w h i s p e r

private & selective multimuse. written by ivan.

[malamente1992]

[introvertfashion]

[liquefied]

my life is just a collection of poorly made decisions with alternative music playing in the background

[hazyaffection]

[madgirlf]

all my grief says the same thing:this isn’t how it’s supposed to be. this isn’t how it’s supposed to be. and the world laughs. holds my hope by the throat. says:but this is how it is

Fortesa Latifi (via madgirlf)

[tamper]

[praying]

[winterfellis]

[thoughts-memories]

[chuchotcr-blog]

You’re lonely too. ( to holmes, from watson! )

deathless sentence meme. | not accepting.    ↳ @hircndelle.

    "I -- sorry, what? Say again?”

    No, he’s not being facetious, actually, for once. It’s just that his head is -- well, literally inside of the wall. Meaning that he has, in fact, taken a hatchet to the wall and hacked past the boards and into the small space there, where he has somehow managed to lodge approximately half of his body. There is their dog, nosing at one of his ankles, socked foot nudging at the hound in an effort to be left in peace, to no avail. His voice, from the other side of the wall, comes out muffled, distant -- as if he is trying to simply clamber not only through the wall but also possibly into another room via this method. Why he simply couldn’t use the door like a sensible person is anyone’s guess.

    “Watson, my dear man, since you are handy --- ” And a hand appears as if by magic from inside of the wall, previously fine shirt now wrinkled with his exertion, a cuff rolled up to his elbows, palm open and waiting. “Could you hand me my wire cutters? There is something giving me a touch of trouble, and I -- ”

    And there’s the lights gone.

    A shattering plate from downstairs and the sound of a scream has him calling out again.

    “No need to worry, Ms. Hudson! It’s just me!”

    A pause, and then the hand in the dark flexes, obviously still waiting. “Now, the wire cutters, if you please, and then we may discuss...what were you saying? Someone is only two? They’ll grow, Watson, that is the nature of children -- ” 

    The sharp sound of his head knocking against the wall, followed by a hiss of discomfort, and then he seems to be disappearing further into the wall. Good luck actually having a conversation with him any time soon. 

[chuchotcr-blog]

I still want to kiss you. ( to ollie, from liza! )

deathless sentence meme. | not accepting.    ↳ @hircndelle.

    Laughter, soft and sweet; it’s colored with a sort of surprised delight. Joy of this sort was rare to find in any but the inebriated, but Oliver always seems able to find pleasure without a single drop of honey – as if he simply carries brightness around with him, a torch to keep the darkness of the city at bay. But why should he not find happiness in the confession? Ordinarily to pull any semblance of sentiment from Liza is akin to pulling teeth – that she offers this statement freely is a gift to him, and he treats it as such. 

    Hauling his dripping frame from the dark waters of the river, he pulls himself up onto the dock upon which she stands, well away from the edges, lest less savory denizens of the depths get any ideas. Carefully beginning to wring out his hair – not that it will matter, as his water-ridden lungs won’t allow him the luxury of remaining in the air for long without discomfort – he speaks; it must be a horribly unattractive thing, really, the way the river water drips from his mouth, words burbling and wet, but the woman now at his side has never flinched from it before, and he does not expect her to do so now: she’s always been made of sterner stuff than that.

    “I would like that very much, my dear Liza. You truly have no idea of how it would make my heart soar to accept a kiss from you; why, I should think I would hardly be able to stay beneath the water’s surface for how buoyant such a gift would make me.”

    Tipping his face up finally, he takes in the sight of her – backlit by the city’s fog-wreathed lamps, she looks positively radiant, and it is all he can do not to scramble to his small attic-flat immediately: he could compose such poetry about her in this instant! Oh, but his expression goes soft, dreamy – truly, she must be the loveliest person he has ever met, his own personal muse. Whatever dreariness might exist in this city, all of it became bearable whenever he only thought of her – and truly, what man could ever ask for more?

