hirondelle

multimuse star wars. tolkien. star trek. & more. by art

[hircndelle-blog]

"You are going to break your promise. I understand." ( for chirrut, from baze! )

meme … accepting … @chuchotcr

“—–I never made any such promise.” Chirrut sounds entirely innocent; he looks it, too, with the last of their intact bowls cradled in his hands, entirely intent on the soup Baze has brought him. Has he promised Baze he would not go out into the streets of Jedha City in his Guardian’s robes? Absolutely not. 

Has he promised Baze he would not go out into the streets of Jedha City at night near the old temple where he might be suspected to be attempting to revive the old traditions? 

Admittedly, yes. He did agree to those exact words when Baze made the request of him. But today he has no intentions of approaching the gutted temple. He will not, therefore, break his promise. It is a technicality, he knows, but when one’s life has become a maze of walls and bars and no entrance signs, one learns to pick out the cracks and holes inherent in the rules. 

“So are you coming with me, Baze Malbus, or not?”

[hircndelle-blog]

"No one should be judged for loving more than they ought, only for loving not enough." ( for spock, from bones! )

meme … accepting … @chuchotcr

“For some, doctor, such axioms may hold. Other do not have the luxury of such a freedom.” Above them, the wind whips the faintly green clouds of this planet into tall columns that stretch up towards the stars. Spock looks down at his tricorder, away from McCoy. “To emotionally invest oneself in a situation or individual is to take a risk which cannot always be justified. Nor do I believe that love is the standard measure for career or personal success.” 

His voice drops in pitch, a little darker, a little sharper. “This is a conversation we have had before. What do you hope to gain by repeating it?”

[hircndelle-blog]

“@starhubris started following you”

brendol voice: well it was only a matter of time

[hircndelle-blog]

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 )

[hircndelle-blog]

ELDARION ... @mindsmade​

In Amon Firith it seems too often that time -- in other places so unchanging in its steady tread onwards -- pauses to rest amidst the roses in the gardens, or to sit upon a smooth carved bench beneath the trees. Elves measure not the days, nor the hours, nor the minutes of their lives, for they are innumerable; for the first time, perhaps, the fair folk of Middle-earth can sense that their time grows ever shorter, and yet  

In Amon Firith it seems too often that time stops altogether, and so Legolas’ rare reminders of the passing years come at moments like these: when he has returned to Minas Tirith and is playing strategy games with the son of an old friend ( now old himself, though Legolas does what he must to pretend Aragorn’s days are not numbered ). 

He suspects Eldarion may win. 

Truth be told, he is certain Eldarion will win. 

Legolas frowns delicately at the board, twisting a long strand of loose hair between his fingers. “Are you certain that is a valid move?” His frown deepens slightly. Eldarion’s pawn sits precariously close to his queen. “I suspect you know a different version than I----”

[mitchellwrites]

deathless ♚ sentence meme

[archivenott-blog]

deathbymitchell:

You will always fall in love, and it will always be like having your throat cut, just that fast.

You are going to break your promise. I understand.

You’re lonely too.

It will stop your breath, how cruel I can be.

I am a demanding creature. I am selfish and cruel and extremely unreasonable.

I am your servant.

I crawl at your feet; for before your love, your kisses, I am debased.

For you alone I will be weak.

I belong here, and you will not deny me.

I say these things, and the world listens.

I do not tolerate a world emptied of you. I have tried.

In the dark, I have pored over the loss of you like pale gold.

I will not let her speak because I love her, and when you love someone, you do not make them tell war stories.

I moved the earth and the water for you.

You will always run away with her.

You will always lose her.

You will always be a fool.

You will always be dead, in a city of ice, snow falling into your ear.

You have already done all of this and will do it again.

No one should be judged for loving more than they ought, only for loving not enough.

We look terrible to you, and severe, and you see our blood flying.

What we carry between us is hard-won, and we made it just as we wished it to be, just the color, just the shape.

There need never be any rules between us.

Let us be greedy together; let us hoard.

Do not leave me, swear that you will never leave me.

I am selfish. I am cruel. My mate cannot be less than I.

Sleep with fists closed and shoot straight.

I can’t abide a poor liar.

You look like a winter’s night. I could sleep inside the cold of you.

Oh, quit that. Blushing is for virgins and Christians.

Scold me; deny me. Tell me you want what you want and damn me forever. But don’t leave me.

Bad luck relies on absolutely perfect timing.

In his own country, Death can be kind.

What is the world but a boxing ring where fools and devils put up their fists?

Men die. It’s practically what they’re for.

I am no one; I am nothing.

Nothing in me was not made by you.

A revelation is always the end of something. It might even be cause for grief.

Just tell yourself a story that’ll satisfy you and pretend he told it.

Forever isn’t bright; it isn’t like that. Forever is cold and hard and final.

