&. MULTIPLICITY

ind. priv. sel. multimuse ft. canon and oc. written by kenz. rules/info.

[musingmultitudes]

official archive notice.

everyone’s been relocated to @motleyscrew . please, please, please read the rules before following, the new blog is a little different than this one.

[musingmultitudes]

reply post! if i make the new multi a sort of unconventional hub blog where instead of having a set muse list it’s kind of like a ‘if we wrote before and you want that character, they will be here’ thing, would you guys still write w/ me/be interested?

[growling-suggestion]

Remember when you were a hero? Now your hands are covered in blood and your arms are scarred and your eyes are tired. Let yourself rest.

[musingmultitudes]

this is a note that i am slowly making a new blog! will be supremely selective and only for my pals tbh

[musingmultitudes]

likeprotege‌ // eggsy unwin:

        ❝ — you ain’t fine, ro, ❞ but he doesn’t want to press, doesn’t want to make her pull back from him. it’s the last thing he wants; it’s why he seems to raise his hands like he means no harm and it’s cautious, the way he inches closer, ❝ ‘n you don’t need to act it, neither … just want you to know that you ain’t alone, yeah? i’m here, see? for whatever you need. ❞

“really, i am,” rowan shakes her head. she can’t seem to get her shaking breath under control, and her vision is blurred so thickly with tears its a wonder she can see eggsy at all. he comes closer and hesitantly she shuffles closer to him, balled up fists resting against his chest as her forehead drops to his shoulder. she squeezes her eyes shut tightly and a small hiccuping sob leaves her chest. “make it stop.”

[musingmultitudes]

“no, no - i’m fine, really, thank you,” rowan hates making other people worry. her shoulders shake as her breathing hitches in a childish fashion, her hands coming up to scrub at her eyes with her sleeves pulled over her fists. “don’t worry.”

open !!!

[wishbzne-deactivated20210526]

“I have my mother’s mouth and my father’s eyes; on my face they are still together.”

— Warsan Shire, from Teaching My Mother How to Give Birth

[musingmultitudes]

“no, no - i’m fine, really, thank you,” rowan hates making other people worry. her shoulders shake as her breathing hitches in a childish fashion, her hands coming up to scrub at her eyes with her sleeves pulled over her fists. “don’t worry.”

open !!!

[zarathustra-would-be-proud]

[musingmultitudes]

likeprotege‌ // eggsy unwin:

@musingmultitudes​  liked .

        ❝ word of advice? don’t ever get lube that tastes good. you’re gonna look at yourself sideways in the mirror when you pop it open for a taste ‘n you ain’t even gonna use it. ❞

“wait, what?” rowan’s face flushes red, and embarrassed giggle leaving her. “have you been eating lube? that can’t be good on your stomach.” she wrinkles her nose as she thinks about it and shakes her head, messy curls bouncing.

[musingmultitudes]

interphrase‌ // father isaias:

Isaias considers saying, I understand more than you think. But he is frightened to say it. He is afraid, and he is likely a hypocrite for that. To preach embracing yourself and your love, but being so afraid of his own.

He hopes Griffith finds peace. And maybe Isaias can find some peace in that, too.

“How old is your daughter?” Isaias asks gently, curious what ‘young’ means to a man who claims to be over one hundred years old. “She sounds like a bright young woman, to know better than you already.” The last part said fondly. “We can learn a lot from children, young and old.”

“she’s seventeen,” he sighs, “smart as a whip, too. much smarter than me.” a fond smile twinges at his lips - talking about ellie brings him so much joy. isaias is right, griffith can learn so much from her, but it’s often so difficult to quiet the voice at the back of his mind that tells him this is all wrong. “i just don’t understand, father,” griffith shakes his head, “why is it that i have it within myself to accept and love my child, but i can’t say the same for myself?” there is so much that he doesn’t yet understand. for someone so old, whose bones yearn to be put to rest, he still has so much learning to do. “i’m tired of this feeling.”

[musingmultitudes]

tocxmply‌ // bucky barnes:

’ i’m not, really. unlike ‘em, i don’t dress like a clown. ‘

          said in a tone of humor, of course, as evidence by the curve of his lips that remains, though not entirely a lie — one, most of the guys’ outfits are a bit too flashy for him [and, yet, Steve’s tights back in 1944 still take the cake] and, two, he doesn’t entirely consider himself part of the group — a helpful ally maybe, handy to have around in a pinch… but, certainly, he works better ALONE. with everything good and bad this entails.

          all this aside, what Rowan calls him next soon has his whole face falling; that, and it’s promptly followed by laughter of almost-disbelief. ‘ …god— don’t call me that, please. Mr. Barnes. that makes me feel so old… or, well — it makes me feel as old as i really am, i guess. ‘ still laughing, with a shake of his head, he repeats the finger wiggle, just because it seemed to amuse her so much. ‘ Bucky’s fine. and sure — take all the selfies you wanna. ‘…they are called selfies, right? he’s not saying anything dumb that only a hundred-year-old grandpa would say?

