"I'm Dorothy Gale from Kansas"
if i look back, i am lost
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🩵 avery cochrane 🩵
Xuebing Du
I'd rather be in outer space 🛸
Kaledo Art
Claire Keane
Discoholic 🪩
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YOU ARE THE REASON
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art blog(derogatory)
Cosmic Funnies
titsay
we're not kids anymore.
shark vs the universe
TVSTRANGERTHINGS
Andulka
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@infinite-diversity
            you can break my soul,             take my life away,             beat me,             hurt me,             kill me.                        but for the love of god                              don’t touch him.
[ I decided to go for it. Nothing to lose, right? If all else fails, I can always come back here. It's still being tweaked, but the new blog is touchtelepathy. I'm starting from scratch there. If you want to carry over a thread from here, please let me know. If Spock has significant history with your muse (eg: i-am-the-captain-of-this-ship, kirks-pants, adoctor-notaphysicist, crus-stellula, among others) we can definitely carry over. Otherwise, it's ground zero. Hope to see you guys over there! <3 ]
[ I think I'm gonna restart Spock on a new blog. I'm just not satisfied with this one anymore, and maybe a fresh start is what I need. I know I'll end up regretting it if I delete altogether, so if I do remake, this one will stay up for reference and stuff, but won't be updated. I'll keep you guys updated, if you care. XP ]
[ Still on break, but if anyone wants to get at me, I have Skype, AIM, and Kik. (Hover for usernames.) ]
[ Going on a break from Spock. Don’t really have much muse for him at the moment. Catch you guys later. ]
[ Going on a break from Spock. Don't really have much muse for him at the moment. Catch you guys later. ]
Perception [closed]
Leonard had not been surprised in the least when Spock instantly tried to fumble for a reason that he should leave. He wasn’t an idiot - he knew Vulcans were private, and that Spock as a hybrid had more finicky physiology than most. But he was damn good at his job, and he was actually rather intent on proving that point to the hobgoblin. It wasn’t a matter of pride - it was more a matter of trust. He didn’t like the idea that the First Officer didn’t trust him as CMO. He’d read over M’Benga’s notes and along with his own medical training, was sure he was more than capable of doing a physical examination.
He wasn’t unkind though. He knew some patients, Vulcan or not, preferred a certain doctor and he didn’t want to make Spock feel uncomfortable. Firm but patient was his usual approach, and he was going to stick with it.
"Spock," he greeted with a drawl, and glanced around, "Don’t you worry about my Sickbay, that’s my job. Chapel’s got it all under control for now. There’s nothin’ needin’ my immediate attention."
He didn’t acknowledge the obvious fact that Spock was trying to get out of it, instead waving him over.
"Do you want the examination behind a curtain in Sickbay or in a private room?" he asked, beginning to retrieve the appropriate medical equipment, "An’ is there anythin’ I should know before we start? Anythin’ you’re not comfortable with, anythin’ you’ve noticed since your last exam?"
Spock's immediate reaction to his being caught out was to arch an eyebrow. He approached the CMO with a stiff-backed fluidity that would have sounded incongruous, but in practice appeared perfectly natural to the half-Vulcan. He stood as far from McCoy as he could while still being considered polite and compliant, not because of his lack of desire to be there but simply due to his natural aversion to being touched more than was necessary. He kept his gaze trained carefully on the doctor.
"The venue of the examination is irrelevant," he replied. He folded his hands behind his back and waited, considering for 4.03 seconds the answers to the questions posed.
"Negative, Doctor, on all counts. Any and all relevant information is located in my medical file. There is nothing I wish to add to that which is already present." His response could have been construed, by some parties, as a lie: there was one matter which he did not deem fit to divulge. However, as it was located in his file (though it was sealed, at the request of himself and his father), he was satisfied that he had told the truth. Whether or not McCoy read into his answer more than was strictly true was not his problem.
the needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few
The subdued life of a Doctor, a Half-Vulcan and their son.
David James McCoy was about to turn four years old and Leonard had been quite busy trying to plan something fun for their child. The little boy was currently seated at the table while the elder made dinner, he looked up when Spock came in and smiled .