I savor bitterness - it is born of experience. It is the privilege of one who has truly lived.

If you want to kill yourself, do not use us as your knife.

What did I do wrong? Was I boring? Did I ignore you?

Don’t you dare speak to me like that.

I have worn nothing but blood and death for years.

I have fought all your battles for you, just as you asked me.

I have learned not to cry when I strangle a man.

I have learned to watch everything die.

I am not a little girl anymore, dazzled by your magic. It is my magic, now, too.

Are we not devils?

No one is now what they were before the war.

I have not seen you without your skin on.

Close up your head; your brain is getting loose.

We obsess. It’s in our nature.

I’ve a devil of a habit for being right.

In war you must always choose sides.

If you try to be a bridge laid down between them, they will tear you in half.

We are all dead. All equal. Broken and aimless and believing we are alive.

My old bones will follow yours soon enough.

It is better to be strong and cruel than to be fair.

I will see him with his skin off before I agree to fall in love.

After love, no one is what they were before.

I have survived, but I have not been spared.

In the space of one heartbeat to another I loved you and I was lost to you.

Frighten me, make me cry, only come back.

It’s not so bad, my darling. Being dead. It’s like being alive, only colder.

You’ll think it’s love, while he dines on your heart.

You will be so beautiful when you are old.

I cannot keep you and I cannot let you go.

You will live as you live in any world…with difficulty, and grief.

I look at you and it is like my throat being cut.

She said you’d come and I swore to eat your heart.

I still want to kiss you.

My heart is being cut in two. I cannot bear it.

What happens to anything beautiful?

I have to know, I have to or else you will just rule me until the end of everything because you know and I do not.

[hircndelle-blog]

LOYAL CUSTOMER ... chuchotcr

    Sleep does not come easily, or often. Pure beings should not be plagued by nightmares; but, he supposes, to cleanse the world, someone must dirty their hands. ( Sometimes, he feels it; something sick and slimy and crawling, just under the skin, always one step from tearing free. He contains it. He contains it. He does not have a choice. ) And so, the nightmares come. Let them; there is nothing in his head he cannot withstand; if the harsh wastelands, the empty expanses, the vile abominations cannot put him down, cannot do away with him, neither can these apparitions, less corporeal even than the specters he spends his days ridding this world of.

    Companionship does not come naturally to him; the merchant’s constant presence had been grating, at first. At times, it remains so. He finds himself quite aware, of the other’s light, almost impossibly light steps. ( Tainted, twisted; a resident of this world, and so an impurity. He’s on the list, but oh, what a long list it is. ) He does not waste the energy to move as the other takes up a spot near him, but not touching him; his bat, after all, is well within reach should the other get any ideas.

    Then Zacharie’s hand is on him; it is all he can do to remain relaxed, to not immediately reach for his bat at this sudden and unrequested venture into his personal space. If that hand remains where it is, he will allow it. ( There are a great number of allowances only made for the merchant; he does not dwell on it. Does not dare. ) But then, Zacharie has always been greedy.

    Warm skin touches his for a moment, just a moment, before strong fingers are wrapped around Zacharie’s wrist, four eyes open and blinking at him from the shaded space beneath the brim of his cap.

    “Qu’est-ce que tu fais, marchand?”

The candy-colored sky above them and the smell of the earth and all the ( admittedly limited ) wonders of this world do not compare to the sight of that sliver of the Batter’s skin lit by a fading sun. The fact that the Batter keeps himself so well covered makes it all the more tempting. Zacharie won’t call it forbidden fruit, per se -- there’s no heavenly garden to be cast out of for tasting of his flesh -- but he will observe that it is forbidden. There is a reason why he is doing this when the Batter is asleep, after all. He is pushing his luck by touching him, but ---- 

His luck’s run out. A strong hand finds his wrist before he can so much as lift his hand from the Batter’s skin, and Zacharie is glad of the mask that hides the momentary fear in his expression. He knows all too well that he is not exempt from the Batter’s righteous quest; he knows that one day, a bat that he sold will connect with his temple and leave the world black and silent as the void. He never fears that that moment has come until it is too late. Now, for example. He’d not thought of angering the man before he touched. It’s a defense mechanism, of sorts: he will not let fear rule his life. He will act as he likes, and suffer the consequences accordingly. If the Battter’s patience with him has finally snapped, it is far too late to escape it now. ( At least, he thinks, he got to touch that silvery skin once more. )

But the bones of his wrist are blessedly intact, and that is all he needs to resume his usual flippant attitude. 

“What am I doing? I am touching you.” A laugh, low and private; he knows the Batter will not share in his humor. “Well. Nothing so scandalous as that. I was touching your waist. Because I wanted to. What are you doing, amigo?”

[hircndelle-blog]

LOYAL CUSTOMER ... @chuchotcr

Zacharie is in the mood to snuggle. 