“your outfit is way cooler.” rowan admits, the words just pouring forth from her with no inhibition now. she glances up when he laughs, a hesitant look on her face - oh god, had she said something wrong? why was he laughing at her? - before a relieved smile takes its place and she lets out a breath. “bucky, then.” rowan nods, but her nose scrunches up and she shakes her head. “that doesn’t feel right, though. first name basis is weird.” 

she turns her attention back to his hand and immediately pulls out her phone. “right, a selfie. i kind of just wanted to take a picture of your arm, but a selfie works too.” she smiles brightly once again, taking a quick photo of his arm before lifting the phone to bring the two of them into the frame. “should we say cheese? or something else?”

[musingmultitudes]

wiltpetals‌ // winnie mint:

      she’s still, always so serene no matter her surroundings, “ oh, well.. my parents are musicians, too, but they worked their way up and said i have to do the same, too. can’t blame them, really. “ growing up in the countryside of devon, she’d been sheltered – consider this a big move to help her career, “ thank you, dex. “ she takes a big drink of the lemonade and clears her throat, “ but, you could ask the same question to everyone, here – like yourself? we’re all just waiting for something to come along, right? another bar, a contract.. everyone’s waiting for something. “

he blinks a little dumbly at her and nods as she speaks. he’d not been expecting something so profound to come from her mouth. “right - yeah,” dex smiles again and takes a drink of his beer, trying to string words together in his head that aren’t stupid. it’s not going well. “sometimes we’re just waiting for the right audience, too,” he shrugs, “never seem to find it here, but we’ve all gotta start somewhere.” dex glances back over at her somewhat nervously to watch her reaction. “by the way, i uh - i liked that song you sang. the one about the woman taken by the wind.”

[musingmultitudes]

lexpxrdus‌ // josef barton:

“nothing’s wrong, mama.” josef smiles slightly, thought it’s quite clearly off. her should I be worried makes him snort in amusement, though, and he has to work for a minute to recompose himself. “you’d worry whatever i said, don’t lie to me.” as she sits, he takes her hand, squeezes tight, and tries to order the words in his head into something that makes sense. “i got my first assignment a couple of days ago. been briefed and everything. kosovo. i’m flying out in a couple of days.”

“of course i would, what kinda mom would i be if i didn’t?” jess smiles softly but keeps her tight grip on his hand. just as soon as it appears, the smile begins to fade when he speaks. “kosovo? how long?” and why had no one told her? she quickly returns to her maternal instincts and squeezes his hand once as she speaks, “how are you feelin’ about it? you worried at all? who’s goin’ with you?” it’s a lot of questions all at once, jess thinks, but they’re all answers she needs for peace of mind.

[musingmultitudes]

lexpxrdus‌ // josef barton:

“i don’t want to find coulson or go to shield. they’ll be in chaos, nobody’ll have a fuckin’ clue about what’s happening or what to do, and it won’t help anything.” he sounds - and feels - surprisingly steady given the circumstances, but that’s probably the calm before the storm of a breakdown. he shifts, sighs, inches a little closer until he can reach out and grasp the bottle his uncle is holding. “you’re not cursed, memphis. it’s just a bad time.” they work through this drinking, he’s sure of it. “give me the bottle, memphis.”

“you don’t know our family, it’s a fucking curse.” memphis insists. he keeps a tight grip on the bottle and stares josef down, his lips twitching into a frown. “not gonna make me give it up. what’s the point anyways? fuck sobriety.” his words slur together the longer he speaks. he’s lost without half of his family, even worse still that he doesn’t know how to get them back. memphis can’t even help the few who remain. “just leave me alone, kid, please. it’ll be better for the both of us.”

[musingmultitudes]

lexpxrdus‌ // josef barton:

“the fuck are you doing?” josef asks quietly, feeling a deep, sharp stabbing pain in his heart as jess is brought into the conversation. “go where, exactly? jess is gone, steve’s… fuck knows where with all the others, and half the people we know are gone, so where d’you want me to go?” he could go home, could survive if he tried, but the empty house gives him anxiety of epic proportions and he doesn’t want to end up in the same position as memphis. “i’m not goin’ anywhere, you can’t make me.”

“i don’t know, kid - go find coulson, go to shield, but being here is just gonna show you shit you don’t want to see.” memphis doesn’t want to be cold towards him, but he doesn’t know what else to do. he doesn’t want josef seeing the worst of him, the part that he’s kept hidden since jess spiraled in their younger years. he’s supposed to be different than jess, than their father, but it’s never been that simple. “this is the truth of it, y’know,” he says quietly, “the conroy bloodline is cursed. every damn one of us, fucking cursed by whiskey.”

[musingmultitudes]

lexpxrdus‌ // josef barton:

since when has josef ever followed an instruction without questioning it first? he follows memphis’ voice into the kitchen, stares at the sight of his uncle on the floor with a bottle in his hand - his supposedly teetotal uncle. the stench of alcohol is strong enough to burn the inside of his nose, but he sits tentatively opposite memphis despite being told to go home, knees pulled up to his chest as he waits for the next revelation. “why are you drinking? you never drink. what happened?”

“yeah, i never drink,” memphis sighs, “thought i’d take up the mantle for jess.” it’s a bad attempt at a joke, and a bitter laugh leaves him. he takes a deep drink from the bottle and leans his head back against the cold metal of the fridge. “you should go, josef.” he sounds exhausted, and every bone in his body wants to do nothing more than sleep. “don’t need you to see any of this.” he’s glad josef wasn’t around when he’d smashed a bottle earlier - the remnants of the glass and spilled whiskey are littered down the hall.