[chuchotcr-blog]

What happens to anything beautiful? ( to bones, from spock! )

deathless sentence meme. | not accepting.     ↳ @hircndelle.

    Were he a more bitter man, the answer might be obvious; everything he’s met in the universe thus far is fated to the same end, after all, and beautiful things seem to have a shorter lifespan than the ugly bits. He’s seen so many beautiful things – and people – die. He’s seen so much suffering in this wide universe – but, oh, at the beauty he’s seen. He remembers being a boy, sitting on a porch, watching the stars appear one by one in that dark night sky, so far above him, then. He remembers sun-soaked days and laughter and warmth. He remembers his wedding day; remembers Joce’s announcement of the daughter they should have had. 

    Tragedy isn’t unknown to him; he wears it around, carries it with him, welcomes it in like an old friend. But that’s not all that life is, or can be – so maybe the question is supposed to evoke a bitter response in him. He can’t say for sure; the First Officer has always been something of an enigma to him, difficult to ever parse what he truly means, so McCoy doesn’t think too hard on it before he answers, doesn’t dwell, because really, the answer is obvious.

    “It gets remembered, Mister Spock. It gets remembered.”

[chuchotcr-blog]

SPOCK. ( @sandsinged​. )

     spock at least manages to arch an eyebrow in response,  but finds that he is less and less willing to protest medical care the more blood he loses.   and —- interesting.  the vulcan files through the list of shock symptoms he can remember —- mentally checks off dizziness,  chest pain,  cool skin,  anxiety —- but he hasn’t lost enough blood for that.  has he?  no.  he’s fine.  ( symptoms of poisoning : dizziness,  pallor,  disorientation.  more,  certainly,  but he cannot remember if he has ever known them. )  but nothing about the blade indicated a poisonous edge,  if he can trust his own memory.  can he?  ❛ the natives discovered our presence and responded violently.  it is possible they coated their weapons in a toxic substance.  is that necessary? ❜ 

    McCoy’s not got a weak stomach; he wouldn’t have gotten very far as a surgeon if he did, but that doesn’t mean that the large amounts of blood still pouring down the Vulcan’s arm isn’t concerning. “I’m going to have to touch you now, Spock.” A warning, and then he’s moving in, frowning to himself. There’s no clotting to be seen, which explains why there’s so much blood still coming out of him. He needs to stop that, and stop it soon. He’s running through the list of symptoms, himself, checking it against his own mental database, when he pauses in working on the other, his eyebrows moving practically up to his hairline.

    “Poison?” Ah, hell. That changes matters completely. He injects the other with the local anesthetic, narrowing his eyes at the sharp question. “I’ve got to disinfect the area, Spock. What do you feel like? Talk to me. Dizziness? Any loss of vision or fine motor control? Swelling anywhere? Your blood’s not clotting. I’ll have to administer something to help with that.” 

[chuchotcr-blog]

SPOCK. ( @sandsinged​. )

     mccoy makes a valid point,  but spock will not allow him the satisfaction of realizing it out loud —- a strategic move,  as he doesn’t want the doctor any more insufferable than he already is.  ( and yet he has not attempted to remove himself from medical bay. )  ❛ difficult? ❜  he lifts an eyebrow,  fixes his gaze upon mccoy ; they are locked in an interminable battle of wills,  each determined to prove something to the other.  but even so —- he is an accomplished doctor.  more than that,  he is a good doctor.  however begrudgingly,  spock will cooperate. blue overshirt and black undershirt go over his head ; that he does not fold them neatly && instead lets them fall in a heap beside him are sign enough of the severity of his injury.  there’s a diagonal cut running from the middle of his chest to a point halfway down his forearm,  shallower in some parts than others,  green blood oozing from it.  ❛ i do not see how your current intervention will prevent infection in any capacity which i could not have. ❜

    “Yeah. Difficult. Means ‘not easy.’” Alright, McCoy, tone it down. He does, at least, huff out a little sound of amusement at his own joke, but that humor quickly vanishes when Spock removes his shirt, and he sees the extent of the wound with his own eyes. He hisses out a sound of sympathy, and moves forward; he doesn’t touch the wound, doesn’t touch any part of Spock without permission -- he’s well aware of the other’s sensitivity to it. Instead, he sets about arranging the tools he’ll need, snapping on a pair of gloves and reaching first for an antiseptic wash to clean the area.