"Papa! Daddy’s home!" David called,hopping up and ran over, hugging the hybrids leg. "Papa is making dinner."
It could not be said that Spock was unsatisfied with his life. Certainly, it was not what he'd anticipated or even initially desired, but desires had a tendency to change with time. His years exploring the galaxy with the people he had learned to call his friends were now behind him, and although there was a certain melancholy to it, he was content with what had come after.
When his son -- his and Leonard's -- came hurtling toward him, Spock was quick to scoop the almost-four-year-old into his arms. Fatherhood had not been in his plans; as a hybrid, he could not sire children, and he'd accepted this fact long ago. Yet here he stood, cradling a little boy who happily called him "Daddy".
"Indeed?" he replied, nosing David's soft, brown hair affectionately as he carried him out into the kitchen.
Angst please
8. My muse has poisoned themselves (accident or purposeful, up to the mun.) and become very ill while alone with your muse.
It was fortunate for Spock that Jim had a lot to say, so that his own silence was not noted. He had hoped that the Captain would have forgotten about their weekly chess match — or else have been too busy for it — but as the saying went, he had no such luck. The poison Spock had formulated and ingested (created thanks to one of Sulu’s beloved exotic plants) mere minutes before Jim’s arrival had yet to take effect. He wondered if it would be considered indecisive of him to hope that it would not do so until after the game. He willed his hand not to shake as he moved his queen to take one of Jim’s rooks.Â
"Please…excuse me a moment, Jim," he half-muttered as he stood with none of his usual grace, knees bumping the table and sending chess pieces toppling. He barely made it to their shared bathroom before he was heaving. Cramps rippled painfully through his abdomen as he vomited a terrible combination of bile and blood into the toilet. He knew that his body was attempting to expel the toxins — Vulcan biology was efficient in that way — but he had also done his best to ensure that the poison would be effective despite this fact.
When he could no longer bring anything up, Spock curled onto his side on the bathroom floor. Shivers wracked his frame, and he hoped that the end would come swiftly — and without Jim’s intervention.
Slowly, cautiously, Jim fell back into his chair, rubbing his face. He understood what Spock was feeling, that self-hate that never seemed to leave him be. Maybe their reasons were different, but the hatred was the same. Brokenness, incompleteness, a wish to no longer exist.
The Vulcan hit his ears like a flame and he looked up, eyes wide open.
" Sviriba’uh k’nash-veh, Spock. Please. Sviriba’uh k’nash-veh.. nohv’uh k’nash-veh.”
His tongue stumbled a little, but he hoped with every fiber of his being that he’d said the right phrases.
Spock kept his head down, his arms wrapped tightly around his bent legs; his entire body shook with silent sobs. There was no strength left in him to pretend that he was properly Vulcan, without emotions or impulses. All he felt was a hollowness, an exhaustion, and he could not fight it anymore. He did not wish to fight it.
The last thing he expected to hear from Jim was his own language, returned to him, pleading. He looked up, exposing a wet face and eyes swollen and veined with dark green. Again, a trembling hand lifted and reached out, this time to touch his fingers gently to Jim's face.
A child, smaller than the rest, standing apart. A young man, unable to tell his mother he loves her under the intense gaze of his father. A planet, crumbling to dust and then to nothing. Two eyes, bluer than any sea but so terribly empty. Empty. Everything is empty.
the person i reblogged this from has a blog worth following.
Angst please
8. My muse has poisoned themselves (accident or purposeful, up to the mun.) and become very ill while alone with your muse.
It was fortunate for Spock that Jim had a lot to say, so that his own silence was not noted. He had hoped that the Captain would have forgotten about their weekly chess match — or else have been too busy for it — but as the saying went, he had no such luck. The poison Spock had formulated and ingested (created thanks to one of Sulu’s beloved exotic plants) mere minutes before Jim’s arrival had yet to take effect. He wondered if it would be considered indecisive of him to hope that it would not do so until after the game. He willed his hand not to shake as he moved his queen to take one of Jim’s rooks.Â
"Please…excuse me a moment, Jim," he half-muttered as he stood with none of his usual grace, knees bumping the table and sending chess pieces toppling. He barely made it to their shared bathroom before he was heaving. Cramps rippled painfully through his abdomen as he vomited a terrible combination of bile and blood into the toilet. He knew that his body was attempting to expel the toxins — Vulcan biology was efficient in that way — but he had also done his best to ensure that the poison would be effective despite this fact.
