up on the sound of his musical voice. he walks, they follow, the pied piper and his rats.

The image of Willow’s fear is burned into his mind, the photographic effect stronger than any darkroom would manage to capture. Though Sebastian has been closely acquainted with the empathic nature of her bleeding heart, he had never—until that moment when Hugo's name intruded into the space between them—seen Willow scared.

Looking at Hugo now, it is all he can see. This man is responsible for her fear when he ought to have been responsible for her protection. That is what family is meant to stand for.

"If she were with me, you would already be out in the street." In the middle of it, ideally. Prime territory for getting hit by a car. "What she does in this city is none of your concern." New York is Sebastian's territory; he will not have Hugo polluting it. "Our business is not yours. You would do well to mind yourself."

They have made it to the steps leading out of the main dance floor area. Without thinking twice, Sebastian shoves Hugo.

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JINX in ARCANE 1x06 When These Walls Come Tumbling Down

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"s'no problem, happens." jordan shrugs. in the back there's not much to write home about. a set of white plastic chairs, cracked and on their last legs, an old freezer that's long since stopped working and a small plastic christmas tree. "axel recognised you from some gig he played at, said you were cool. was too pussy to say anything about the smoking."

jordan produces two beer bottles from the freezer and cracks them open against the side of it. beer foam bubbles to the brim and spills over her fingers. she holds one out to him.

"this is on him."

He knows better than to argue with the bartender, but god-fucking-damn. He wants a smoke and a drink. Needs a smoke and a drink. Usually the gang tattoo earns him do-whatever-you-want privileges. 

Not everybody bows to the biggest, baddest gangster, though. And Hawk has never hit up this bar before. 

She’s gracious enough to be cool about it, at least. Willing to let him take the staff exit. He appreciates that. He downs the remainder of his whiskey in one go and nods, going where instructed.

          “Sorry. Long day.” 

Long life.

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"well well. guess i'll be seeing you there too." hugo says drily. his eyes are focused anywhere but him, lazily scanning the room for other faces he recognises, his competition at the awards ceremony, people he can grease the palms of to get another project going.

he wishes he had a cigarette. the vape in his breast pocket is burning a hole in his chest. he reaches in and takes a discreet puff.

"who are you wearing?" it's the most small-talk that small talk can get at an event like this. a question they've all been asked a hundred times on the way in. his suit is armani, deep blue with hot pink stitching visible at the cuffs and hem. an easter egg for his upcoming ep, which he's been teasing on his socials for a few weeks. hugo glances over at zero, giving him the up-down.

This is the first time he’s seen him since he lost his temper. It disgusts him, the way his heart skips a beat. He wishes it were only hate he felt—or better yet, nothing at all.

But it is satisfying to catch that faint, muted scent of fear, strangled and suppressed as it is. At least now you feel something for me. 

It’s surprising to be approached, though. Even more surprising that he has the gall to speak to him. Perhaps it shouldn’t be. Hugo loves to test his luck.

          “I’m just here to fill a seat,”          Zero says. It doesn’t come out as curt as he was hoping it would.          “And for the afterparty.”

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"naw, you don't have to cook for me. i got myself sorted out with some toast, hope y'don't mind." jay didn't want to take too much out of their pantry when he was looking for coffee. still. he glances at salem as he cracks open that energy drink and winces. "your heart's gon' give out before you're my age."

half-joking, half not. salem needs to watch that shit!

he takes a seat at the table, takes a big gulp of his coffee and sighs. the initial awkwardness is forgotten, and jay settles back into himself. feels more at home with salem at such ease.

"your roommate's a shark. i've never seen a girl drink that much vodka and still recite the alphabet backwards like that. hustled me outta fifty bucks." he nods in the direction of the closed door to her bedroom. "...we didn't hook up. i just dropped her home and she said i could crash in her room."

as if explaining his intentions to a stern father.

what's  he  got  to  look  so  sheepish  about?  did  he  get  laid  last  night?  embarrassed  he  might  have  heard?  he  didn’t  —  too  stoned  too  early  in  the  night,  fell  asleep  with  his  headphones  in  and  stupid  youtube  videos  on.  even  if  he  did,  who  cares!  he’ll  save  him  the  awkward  conversation,  though.  just  in  case.

salem  smiles  as  best  he  can  through  his  yawn,  arms  stretched  up  over  his  head.  fuck  coffee,  he  needs  the  strong  shit  —  and  energy  drink  is  pulled  from  the  fridge  and  cracked  open  like  a  cold  beer.

“  in  my  kitchen?  yeah,  suuuper  crazy  of  me  to  be  here,  huh?  ”        he  gives  jay’s  arm  a  gentle  slap.  willow  probably  didn’t  know  he  would  be  home.  he  had  forgotten  to  text  her  back  last  night,  anyways.       “  fancy  seeing  YOU  here.  crazy  even.  i  was  just  thinking  about  you  the  other  day.  how've  you  been?  does  this  mean  i  finally  get  to  cook  for  you?  ”