    “Well, a sterile setting in which to treat the wound does wonders, for a start.” His eyes don’t miss the way Spock’s clothes have landed in a crumpled heap -- he wisely doesn’t comment on it, but he does reach for a local anesthetic. “What in the world happened to you out there? You’re carved up like a Thanksgiving turkey.”

[chuchotcr-blog]

SPOCK. ( @sandsinged​. )

     ❛ you of all people know the dangers of placing unnecessary strain on this ship’s medical resources. ❜ evasive maneuvers !  there is no state more vulnerable than laying beneath leonard mccoy ; spock can only be grateful that the man never chose to specialize in psychiatry.  his head turns,  tracking mccoy’s every movement,  while fingers curl around the edge of the bed.  ❛ your medical degree is hardly required in this situation. ❜

    “I of all people know good and well when you ought to come see me, and don’t. If it’s a small enough problem that you can even begin to consider treating it in your quarters, it’s a small enough problem that it’s not a drain on our medical resources.” 

    “And this is a moot point, because your current injury isn’t so small you should have been trying to limp out of here. You’re just being difficult.” Maybe it’s a touch snappy, but it’s only because the good doctor is worried; worried about the blood, worried about the list of other patients he needs to see to, worried that Spock felt like he couldn’t come to him about this. “I know you don’t like to hear it, Spock, but you can’t afford to go getting any infections. I don’t know enough about your biology to rightly know quite how that would play out. You’re unique.” He tries to say it delicately; he probably fails. He’s too focused on putting the scanner away and reaching for his tools. “Lift your shirt a bit higher, let me get a better look.”

[chuchotcr-blog]

SPOCK. ( @sandsinged​. )

     ❛ your concern, while appreciated,  doctor,  is misplaced. ❜  drip,  drip,  drip.  that’s green blood on medical’s crisp white floors,  staining blue uniform sleeve and running off long fingers.  eyes drop to the floor,  then fill with defeat,  and vulcan takes a seat on biobed. ❛ i intended to bandage it in my quarters. ❜

@chuchotcr

    “Spock, the left sock I’ve been looking for for a week is misplaced. My concern? Not ‘misplaced’. You know what my concern is? Perfectly appropriate considerin’ you’re bleeding all over my floor.”

    That’s exasperation coloring his tone, but it’s softened by the crease in his brow, genuine concern in those blue eyes of his; his mouth’s already pulled into the sort of frown that means he’s thinking about possible internal damage and need scans, now and that’s a hell of a lot of blood. “In your --- ” He lets out a sharp breath of frustration, already reaching for a tricorder to assess the damage. “Why’s it so damn difficult to get all of you in here when you’re hurt, like sensible folks? And don’t say it’s my bedside manner.”

[chuchotcr-blog]

hircndelle:

l to r: john watson ( granada ), liza jerusha ( fallen london ), brendol hux ( star wars ), spock ( star trek ), legolas ( tolkien ), nanaki kazuaki ( hatoful boyfriend )

you could go to five or six blogs…. or just ONE !! hircndelle puts the ‘multi’ in ‘multimuse blog’. featuring loyal doctors and murderous math teachers, alien elves and human vulcans, excited lego figurines and cynical shopkeepers, and more. mun and all muses 20+ and open to crossovers of any sort !!  

 l to r: newt geiszler ( pacific rim ), zacharine ( OFF ), dell conagher ( tf2 ), chirrut îmwe ( star wars ), benny chu ( the lego movie ), link ( legend of zelda )