When he could no longer bring anything up, Spock curled onto his side on the bathroom floor. Shivers wracked his frame, and he hoped that the end would come swiftly — and without Jim’s intervention.
The next thing Jim realised, Spock’s hand was reaching for him in a rather unfriendly manner and the Vulcan’s eyes had gone blank. He knew he only had a moment before it was inescapable, and pushed away from the bed, blood pounding in his head, run, run, not safe, he’s going to kill you you asshole. He panted brokenly as Spock seemed to come to, keeping his distance from his hybrid commander.
Were those tears on Spock’s face?
It was just a ruse, it had to be. Spock had just tried to kill him, after trying to kill himself. Even as his panic threatened to set in for the long run, Jim stood and walked to the door, putting in his code to keep anyone from interrupting them. Stupid move, dangerous move. Bones would have his hind if he made it out alive.
"Don’t. Unless you’re gonna tell me what the fuck that was, just don’t.”
A low, animal whine sounded at the back of Spock's throat, and the moment Jim stood, he flinched as though he were expecting a blow. None came, of course, but there was no logic to tell him so. His shields were gone -- they had been for some time, but it was as if a dam had broken now, letting out a torrent of raw instinct and emotion. Jim hated him, he must; there was no other explanation.
And so he should, his own thoughts whispered darkly. The constant vein of self-hatred which he always managed to stifle. You would have hurt him. You are broken, no better than a beast. The other children were right about you. Everyone was right about you. It was only a matter of time.
"I..." He could not summon the proper words. Knees drawn up, he buried his face like a child trying to hide. When he finally spoke, his words were muffled.
"Jim, I am sorry... Ri dung-hat-tor nash-veh. Pushau nash-veh. Ki'dash-tor nash-veh tu..."
"I already regret this. Exactly how drunk are you right now?"
"I have — " Spock interrupted himself with a short, breathless giggle, " — consumed four bars of Terran chocolate. Mister Scott gave them to me.” His inebriation was clear, if not by the way his speech was slurred and expressive, then by the large grin plastered on his face. He leaned in and nuzzled against Jim’s cheek with a distinctly feline-sounding purr.
"You smell — very nice, Jim. And you are warm. It is quite pleasant."
Spock’s cooler skin tickled his as he purred against him, the green tint even brighter than usual, and Jim couldn’t even begin to stop himself from reaching up to pet Spock’s hair, threading his fingers through the black strands. He chuckled low in his chest when Spock referred to him as his mate - since they hadn’t even slept together, or discussed what could happen between them.
"Five sounds more like it, yeah. Do you smell me often then, Spock?"
Jim’s fingers in his hair caused Spock to purr all the louder. He relaxed against the Captain, his inebriated state allowing him to feel content with their closeness without the self-condemnation that typically accompanied such emotions. Lifting a hand, he mimicked Jim's actions, pushing his fingers through thick golden hair. The sensation against his digits was nothing other than pure bliss.
"Mm, I have become...attuned to your unique scent. I cannot help myself."
Friend: we have too many unfinished rps
Me: i know
Friend:
Me:
Friend:
Me:
Friend: So i have this idea for a rp.
[ My head is killing me, so I'm gonna go lie down. ;w; Catch you late, my lovebugs. ]
[ O M F G. How many times do I have to tell people: DON'T REBLOG ROLEPLAY POSTS IF YOU'RE NOT A ROLEPLAYER. It's annoying and rude and it makes the people involved in the threads confused about who has replied and who has not. DON'T DO IT. The next time someone I'm not roleplaying with reblogs one of my RP posts, I'm not going to be nice about it. ]
"Hug your favourite little girl!"
Taken aback by the sudden display of affection, Spock found himself speechless. Nevertheless, he still hugged Jamie back. (She was his favourite little girl, after all.)