This is a rare mood, which means there is all the more reason to capitalize on it while it lasts. The trouble is that the Batter is not overly fond of unsolicited touch. Zacharie is not often a vocal advocate of public acts of affection -- not that there is anyone in this chartreuse wasteland to see him -- but the mood has struck him now, and what he wants, he intends to get. 

The Batter lays before him, sleeping. Or, at least, his eyes are closed. A saffron sun hangs low on the horizon. Slowly, Zacharie reaches out to set his hand on the Batter’s waist, so, so lightly. But it is unsatisfying somehow, to only touch him through layers of wool and striped pajamas. He withdraws his hand. Rolling up his sleeve -- tonight is indeed a rare night -- he tries again, reaching out slowly. With the utmost care, he tries to lift the edge of the Batter’s uniform enough to expose a sliver of white skin above his waist without waking him. Then Zacharie lays his hand there, just touching that silvery expanse of flesh lit by the sunset, just to feel the warmth of Batter, skin to skin.

[hircndelle-blog]

G&B ... chuchotcr

    Nobody in this building has a poker face worth anything; that’s how they know that something suspicious is going on. They’re not really paying attention at first; their mind’s not on the clock, but on the job, still filing paper work from the day’s duties. And yesterday’s. And the day before that. Long story short, there’s a mountain of files waiting to be filled out, and never enough time to get it all done. Crime never sleeps. Neither do they; at least, not ever nearly enough. So, despite the whispers, and the giggles, they’re not really aware of what’s happening — they figure someone else will take care of it, or fetch them if it’s truly important.

    That’s when they hear the shout, and the thud, and see flower petals suddenly in the air, fluttering harmlessly about.

    They take a breath. They remove their glasses. They rub their eyes, and stand from their desk; there’s some more shouting, the sound of a struggle, and he’s got his taser out, aimed and ready, and –  “Bluebell?”

    A beat, a doubletake, and the shades go on, a soft growl escaping them that makes the officer holding Benny by the cuffs flinch. It’s B talking when their mouth opens again, and he’s annoyed.

    “Get those cuffs off o’him.” A sigh, arms crossing his chest. “Just what’re y’doin’ here, Ben? It’s not—” His eyes flick to the clock. He pauses. He clears his throat. His cheeks flush red. “Oh.”

‘This one won’t go wrong.’ Famous last words, Benny supposes. 

On the bright side, he has an entirely new perspective on the office from on his stomach on the floor where he’s been pinned by the rather over-enthusiastic new recruit. The new officer managed to get him cuffed and on the ground with remarkable speed, and Benny has to resist the urge to laugh and tell them that really, they ought to see G&B trying to get him into his pajamas as fast as they got him into handcuffs. He can hold his cops off for hours if need be. ( Anything, anything to get that last model plane finished before bed. ) 

He’s about to say it -- or, well, say anything at all, given that he’s not yet had a chance to explain himself -- when the office door opens. Benny brightens. “Why hi, B,” he says, cheerful despite the proximity of his face to the linoleum floors. “What’s a handsome cop like you doing in a place like this?” 

The officer who took him down is standing up, clearing their throat, offering apologies. “Sorry, sir, right away, sir. Thought he looked suspicious. Might be trying to hide something in those flowers---” 

The new recruit fumbles with the handcuff lock. With a jingle, the cuffs come free, and Benny sits up. “Hey,” he says, and he’s serious now. “Good job keeping them safe for me.” This seems, for whatever reason, to fluster the recruit more, so he just sighs, and turns back to his cops. The smile Benny gives them is -- cheerful, but tinged with worry, too, that they forgot the time again. It is an unspoken truth between them that they will each always be second to one another’s work: G&B’s laws, and Benny’s stars. “Shift’s over, love.”

[hircndelle-blog]

G&B . . . @chuchotcr

At the risk of being called a hopeless romantic ( which he is ), Benny Chu believes in every cliché and time-worn trick when it comes to relationships, from candlelit dinners to sharing a plate of spaghetti à la Lady and the Tramp. Admittedly, some work out better than others. He and the cops have both agreed not to speak of the spaghetti incident. But this one, Benny is sure, this one won’t go wrong. 

It’s the old sneak-into-their-work-with-a-bouquet-of-flowers trick. G and B have each individually made it clear that he’s --- well, he’s just a disruption whenever he shows up. For that reason, he’s timed it: he’s shown up right at the clock struck five. He didn’t put so much as a toe over the threshold until their shift was finished. And now he’s well on his way, creeping through the halls, utterly conspicuous and completely oblivious to that fact, bouquet in hand, to peek into the small high window of his husbands’ office.

[leave-me-colourless]

From my rotting body, flowers shall grow, and I am in them, and that is eternity.

Edvard Munch (via leave-me-colourless)

[f--o--r--e--v--e--r]